Lock & Key Read online

  Peering around the end of the hedge, she searched the street for any prying eyes. Finding none, she rose from her crouch and quickly power walked back the way she’d come. Only for the same white van to appear at the intersection again, having turned around some distance down the street.

  Kat ducked into a dingy alley between two small shops and plastered herself to the wall. The van sat at the intersection for some time, not moving, even though there was no other traffic in the neighborhood. She focused her inhumanly keen eyes on the vehicle, penetrating the darkness of the van’s cabin. Reagan and Kline sat in the two front seats. Kline, in the passenger seat, was gesturing at something in his hand, something that looked like his phone, or…

  She got it. They’d never been to Salem’s Gate before, and they were struggling to decipher GPS directions. They’d made a wrong turn somewhere and were backtracking to correct themselves. Kat snickered to herself as Reagan threw up his hands in frustration, then slammed them on the steering wheel and yanked the van into a hard left turn, pulling back onto the street that passed Kat’s hiding place.

  Kat sank to her knees, but she knew they wouldn’t see her either way. They were too concerned about what was happening in the van to actually do their jobs hunting for their missing quarry. The van noisily clunked on by the alleyway, and she peeked around the corner to watch it make a right turn onto another street two blocks away. She waited until her ears could no longer pick up the faint echo of the chugging engine, and then she hightailed it back toward Liam’s place.

  She was only a block away when she heard the sounds. Not the sounds of an approaching vehicle. Oh, no. The sounds of an approaching animal. A heavy animal, whose footsteps rumbled through the concrete beneath Kat’s feet. An angry animal, whose snarls rebounded off the walls of all the buildings in the neighborhood, battering Kat’s sensitive ears. A dangerous animal, big as a wild boar and black as night, thick fur covering everything except its glowing eyes. It stomped out of the mouth of the alley two buildings down from Liam’s townhouse, and came to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk, nose loudly sniffing the air.

  The creature—the wolf, she realized—turned toward her. And growled.

  Kat ran.

  Logic told her she could fight this shapeshifter with magic, but there was a significant difference between battling a magician and battling a creature that appeared to have ripped itself from the shadows of your worst nightmare. Fear surged through Kat’s veins, and she hurried down the street. Three blocks. Five. Ten. Every few breaths, she looked over her shoulder, and reconfirmed the wolf was in pursuit, barreling down the quaint neighborhood after her, looking totally out of place. Like a creature from a dark dimension who’d accidentally fallen onto Earth.

  Kat commanded her legs to move faster, and they obeyed, a few shreds of her unstable magic buffeting her muscles, giving them strength. She picked up speed, and the wolf shifter growled even louder, realizing that Kat was somehow gaining a lead. Humans didn’t often win chases with this sort of creature, Kat imagined. The one behind her clearly didn’t like the idea of losing.

  But Kat had already been through enough scuffles for one night, and she had no intention of wrestling a nasty shifter. So she pumped as much magic into her body as she could summon without losing control, and gradually, the drumming noise of the wolf’s feet on the pavement grew fainter and fainter, until she turned a corner down a street full of businesses and the sound faded away altogether.

  Kat slowed, heaving in air, and collapsed onto a bus stop bench. When she could breathe again, she partially sat up and surveyed the area. No white vans in sight. No A9 about to capture her. So that was good. Problem was that Kat had no idea where the heck she was. She hadn’t kept track of the street signs as she ran from the wolf shifter, and she knew bupkis about the layout of Salem’s Gate. How am I supposed to get back to Liam’s house now? She certainly couldn’t retrace her steps, not with that shifter prowling around. And she didn’t have a phone to use like Reagan and Kline.

  Groaning, she stood up and took a harder look at the businesses around her. A bunch of restaurants mostly, with a few novelty stores and independent clothing boutiques tossed in. Looked like something you’d see in an article complaining about gentrification, a tad “hipsterish.” But there was a noticeable standout among the establishments, a café with a bold metallic façade splashed across the front, and a massive yellow neon sign proclaiming it the Thunderbolt Café. It looked well worn, a few decades old, the kind of place that saw a lot of anonymous traffic, where the patrons didn’t pry and the waitresses in smudged aprons winked at you, promising to keep your secrets. Kat was sure she’d seen places like this in movies and TV shows before—she just couldn’t recall which ones.

