Locke

Locke’s story

The exorcist settled at a crowded table and ordered something he had no intention of drinking. In a dim corner opposite him, a man flirted with a woman, his passion enough to make the dead blush.

The man wore coarse, undyed wools and linens of varying brownish shades. His skin was a weathered mix of a coppery tan and sun-scorched red, and his nails were cracked and dirty. A simple farmer, Locke observed, the kind whose life had once been less complicated. The man made openly amorous comments, twining the woman's long red curls, comparing them to his wife's.

The woman looked embarrassed, glancing across the inn whenever the man's comments grew too explicit. Her green cloak and leather corset were a cut above the sensible well-worn wools around her. A fine lute leaned against the table beside her.

She wore her age plainly, her deep frown lines offset by her shy smile. The farmer edged closer to the woman, as if the space between them was his to ignore. Beneath his cloak, Locke toyed with the iron nails between his fingers, contemplating his next move.

As the couple stood to leave, Locke pushed his full mug to the man beside him. "Just realized I'm not thirsty," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't want it to go to waste."

He left coin at the bar, his attention fixed on the couple as they moved for the door. The farmer's arm snaked around the woman, pinning her tight against his side. Locke slipped out after them.

His eyes adjusted to the night at once, his specialized lenses amplifying color and shape, unmaking the dark. He caught sight of the farmer pulling the woman into a dense copse of trees between two buildings.

Locke was out of time. He muttered an incantation and closed his eyes, ash enveloping him. When he opened them a moment later, he materialized in front of the farmer, raising his stake just before the woman’s claws pierced the farmer’s chest.

The woman's face twisted into a demon's snarl, her eyes gleaming a sulphuric yellow. She cast off her cloak, revealing two long, spiked appendages that moved on their own, writhing, seeking.

“I dig the new look, Ev.” Locke smiled. “When’d you learn that trick?”

The demon recoiled, her lashers rising like a two-tailed scorpion poised to strike.

“Corvin,” Evelynn purred, and her carefully-arranged features began to shift, the red curls taking on a whiter hue, and the freckled complexion deepening into a smoky purple. “You know better than to bother a girl when she’s eating.”

"But you’re not exactly a girl, are you?" Locke said, stepping closer, brushing ash from his cloak.

Locke took another step.

The demon struck, aiming her appendages for his throat. He shoved the farmer back and sidestepped, making the demon strike empty air and lose her balance. Before she could recover, Locke threw a fan of three nails at her feet.

As soon as the nails hit the soil, deep indigo lines blazed between them, forming a triangular seal.

Evelynn’s face contorted as the binding seized her. Her careful smirk fell away, replaced with a wide grimace of sharp teeth. “Be reasonable, Corvin. He’s a pathetic old man. No one will miss him. His life is meaningless.”

Locke shrugged. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

She writhed, her long nails grasping at nothing. “I haven’t had a decent meal in so long. This man’s agony… Such a rare flavor.” Her body shuddered as the hunger ripped through her. “Just let me have this one.”

"Pretty sure I told you Brookhollow was off-limits.”

Evelynn raised her lashers, struggling against the seal’s magic. “I had no choice. There was a huntress on my trail.”

Locke stilled. “A huntress?”

Evelynn smiled. “You know her, don’t you?”

Locke held her gaze, his eyes hidden behind his glasses, refracted moonlight glinting in the violet lenses. “What’d she look like?”

Evelynn put a claw to her lips and glanced aside. “Oh, I can’t quite remember,” she said sweetly. “It was so dark… And I was so scared…”

Locke flipped the silver stake in his hand, considering, then shoved it into his cloak and put his hands in his pockets. “Tell me what she looked like and where she went, and I’ll release you. And as long as you stay clear of this town, I’ll leave you alone. Same as always.”

Locke pinned her with a look more paralyzing than the seal. Laid bare by the intensity of his stare, she felt the fight go out of her. Taking a deep breath, she shifted her features into a new face. This woman had short hair and sharp features.

Shauna Vayne now stood before Locke with a demon’s eyes. He steadied himself.

Evelynn-as-Vayne pointed toward the nearest edge of the Wyldwoods. “I’d hurry, sweetheart,” she purred, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Not all demons are as patient as I am. And that huntress, mm…” Evelynn bit her lip at the thought. “I envy the demon who gets to taste all of that delicious agony.”

Locke kicked over one of the nails, breaking the seal. He raised his brows, inviting her to try her luck again.

She stared at him a moment longer, then dared to lean in, her lips nearly brushing his.

"You're no fun,” she whispered in his ear, before disappearing in a mantle of shadow, leaving nothing but stillness and smoke from the broken seal.

Locke turned to the farmer, who had curled into a quivering ball at the base of a wide tree. He crouched before him. “Now, what to do with you?”

The glint on a gold chain dangling from the farmer’s neck caught Locke’s eye. He reached for it, pulling it free from where it hid inside his worn shirt.

The chain was aged, but the locket that hung from it was well polished. On its back was an initial, V. On its front was the tiny etched portrait of a woman. Locke recognized the same frown lines, the kind mouth, and the long red hair Evelynn had worn only moments before.

“How long ago did she pass?” Locke asked, returning the locket to its place near the man’s heart.

“A year ago today,” he answered, still trembling. “That… It wasn’t her, was it? I thought that, maybe… That somehow, she’d come back to me.”

“No,” Locke said. “It wasn’t her.” He sat back on his heels, then slipped the tool case from his back and opened it. “You got any other family? Kids?”

The man shook his head. “We tried. Victoria… We couldn’t. She wanted a child so badly, but I… I was so happy with just her. She was enough for me. She was always enough…” His voice broke, tears stinging his eyes. He gritted his teeth, refusing the grief.

Locke held out a small vial filled with a viscous, sparkling concoction. “Take this,” he said, and when the man didn’t move, he set it beside him.

“This will numb you long enough for you to make it home safe.” Locke lowered his glasses. “Look at me.”

The farmer met his gaze at once, caught by the force in the exorcist's eyes.

“When you get home, lock all your doors and windows. And when the tincture wears off, you let it all out. Everything you’ve been holding onto. Then, you let it go. You let her go. Or another demon will find you, sooner than later.”

He stared at Locke, recognizing something of himself, something profound and heavy behind that pale blue gaze. Though the farmer couldn’t say why, he trusted him completely.

"It's your choice," Locke said, snapping his case shut and slinging it over his shoulder. He stood, easing into a stretch.

"See you around."

The farmer drew breath to speak, but Locke was already gone, out of the darkness and onto the rough-paved streets of Brookhollow.