“This is really bad,” Puff announced from Jazz’s feet.

  “Very bad,” Fluff agreed.

  Vivid shades of red, gold, orange, and green assaulted their eyes as they stared at colorful filmy drapes along the walls and arrayed across a bed the size of a small country. The bed was piled with enough pillows to fill the Grand Canyon. Heated air scented with a heavy musk caused Jazz and the slippers to sneeze.

  Jazz shook her head and slammed the door closed. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths before she cautiously opened the door again and peeked in.

  The room was restored to the condition in which she and Nick had left it.

  “Dude, it looked like something out of Tales of the Arabian Nights!” Fluff and Puff abandoned Jazz and skittered across the carpet then onto the couch. They settled on a plump black velvet pillow. “Smelled weird but kinda cool.”

  “So not my style.” Jazz wasting no time exploring the bedroom and examining the walls, even getting down on the floor to look under the bed. She cast her senses out and found nothing but non-magick air. “This makes no sense.”

  “You can’t perform magick right now, remember? That probably means you can’t sense it either.” Nick poured himself a healthy dose of whiskey and downed the contents in one gulp.

  “I hate people who make sense.” Jazz settled gingerly on a chair. “First the kitchen looks like a slaughterhouse. Then it looks normal. These rooms looked like something out of a seraglio then it is back to Victorian furniture.” She pulled up her legs and briskly rubbed her feet. She started to open her mouth then closed it. “I guess my flats won’t come in here on their own,” she mumbled, pushing herself out of her chair and walking into the bedroom.

  “It may not be a good idea to stay here too long. We’ve got too much to do,” Nick told her when she returned with her substitute footwear.

  “I bet Derwood would be happy to help us.”

  “We’ll have to tell him what happened to Beatrice.”

  “Good idea since it wouldn’t be good for him to find out on his own.” She grimaced as the lights flickered. “The lights going out is all we’d need.” She started to stand up but Nick pressed lightly down on her shoulder.

  “Tell you what, let me go talk to him,” he suggested. “You take some time and indulge in a hot bath. Beatrice and her room aren’t going anywhere.”

  The prospect of hot water and bubbles had her smiling. “You talked me into it.”

  Once Nick was gone, Jazz wasted no time gathering up her favorite bubble bath, loofah mitt and iPod. She smiled at the sight of the bunny slippers snoozing comfortably on the bed.

  “Perfect,” she sighed, slipping into the bubble-filled steamy water and resting her neck against a rolled up towel braced on the lip of the claw foot tub.

  With the sounds of her Let’s Keep Jazz Relaxed playlist as background, Jazz closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander. She knew the way her thoughts sometimes tended to jump here and there would torment most people, but for some reason she found it a good way to figure things out.

  Magick that isn’t magick.

  Horrific illusions that are real even to me.

  Room interiors changing.

  Mrs. Babbington. Her brain suddenly stuttered to a halt.

  Mrs. Babbington isn’t … And again it was as if her brain screeched to a sudden stop with the inability to go any further.

  Puck knows what’s going on but prefers to speak in riddles.

  What’s Zorak to all of this? How can Mrs. Babbington know he’s supernatural yet refuse to believe the house is magick?

  She opened her eyes and twitched her nose but didn’t expect anything to happen. “It’s a sad state of affairs when the curse eliminator can’t even help herself.”

  She took a deep breath and slowly sank under the water. The heated liquid washed over her face in a soothing wave. She stayed under until her lungs started to protest.

  Jazz floated upward then floundered when her face and hands encountered a solid surface.

  She opened her eyes, wincing at the sting from the bubble bath. Except she couldn’t see anything that should have stopped her from sitting up. She tried again and realized there was an invisible barrier preventing her escape from the water.

  I can’t breathe!

  Panic raced through her blood as she felt her lungs labor for much needed air. Jazz slapped her hands against the surface, feeling the solid barrier connect with her skin and not even a tiny air pocket in sight.

