Chapter 24 #2
Clucking from the dining room called his attention. “What’s that?”
Krys folded his arms. “Dinner or a sacrifice. Take your pick.”
A chicken flapped its wings before running past him into the kitchen.
The room smelled like aging wood, ash from the fireplace, and a lingering fragrance of old potpourri or perfume.
They stopped before a large photograph on the wall.
The black-and-white image captured two men standing over a dead bear.
Krys leaned in and squinted. “That looks like a Creator’s mark on his wrist. Is this place Mage owned?”
“What does it matter?”
“Ask the bear.” Krys tapped his finger on the glass. “I bet he was their last guest.”
“Well, well. Look what we have here,” a burly man growled, his British accent as rustic as his brown suspenders and pants. He lingered in the doorway, a fat cigar in his mouth, his hands resting across his round belly.
Salem could only surmise by his whiskers and unkempt hair that he must be a guest. “Is the owner around? We have a reservation.”
The man puffed on his cigar without touching it. “Is that so?” He pulled out a chair, took a seat, and propped his dirty shoes on the table.
“Could you fetch him?”
“Do I look like a golden retriever?” He cackled while tipping his chair back. “Woof!”
Krys stalked up to the man and pushed him, ripping the cigar out of his mouth before the man crashed to the floor.
“What’s all the commotion?” A stern woman with a face as long and pale as her dress appeared in the doorway, her grey hair stretched into an unforgiving bun, her steely eyes fixed on the slovenly man who was struggling to get off the floor.
“Are you at it again, George?” She walked over and smacked his head.
Her accent was the same as his. “How many times have I warned you to leave the guests alone?”
“I was only having a bit of fun.” He climbed to his feet and snatched the cigar from Krys’s hand.
She pointed her skeletal finger at the door. “Have your fun in the kitchen so we can get supper on.”
“Yes, Mummy.”
Krys pivoted to face Salem and drew in a deep breath while shutting his eyes in protest. “We’ll be eating out.”
“No such thing.” The woman studied the two men for a beat before addressing Salem. “I’m Abigail Price, owner of this establishment. You must be Salem Lockwood.”
Salem politely inclined his head.
Ms. Price gestured to their bags. “You’ll have to carry those up yourselves. Follow me.”
They lifted their bags and followed her to the front entrance, the opposite door leading to a long sitting room that reached the back of the house.
It was dark, filled with old upholstered furniture, morose paintings, and thin carpets that were worn through.
There appeared to be another hall in the back.
She led them up the narrow staircase, a solitary lamp affixed to the wall providing the only light.
“Breakfast is at seven sharp,” she began. “Don’t expect anything fancy. We make sausage, porridge, and eggs.”
Krys poked Salem in the back.
“We don’t prepare meals at midafternoon, but supper is at six sharp. Feel free to relax in either the dining or sitting room, but we don’t serve alcohol.”
Krys poked Salem even harder, making Salem swing his arm back to knock his hand away.
They reached the second floor, and the same outdated red carpet as at the main entrance covered the floor.
There were chairs and what might’ve been a supply closet in a recessed area to the right, but all the guest rooms were located down a central hallway.
Muted orange wallpaper peeled up in spots, and the doors were a dark wood, scratched and worn, each with a number affixed to it.
She stopped at room five and turned the brass knob. “Mr. Lockwood, you’ll be staying here.”
Ms. Price led them inside, and when she ripped open the heavy drapes, it sent a cloud of dust into the air. The overcast sky only lit the area by the window.
A thump sounded. “Fuck!” Krys grumped.
Salem cast a gaze over his shoulder at Krys holding the top of his head. The low ceiling had large wood beams that made it even harder for someone tall to comfortably walk around. Krys was a couple of inches taller than Salem, so he tilted his head to the side.
“People were shorter in them days,” she said. “The human people were our bread and butter. They didn’t destroy the place like immortals.” She gestured to claw marks on the walls. “We had a problem with bears back in the late eighteen hundreds. Not a single one has shown up at our door since then.”
Krys switched on a lamp since the dirty window did little to bring in light.
The walls were wood, which was no surprise.
The bed on the right had a thin white bedspread with textured patterns, and aside from the table lamp to the left of the door, the only artificial light came from two reading lamps mounted on the wall behind the bed.
He wondered if these people understood how to read lumens, because they had selected the dimmest bulbs for every room.
Ms. Price stood beside a green chair and fidgeted with her dress pocket. “I don’t allow bears. What’s your animal?”
“We’re wolves,” Salem replied while setting his bag by the door.
“Show me.”
Krys snorted and crossed his arms. “Lady, no offense, but I’m not showing you shit. My wolf doesn’t get along with people.”
“I’m a Mage. I know how to protect myself.”
Salem removed his jacket. “If I show you my wolf, is that enough? We’re in a pack. You can call our Packmaster.”
