Hotel Hex (5 page)

Jazz accessed her mental database. “Of course. Manfred’s Keep in the Torriden Hills,” she commented. “He was a skilled warrior and he chose his men carefully, ensuring they were as psychopathic as he was. It was said he gave them wine in a cursed goblet mixed with his blood, so they would also share his strength. Likewise he drank wine mixed with their blood so they would be bound to him.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “It’s amazing history didn’t name him Dracula instead of pinning that one on Vlad the Impaler. Rumor had it the goblet would give him eternal life as long as he fed it enough blood. It was finally recovered and stowed away in a protected vault.”

Derwood frowned. “Humph, I have to say that story sounds more fiction than legend. According to my research, the man was eventually killed, proving he was indeed mortal.”

“One of his enemies mortally wounded him, but he still managed to crawl into the Keep’s unholy chapel where his blood could saturate the stones believing the day would come when he could be resurrected,” Nick chimed in, walking into the room. He poured himself some coffee and sat down next to Jazz. “His grisly death in the chapel was legend. He actually died in the courtyard.” 

Jazz glanced at Nick. She had a pretty good idea that if he knew where Manfred died, it was because he was the one who’d destroyed him.

“How fascinating,” Sylvie cooed. “You have to wonder if any of it is true. The man turned himself into a legend to keep his people in line, that’s all.”

“Amazing Beatrice isn’t here to offer her opinion,” Jazz said.

Derwood frowned. “That is odd. I escorted her to her suite last night, but she didn’t say anything about taking her breakfast in her rooms.” He stared at the open doorway as if expecting the woman to waltz through. “I hope there is nothing wrong.”

“She probably wants to make an entrance,” Jazz murmured into her coffee.

“My dears, Sylvie has agreed to give us a little talk about her psychic experiences this morning,” Mrs. Babbington announced as the diners worked on their breakfast. “I do hope you will join us in the parlor at ten. And Mr. Gregory, I am sure the guests would enjoy hearing about your life, er,
existence
as a vampire.”

“Good idea,” Jazz agreed readily. “Nick has so many stories he can share.”

“You do know you’ll be next,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“I admit I’m curious about your experiences over the centuries you’ve been …, well, around, Mr. Gregory,” Derwood said, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “While I’ve stayed in my share of haunted buildings, I’ve never had the honor of meeting a vampire. I’ve met a few witches during my travels, but I fear some of them weren’t what they claimed to be.”

“That happens,” Jazz replied, swiping a chocolate filled croissant on her way out of the room. “Beatrice is going to be sorry she missed breakfast.”

With Nick on her heels she headed for the lobby and looked out the large floor to ceiling windows on either side of the entrance. The silvery rain looked cold enough she was grateful to be inside.

“What a truly nasty day,” Mrs. Babbington clucked, bustling her way behind the reception desk. “I had hoped we’d have some sun. There is nothing like an afternoon of playing croquet.”

Jazz winced at the memories of those boring hours smacking a ball around a lawn. “Oh yes.” She studied the woman. If she wasn’t mistaken she could see strands of dark hair threaded through the silver. And the lines in her face didn’t look as prominent as they had last night.

She had just turned to Nick when an earsplitting scream pierced the air.

Chapter 5

Nick was upstairs in a flash. It wasn’t difficult to following the racing heartbeat to a tiny woman wearing a maid’s uniform. She huddled outside an open door, her face buried in her hands.

“What is it?” he asked, gently touching her shoulder.

She shook her head and turned away as she sobbed even harder.

Nick moved to the doorway and looked inside.

“What is it?” Jazz stood behind him, trying to peer over his shoulder.

“Something not good,” he said grimly, shifting enough so she could see.

Jazz didn’t step over the threshold as she stared through the parlor into the bedroom. She held out her palm, searching for any hint of magick before she moved any further.

“What do you feel?” Nick asked, his sharper eyes dissecting the room.

“Nothing.” She took a deep breath and started to step through the doorway but his hand on her arm stopped her.

“I’ll go first.”

For once, Jazz wasn’t about to argue. She stayed close to Nick’s back as they cautiously walked through the open doorway. The maid looked up and screamed at them in Russian.

Nick wasted no time soothing her in her native language.

