by Lori King
"Oh, boy, that's right. So excited." Daniel kept a straight face but his entire body shook with suppressed mirth. Bright yellow exclamation points streaked his aura. He took another dig at her with his elbow but she had a solid hold.
Victoria smiled ear-to-ear like a hungry shark. She leaned into Daniel, enjoying their camaraderie. Good sense of humor—check. Mentally, she ticked off another box on her list of must-haves in a man. Any guy whose ego couldn't hold up to being ribbed wasn't going to survive Victoria.
The hotel clerk turned away to retrieve their contract from the laser printer behind him. As he picked up the printout, the hotel groaned. The wall behind the front desk billowed outward like a rapidly inflated balloon, and the temperature in the lobby plummeted; a chill draft engulfed them.
Victoria slammed straight from relaxed to readiness. Her wolf surged to the surface. She fought the reflex to shift. She tensed, expecting an attack, while both men remained unaware of the disruption taking place in the Shadowlands.
"What's wrong?" Daniel asked, picking up on her agitation.
"You'll be staying in our Grand Balcony Suite, room 416 on the fourth floor," the clerk was saying, though his voice was far away.
The bulge in the wall assumed the shape of a man cast in plaster, smooth and featureless. His head, shoulders, and extended arms protruded, but the rest of his body disappeared below the waist. His mouth gaped wide as though locked in an eternal scream. With surreal slowness, the apparition reached for Sam Sander's living soul. Those clawed fingers came within inches of the clerk's head—
"Watch out!" Victoria lashed out and grabbed the young man's arm. She yanked him toward her so the ghost's fingers passed through empty air.
Shrieking, the spirit snapped into the wall.
"What—" The desk clerk smacked against the front desk.
"Spider—big, hairy one!" Victoria let go of Sam's arm.
"Wow, you're strong." Sam stared at her and then cast a worried glance about, searching for the fictitious arachnid.
"I work out."
"She does. Victoria is quite the powerlifter." Daniel had to be confused, but he backed her up even though she must've appeared crazy to the poor guy.
"Sorry, I thought it was a brown recluse." Victoria offered a lame smile in apology. "I guess I don't know my own strength."
In a distracted fashion, Sam presented Daniel with the now crumpled room contract. "Brown recluse... aren't those venomous? I'll call the exterminators."
"You should. That was a huge spider." Daniel signed the contract.
"I will. Enjoy your stay with us and have a wonderful honeymoon." Sam fumbled but managed to fork over the keys. "The bellhop will show you the way."
In unison, Victoria and Daniel turned away from the front desk. As soon as they cleared earshot, he leaned toward her and asked in a conspiratorial whisper. "What just happened?"
"Let's just say the hotel haunting is genuine." She directed a pointed stare toward the balding middle-aged man coming toward them.
Daniel followed her gaze. "Gotcha. We'll talk later."
They exchanged greetings with the hotel employee. Daniel passed their duffle bags to the bellhop even though the luggage probably weighed less than thirty pounds in total. She perceived no need for assistance but then, they were on their honeymoon.
"I'm going to go repark the car. There are a few things I want to get out of the trunk," Daniel said, touching her elbow.
She nodded to indicate her understanding. With a hunter, things inevitably meant weapons. He probably wanted to handle those items personally, unwilling to trust them to a stranger. No doubt, he preferred to bring them in through an alternative entrance—up a back stairwell, away from prying eyes.
In agreement, they parted ways. Daniel headed back out the front, and Victoria followed the bellhop as he led her to the stairwell with a brief explanation, "I'm sorry, but the elevators don't work."
"It's okay." She preferred to take the stairs anyway since she disliked enclosed spaces. Besides, walking gave her more time to make inquiries.
The bellhop took the lead. As they reached the first turn in the staircase, Victoria chose a conversation opener. "This is a beautiful old building."
He clucked his approval. "Thank you. We're quite proud of the stately old gal. She's seen some exciting times."
"I read a bit about the inn's history on the website. Is it true there was a speakeasy in the basement?"