  She flailed in the large tub as stark terror overtook rationality. Her rapidly reducing common sense demanded she scream, but she knew that would only allow water into her lungs and she would drown that much faster.

  Nick! Her scream echoed inside her head as black spots danced before her eyes while the need for precious oxygen racked her body.

  Jazz’s eyes drifted shut and she barely felt her back against the bottom of the tub when she suddenly felt something grab her legs and shoulders and haul her upward.

  She gasped, pulling in air and coughing violently, retching up water.

  “What in Hades?” Nick promptly turned her over and pressed between her shoulder blades. It wasn’t until then that Jazz realized she’d swallowed some water along the way. It took her a moment to realize he was shaking as hard as she was.

  “Breathe,” she wheezed, holding on to him with dear life. “Need to.” She was still trembling as he enveloped her in a large towel.

  “What happened?” he demanded, picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom. He soon had her bundled under the bed covers.

  Jazz pushed her sopping hair away from her face and looked up. If she wasn’t mistaken her lover looked frightened.

  And nothing scared Nick. Ever.

  “I couldn’t get out of the tub,” she rasped, wincing at the hoarseness in her voice. “Something was laid over the top. I couldn’t breathe.”

  Nick settled beside her and began to briskly rub her back and shoulders. He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I’m not losing you,” he said with dark ferocity. “I will battle the Lord of Death himself to keep you with me.”

  “I’d pay to see that show.” Her teeth chattered from the shock. Right now, she was content to have his arms around her. She wasn’t about to admit she was still afraid. Before, she was scared of drowning. Now, seeing Nick’s fear she experienced another form of dread.

  That perhaps something dire could happen to him next.

  “I don’t want you leaving this room,” Nick said grimly.

  Jazz pulled on a sweater that matched her eyes. She looped a chunky gold chain around her neck. She’d only taken the time to dry her hair and twist it into a knot on top of her head.

  “You know that I have to do this.” She was relieved to notice her hands no longer shook even if her insides were doing the Chicken Dance. She rubbed them briskly in hopes of warming them up. “Nick, we need to find out what’s going on here. I need to. Did you talk to Derwood?”

  “I didn’t spare the details and he was very shocked to hear what happened to Beatrice,” he replied, taking her hands between his and massaging them. “He said when he went up to his room after breakfast he felt as if he traveled twice the distance to get there. He told me the hall appeared never ending then without any warning everything was fine. After hearing what appeared to happen to Beatrice he decided it was a good idea to spend the day in the library. He planned to take a bottle of scotch in with him.” His expression darkened. “Also, I ran into Mrs. Babbington on my way back here. She wanted to chat but…”

  “But?” she prompted, noticing the look in his eyes.

  He shook his head. “Jazz, we know there’s a lot that’s not right here.”

  “And that’s a new thing for us?” she chuckled shakily.

  “As of fifteen minutes ago I’d say Mrs. Babbington looks about ten years younger than she did at breakfast.” Nick looked grim as he glanced around the room.

  Jazz looked at the wall that flickered odd images of screaming faces with melting skin flowing over the surface. She closed her eyes then opened them again. The terrifying images were gone. Her unease was soothed by the caressing touch of Nick’s hand against the back of her neck as he wrapped her into a hug. As a vampire he couldn’t offer her any body heat, but he could give her solace.

  “We should have gone to Bermuda,” she muttered against his chest.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Nick walked alongside Jazz as they left the suite, her hand tucked securely in his. He didn’t want to think how close she had come to death in that bathtub. How he’d walked into the bathroom to see a shimmer of something solid covering the surface of large tub and how it had disappeared with a barely audible pop. He couldn’t shake the image of her lying on the tub’s ceramic bottom, her eyes closed and lips slightly parted.

  His witch drove him crazy, they fought like wildcats, but he knew she was always there for him and he would die for her.

  He glanced down at the top of her head, noticing how the dim light cast a faint glow on the coppery red strands escaping her knot.