  Regardless, it felt right. And even better, it was open. Everything else on the street was still closed, even though it was getting close to dawn. Most of the business owners must not have been willing to challenge the supernatural nightlife. Except for whoever owned this sore thumb of a restaurant that appeared to intentionally set itself apart from the rest of the street.

  Intrigued—and hoping someone inside had a phone she could use—Kat looked both ways down the street, headed to the opposite sidewalk, and quickly trudged toward the front door.

  Someone opened the door of a parked car directly in her path and slinked out in a fluid motion.

  Kat stopped cold, magic flaring inside her, the rage bubbling up.

  The woman who’d intentionally blocked Kat’s path took two steps away from her car, placing her in the exact center of the sidewalk, and slammed the door shut. It wasn’t Marta, as Kat had expected, but some lady she’d never seen before. The woman had short brown hair curled into tight ringlets and pinned up in a complex, artistic sweep that made Kat’s lank, damp mess seem like a literal mop in comparison. Her suit was a high-dollar affair, a sharp black jacket and matching skirt, a pop of green in the visible swatch of her top that brought out the hazel color of her calculating eyes. Her shoes were black stilettos, with the tiny heels that Kat wasn’t sure how women actually walked in, and they shined just enough to look expensive instead of faux-designer cheap.

  If the woman didn’t exude an aura as menacing as knives, Kat would’ve pegged her as some business executive who’d taken a wrong turn into a middle-class neighborhood. The Mercedes logo on the car certainly called attention to the fact she was filthy rich. And so did the genuine Rolex on her wrist. Who the heck is this lady? Kat thought with more than an ounce of trepidation. And why was she sitting in her car, waiting for me to approach? How did she even know I’d come this way?

  Kat cleared her scratchy throat, pretending she wasn’t intimidated by this woman’s mere presence. “Um, can I help you?”

  The woman smiled like razors gleamed in the midday sun. “Actually, child, I believe I can help you. You’ve been spotted prowling around my fair city by more than one concerned citizen, and the most recent rumors say you’re attempting to avoid a group of other, somewhat menacing newcomers to Salem’s Gate.”

  Cold sweat collected on the back of Kat’s neck. This woman—among others—had been keeping tabs on her? And on the A9 goons? And their news traveled so fast…

  Razor-smile had to be part of the supernatural community. They were on high alert after the events at the McDonald’s. They knew some mystery group was in town, and that some equally mysterious young woman had appeared at the exact same time, and they were taking a long, hard look at both elements to see if they were a risk. And if they determined Kat was a risk, they’d probably squash her like a bug. She didn’t know all that much about the supernatural underground, but she wasn’t stupid. Stepping on the toes of powerful creatures was a really good way to get yourself killed.

  Throat suddenly dry, Kat stammered out, “I’m not sure I really need the help of anyone I don’t know.”

  “Oh?” Razor-smile cocked an eyebrow. “So you were previously acquainted with Mr. Crown then?”

  Christ, she knows
everything.

  “That’s different. That was a matter of necessity, leaving the restaurant with him.” She tried to swallow the growing lump in her throat, but it wouldn’t go down. Her powers might be effective in helping her escape from this clearly inhuman woman, but they also might aggravate a creature whose power Kat could not comprehend. Marta, she understood. Angry magician. Violent spells. But this lady? Kat didn’t know what she was. If she was a vampire, or worse, a faerie…I can’t believe I left Liam’s house. I can’t believe I let my goddamn feelings drag me out of a safe place.

  The woman suddenly started laughing in a way that reminded Kat of church bells. “There’s no need to look so frazzled, child. I’m not going to rip your throat out today.”

  Today?

  Razor-smile slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small rectangular piece of paper. A business card. She offered it to Kat. “I see you’re too skittish to even consider making any sort of agreement with a stranger on a sidewalk. But once you settle down a bit, child, do think it over. There is much I can help you with. Hiding. Surviving. Even escaping permanently from the shadows that follow you in the dark. And I don’t ask for much in return, as a rule.”

