Page 34 of Adepts and Alchemists

“So what do we do?”

I smiled, though there wasn’t a lot of life to the expression. I ducked my head a little when a pair of snickering teenagers passed us. I swore I could feel them rubbernecking, trying to get a second glance at the knockoff Ghostbusters prowling the streets of Haven Hollow. Ireallyhated this disguise.

“We let Darla do what she does best.”

“Flirt?” he guessed.

“Exactly.”

Chapter Sixteen

Anthony

Haven Hollow’s ghost hotel appeared to have been summoned into being from a New York street in the 1930s.

The thing had settled like an out-of-place eyesore on Haven Hollow property a few years or more before my arrival and had only settled in comfortably in the interim. Its spectral presence was beginning to sprawl, add-ons popping up as needed when new spooks and other tenants moved in. If you asked me, Death was getting a little too loose with his zoning permits. Maybe I’d bring it up with the Hollow charter at some point. The neighbors wouldn’t appreciate any poltergeists roaming into their backyards by accident.

The interior of the hotel was even more eye-catching than usual when we strode through the double doors into the lobby. The drab evening scene gave way to turn-of-the-century glitz and glamour. The lobby carpet was a field of black and white tiles that led further into the building. The white walls reflected back the lights of golden chandeliers and veins of silver in the marble. Silhouettes lined the halls, the portraits done in sharp relief and a dash of eye-catching red. The path up to the front desk was lined with white-upholstered chairs.

The desk itself would probably have been featured in an abstract art exhibit. It was Art Deco gone mad, a mess of metallic angles that might burst into violent life and end an unwary guest. And that thought was only half as intimidating as the man seated opposite us. He was beautiful in the same fashion as a well-cared-for blade. He was made of sharp angles and deadly purpose.

What else did one expect from an aspect of literal Death?

The man’s amber eyes tracked Darla across the lobby, barely sparing the rest of us a glance. We were living and didn’t concernhim. Well, at least until our time came. With any luck, that day was a long way off for all of us.

The ex-ghost, however, was something new. She was the second spin on the wheel that never should have happened. She’d cheated the natural order, which apparently came with a certain amount of unconsummated desire as far as Death was concerned. As it was, he was eyeing her up and down like she was a steak and he was a starving man.

“Damon,” Darla greeted him warmly, reaching past his abandoned crossword puzzle to take his hands.

She gave both a cursory squeeze before pecking one of his cheeks lightly, like she thought she was European. Then she grinned and turned her face to the side before he could manage to turn it into a proper lip lock.

“You’re a real cake-eater, Mr. Death, but I ain’t that kinda girl an’ you know it,” she said with a light laugh.

“You can’t blame a man for trying,” Death replied, leaning back in his seat with an unrepentant smirk. “What brings you to my humble hall today, beautiful? Have your minions rustled up another restless spirit to be remanded into my care?”

“Not exactly,” Darla hedged, inching a leg onto the counter. It hiked her skirt a few inches, a rather unsubtle ploy on her part, but it had the desired effect. Damon’s gaze dropped to the square of bare flesh, rather than try to parse what living annoyances were doing in his presence. “See, I got a... favor to ask.”

“What sort of favor?” he asked, putting enough suspicion into the question to make Darla flinch. It wasn’t a big tell, as things went, but Death noticed.

“It’s got something to do with your guests,” Darla hedged. “Those of the living persuasion, especially.”

“Go on.”

“I’d be real interested to know if any monsters have settled in here over the last... oh... few weeks or so? Anyone really stick out to you? Give you a bad feeling?”

Death’s, or Damon as she called him, eyes narrowed and he leaned further back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t give out that kind of information for free, you know. Not even to you.”

Darla toyed with a string of pearls around her neck, batting her eyelids at Damon in an outrageous fashion. I would have told her to stop laying it on so thick, except it seemed to be working. His stern expression wavered, giving way to an almost indulgent and amused look when he reached out to run a finger along her jaw.

“You know I don’t do anything for free,” he amended. “What do you have to offer?”

“A double date?” Darla asked. “Me and Henner and whatever Sheba you wanna bring along. We’ll go someplace real nice. You can flirt with me all evening—Henner won’t mind.”

But then she’d go home with Henner. The pair were running hot and heavy these days. I suspected he’d pop the question at some point. Though I didn’t get the allure. In fact, I doubted I’d ever be totally comfortable with the premise of marriage, given who and what I’d grown up around. Marriage just seemed so... stifling.

“Try again, Darla,” Death said in a chiding tone.

“Well, I’m not wagering anything in a card game this time,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her assets weren’t the most impressive I’d ever seen, but Damon watched them hungrily nonetheless.