  “I’m beginning to feel as if we’re starring in an updated version of The Shining,” she said, her footsteps slowing as they neared Beatrice’s suite.

  The closed door beckoned them and not in a good way.

  Nick reached past her and twisted the doorknob then pushed the door open. It silently swung to the side, revealing the room.

  “Why does it feel different?” Jazz whispered, standing on the threshold. She wrinkled her nose at the musty smell that drifted in the air.

  “That’s because death now rules here.” He ignored her hesitation and took the first step inside.

  Jazz tightened her grip on his hand and followed her lover into the last room she wanted to enter.

  She allowed Nick to take the lead. Her detecting skills had to do with curse elimination while he was a private investigator for the supernatural community and a former Enforcer for the vampire Protectorate that rivaled any government agency in the world.

  Nick glanced over his shoulder. “Why don’t you look around here while I check the body,” he suggested, heading for the bedroom.

  “I can do that,” she whispered, circling the antique-decorated parlor. She heard the soft sounds of drawers opening and closing in the other room as she faced a painting of a young woman dressed in a Victorian-styled ball gown.

  “Absolutely don’t miss the corsets from back then,” she muttered, leaning forward to study the subject of the artwork. She kept her hands behind her back so she wasn’t tempted to touch it. With her magick on the fritz no thanks to whatever was going on in the house she wasn’t about to take any chances. A faint wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “Nick, you need to see this.”

  He was there before she finished the sentence.

  She pointed to the portrait. There was no need to say a word.

  “Interesting,” he said in a low voice, also making sure not to touch the painted surface.

  Except as they stared at the painting the image that could have been Mrs. Babbington’s ancestor morphed into a plump and plain version of a young woman.

  “She’s way more than the hotel manager,” Jazz proclaimed.

  “And we just have to figure out what.”

  “Have you found anything in there so far?” She refused to look into the bedroom. Seeing Beatrice as a lifeless husk once was one time too many.

  Nick shook his head. “I can’t sense magick the way you do, but it’s more like a dead zone in there, no pun intended.”

  Jazz couldn’t miss the look he gave her or what it meant.

  “You want me to look at her again.”

  He didn’t nod, merely waited.

  She breathed a few times through her nose then headed for the other room.

  Casting her senses out didn’t offer up any clues. She disliked the overly warm musty air but no way she’d breathe what could be bits of Beatrice through her mouth.

  She moved closer to the bed and looked down. “Nick!”

  He was by her side in the wink of an eye.

  She pointed at the dead woman’s body. “Was she flaking like this when you were in here?”

  Nick shook his head. “More like reminding me of those cornhusk dolls.”

  Jazz passed the flat of her hand a few inches above Beatrice. The faint displacement of air was enough to send flecks of skin into the air. “It’s as if something is making her completely disappear.” She moved backwards. No way she wanted to remain in the room. She turned tail and headed for the suite door. She opened it ready to bolt, but a stocky figure blocked her escape.

  “Saw you coming in here,” Zorak said. “She still dead?”

  “I don’t think her status will change,” Nick said dryly. “Zorak, are you sure you haven’t noticed anything odd around here?”

  The zombie’s chuckle sounded rusty. “Everything here is odd. Always has been.” He idly scratched his forehead, ignoring the bits of skin falling to the flood.

  “Why is the front door locked with an unknown magick?” Jazz asked.

  Zorak’s frown caused more skin flakes to drift away. “That door ain’t locked. I used it this morning when I went out to sweep the steps.”

  “Why would you sweep the steps when it’s pouring rain outside and no one else is expected?” Nick inquired.

  “Part of my job. I do it every morning.”

  “What about Mrs. Babbington?” Jazz chimed in. “What do you know about her?”

  Zorak’s filmy eyes showed confusion even as one of the eyeballs rolled in an alarming circle as if it would momentarily fall out. Jazz stepped back, just in case.