“What did she say?” Jazz asked.

“She was warning us against what’s in there. She said there’s evil there. I told her not to worry.”

They paused in the bedroom doorway to study the odd scene.

“Okay, now I am very freaked,” Jazz said quietly.

“You’re not the only one.”

The couple stared at the once stout opera singer whose body was now a dried out husk. Her gray flesh had turned to the consistency of leather. She lay in the middle of the bed, the sheet and quilt neatly folded over her shrunken chest. Her nightgown resembled a shroud now; a cup of tea sat on the night table along with a book and a pair of glasses. Even the normal touches looked macabre.

“She almost looks mummified,” she whispered, frozen to her spot. “What are you doing?”

Nick walked into the room and stood by the bed. “Taking a closer look.” He bent over, almost putting his nose against Beatrice’s desiccated cheeks with her death scream etched on her face.

“What do you sense?” Jazz wandered about the room. She kept her hands behind her back, unwilling to touch anything. She’d experienced magickal bounce backs before and wasn’t about to stumble onto one here. She examined the personal items laid out in a neat display.

“Not a damn thing,” Nick said grimly as he straightened up. “But there’s something here.”

“Hiding,” she agreed. “We just need to figure out what it is.”

“Oh my stars!”

They turned at Mrs. Babbington’s cry of dismay. The manager stood in the doorway her hands covering her mouth.

“Mrs. Babbington, you shouldn’t be in here.” Jazz swiftly moved toward her, ushering her out of the room. She guided her toward a chair and sat her down. She went out to the hallway, zapped the maid with a calming spell and asked her to bring up a glass of water.

“What happened to her?” Mrs. Babbington asked. “She looks—” She shuddered.

“We don’t know.” Jazz patted her hand. She looked up and thanked the maid when she appeared in the doorway with a crystal goblet filled with water. “Why don’t you see to the other rooms?” she suggested, instinctively feeling the manager wouldn’t mind her taking over for the moment. “It will be all right,” she assured the terrified worker. “The other guests are downstairs.”

Mrs. Babbington’s cheeks regained some color as she sipped the water.

“This isn’t good for the hotel at all,” she whispered. “Oh, I realize whatever happened to Madame Fairfield isn’t good either, but what will I tell the owner? Do we call the police?” She gripped Jazz’s hands tightly. “I’ve never seen anything like this before!”

The witch winced at her tight hold. Who knew the elderly woman could practically bruise hands?

“The police couldn’t handle something like this,” Jazz pointed out. “They’ll ask questions they won’t like the answers to. And the other guests will have questions no one can answer.” Not to mention she and the police weren’t always on good terms.

Mrs. Babbington’s eyes looked a shade brighter as she gazed at Jazz. “Could we just tell the other guests that Madame Fairfield isn’t feeling well and will be staying in her room today? Perhaps you and Mr. Gregory could find out what happened to her.”

“I’m skilled in identifying and eliminating curses, Mrs. Babbington, not something like this.”

“But I am experienced in criminal investigations. Don’t worry, Mrs. Babbington, we’ll do what we can.” Nick walked out of the bedroom. “I suggest we lock up the suite. I’ll be discreet when I question the others. But I would say there is something not right going on in this building that doesn’t have anything to do with its bloody history.” He speared Jazz with a sharp look.

She took a deep breath and slowly rose to her feet. “The maid lives in an apartment over the carriage house. I’ll suggest she take the rest of the day off and stay in her rooms. That we’re taking care of this matter.” 

“Good idea. And make sure to tell her not to call anyone.”

The woman nodded.

Jazz and Nick left the suite, watching Mrs. Babbington lock the door. Jazz added a magickal lock and a spell that allowed only her and Nick to re-enter the room if need be.

The manager glanced at the watch pinned to her collar. “I realize events today should go on as normal. Sylvie is giving her talk. I hope you two will attend.” Her smile slipped as she bustled away.

“I’d rather walk in the rain wearing my favorite Prada pumps that listen to that ditz,” Jazz muttered.

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re not about to ruin a good pair of shoes.” Nick rested his hand against her back. “Besides, who knows what we’ll learn.”

