What he didn’t expect was to have roommates.
As soon as he used his key in the rattling lock (no high-tech card-swipe locks forthisplace) and pushed open the door, several small, fast-moving forms scurried beneath the bed like a crowd of six-legged teenagers whose party had just been busted by somebody’s parents’ untimely arrival. The lingering odors of stale beer, pot smoke, and old urine rounded out the scene’s charm.
Stone paused in the doorway, reconsidering his decision.
It’s not like you’ve got a lot of options. This was the last room at any price available in a fifty-mile radius. And it’s only for one night.
He edged over the threshold, careful not to touch anything yet. If there were cockroaches, there were probably bedbugs too, and gods knew what else. He summoned a quick spell, sending an invisible wave of magical energy through the space. He couldn’t do anything about the rest of the dubious amenities, but at least he could make sure his was the room’s only living presence for the night.
He dropped his bag on the sagging bed next to a stain shaped like Texas and was girding himself to investigate the bathroom when his phone buzzed with a text.
Settling in okay?
His apprentice, Verity. This whole thing was her fault, and she wasn’t evenhereyet.Define “okay,”he texted back.
You know. Fancy penthouse suite, Jacuzzi, hot and cold running spooky groupies?
Not…exactly.
Problem?
He glanced at the rusted bars on the window, which looked a lot more substantial than the rickety lock on the door. It wasn’t Verity’s fault the downtown San Diego luxury hotel where he wassupposedto be staying had made a mistake on his arrival date and wouldn’t have his proper room available until tomorrow.No, everything’s fine. Just tired.
I’ll let you go then, and see you tomorrow. Thanks again for letting me tag along. I’ve always wanted to do SD Comic-Con. You have to introduce me to the Blood Offering people.
Verity, twenty-one and goth-adjacent, was far more excited aboutBlood Offering, a soapy new TV series about angstyvampires and other sexy supernatural creatures, than he had been. She’d been the one who’d convinced him to accept the invitation to serve on one of the show’s panels at the convention, leveraging his position as a professor of occult studies at Stanford. Ever the realist, he suspected the offer had been due as much to his relative youth, good looks, and British accent as his formidable academic credentials, but Verity had wanted to go, and he couldn’t think of a good reason to turn her down.
Until now, anyway. He idly zapped a wayward cockroach that had eluded his last spell, and sighed.I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be
Doc?
He realized he’d stopped typing, leaving her on cycling dots, but that was suddenly the last thing on his mind.
A translucent figure had just drifted through the wall next to the old TV with theSorry—Out of Ordersign taped to it, crossed the room, and slipped out through the opposite wall.
The phone buzzed again.Doc? You still there?
The figure had disappeared, and didn’t seem inclined to return. Stone hadn’t even gotten a good enough look at it to determine whether it was a man, a woman, or a stray cloud of smoke creeping in from the potheads next door.
Must go, talk tomorrow, he tapped out, and shoved the phone in his pocket before she could reply.
He stood in the center of the room, shifting his perceptions to allow him to view the magical realm. He’d seen the figure only from the corner of his eye; if ithadbeen nothing more than spillover from the potheads, nothing would show up.
Wispy trails of energy, already fading, appeared along thepath the figure had taken. Stone could barely make out the faint, flickering red traces before they dissipated like steam.
Well. At least whatever it is, it doesn’t want to share my room.
Normally, a potentially supernatural event like this would have piqued his considerable curiosity. But not tonight. He was tired, the room’s AC didn’t appear to work, and he was debating whether he wanted to brave the shower—and whatever potential biohazards it might promise—long enough to cool off. Any spectral visitors would have to take a number and get in line.
His room was at the end of the second floor, about as far from the stairs as it could be while still in the same building. He trudged along the cracked walkway, trying to decide whether to venture out in his rental car or settle for the sketchy mini-mart next door. It was already fully dark, the only illumination coming from a few occupied rooms, the two functional lights in the parking lot, and the flickering neonSunbeam Motel—No Vacancysign out by the street.Even the pool directly below, drained dry with the weatheredClosed for Repairssign on its gate indicating this wasn’t a recent condition, was dark.
He still hadn’t made up his mind what he wanted to do when a sudden sense of unease took hold of him. Almost a feeling of being watched, even though neither magical nor mundane sight revealed any nearby auras. He hesitated, looking around, then shook his head in disgust and kept walking.
To his right, between two rooms and set well back from the walkway, a heavy chain-link gate spanned a six-foot opening. A substantial lock held it closed. Stone didn’t remember noticing it on his way to his room, but he’d been far too busy grumbling about his situation to be in much of a noticing frame of mind atthe time. He’d have walked right past it this time too, except as he approached it, the feeling of unease intensified.
He shot a quick glance through the gate. Just his luck tonight, he’d interrupted some clandestine criminal transaction, or a couple of furtive lovers in the throes of a quickie.
But no concealed figures lurked in the shadows. Stone released his held breath in a combination of relief and annoyance.