  “She ain’t been here long, but there’s something odd about her.” With that he shuffled off.

  “Wow, that was enlightening. Not.” Jazz huffed an explosion of air as she turned to Nick. She froze, her stare downward. “Nick.”

  Something in her tone alerted him that something else wasn’t right.

  He turned around and followed her gaze.

  The elegant burgundy carpet they’d walked on only moments before had faded to an old patina and the edges frayed. A further look showed the furniture was covered with dust and the wood was cracked with age.

  Nick grabbed Jazz’s arm. “We need to get downstairs now.”

  Chapter 8

  Jazz scrunched her nose in disgust when the iron grille elevator cage arrived at their floor. “It smells as gross as the kitchen.” She pulled on Nick’s hand and turned toward the stairs. “I don’t care if the steps bleed a tsunami of blood, there’s no way I’m getting in that and find body parts hanging from the ceiling.”

  “And to think people assume Thea’s the one with the overactive imagination.”

  Jazz paused by the large mullioned window on the landing that overlooked the back lawn. “Look.”

  Nick rested his hands on her shoulders as he peered over her head. The lush green grass was brown and sodden with rain while just beyond the lawn boundary was a rusty iron fence that guarded a cemetery filled with granite grave stones. Several bats flew overhead.

  “Bats don’t live in this area,” Jazz said softly. “And especially wouldn’t be out in the rain.”

  “Nothing should surprise us anymore. Come on.” He gently nudged her.

  She still took another look out the window. This time the sun shone brightly over a blooming rose garden. She momentarily closed her eyes and checked again. Once again she stared at a dying garden with crows hopping between the bushes.

  “This place is insane,” she muttered, moving to follow Nick.

  By the time they reached the lobby Jazz was gasping for breath and if she wasn’t mistaken, her legs ached as if she’d run the New York City marathon. Something she would never dream of doing.

  She followed Nick toward the parlor. As the buttery glow of the sconces hit Nick she skidded to a stop.

  “Nick, come here.” When he turned around, she reached up and fingered his whiskey brown hair.

  “Hey!” he yelped. “What are you doing?”

  Jazz held up the strand of hair she’d just yanked from his scalp. “Look.”

  He didn’t question her order as he stared at the hair.

  Instead of it being its normal rich brown, it was silver.

  “Sylvie and Derwood.” Jazz pushed past him and ran down the hall. She almost ran face-first into the parlor door. She twisted the knob to no avail. “Sylvie! Sylvie, let us in.” She pounded on the door. “Sylvie!”

  “Let me.” Nick poured his vampire strength into pushing the door open, but it didn’t budge. He muttered a few Russian curses under his breath and stood back, lifting a leg to kick the double doors open.

  The doors split apart and slammed against the wall.

  “What on earth is going on?” Derwood left the library and stood behind them. “Oh no,” he breathed. A squeaking sound escaped his throat as he moved backwards until the wall didn’t allow him to go any further.

  Sylvie sat on the throne-like chair, still looking like the queen she imagined herself to be. Except now she was a monarch whose body was a dry husk like Beatrice upstairs.

  Derwood turned away, shuddering as he dry heaved. Jazz stood behind him rubbing his back in long soothing strokes.

  “What is going on here?” the man asked in a strained voice.

  Nick and Jazz exchanged glances.

  “I think it’s the house or rather the stones it’s built from,” she said softly. “And Mrs. Babbington is a part of it. If I’m not wrong, the building takes the life forces from visitors and gives it to her.”

  Derwood pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “So we’ll end up things like Beatrice and Sylvie?”

  “Not if we can help it,” Nick said grimly.

  “Nick.” Jazz grasped his sleeve. “Look at the carpet.”

  There was no mistaking how the faded color and fraying edges echoed the condition of the carpet in Beatrice’s suite.

  “It wasn’t like that when we were in there last,” Derwood commented. “What does it mean?”

  Jazz started to lean against the wall, but Nick stopped her from making the mistake.

 

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