“I doubt it. They’re mundanes. There’s not a speck of magick in their blood.” She glanced at him. “So we’re going to investigate what happened to Beatrice?”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

“Gee, I feel like Nancy Drew with a broom.” She tapped into her inner timepiece. “I guess it’s time for us to head downstairs then.”

Jazz did her best not to roll on the floor laughing when she saw a large throne-like chair set in the parlor. And Sylvie ensconced in it. The young woman was dressed in a flowing one-shouldered dress that managed to display her feminine charms.

Derwood sat in a nearby chair with Mrs. Babbington perched on a corner of the loveseat. Candles offered a soft warm glow to ease the darkness in the room.

“Welcome,” Sylvie greeted the witch and vampire with a cool smile. “Mrs. Babbington told us Beatrice isn’t feeling well and will be staying in her suite today.”

“I think I’ll go up to see her before lunch,” Derwood said.

“Oh no, my dear, she expressly requested not to be disturbed by visitors,” the round-cheeked lady explained.

Jazz sat down in a nearby chair. She winced as she felt a nagging pain in her hip when she crossed her legs.

Nick poured two cups of coffee, giving Jazz one before he perched himself on her chair arm.

“Sylvie, I know we are all interested in your experiences in the psychic community,” Derwood invited as he stirred honey into his tea.

Within five minutes Jazz knew her eyes were glazed over.
How could anyone use the word
I
so many times? Or boast about how many celebrities adored her?

Jealous?
Nick’s teasing voice entered her mind.

She issued a short negative shake of the head, and sipped her coffee in hopes the caffeine would keep her alert as she glanced around the room.

Nick, look at the carpet and the vase on the sideboard.
She purposely kept her gaze on Sylvie, but was aware of Nick’s eyes perusing the room.

Carpet was burgundy last night and that vase was some type of urn then.

Exactly.

She took another sip of her coffee, grimaced at the suddenly bitter taste and set the cup down. She noticed that Derwood did the same with his tea.

“Jazz.” Sylvie’s voice intruded on her thought.

“Yes?”

The psychic leaned forward in her throne. “You have so much darkness around you. However do you manage to go on with your life?”

“Is that what you see?” Jazz was amused.

“That and how someone,” her eyes flicked in Nick’s direction, “will greatly disappoint you. Sometimes it’s best to cut the cord before it’s too late.” A tiny smile shining with malice crossed her lips as she sat back, resting her arms on the polished wood. “People tend to have secrets. The kind that hurt.”

“Don’t,” Nick sighed, recognizing the hard set of Jazz’s jaw.

The witch wasn’t listening. “What one values another ignores. What one prizes, another refuses. What one loves, another makes disappear. Because I say so.” She flicked her fingers at Sylvie who seemed to erupt in a shower of hot pink sparks of magick.

The psychic batted at the sparks as if they were annoying gnats. When they finally fizzled out, she looked down to find long blond strands of hair lying in her lap and on the floor. She shot out of the chair and aimed her body straight at Jazz.

Nick wasted no time grabbing hold of the alleged psychic, having to pull her off her feet as she screamed and kicked at him.

“You
bitch
!” she shrieked, clawing at the air.

“You know, if there’s one word I
really
dislike it’s the B word. Now that I see the real you I can see what you value the most,” Jazz said, staring at Sylvie’s shiny pink dome that contrasted sharply with her spray tanned face and body. “And here I really thought it would be your fake boobs.” She paused for a moment, gaze cast downward. Were the psychic’s breasts resting lower than usual? And her skin didn’t look as smooth as it had earlier.

“Jazz, make it right,” Nick ordered.

A wide-eyed Derwood sat frozen in his chair.

“She deserved it,” Jazz muttered under her breath. She made a face as her lover continued to glare at her. “Oh all right, but she doesn’t deserve it.” She took a deep breath. “Undo an alleged wrong,” she began, ignoring Nick’s growl. “Undo the spell. Restore her tresses and give her longer dresses. Because I say so damn it.” She deliberately shot a stronger flash of power in hopes it would sting. A lot.

Nick released Sylvie as the magick enveloped her. When the haze lifted the psychic was sprawled on the floor. Her thigh-length dress now covered her to her ankles, but her head was still smooth skin.

“
You did this deliberately
!” She pounded the carpet with her fists. “I will sue you!”