Page 52 of Bitter Spirits

“Stop!” Des’s sharp command and upraised hand stopped Locke in his tracks. “There’s broken glass back here.” He moved carefully into the narrow space behind the bar then dropped into a crouch, disappearing from view.

Locke cleared the last few feet, pulled open the swinging half door, and stood just inside the pass. Isa was gone. Taken. He knew it down to his bones. Just like he knew who was behind it. The ugly mix of fear, worry, and underlying frustration surged, but he shoved it all into a box and slammed the lid closed. He would deal with the emotional shit later. Getting Isa back was primary, and to do that, he needed to focus.

Des was frowning as he held up a chunk of green-tinted glass, mindful of its ragged edges. “That smell is definitely gin.”

Locke took it from him. It was a thick piece from the lower half of a bottle. He let his magic snap free, and it surged forward, eager for the hunt. Smells sharpened, scents separating into concise strands. He brought the chunk up to his nose and inhaled. The bite of juniper filled his nostrils. Under it was a barely-there hint of musk he couldn’t place.

He looked at the shards between him and Des. “Where’s the rest?”

A small ball of light popped into existence and hovered over Des’s shoulder. He waved it forward, and it cruised low and slow over the floor. It pulled up short near the well.

Des found a safe spot to brace his hand then leaned forward and pulled out the other half of the bottle. “This is what’s left of the top half.” The still-sealed cap clung to the squat neck, and one jagged shoulder remained intact. The little ball of light zipped back to Des as he rose to standing. He twisted the glass shard, his frown darkening. “I think there’s blood on this.”

“Let me see it.”

Locke took the piece from Des, his magic cataloguing the visual clues with rapid-fire sequence, the details burned into his brain. It was easy to miss—a single drop with spines and satellites, dry and dark, erupting from around the nearly perfect circle, with a brighter center. He brought the piece of glass up to his nose, careful to avoid smearing the small drop near the label, and drew the scent deep. The bite of iron was there, not faint but not strong, and under it was the barest hint of cinnamon. His heart stuttered.

“Is it Isa’s?” Des asked.

“Yeah.”

He focused on what wasn’t there. No blood patterns indicating repeated violent blows, no alarming smears to signal a struggle or cleanup effort, so a single blood drop could be nothing more than a minor cut. He took in the rest of the scene. The residual liquid dripped from a low shelf just above the floor, splattering over the shards of glass scattered along the aerated mat and seeping through to the cement floor. His magic ruffled the air, collecting the scent of herbs and spices accented by a dry pine-like hint. The gin had sprayed outward, raining over the tight space. But the way the pieces lay…

“Back out carefully,” he ordered Des. “Try not to step on anything.”

He waited for Des to move out of his way, then he stepped in and noted a void in the mess of glass and gin. Small indentations in the aerated mat created an abstract pattern. He let his magic extract the pieces and reshuffle them. A partial shoe tread came into focus. “Someone, likely male, stood right here.”

He held his position and studied the rest of the story. A hand towel was crumpled on the floor near a box of glasses on a low shelf, but up on the counter, the only thing out of place was an off-kilter drying mat. He started toward the other end, and Des, who had his back to the door leading to the kitchen, shifted out of the way, causing the door to open inward. Bright light spilled over the concrete floor, revealing more clues.

“Hold that door,” Locke said.

Des went still, keeping the door open.

Locke sank to his heels, his magic zeroing in on the faint scuff marks that filled the area near the kitchen and the pass. “Another one was here, waiting.” There was a heavier scrape just on the other side of the pass. “They drew her out, ambushed her.” It played out in his mind.

The light brightened as Des leaned back, forcing the door wider. He looked into the kitchen then back at Locke. “She knew someone was out there because she brought the bottle with her.” He motioned into the kitchen. “Open box on the counter, which means she was here to get the inventory delivery.”

“And she managed to get at least one hit in.” Locke straightened. “Not sure what damage, if any, it did, because there’re no other signs of blood.”

“Just hers on that one piece,” Des said grimly.

“Which came after the bottle broke.”

Des kept one hand on the door and leaned forward into the kitchen, reaching for something. When he straightened, he had a phone in his hand. He held it out to Locke. “Isa’s.”

Locke took it. The lock screen showed a paused playlist and, under it, a text notification. The box holding his emotions at bay rattled. He ignored it.

“We missed her by fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.” Locke scanned the bar’s ceiling. “You have cameras?”

“Two inside, four outside,” Des said, turning to the kitchen and leaving Locke to follow as he talked. “We can access the feed in the office. I can use my phone, but the desktop gives me multiview options.” He started off down the hall.

Locke took in the quiet kitchen—the stack of boxes and crates near the back metal door, empty boxes flattened and piled up near the half-open door to the walk-in cooler, and the security ward flashing a steady orange. Isa’s impatient voice floated through his mind—“I’ll be careful.” He stalked after Des.

The man was looming over the desktop, his face thunderous. “Motherfucking pissants fucked with my security.”

Locke came around the desk to see six security feeds, each filled with static. “Electro mage.”

Fury pulsed off of Des. “It has to be, to mess with the cameras without interfering with the security wards.” Any halfway decent electro mage would hex all nearby cameras, so there was no use in requesting to pull video from neighboring businesses.