Page 86 of Bitter Spirits

Locke glared up at the spirit who was clearly possessing Isa. “Is the debt paid?”

Those disturbing black eyes turned to him, the chilling smile widening. “When he takes his last breath.”

Shit. We need Angel alive, at least long enough to get a damn name. “Isa, I need you.”

Cora’s smile disappeared as she frowned down at him. “Stop messing with my fun. She can come back when he’s dead.”

“No,” he shot back, his voice hard as warm blood seeped from under his hands to stain the ground. “Now. He has answers we need.”

“About what?” Her head cocked as if she was listening to someone. “The drug? That wasn’t his deal.”

Locke’s mind spun with the revelation as he tried to press harder against the wound. He looked at Angel but found no help there. The man’s eyes were closed, and the hand that had been battering at Locke’s arms lay limp on the ground. His breaths grew shallower by the moment.

“Then whose was it?” Locke asked. When Cora didn’t answer, he risked looking at her.

She was shaking her head and paying him no heed. “No, no. He’s too stupid. He needed us.”

Clearly, Isa was trying to help from wherever she was. Cora moved in agitated circles as she grabbed at her head. “You can’t. Not until he’s dead. Stop it! I know what you’re doing. Stop it!” The last came out in an ear-shredding shriek.

“What the fuck?” The unexpected question came from Zev, who stalked out of the house, his attention pinned to Isa who was talking to herself. “Is she okay?”

“She’s good.” Locke hoped he wasn’t lying, but he had to trust Isa could handle Cora. “But I’m losing Herrera.”

Zev turned away from the muttering woman pacing in tight circles and joined Locke next to the bleeding man. “What do we have?”

“Gut wound. You have anything we can use? A healing charm? Something to slow the bleeding?”

“Not on me.” Zev’s face was a grim mask. “I might have a stasis ward in the car.”

He was about to have Zev go grab it when a hand landed on his shoulder. Locke turned his head to find Isa staring down at Angel.

“Let him go.”

He started to protest. “Isa⁠—”

“He’s almost gone.” She looked at him, tiny pinpoints of white flashing in the black depths of her eyes as her expression wavered from resigned to coldly amused and back. “A stasis spell won’t help.”

Locke held those eerie eyes, torn between frustration and fury. The answers he needed were right… fucking… there, dammit.

Isa’s fingers brushed over his tense jaw. “Trust me.”

His gaze drifted down and snagged on the scythe charm at the base of her throat, realization striking hard and fast. His gaze jumped back to hers. “You’ll be okay?”

Her touch fell away, and the small smile she gave him was more natural and real than Cora’s earlier grin. “I will be.”

“Make it quick.”

Her lips tightened as she dipped her chin in acknowledgment.

Trusting in the woman who had made a spot for herself in his life, he turned back to Angel. Slowly, he lifted his bloodstained hands away.

Isa sank into a crouch, shadows from the encroaching evening gathering around her, deepening until she was once again draped in the familiar tattered cloak. A chill edged the warm air, bringing hints of ash and smoke, as the Reaper’s skeletal mask settled over Isa’s features. Tendrils stretched from the Reaper to coil around Angel. There was a spark or two of deep green that was quickly extinguished as the tendrils bound together and widened into an undulating shroud that enveloped Angel’s body.

For one stretched-out moment, silence held the world still. Then Isa rose to her feet, her voice flat and cold. “The debt is paid. Leave.”

Locke and Zev both stood and backed away from the shroud-covered body as a vaporous form was shoved into existence. The vapors took on the shape of a young woman with dark hair, her mouth open in a soundless scream, her fingers curled into claws. Malevolence swirled around her as she darted toward Isa.

Locke’s muscles bunched as he prepared to intercept, but it wasn’t needed. An invisible wind tore through the form, shredding the remnants to nothing and leaving behind a heavy press of power that dimmed the evening light.