"There sure was! There are hidden rooms and a tunnel that exits through the Longhorn Saloon right across the street. Of course, it's all been barricaded. The hotel only uses the basement for storage nowadays."
The second-floor landing marked another turn. "That's a shame," Victoria said, "I'd have loved to see it. Is it true the hotel has a history of fires?"
The bellhop missed a step and tripped. She braced, preparing to catch him, but he made a sluggish recovery. "Most hotels with the Hermosa's history have seen a fire at some point or other," he said, a little too carefully in her opinion. "But you've no need to worry, miss. Our fire suppression system is state of the art. The insurance company requires it."
Victoria considered and then opted to change the topic since the hotel's history of fires was a sensitive topic. She deemed it well worth remembering, though. She asked, "Is it true the hotel is haunted?"
The bellhop glanced over his shoulder. "It sure is. Saw the spirit once myself up on the third floor." He resumed climbing, and his voice floated over his shoulder. "She wanders the halls at night—looking for her lost love. Or so they say..."
"She?"
"Yup. Charity. Poor gal was a guest in the inn the year we opened. Stayed in room 416—same room you're stayin' in." He eyeballed her as they swept through the third-floor landing. "But then I guess you know that."
"What happened to her?" Victoria stayed right on his heels.
"Charity and her husband checked in on their honeymoon on Halloween Day in 1927. That evening, he went out for cigarettes. She waited three days for him, but he never come back."
"How'd she die?"
"Of a broken heart..."
"No, seriously."
"Heh." He chuckled. "Charity hung herself out on the balcony."
"How sad. Did her husband ever turn up?"
"No, he never did."
They finally reached the fourth floor. The bellhop led the way into the hall and another fifty feet or so to her room. He used an electronic key to open the door and set her bags just within the entryway. She handed him a tip. "Thank you."
"Enjoy your stay." He smiled in acknowledgment and departed.
She stepped inside and the door shut with a thunk. The Art Deco theme continued through the suite. Victoria snagged the bags off the floor and dropped them onto the king-size bed. She bounced on the mattress, testing the firmness, and then peeked out onto the balcony—two-person patio set, great view, no ghosts.
Within two minutes she'd explored the entire suite, including a cursory inspection of the Gideon Bible stowed in the nightstand. Victoria bypassed patience in favor of restless pacing and even some fuming. She spoke aloud to Freya as she so often did when priestess and goddess were alone. "Daniel should be here by now. What do you think is taking him so long?"
Freya chuckled. Patience, Victoria. It's a virtue you should practice.
"Yes, Goddess." She reached the end of the room, pivoted on the ball of her foot, and marched back. "He probably stopped to check the Chevelle's fluid levels again 'cause it's only been an hour since the last time."
Freya's voice sprang into Victoria's mind. He is attentive. Considerate. Look how well he attends to his lady's needs.
Victoria snorted. "Lady, my ass. The man is obsessed with that high-maintenance car."
Which means he is qualified to take on a high-maintenance woman... In other words, he's perfect for you!
Oh, burn! Victoria fought laughter. Failed. She dissolved into helpless giggles.
A couple minutes later, Danie
l joined her in the suite. He plunked down an enormous duffle bag—the impact produced a clatter, metal against metal. While he got settled, she caught him up on the spirit within the wall she'd seen in the lobby.
"Do you think it's a threat?" Daniel unzipped the duffle, revealing an arsenal of firearms and weapons—mostly knives, but also clubs and a katana. He fished a knife with a staghorn handle from within. The leather scabbard concealed the blade but even sheathed, the weapon emanated a powerful aura of enchantment.
"Probably not. I thought you said we were hunting ghosts?"
"We are, but I like to be prepared. This is able to harm spirits." He gestured to the knife.
"Aintcha gonna show me your knife, big boy?" Victoria employed more than mild sarcasm, but his manner struck her as furtive, as if he hoped she wouldn't ask about it. Which made her all that more curious.