  Kat stared at the card, hesitant, and slowly took it from the woman’s proffered hand. The card was one sided, and read:

  Caoimhe O’Connor

  Attorney at Law

  There was a phone number on the bottom right, and a local address on the left.

  “A lawyer?” Kat mumbled. “A defense lawyer or a prosecutor?”

  The woman shrugged. “Whatever someone needs me to be when they need me to be it.”

  Kat didn’t know what to make of that, so she changed the subject. “Um, how do you pronounce—?”

  “Like ‘Keeva,’” the woman answered immediately. A practiced response. “It’s Irish.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  The woman—Caoimhe—stiffened slightly and glanced so far to the right that Kat thought she was trying to glimpse something behind her. Something closer to, or inside, the Thunderbolt Café. “Well, child, do tuck that away and keep it for a time when you’re less…” She clicked her tongue as she looked Kat over. “Disheveled.”

  “Um, okay?” Kat closed her hand around the card and feigned a smile.

  “Good.” She finally stepped out of Kat’s way, and gestured for Kat to continue on to the café. “And please, don’t hesitate to call even if the hour is early or the weather is poor. I always make good on an offer, child. And I always make good on a deal.”

  With that, she slid back into the driver’s seat of her Mercedes, and a minute later, she was gone, nothing left but the fading hum of her car as it slithered away into an unknown part of town.

  Kat felt the card biting into her palm and muttered, “What the fuck is wrong with this city?”

  7

  Kat

  The interior of the Thunderbolt Café was as novel as the outside. Décor that mostly consisted of metallic fixtures, low-hanging lights that cast a soft glow over the skinny booths, and a long steel-topped counter dented and stained from years of food-laden plates being slid down the line from the kitchen window on the far end.

  Kat shuffled into the place with hesitation, eying the three men sitting together at a corner booth, muttering quietly. They were the only patrons at this hour of the day, some burly blue-collar workers stopping for breakfast before a long labor shift. They didn’t strike her as suspicious or dangerous, but she did feel awkward; she didn’t want to make a scene in view of a bunch of judgmental strangers.

  She stopped in front of the counter and waited for someone to come out of the kitchen, expecting a surly old man or a portly middle-aged woman, the TV stereotypes who owned this kind of establishment. Instead, a young Asian woman slipped through the door, her long dark hair tied up in a messy bun, a pencil tucked behind her ear, an order pad in hand. She was dressed in a graphic T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans, with a worn white apron tied only at her waist, the top half hanging down. When she spotted Kat standing there like an idiot, she threw on her customer service smile and said, “Welcome to the Thunderbolt. You can sit anywhere you like.”

  Kat moved closer to the counter and said in a low voice, “Uh, actually, I was wondering if you had a phone I could borrow. My car broke down a couple blocks away, and I left my phone at home, and…”

  The woman raised an eyebrow and slowly scanned Kat from head to toe. Kat tried not to blush, knowing she looked a mess. She was dressed in a pair of borrowed pajamas, missing her shoes, and her hair probably looked like a bird’s nest after her flight from the wolf shifter. She looked less like someone who’d gone to run an early morning errand, and more like someone who was running away from home after a mental breakdown. Which…was way too close to the truth.

  Even so, the Asian woman shrugged and slipped her cell phone from her back pocket, offering it to Kat. She must’ve been used to strange people walking into the café; it stood out so much on the street that it probably attracted all manner of weirdos. For all Kat knew, she was the eighth person this week who’d walked in wearing nightclothes.

  “Thanks,” she muttered to the woman, taking the phone, then she sat down on the nearest bar stool in front of the counter.

  She dropped Caoimhe’s business card on the countertop and hit the map icon on the smartphone, bringing up a street view of Salem’s Gate centered around her current location. Kat thought for a second, trying to remember the names of the streets around Liam’s house. She came up with one, Pillow’s Bough Lane, which she recalled only because it made her smile. The turnoff for that street had been maybe three blocks from the townhouse. She typed in the name and hit the search button.

