The hostess saw my look and explained there was a storm expected to hit this evening, apparently it had been the talk of the news channel all day. It was supposed to be cold, rainy, and very, very windy. \
I checked in with her, wishing I would have kept my room last night as well. The truth in the matter was that I hadn't because I wasn't positive my last clients would pay up, and usually with a job I slept the remainder of the morning on their floor or couch. Obviously, last night that hadn't been an option.
She apologized, said the room I had two nights ago wasn't available but she had another room open. It was bigger and I voiced concern over the price. She gave it to me for the same cost as before, since I had a reservation.
“You should open the balcony door and watch the storm,” she said with a smile.
“Balcony door?” I repeated.
“Yes. It's very cute.” she said, skimming over her computer screen.
I despised large windows in hotel rooms, to speak nothing of doors. I liked to have only one door to watch, and I learned fast not to let that door lead directly outside.
“Do you have any others?” I asked, “Without the balcony?”
“Sorry, the storm has us full except for that one room.”
“I see,” I said and accepted the key, dismissing the idea of going hotel to hotel looking for one that met my criteria. Not only would it take a long time, but I had a feeling I was going to walk into trouble if I decided to go bus hopping at night. Before heading upstairs, I snatched up a few packets of goodies for my pack and poured myself a cup of hot water for the chicken bullion I was going to have for dinner. It was hardly the most appealing dinner, but I wasn't too hungry after all that lunch and I felt like I needed the salt.
The room was up on the fifth floor, midway down the hall and facing west. The room was pure luxury, a king suite with a jetted tub separate from the shower and cabinets in the kitchenette, much beyond what I had ever been willing to afford. The walls had abstract paintings on them which reminded me of what had happened when Mother gave me my first paper and watercolor paints, but at least the colors matched the grays and blues in the room well. One of paintings gave me goosebumps, the one over the bed. I was going to ignore it, but a breeze came through the window and rattled it. One creepy thing I was willing to forget, but two of them? I took off my shoes and climbed on the bed, removing the painting and checking the wall for any spells. There was just a nail and a place on the bottom where the painting frame had worn it down.
I flipped the painting over and discovered symbols written on the canvas.
I couldn't read them, the letters seemed to blur and shift before my eyes, not letting me focus clearly. I frowned. Any caster who went through the effort to hide his work was not up to something good. In retrospect, my reserved room suddenly being switched out for this one reeked of magic. I sighed, thinking how I had just begun to enjoy my good fortune.
I reached into my bag and grabbed a marker, the fattest one I had. I scribbled randomly, large circles and zigzags and 'x's until the letters stopped moving and my goosebumps faded. Sadly, the letters were too maimed for me to read now, but it looked like it might have been a sleeping spell. While I reasoned that the spell was inert in its present state, I couldn't stand the thought of resting—much less sleeping—while it was still here. I picked it up and opened the balcony door.
To my relief, the balcony floor had only slim gaps in it, and the railing was strong and fairly tall, coming up to my chest. I saw a dumpster hidden amongst some bushes near the pool, but it was too far away for me to toss the painting in. I wasn't going to walk through the dark to get to the dumpster, either. I decided I would just burn the painting, but something else caught my eye. I thought I could see three people and a gryphon past the bushes, but for the trick of the light it could well be three people and a dog; or one person, a dog, and two trees; or any combination of dogs, trees, and people. I was tired, and all this commotion didn't help my fatigue go away.
I sat in a chair, hung the painting on the railing, and took my trusty lighter to it. I watched the flames curl, consuming the ink and spells in an amusing display of colors. If the hotel wanted to charge me for it, fine. It was a small price to pay for whoever had gone through this work to set me up.
Once I finished burning the painting, I searched the room up and down and sideways for any remaining spells. There was one on a slip of paper behind the bathroom mirror, another written in soap in the tub, and one above the balcony door. I burned the paper, scrubbed the tub, and scratched out the one above the door using a nail. The one behind the mirror was a disguise spell, the one on the tub was another relaxing spell, and the one over the door was an entrance spell. For good measure, I drew a line on the inside and outside of the doors and windows using the holy mud—its level was now frighteningly low—hung up the garlic using nails that had held up the paintings, and lined everything with a heaping of salt. I also checked under the bed and stripped the sheets, looking for more paper. I didn't find any. Then I searched the cushions of the loveseat, tipped it over, and scoured the fabric. I didn't find any more, not even on the curtains.
My lack of discovery didn't reassure me, and I would have just left if I didn't have a hunch that there was something in the growing shadows waiting for me to make that very decision.
I contemplated keeping the windows opened or closed, then decided I liked the breeze. It was comforting. Something scurried in the kitchenette, and I squinted, at first assuming a mouse had come and went. This was hardly the sort of place mice would like, though, without food sitting around for them to nibble on. It was exactly the habitat for a brownie. I rubbed my face, scolding myself for seeing trouble every place I looked.
I had to reheat my water for my broth, and discovered another gift on the microwave, a short letter on thick paper. I wondered how I'd missed it before. It didn't feel exactly the same in my fingers, so I brought out the letter I'd received this morning to compare it with. The new paper was brighter and had a smoother texture, though the letters seemed to be the same handwriting.
Rest assured all is well.
Barnes
Barnes
Something didn't sit right with the wording. I couldn't see Barnes issuing a letter to calm anyone—he struck me as the sort to tell a hyperventilating woman to stop her silliness before she fainted. And, signed “Barnes”? No title? It was hardly like we were friends.