Her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, implying she was all right with that.
Unless injured, Salem didn’t like shifting and then forcing his animal back in right away. It agitated them. But he didn’t have time to search for the lodging Krys required.
Salem morphed and let his wolf sniff the air for a moment before he shifted back.
Ms. Price loosened her collar with a tug of her finger. “That will suffice.”
Salem dressed himself as she slowly drifted across the room.
“You’re responsible for damages,” she said with a sharp tone. “I know every scratch on these walls by heart.”
Krys rolled his eyes from behind her.
“No stealing, no noise after midnight, and no visiting the kitchen. There’s not much to see around here, but if you wish to take a walk, there’s a cemetery in the back.
You in the leather, come with me. Your room has a boar’s head mounted on the wall.
My husband shot that boar in 1789. That was before I became a Mage.
” She left the room, still talking about how a rogue Mage turned her and all the other women in town.
Salem sat at the foot of the bed and put his shoes on.
By the time he finished tying his laces, Krys stalked into the room and slammed the door.
“I fucking hate you for this.” He struck his head on the low beam before sitting in the green chair near the window.
“You catch all that? She turned her man baby down there into a Mage. And I know because she showed me her Creator’s mark.
Wanna guess where it was? No, you don’t.
” He shuddered. “They’re supposed to sever contact with family, not turn them. ”
“Obviously the Mage who turned her was a lunatic to begin with and didn’t teach her their ways. Besides, it wasn’t law.” Salem stared at the snow falling outside the bright window ahead.
Krys propped his foot over his knee. “She didn’t need to see our wolves. That little perv wanted you naked.” Krys coughed. “When you shifted back, her eyes practically shot out of their sockets. I bet she drilled peepholes in these rooms.”
“Then give her a good show. Maybe she’ll give us a discount.”
Krys chuckled darkly.
Salem took out his phone and sent a quick message to Tak to let him know they’d arrived at the hotel. Snowflakes tapped against the windowpane when the wind shifted direction.
Krys swept back his long hair. “So what’s the plan? You really think Lucian’s friend is gonna volunteer to be part of an experiment?”
“We’ll find out.”
“Infusers are impossible to find, you know. If you can’t convince him, you’ll be up shit creek. The Mageri won’t give you a list either. Mage gifts are recorded into their books, but they’re confidential. They don’t have to tell anyone shit. What makes you think an Infuser can even help?”
“I learned about an experiment a long time ago that cured someone of a strange affliction that was similar.”
“But not exact.”
“Sometimes magic isn’t an exact science.” Salem stood and approached the window, staring down at the tombstones littered across the backyard. “People often assume that certain gifts only benefit one Breed.”
“The only thing Infusers can do is permanently seal stolen gifts to another Mage. You can’t use Mage magic on other Breeds in a beneficial way.”
“Sure you can.”
“Not when they’re putting their energy into you, and that’s exactly what an Infuser does.”
“So does a Healer.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, they’re the exception.”
Every Mage had common gifts plus at least one rare one.
Some could create another Mage, others were Blockers who could block Mage gifts.
Stealers pulled core light from another Mage, rendering them mortal, and they would retain those special gifts for a day or two before they disappeared.
The only way to truly steal another Mage’s rare gift was to have an Infuser seal it to their core light.
Because their powers were opposite, Stealers and Infusers had a complicated relationship.
The Mageri considered the pairing dangerous since one could enable the other to gain ultimate power by targeting and pulling every rare gift they could find.
Most Infusers knew the inherent risk—cooperating with a Stealer would lead to their ruination.
All a Stealer would have to do was take their power and find another Infuser to seal it to their core light.
Once they had both abilities, they wouldn’t need the Infuser anymore and would likely kill them to prevent anyone from knowing they had unlimited power.
Almost every Mage kept their rare gifts private, and that’s why the Mageri created a law where every new Learner’s gifts were measured and recorded.
They likely kept a close eye on ones they felt had potentially dangerous gifts.
Infusers in particular weren’t likely to advertise their abilities, let alone cooperate with anyone who wanted to use them.
“He’ll electrocute your woman,” Krys pointed out.
Salem leaned against the wall. “It’s not his light that I want. It’s his blood.”
Krys scoffed loudly and combined it with a laugh. “You’re insane.”
Tak hadn’t wanted Salem traveling alone, so he’d sent Krys to accompany him.
Salem hadn’t divulged the details of his plans, primarily because of this exact reaction.
He didn’t want anyone casting doubt. The scientist in him knew that trial and error was the only way, and though it didn’t make sense, everything he had read in that book happened.
He tracked down the Relic who conducted the experiment, and he corroborated the facts.
“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Salem finally said. “But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t try?”
Krys put his foot down and played with a wolf pendant around his neck. “I’m all ears, Doc. Where does this guy live?”
“The Bricks.”