Daniel looked askance at her but gripped the hilt. Metal sounded sweet as it cleared leather and the toxic scent of silver permeated the air. The double-edged blade was long and wide—marked by malevolent magic. Its fearsome aspect warped the fabric of the spiritual plane that surrounded it. The weapon possessed both ravenous hunger as well as its malicious intelligence.
"What the hell is that thing?" Dread coalesced in Victoria's gut. She stared in sick fascination, unable to look away. Horrifying acquired a new meaning for her.
"It's an ancient weapon. It's cursed. We don't use it very often." He hefted the knife and returned it to its scabbard.
"Cursed how?" She breathed easier once he sheathed the wicked thing.
"It's complicated." Reluctance hardened his tone. Clearly, he preferred not to discuss it, and she didn't want to know anyway. As noted before—the acquisition of hunter secrets marked forbidden territory she'd rather not venture into.
"You didn't want to have to show it to me, did you?" Victoria's skin crawled. As if the weapon being cursed wasn't offensive enough, silver was toxic to wolf shifters. Pure silver blades were invariably enchanted. Otherwise, the metal was too soft to be forged into a viable weapon.
He grimaced. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to offend you."
"Offend, or was it distrust?" Victoria asked in an arched challenge.
"Offend." He fixed a steady stare on her. "I trust you."
Did he really? She harbored doubts but preferred not to express them aloud. Instead, she said, "I'm not offended, but I'm glad you showed me. If you hadn't and drew that thing in the middle of a fight..."
She shuddered to think of what might happen.
He cleared his throat. "Point taken."
"I do prefer you just be up front with me in the future."
"All right, I'll remember that."
When he reached for the front of his pants, unfastening that big brass buckle, Victoria's mouth turned as dry as the desert. Great goddess of chariot cats... Was the man taking off his pants? Had all of her prayers just been answered? But alas, he was only attaching the scabbard to his belt.
Victoria sighed in disappointment.
"Have you seen anything interesting up here in the room?" Daniel looked down as he managed his task—the addition of the holstered weapon to his belt. In that moment, the man embodied the essence of oblivious.
Victoria snickered. "Not yet, but the night is still young."
4
The old building had a soul all its own, and contained more than one. Victoria sensed them—close but out of sight, lost spirits trapped within the walls. She didn't want to create a disturbance for fear of drawing them all out at once. Of course, ghost hunting was her assigned task on this mission, but doing so while committing a felony struck her as a not-so-good idea.
The third story hallway of the hotel was deserted aside from the two would-be burglars. A "No Service" sign hung from the doorknob of room 302 where Macan Guffin had checked in but hadn't checked out. Victoria fervently hoped they didn't discover the missing hunter within, dead-roach style on his back. For one, it'd be hard to explain how they'd found him.
Daniel crouched in front of the door while she kept watch. Unfortunately, Victoria's gut wouldn't stop rumbling and Daniel's position put his ear level with her abdomen—in the perfect position to hear every gurgle and grumble.
He stopped working the electronic lock long enough to turn his head. "Hungry?"
"A little. It's been hours since I've eaten."
"As soon as we're done here, we can go grab a bite. How does that sound?"
"Good." She needed to eat soon, or her wolf would gain ascendance and overtake her psyche. When she started to slip into her animal half—look out. Instinct overtook reason.
"You okay? Your voice is weird."
She hesitated and forced out a quick admission. "I've never broken and entered before. I'm nervous."
"Don't be. I'm doing all the breaking and entering. You're just a lookout."
"Does that mean I wouldn't be charged?"
"No, you're still an accessory." He chuckled when he caught the look on her face. "Stop worrying. We're not committing a real crime. I'm a sheriff investigating a missing person case."
"This is Yavapai County, not Maricopa... And do you have a warrant?"
"Macan isn't going to bring me up on charges. Ah ha—" The light on the electronic lock turned green and it clicked. With a murmured sound of satisfaction, Daniel pushed the door open to reveal a darkened interior.
She and Daniel hustled to clear the hallway. The offensive, combined scents of stale booze, sweaty body odor, and old cigarette smoke slammed her nostrils, and she gagged. Her nocturnal vision kicked in, allowing her to survey the interior in the more limited dimensions of grayscale. The room was smaller than theirs and lacked a balcony. Aside from the two of them, it was unoccupied, although the unmade bed and belongings scattered about the room pointed to signs of recent habitation.
