Page 73 of Bitter Spirits

Isaiah did as told, his hands not quite steady. Locke grabbed his right wrist and pulled out the small blade. “Hold still.”

Isaiah tried to jerk back. “Hey! What⁠—”

“Still,” Locke barked.

Isaiah froze.

Carefully, Locke eased the knife’s point under a bloodied nail like he was cleaning it. When he lifted the blade free, there was material on the edge. A wild light ignited in his icy eyes as he brought it close to his nose and inhaled.

Predatory satisfaction spread over his face as his gaze met hers. “Got it.”

Her earlier vow rose eagerly to meet that feral intensity. “Time to hunt,” she said, her voice as dark as his.

Chapter 22

Locke

Locke’s magic snapped and snarled against his imposed restraint as they drove Isaiah back to the clinic for treatment. His magic wanted to run Carter’s scent to the ground, and it wasn’t the only one. During the ride back to the clinic, Isa all but hummed with a dark intensity that worried Locke. Whatever was driving her was almost as feral as the instinct driving him and his magic. That wouldn’t normally be a problem, but if both of them were out for blood, things could get messy, especially if he couldn’t keep his footing on the thin line between personal and professional.

Speaking of which…

After pulling into the clinic’s lot, he shot Zev a quick update on Carter and Isaiah via text. Locke hoped Zev would set the Cordova e-geeks loose and flush out something helpful. He and Isa got Isaiah inside and were getting ready to leave him in Mari’s capable hands when a still-jittery Paisley burst into the exam room, took one look at Isaiah’s bruised and bloodied face, and broke into tears. It took both Isa and Mari to talk the girl down from her hysterics and get her out of Isaiah’s arms so the nurse could finish treating him. By the time Locke and Isa were free from the drama, it was late afternoon.

Isa followed him out of the clinic to the car. “Where do we start?”

He rounded the hood, stopped at the driver’s-side door, and looked at her over the roof of the car. “At the apartment.”

“Works for me.” She yanked open the passenger door and slid inside.

When they pulled back into the apartment complex, activity at the pool was in full swing. It was clear kids were home from whatever activities held their attention during the summer months. Locke and Isa made their way up to the second floor without being stopped. At the apartment’s door, Locke checked the warding he’d left behind and was not surprised to find it undisturbed. Chances were high that Carter was in the wind or on Angel’s ass. Either way, Locke doubted the man would be coming back.

Inside the apartment, Locke had Isa stand near the breakfast bar and out of the way as he went to work. He freed his magic, and the world around him sharpened into painful focus, the air trapped inside the apartment becoming a myriad of competing scents, while in the wreckage, the smallest details hit his senses like small electrical strikes. He catalogued the pieces and fit them together like a multidimensional puzzle. Locke was familiar with both Isaiah and Paisley’s scents, and it didn’t take long to separate out the scent signatures as he moved through the apartment. Paisley’s was lighter, overridden by Isaiah’s, which was tinged heavily with the coppery echo of his bloody beatdown. He sank into a crouch, getting closer to the mess in the shambled closet, shifting meticulously through the scents. The third one he tagged as Carter’s, not just because the man’s fury rode the air like the sharp and scraping bite of pepper but because there was also an underlying note that raised Locke’s hackles.

“I know this,” he muttered to himself as his magic took it in, tasting the harsh chemical edge blurred by a musk of decay.

“Know what?”

He pivoted to see Isa standing in the door of the bedroom, watching him. “That scent…” He turned back to the torn-up space where Carter had cornered Isaiah and let his magic sift through the air. There. He dragged the odor closer and realized where he’d caught that subtle note before. The night at the Den, when Carter had stood silently in front of them, that same scent a faint hint teasing Locke’s nose, and again when he’d been standing over Leo. The pieces clicked together.

“Shit.”

“Shit, what?” Isa demanded from the doorway.

He rose and made his way back to her. “Is Carter an illusion mage? Do you know?”

She frowned. “A Mirage, I think.”

That explained why he’d been guarding the door at the Den. Depending on their inherent strength, a Mirage could cloak things from sight—like, say, the entrance to an event that wanted to stay under the radar. The stronger ones could shield people, turning them invisible for all intents and purposes.

“How strong?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She studied him. “Why?”

“Carter’s dosing.”

Isa’s eyes widened. “With the same thing Leo took?”

“And that was given to Micah.”