Great. Perfect. Exactly where I want to be while pregnant and blind.
“I’m sure,” I tell her anyway as I reach for the door handle.
Nadia comes around and helps me out. I stand on the cracked pavement listening to her drive away. We’re a bit outside the town limits, so it’s quieter out here. The occasional passing truck, newspaper tumbleweed bouncing through the parking lot, that sort of thing. The taut stillness of a place where people go when they don’t want to be found.
Somewhere in this dump, Bastian is waiting.
I take a breath and start walking, Excalibur leading the way, each tap another step toward whatever unknown disaster I’m about to walk into.
The motel office door protests when I push it open, hinges groaning like they haven’t been oiled in years. The stench of Febreze layered on top of rampant mold is doing my upset stomach no favors.
“C’n I help ya?” The grating voice belongs to someone who sounds like they’ve been chain-smoking since birth. I obviously can’t see him, but I’d bet what’s left of my life savings that he hasn’t looked up from whatever squeaky, vaguely pornographic anime show he’s watching on his phone at high volume.
“I need directions to Room Seven, please.”
He clears phlegm from his throat and spits. “Y’meetin’ someone?” he asks, still ramming his syllables together like he can’t be bothered to expend the usual amount.
“That’s my business,” I say as politely as I can manage.
He snorts. It might be a laugh, might not. “Fair ‘nough. Room Seven’s around back. Go out this door, hang a left. Follow the buildin’ all the way around. You’ll pass the ice machine, then the vending area. Seven’s the second door after that. Green door, if that helps.”
It doesn’t, but I don’t tell him that. “Thanks.”
“Sure you don’t want me to walk you over?” There’s something a little unsettling in his tone now, not quite intrigue and not quite creepiness, but a little closer to both than I’d like. As if he knows exactly who’s in Room Seven and wonders what a blind, pregnant woman wants with a dead man.
“I’ll manage.”
“Suit yourself.”
I wind my way out of the office and turn left, following the building’s rough stucco wall with my free hand. The ice machine hums exactly where he said it would be. I keep going, counting my steps, listening for the vending area.
But something’s off. The vending machines should be here by now, shouldn’t they? He did say hang a left, didn’t he? But instead, I hear music, tinny and muffled, like it’s coming through thin walls. My fingers find a door handle where there shouldn’t be one yet.
“Well, hellothere.”
The unexpected voice makes me jump as the door is ripped open from inside. It’s male, big from the sound of it, and he’s crowding close enough that I can smell his breakfast on his breath, cheesy eggs and hot sauce.
“I’m looking for Room Seven,” I say, taking a step back.
“Oh, sure you are, sweetheart.” I hear a grin in his voice that I don’t like. “Bit fancy-lookin’ for the gig, but listen, I don’t judge. Times are tough for everyone, ain’t they?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He chuckles. I hear the jingle of keys or loose change in his pocket. “Come on now, no need to play coy. Blind girl shows up at the Moonlight at six in the morning? It’s the setup to a helluva joke. I wasn’t born yesterday. What’s your rate, baby?”
My stomach roils. “You’re mistaken. I’m meeting someone.”
“Yeah, that’s the point, isn’t it?” He’s crept closer. I can feel the heat radiating off his body and it’s making me sweat. “Look, you’re cute; I’ll make it worth your while. Three hundred for an hour. That’s generous for this part of town.”
“I’m not—” I start backing away, but my heel catches on something, a crack in the pavement, maybe, and I stumble. Excalibur falls to the ground.
“Whoa there, cowgirl!” His hand closes around my upper arm, steadying me but not letting go. He’s holding on too tight for comfort. “No need to run off. Four hundred, then. That’s my final offer.”
“Let go of me!” I try to pull away, but he holds on.
“Don’t be like that. We’re just talking business here.” His grip tightens painfully. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t working.”
“I swear, I’m not a?—”