I took the letters and held them side by side up to the mirror, using one of Father's old tricks. The letter from this morning looked the same—just mirrored—but the letter from the microwave was now an entirely different letter. The writing was heavily slanted, pointed, and with flourishes like I would expect to see on iron furniture, not on paper.
There were more words visible in the mirror than to the naked eye, but I couldn't read it in reverse. It occurred to me the disguise spell was supposed to shield me from seeing the true handwriting should I think to test it on the mirror. Whoever put these spells in place must be a worker in the hotel...or, I considered, it could all be put in place by a bogart. They were crafty things, most suited for setting traps and doing general dirty work. Usually, they weren't this crafty, but if someone had caught it as an infant and trained it, all this would be well within its capacity.
I searched the suite for the bogart, and found only trails and traces, the thing itself completely gone. At least by following its tracks I confirmed that the spell I held was the last spell in the room. I set about destroying it.
I tried to burn it, but the paper refused to light. Next I tried to scrub it with soap and water, but that did little more than make the ink bleed a little. I put it in the microwave and slammed the door, punching in three minutes and hitting “Start”.
For the first thirty seconds, the only thing that happened was the tray turned and the water formed soap bubbles. Then, a single spark flew out to the wall of the microwave. Then another, and another, then the soap with traces of ink started bursting like popcorn, each bubble making louder and louder pow-pow-pow-pow-pow-pow noises until the neighbor above me stomped on his floor and yelled at me to be quiet. I shrunk away from the microwave as black smoke billowed from the seal around the door, puffing into the room, much too much smoke even for an entire burning book, filling the entry way with bilious mushroom clouds. Beneath noise of the explosions in the microwave, I heard it ding and shut off.
The cloud kept growing, encroaching on the bedroom now, a wall of shifting darkness racing toward me. I cowered next to the window and glanced outside.
Three figures stood in the courtyard next to the pool, cloaked and forming a circle, black mists rising around them, highlighted by the lights from the under the pool's water washing over them in glistening waves. I sensed—I felt—that another waited out my main door, should I try to dart through the cloud to escape.
I called for Railey.
Only the breeze from the window kept the darkness at bay, the lights behind the cloud having been snuffed out with the pop of a burnt-out light bulb. The cloud covered my bed, swept underneath it, reached with a misty claw for my leg. I shied away, pinned against the wall, curled into as tight of a ball as I could. The thing reached again, but the wind whistled through the screens and pushed the smoke back. A light sprinkle of rain came with it, pattering on my ears and hair.
I called for Railey again.
The smoke creature reached for me again, this time its hand was more solid and it fought against the wailing wind gusting through the room, pelting the smoke creature with salt. It withdrew past the bed, then stayed still, out of reach of the brunt force of the wind.
I called for Railey a third time.
The smoke was concentrating now, even more solid, hiding in the darkness, away from the light dumping in through the windows, descending upon me when the wind died down, retreating again when it picked up. The thing was more clear now: vaguely man-shaped with twig-like antlers, the hint of scales, glowing red eyes. It was stronger against the wind now, crawling, stalking over the floor, its shoulders brushing against the bed to guard it against the squall. It bent its reptilian head around the edge of the bed, smiled with its glowing red eyes, and flashed its tongue over its lips.
My hands shook as I reached through my shirt for the compass trinket he had given me. I thought of him, I thought of the King's Ransom, I thought for any place safe.
Nothing happened.
“Trinketsss,” the thing said, “don't work around me.”
It laughed, a hissing, choking noise that sent a shudder through my body.
It stretched out a claw, salty rain drops pelting his arm, burning pits into his scales. He spoke without pain, “Come with me. It will make your trip much more pleasing.”
I reached behind my back and grabbed a clump of salt that I'd dumped on the floor in my haste, flinging it into his eyes with a vicious, “No!”
He flung back, screeching and clawing at his eyes. I snatched my pack and fumbled with the salt, managing to open it and toss a few streams of salt on his back before he could react. He shrieked, writhed in pain, then saw me, snarled and sent one arm my way, his hand stretching to slap me.
I fell hard against the wall.
Breathing hurt, stinging pain stemming from my ribs.
I tried to stall for time.
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
He finished his twisting and contorting, sucking in the pain staunchly. A smile came back to his mouth.
“I want notttthing from you.”
I squirmed over to the windows again.
“Then what do you want?” I whispered.
His eyes shone with fire, he laughed that cold, reptilian laugh.
“I want...you.”
I looked over my shoulder and saw the three wizards reconsidering their strategy. Before I could think to find a way to prop them open, the windows slammed and locked. The wind beat on them, ramming as though trying to break the glass. Panic swept over me. I grabbed a wooden chair, raised it over my head, and was prepared to either shatter the glass or break the chair when searing claws dug into my back. I was lifted suspended in air, held frigid with pain, my wind howling outside the windows, when Railey showed up, little more than a tattered remnant of the ghost she one was.
“Help, get help!” I yelled at her, too paralyzed to even squirm as the black smoke reached out for her, too.
Black clouds slithered up my legs, circled my waist, constricted my searing ribs, then one smoky face formed in front of me, a giant snake, eyes glowing orange as it smiled, opened its mouth wide, fangs dripping drops of smoke, and my world went black.
