Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Hunter on encountering ghosts and curbing jealousy
I drove to Regge’s place after work to find him sitting on the top step, waiting.
He wore a dark hoodie, jeans faded to an inch of their denim lives, and his typical kicks.
My mouth twitched as I remembered his comment on modern footwear.
Why do the folk here name their shoes? Nikes, Skechers, and oh…
. these are amazing. My feet are on clouds.
He’d walked around with a grin on his face the rest of the day, commenting that his feet were sad when he finally took off his new shoes before bed. He’d worn Vans ever since.
I pulled up and Regge skipped down the steps and slid into the passenger side. On the way through town, I explained more about the explosion, my vision, the strange old man we’d found. Regge listened, asking appropriate questions.
Philadelphia was an old city, relatively speaking, and some sections of town had thrived.
Like Old City, with its historic designations and cobblestone streets.
This area, however, was a downtrodden, high crime part of town.
The small neighborhood surrounding the hotel held more street corner dealers and supernatural creatures than tourists or business people.
“Bloody hell, this is a blighted rookery.” Regge scanned the empty streets.
Used to his idioms by now, I didn’t miss a beat. “Agreed. Whatever you said. It feels even creepier now that the hotel is closed. I’ll park in the alley.”
Regge waited by the front of the car as I got out. “Do you sense anything?”
“You mean a vision?” I stopped and closed my eyes, sending out my feelers, as I called it. Clairvoyance was not an exact science, and it didn’t always work, but practice helped.
I wouldn’t be able to see either of our near futures, because besides myself, Regge was the only one I hadn’t seemed to conjure a vision for.
Often seeing complete strangers if they were close by, I’d trained myself to focus mostly on those people I knew—my inner circle. Nothing came through. We rounded the corner and looked up at the ramshackle building.
The hotel was built in the early nineteen hundreds when the town was filled with flappers and speakeasys.
Back in those days, Fulbright’s four stories and old gaslights were the epitome of high tech and glamour.
Now the brickwork was failing, the paint peeling, and the entire facade needed a facelift.
Somehow it had escaped demolition, even as other buildings around it were torn down and rebuilt over the years.
The same desk clerk I’d met earlier stood behind his counter. Today he looked even paler than he had after the explosion.
“Good afternoon,” Regge began politely. “We’re hoping to find the owners of the hotel. Perhaps there’s a manager we could speak to?”
The guy blinked as if suddenly noticing us.
“Hello! Welcome to the Fulbright. How may I be of service?”
Regge and I exchanged looks.
“The owners? Or the manager?” I repeated Regge’s question. I noticed the newspaper on the counter was yellowed and smudged, as though it had been read repeatedly.
“They’re not here.”
“So you know the owners?”
“No. But they’re not here.” The guy sounded vividly disappointed that we weren’t customers.
He was skinny and his uniform was as ill-fitting as it was old.
The clerk’s watery eyes were deep set into a sallow face, the color undefined.
His bow tie bobbed on his skinny neck as he talked.
“Guests have moved out. Everyone has moved out.” His head dipped toward the wood countertop. “I’m losing everything.”
I felt a wave of pity for him. “No. I’m sure the hotel will be open soon. The owners will renovate and—”
“I am lost.” The clerk’s fists clenched in front of him, and suddenly he wavered. Not his speech but his body. The man in front of us became translucent for a few seconds before returning to his sad but tangible form.
Regge breathed in sharply, his hand coming across my forearm as though to pull me away from danger.
“What are you?” he asked the clerk, his voice tense.
“I am the night clerk,” he said. “That is me. Night clerk.” He seemed to work really hard on focusing. I decided he was pretty harmless, whatever he was, and tried a different tack.
“Uh, hi. I’m Hunter, this is Regge. What is your name?”
The clerk’s wrinkled brow furrowed all the way up into his thinning hairline. “I’m the night clerk.”
“I think a better question, HB, is not who but what. What are you?”
“The night clerk!” With that declarative statement, the man vanished—literally blipped out of existence, leaving us staring at an empty counter.
Regge turned to me. “Too hard a question?”
I shrugged. “Let’s go have a look around.” We moved across the lobby to the decrepit elevator. I pressed the button, and we listened to the creak and grumble of the mechanism behind the door.
“A ghost? Have you seen such things before?” Regge asked.
