Page 54 of Bitter Spirits

Locke never thought a ghost could pale, but Des must have scared the spirit shitless. The cowboy’s hands fluttered uselessly against Des’s hold. “Don’t git yourself all riled up, boy.”

A low, unearthly moan seeped out from the spectral doorway, and Alphonse twisted in Des’s grasp, his eyes wide with terror as he stared into the writhing pit behind him. He turned back around.

“All right, all right,” he said, his voice high with panic. “She was back in the kitchen, putting stuff away. I just wanted a taste. Figured if I left it out, she’d share. She does that sometimes. Then these two dress-suit burglars slid on in, one of ’em throwing magic around like tossin’ lightning. The other can’t stay on his feet, stumblin’ like a one-eyed drunk—nearly took out one of them tables. She must’ve heard him ’cause she came out, but they jumped her. She managed to get one in the gut with the bottle, but they got her trussed up good then dragged her out.”

“Describe them.”

“I don’t know.” Alphonse kept trying to pry Des’s hands off his shirt with no success. “One was taller than me, the other wider than me. The clumsy one, I mean.” He stopped struggling and hung from Des’s grip, resigned. “The silent one, Tall Man, he was definitely in charge and mean.”

Wanting to join the interrogation but knowing he couldn’t, Locke clenched his teeth and fisted his hand, Des’s rings biting into his palm.

Des cocked his head. “Mean? What did he do?”

“Nothing to the woman. He even told the other one that the boss wanted her unmarked. It was just…” His hands fluttered then dropped. “He carried the dark with him, you know?”

The muscles in Des’s back went rigid, but he let the ghost go. “They say anything else?”

The ghost shook his head so hard his face blurred. “Nothin’, just in and out, slick as shit. This ain’t the first rodeo for those two. They’re old hands.” The phantom drifted carefully back, as if trying to stay out of Des’s reach. “You know I like that girl—she’s good people. I’d’ve tried to help, but not much I can do. You’ve got us locked down so tight I can’t even get a tick in here without you. Maybe you might want to consider letting us help now and again.”

Des’s hands fisted on his hips. “Don’t need your help, Al. Bad enough you like breaking my stock when you throw a hissy fit. I don’t need the added aggravation of keeping you off my customers.”

The old cowboy managed to look affronted. “If they didn’t want people gawking at their illicit activities, they’d take themselves elsewhere, garner a little privacy. Besides, ain’t like I can do anything but watch anymore.”

Clearly deciding the conversation was done, Des flexed his magic, and dark tendrils emerged from the archway to coil around the phantom’s form. “Leave, Alphonse Magariue. Go back to sleep.”

For a moment, something ugly rose behind the cowboy’s amiable features, but the inky ribbons coiled around him and pulled him slowly back into the shadowed depths. When the last hazy fragments dissipated, Des’s magic surged forward, crawling back through the archway, moving in the reverse of their original path until the sigils were once again buried within the urban art spanning the back wall.

Locke got out of the booth and moved toward Des, who turned. Locke held out the rings. “Angel took her.”

Des’s mouth tightened into grim lines as he took the rings. “No, he sent two of his crew to take her because Angel likes to play with her.”

“Isa’s not a toy.” The words came out on a vicious snap.

“No, she’s not,” Des said. “But she knows his game better than anyone. She can hold her own.”

For how long, though? He tried not to let the fear rise, but it was there. “I need a starting point.” He wasn’t asking.

Des slid the sliver rings back into place then flexed his fingers. “I’ll get you one, but it’s not going to be fast.”

Cold determination settled deep in Locke’s gut. “Let’s see what we can do to change that.”

Chapter 17

Isa

“I told you she wasn’t to be hurt.”

That voice crept into Isa’s mind, slithering along pain-ridden paths and tripping old triggers. The resulting quake widened the scar-covered fissures until panic seeped through in a corrosive slow-moving leak. The driving instinct to claw free was held in check by heavy, unresponsive limbs.

“It’s just a knockout spell. She should wake up soon.” That voice was unfamiliar and too close for comfort, but the words… She grabbed hold of their meaning, piecing together why everything felt wrong.

“Give her to me.”

There was a sense of movement, as if she were floating, then a slight jolt as she stopped. Noxious dread sank through her skin like invisible tentacles that latched on with a terrifying speed and strength.

“Get out, both of you.”

That hated voice, way too close now, resounded through her aching skull. A nearby door shut, and the anxiety deepened, sharpened. A subtle inhalation echoed around her, followed by a hum of dark satisfaction. For a moment, time slipped, and she was back at the beginning, trapped in Angel’s grasp, her sense of self shattered beyond recognition and reality a grotesque play of twisted half-truths and cruel manipulations. She started to slide back into old nightmares, but something deep inside refused to fall. Other memories rose, giving her a way out of old horrors. There was Cass and Des moving behind the bar, the sound of their shared laughter and good-humored teasing drowning out the hateful whispers. Behind that came Locke’s face, creased in irritation and concern as he demanded, “You’ll be careful.” Then it was Des’s worried frown as he handed her the Zemi charm. “I’d feel better if you wore it tonight.”