Daniel hit the wall switch and the lights came on. An open suitcase sat on top of a luggage stand. The hunter went straight to the bag and rifled through it while Victoria looked on. His inspection turned up a handgun and a bayonet, both of which he took.
"He left his weapons behind. Is that a bad sign?" she asked
"This isn't his primary arsenal. They're just backups." Daniel finished with the suitcase and moved on, checking both the closet and beneath the bed. For what, Victoria had no idea, as his inspection turned up nothing of note.
"How many weapons do you have on you?" Victoria posed the question more from morbid curiosity than an actual desire to know. She had exactly one weapon on her person at any given time—a small belt knife.
Daniel stopped and faced her. He considered, perhaps conducting a mental inventory, before answering. "Right now? I've only got two guns—"
"Only two?" She arched a sarcastic brow. He'd taken off the holster he'd been wearing strapped to his hip earlier. She surmised the location of the concealed weapon as being tucked into the back of his faded Levis. His shirt had a tail long enough to conceal the handle.
"One of them isn't mine." He tipped Macan's pistol to make his point.
"Okay, how many knives?"
Daniel flashed that killer—killer's?—smile. "Four."
"Four?" Her eyebrows quivered while her skeptical gaze swept his body. Good goddess, where? Where could he possibly be keeping that many weapons?
"Four." He smirked and moved closer to the desk. A tall, misshapen stack of paperwork was on the desktop. He hooked the wheeled base of the chair with his foot, pulled it out, and dropped into it.
Victoria stabbed at an empty pizza box on top of the television, but it yielded no secrets aside from the greasy smear. She breathed in through her mouth, drawing air across the sensitive olfactory glands at the back of her palette, and scented the room.
"Do you smell anything?" Daniel rifled through the top layer of papers and picked up a leather-bound journal, which he opened.
"Whisky and chewing tobacco." Victoria's nose wrinkled in distaste.
Daniel snorted. "Yeah, that sounds about right
."
She followed her nose to where a wet hotel towel was draped across a trash bin. Lips curled over her teeth, she pinched the edge, tossed it aside, and conducted a visual survey of the contents. She refused to come into contact with any of it without sterile gloves. "Do Budweiser and Twinkies sound like Macan?"
"Yeah, that sounds just like him. Anything in the bathroom?"
To oblige him, Victoria leaned into the bathroom and hit the switch which activated a light/fan combination. "No bodies in the tub."
The buzz of the exhaust fan created a moderate din but she still caught his reply. He called out, "Glad to hear it."
She flipped off the light and popped into the main room. "What do you have there?"
"This looks like Macan's research into his genealogy and the history of the area. This is his grandfather's journal—" He patted the leather-bound volume and scooted some other papers aside to make room for a crinkled, yellowed map. "And this was on top of everything else, so I'm assuming it's important. I'm no expert, but I recognize a survey map when I see one."
Curious, Victoria moved to stand behind him. Trouble was, the man was still too blasted big, so she pretty much wound up pressed against his back to obtain a good view over his shoulder. The position resulted in her resting against him, her breasts smashed against his back. He held up well under tactile examination—soft cotton over firm muscles. Nice.
A ripple of reaction traveled the length of his torso. She inhaled, savoring his scent. His basal aroma acquired a pungent punch; the earthy note of arousal. He turned his face toward her and she viewed him in profile—an expression of wry amusement and awareness.
"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm on the menu?"
"I'm a wolf and I'm hungry. Better feed me soon," she infused her tone with deliberate menace.
He snickered. "I'll consider myself warned. There's a restaurant in the hotel. How does that sound?"
Not quite as appealing as hunter a-la-mode, but it'd do. She smiled but regretfully eased off him. Priorities—stomach first, missing hunter second. Okay, so maybe that was a bit screwy, but they had a crap load of stuff to sort through, and she wasn't going to be able to focus until after she ate.
