Chapter Seventeen
Anthony
I’d give Death this much: he knew how to decorate.
The accommodations had most hotel experiences beat, hands down.
I’d stayed in my share of rooms like these over the years, ranging from cockroach-infested, near-condemned trash heaps all the way to a five-star luxury resort.
The ‘modest’ room Andrea Reyes had rented from Death was enough to make any interior designer weep with joy.
The paneled walls were a shade of walnut so deep they almost appeared black. Golden inlays every few feet made abstract patterns on the walls that threw light back into our faces. The brass lamp on the table lit the room like a floodlight, only kept from spilling into the night by heavy drapes.
I breathed a sigh of relief when we found things relatively untouched.
I’d half-expected to find Andrea’s lower half ready to trip me while the other dropped down from the ceiling.
When I strained my ears, I couldn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary.
The hush of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room.
No tell-tale splash of water from the bathroom to indicate a shower or dip in a jacuzzi tub.
No click-clack of heels pacing in the other room. No muttered phone calls. It was quiet.
Too quiet, if I were to exercise my right to be cliché.
If Damon had been telling us the truth, Lydia ought to be here.
There should have been some defense against us on the door at least, if Andrea was planning to leave Lydia here alone for any length of time.
A second glance around the room revealed a glass vial just sitting there, next to an older model of coffee machine.
Steam from the pot had fogged up the glass, but I swore I could make out swirling features if I squinted closely enough.
“Lydia!” Marty exclaimed. He paled a second later, slapping a hand over his mouth as though he could reel the words back in and trap them there.
Thankfully, nothing lunged out of the darkened corners of the room to take his head off.
A glance upward didn’t reveal an unholy abomination scuttling across the ceiling, ready to drop down onto his head like a spider.
There was just the hum of the AC unit and nothing more.
I shot out a hand to stop him from moving forward to seize the vial.
He might be safe to touch the glass in a mystical sense, but it could still trigger a reaction that might bring the wrath of hell on us.
There was more than magic to worry about.
Bombs would work on witches and humans alike.
“Be very careful,” I said. “I’m sure Murrain learned a lesson last time. Take care of the null first. I’m sure they’re hoping you’ll bungle into a trap and get yourself blown up.”
“What do you suggest we do then?” Marty asked, sounding a little testy for the second time in an evening. “Because if the glass jar is magically rigged, I don’t think you have the necessary skill set to undo it?”
“Right. I don’t.”
“So?” Marty asked.
I nodded. “We call in the authorities. I’m certain Taliyah would have the juice to undo an enchantment on the vial.”
Darla cleared her throat, wincing when both of us swiveled in her direction, fixing her with hard stares. She raised her hands in surrender.
“Sheesh, you don’t have to take my head off! I just wanted to make a suggestion.”
“Go ahead,” I offered.
“Why not get a ghostie to do it?”
I stared at her for a second before what she was suggesting clicked.
Ghosts weren’t precisely immune to magic.
They had to abide by the same rules that mere mortals did, most of the time.
But not here. This was Death’s domain, and he’d made a promise to abide by the Hollow rules.
That meant no supernatural citizens under his purview could get hurt during an interspecies incident.
This qualified. Death physically couldn’t let a ghost get hurt under his roof.
What was more, I doubted Murrain was privy to all the details of that deal.
A ghost also couldn’t be blown to kingdom come.
It could work.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Darla nodded. “I’ve got just the dame in mind. She’s been dying to get a shopping fix in and doesn’t deliver here.”
“I’m lost,” I answered.
Darla looked at me like I was dumb. “Quid pro quo—you get me?”
“I think so?”
She nodded. “She does this little favor for me, I’ll let her take a ride-along the next time Wanda goes to Portland boutique stores.”
I doubted the headstrong leader of the Scapegrace coven would appreciate being offered up without her knowledge, but we were in a bind. “Do it.”
Darla swanned out of the room with a smile, returning a few minutes later with the ghost of a slender twenty-something in tow.
She’d been dressed for a night out on the town when she’d died.
Judging by the pattern of blood spatters, I suspected she’d been in an accident at the town limits after one too many at the club.
She sashayed past both of us, flipping a curtain of blonde hair over one shoulder before she casually plucked the vial containing Lydia’s soul from the table.
Nothing happened. She tossed it into the air casually a few times before shooting Darla an expectant look. “This means I get to go out with you guys, right?”
“Right,” Darla said with a winning smile. “I’ll stop by and tell you when after I’ve talked to Wanda.”
“You’d better,” the ghost said warningly, curling her fingers around the vial. I half-expected her to crush it. Instead, she let her fist swing to her side as she followed Darla out the door.
Marty and I exchanged a confused glance as we trailed behind, shutting the door on our way out.
I wondered if he was thinking along the same lines I was—that there had to be more to this.
Nothing in Haven Hollow ever came easily.
There was no way that fate would be kind enough to let us save a friend without consequences.
But that was exactly what appeared to be happening.
We crossed the threshold into the lobby, our footsteps echoing against marble floors that gleamed under the overhead lights.
I kept my breathing steady, controlled, even as my pulse hammered against my ribs.
The doors shimmered just ten feet ahead of us.
Freedom. Almost there. My fingers had just brushed the cold metal of the push bar when something solid hooked my shin.
The world tilted. My arms windmilled uselessly, grasping at nothing but air. Then came the impact—my skull cracking against the door with a sound like a mallet striking wood. White light exploded behind my eyes. The taste of copper flooded my mouth as I bit down on my tongue.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the shuffle of knees against tile.
A shadow fell across my face, blocking out the lobby lights.
I couldn’t focus my eyes yet, couldn’t see the features of whoever now crouched beside me, but after another second, I didn’t need to.
The scent hit me like a physical blow—that sickening blend of copper-sweet blood, something putrid and decaying underneath, all of it buried beneath cloying floral notes that couldn’t quite mask the rot. My stomach lurched.
I’d smelled it before. That exact combination.
When she’d been straddling Lydia’s chest, one hand wrapped around her throat, the other holding something that glinted in the dim light.
Lydia’s eyes had been wide, terrified, streaming tears, and that perfume had been everywhere—suffocating, inescapable.
The woman leaned closer to me now. Her breath washed over my face, warm and sour, carrying the acidic tang of recent vomit beneath that horrible perfume. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the urge to retch.
“Murrain sends his regards, hunter,” Andrea hissed, shoving something sharp just beneath my navel.
I knew it couldn’t be her tongue. She’d need a wider gash than that.
What I saw jutting out of my abdomen when I could blink spots from my eyes was arguably worse.
It was barely bigger than a thumbtack, but I recognized the artifact.
It was basically a lightning rod for dark energy that fused to the skin until the caster was satisfied they’d created a channel to you.
Murrain was going to bring down the same curse that had killed Indigo. Except now, I was the target. Worse, I didn’t have a handy gypsy to take me on if he succeeded. I’d die. Period.
We’d fallen into a trap. By rescuing Lydia, I’d revealed myself to Murrain’s organization and marked myself for death. There was only one person who could possibly protect me from his incoming magic.
In a blink, Andrea was gone. I couldn’t see where she’d gone off to—it looked like she’d simply disappeared.
All I could hear was Darla screaming about something, and then I felt Marty’s hands gripping me under my shoulders as he lifted me from the ground.
I had to lean on him for at least a few minutes before I could clear my head enough to speak.
“Taliyah,” I said. “We need to get to her. Now.”
“What happens if we can’t?” Marty asked.
“I blow up in the backseat.”