“Not specifically like that. But I’ve seen enough to not be too freaked out. He’s obviously in distress but not because of us. I don’t think he’s dangerous. Wait. Are you freaked out?”
The narrow elevator door opened with a screech, revealing a dimly lit box barely big enough for two grown men. Simultaneously we both took a step back.
“Should we take the stairs? And no, I am not ‘freaked out’ as you say. Okay, a bit, by this obviously unsafe mode of going upstairs not by—”
I grabbed Regge’s sleeve and pulled him inside the elevator.
I pressed the button for the third floor.
We stilled as the door creaked closed. Too narrow to fit side by side and leave space between us, I turned to face Regge as the box lurched upward.
Neither of us spoke, but there was an audible sigh of relief as the doors opened onto the floor.
“See?” I said. “Nothing to worry about.” I stepped out into a dusty hall. A crack sounded overhead. Regge yanked me back into the open elevator. A portion of twisted tin, mortar board, and insulation collapsed on the floor where I had been standing.
We both looked out and up before stepping around the debris and treading down the hallway clouded with plaster dust. Regge coughed behind me. “I have seen places in a ruinous state before, but this is very run-down.”
I turned to see him frowning at a sign centered over a decorative archway. The sign read Clearance 8’6”. To the side someone had scribbled, this means you, Barry.
“The damage is limited to this floor, fortunately.”
Turning away, I focused on our task. But as usual, my mind had a mind of its own. My feet stuttered in the middle of the hallway. The dust cloud thickened and darkened. The blackness lasted no more than a second, and I was immersed in a vision.
I saw us at the end of the hall. Turning, there was a man beside me, wide-shouldered and pug-faced.
We both wore suits, and he carried a gun.
From this point of view, I could see myself and Regge standing there, surprised.
I watched myself back up and reach for Regge.
It was odd to see yourself from someone else’s eyes.
The second man moved ahead, and I had a clear view of his broad-shouldered back, the short hair, a tattoo on his neck.
My heart raced. I froze, dread creeping along my insides.
A loud bark of the gun went off and I blinked.
In the present again, Regge’s hand was on my upper arm.
“You okay, mate?”
“Trouble.” The hallway was empty but wouldn’t be for long.
I ran down the hall, turned the corner, not being careful anymore.
I had no weapons though I was pretty sure Regge carried a knife.
Which was nothing against two goons with guns.
I hoped we could head them off. I found a room with the door unlatched, and we burst in.
The room was empty, but in the bathroom, crouched in the tub and fully clothed, was the old guy we’d rescued days earlier. “It’s okay.” I put my hands up in a disarming gesture. “We’re here to help you.”
The elder babbled something in his strange language. The only clear word was no.
“No, no, no!” He stood up though, surprisingly agile. I backed out of the bathroom.
“Regge, we’re about to get company. Keep a lookout.”
Regge watched the hallway as I urged the old man into the room. Not sure if the guy understood me or not, I gestured outside the door, saying danger and bad men.
Situated away from most of the damage, the room was intact and sparsely furnished.
The old man had stopped protesting and seemed to get the idea of danger because he turned to the closet and pulled out a heavy short sword.
He handed it to me. The sword tip hit the faded carpet.
Jeez Ozpetek it was heavier than it looked.
“Here.” Regge looked back into the room, holding out his hand. “Trade you.” He grinned as he pulled an ancient knife from his boot.
“I’ve trained with swords,” I said, handing it over and trying not to be insulted.
“You’ve trained with Isabelle.” Regge stepped back into the hall, sword up. “Nothing against Isabelle; she is most fierce for a…” He hesitated.
“For a girl?”
“For a mage, a magicker—her gender has nothing to do with it. But I have trained with Theo.” His perfect amber eyebrows arched up on his forehead.
Damn it. He had a point. Theo North was a fae. And not only a fae but a vanguard, a premier warrior who’d trained Regge for years. Regge could wield that sword as well as I used my gaming console.
I stepped into the hallway, coaxing the old guy out. When he got to the doorway, he stopped.
“Mister, we need to go before—” Too late.
The two men from my vision turned the corner and stopped twenty feet away, guns pointed at my heart.
Again, Regge pulled me from danger and into the room, slamming the door.
Together, we pushed the sideboard in front of it.
Gunshots rang out, but nothing penetrated the room. Still, we were trapped.