  The map app highlighted the street, and Kat clicked on a random house and then asked the app to spit out some directions. She studied the various routes back to Liam’s neighborhood, and noted the distance measurement at the bottom of the screen. She’d run even farther than she originally thought, and it would take a while to walk back. She couldn’t run now. Too close to dawn. Too many people waking up, heading out for the day. She’d attract attention, and she needed to be inconspicuous. To the regular people of Salem’s Gate, at least. Clearly, the supernaturals were already onto her.

  Kat memorized a good route that would take her through side streets and keep her away from the main thoroughfares where the A9 lackeys might be prowling. Then she closed the app and offered the phone back to the Asian woman as she was returning from refilling the coffee mugs of the blue-collar trio. The woman smiled as she took her phone back, but Kat could tell she was mildly annoyed that she wasn’t going to get any money out of the weird pajama lady. Then, as she was turning away to head back to the kitchen, she happened to glance at the business card on the counter.

  She froze, lips parted in a gasp. “Where did you get that?”

  Kat palmed the card. “Oh, well, this pushy lady confronted me on the street. I just took the card to appease her.”

  The woman set down the coffee pot and gestured for Kat to hand the card over. “Then I’ll discard it for you.”

  “What?”

  The woman’s tone darkened. “You don’t want to keep that card. Trust me.”

  Crap. That Caoimhe lady must be super-bad news if…

  The hairs on Kat’s neck suddenly bristled, and she snapped her head around to peer down the street. Where a white van was turning onto the road and heading for the café. “Oh, shit,” she said without thinking as she rapidly scoured the café for somewhere to hide. “Do you have a bathroom?”

  The woman looked taken aback. “For diners, yes, but why do you ‘suddenly’ need one?”

  Kat said quietly, “I need to hide. Now. Please.”

  “What?” She bent forward to glance down the street and spotted the white van approaching. “I’ve seen several of those things this morning, all driven by these generic men in black. Are they”—she gawked at Kat—“after you?”

  “L
ook, I just need to hide for a second, okay? Until they pass by.” Kat’s heart rate quickened.

  The van was closing in.

  Suddenly, the waitress grabbed Kat’s wrist and yanked her over the counter. Kat slid across the sheet of metal and tumbled off the other side, landing on her knees with a thump. The woman’s hand prodded her shoulder and coaxed her underneath the overhang of the counter, in a gap between two cardboard boxes full of napkins. Kat, perplexed, did as commanded, and tucked herself into the space.

  About two minutes of bated breath later, the café’s door swung open with a soft jingle of bells, and two sets of footsteps marched up to the counter. Through a tiny gap between the metal panels, Kat caught a sliver of two men in suits. Reagan and Kline. Heart in her throat, Kat held her breath, praying they didn’t hear her. And praying Marta wasn’t anywhere nearby.

  Reagan said in his gruff bass, “Sorry to bother you, Miss. We’re federal agents, looking for a fugitive who was recently spotted in this city. Have you seen this woman?” He pulled a picture from his pocket and showed it to the waitress.

  The woman didn’t say anything for a long moment, presumably staring intently at the picture. Then she replied, “Nope. Don’t recognize her. I’ve only had the regulars in this week. No newcomers. Sorry, boys.”

  “Well, if you happen to see her”—Kline pulled out a business card of his own and sat it on the counter—“please give us a call. She’s quite dangerous.”

  “Will do.”

  “Good day, ma’am,” Reagan said and nudged his partner, indicating the door. They both exited the café, heading back to wherever they parked their ugly white van.

  After a couple more minutes, the waitress motioned under the counter for Kat to crawl toward the kitchen door. Kat obeyed, thankful that neither the Asian woman nor the blue-collar workers had decided to give her up. Maybe they were wary of strangers in this city. Maybe they didn’t like the government, or at least people posing as feds. Whatever it was, it was working in Kat’s favor for the time being. If everyone in Salem’s Gate is as wary of A9 as those I’ve met so far, I might actually be able to stay here more than forty-eight hours.