Page 35 of Adepts and Alchemists

Then he waved an idle hand, dismissing the notion. “No, I would never use such overt action again. You reacted badly last time. I want...” He paused, tapping his chin. “A real chance at a date with you. I’ll throw a party. All monsters and psychics in theHollow are welcome. I’ll pull out the stops and you’ll be on my arm the whole night. Sound fair?”

Darla paused and he continued.

“I get to borrow you for just an evening—a party.”

“No funny business?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“No funny business,” Damon promised.

Darla pursed her lips once in distaste but nodded. “Just so long as you don’t get offended when you end up alone in bed that night.”

Damon’s smile showed a flash of hungry teeth. “I can be very charming.”

“Charming, shmarming,” Darla said with a scowl as she waved him away with an unimpressed hand. “I’m taken an’ you know it. Throw a party if you want. I have a friend to rescue.”

“Rescue?” he repeated.

She nodded. “If I’m right, your guest has a woman I know stuffed in a bottle—well, her spirit anyway.”

“The Mananaggal, yes,” Damon said with a yawn. “I sensed the spirit when she came in. I was under the impression that she was going to leave her in my care, but I haven’t felt a new soul enter the premises. I was going to see to it anyway. It’s against the Hollow charter to imprison someone without due process of the law.” Then he gave her a really smarmy look. “I’m glad you’re taking the chore off my hands.”

My heart threw itself violently against my ribs. The admission was said in a bored tone, but it was nonetheless good news. My hunch had been correct. Lydia was here. More than that, Death’s flirty alter-ego could lead us right to her. The plan I’d been given by the Scapegrace Coven through spotty texts might actually work… if I could free Lydia.

Death’s smile widened by a few molars when Darla smacked his bicep.

“You just wanted an excuse to take me out!”

“Something like that,” he admitted with a laugh. Then he reached behind him, deftly twisting a set of room keys from a peg on the far wall. He threw them underhanded at Darla, who had to teeter dangerously on her heels to catch them. Damon let out a rolling chuckle when she smacked him again.

“You’ll find what you’re looking for in Room 204.”

“Thanks, doll,” Darla smiled and then gave him a wink.

“Be careful, Darla. She bites.”

Chapter Seventeen

Anthony

I’d give Death this much: he knew how to decorate.

The accommodations had most hotel experiences beat, hands down. I’d stayed in my share of rooms like these over the years, ranging from cockroach-infested, near-condemned trash heaps all the way to a five-star luxury resort. The ‘modest’ room Andrea Reyes had rented from Death was enough to make any interior designer weep with joy.

The paneled walls were a shade of walnut so deep they almost appeared black. Golden inlays every few feet made abstract patterns on the walls that threw light back into our faces. The brass lamp on the table lit the room like a floodlight, only kept from spilling into the night by heavy drapes.

I breathed a sigh of relief when we found things relatively untouched. I’d half-expected to find Andrea’s lower half ready to trip me while the other dropped down from the ceiling. When I strained my ears, I couldn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary. The hush of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room. No tell-tale splash of water from the bathroom to indicate a shower or dip in a jacuzzi tub. No click-clack of heels pacing in the other room. No muttered phone calls. It was quiet.

Too quiet, if I were to exercise my right to be cliché. If Damon had been telling us the truth, Lydia ought to be here. There should have been some defense against us on the door at least, if Andrea was planning to leave Lydia here alone for any length of time. A second glance around the room revealed a glass vial just sitting there, next to an older model of coffee machine. Steam from the pot had fogged up the glass, but I swore I could make out swirling features if I squinted closely enough.

“Lydia!” Marty exclaimed. He paled a second later, slapping a hand over his mouth as though he could reel the words back in and trap them there.

Thankfully, nothing lunged out of the darkened corners of the room to take his head off. A glance upward didn’t reveal an unholy abomination scuttling across the ceiling, ready to drop down onto his head like a spider. There was just the hum of the AC unit and nothing more. I shot out a hand to stop him from moving forward to seize the vial. He might be safe to touch the glass in a mystical sense, but it could still trigger a reaction that might bring the wrath of hell on us. There was more than magic to worry about. Bombs would work on witches and humans alike.

“Be very careful,” I said. “I’m sure Murrain learned a lesson last time. Take care of the null first. I’m sure they’re hoping you’ll bungle into a trap and get yourself blown up.”

“What do you suggest we do then?” Marty asked, sounding a little testy for the second time in an evening. “Because if the glass jar is magically rigged, I don’t think you have the necessary skill set to undo it?”

“Right. I don’t.”