by Tricia Owens
The alley provided nothing suspicious or interesting so I followed it to Ozium’s back parking lot. I found nothing there, either.
Returning to the sidewalk in front of the bar, I gazed at the gray monolith of the Sinistera and its empty front sidewalk. Then I compared the scene to my side of the street. A feeling of certainty overcame me. I crossed the street again and walked along the trimmed box hedges that ran around the base of the hotel.
At the far northwest corner, I found the blood.
There was a lot of it, nearly black and running partway up the side of the building. No one had noticed it because pedestrians deliberately crossed the street to the other side rather than walk near the Sinistera. I would wager that only guests and employees used this sidewalk…as well as Morrison.
I now had good evidence that the shadow creature had killed Morrison here. Running down the possible timeline, it made more sense that when I’d encountered the shadow that night it hadn’t yet killed the counselor. That had come after I’d scared it off.
Interesting, but where did that lead me?
“Arrow!”
A blond-haired man waved at me from the opened doorway of Ozium.
“Hey, stranger!” Jasper called. Grinning, he waved me over. “Come here!”
Though the last time I’d seen him I’d been in a turmoil of conflicting emotions, this time I felt only happiness. I couldn’t stop my matching smile as I ran across the street.
“Hey,” I said, breathless from more than the quick run. My cheeks felt hot. I prayed I wasn’t blushing. “I didn’t know you started work this early.”
He motioned at his work uniform, which emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. “It’s nearly six. I start in an hour.”
“Is it that late already?” I was genuinely surprised. Then again, so much had happened today it was no wonder I’d lost track of time. “I have to start soon, too, actually.”
He glanced briefly at the Sinistera from over my shoulder. “So your first night was last night. How was it? Must not’ve been too bad since you didn’t quit.”
“Amazingly, I didn’t. The staff is nice, so that helps. Especially the other security guard that I work with,” I added, unable to help myself. “He’s officially my underling,” I added with a wag of my eyebrows.
I waited for a flash of dismay or a wobbling of Jasper’s smile, but I was doomed for disappointment. He looked happy for me. I hoped that his pleasure wasn’t due partly to relief that I would no longer be interested in him.
“That’s great, Arrow. I’m glad you’re working with good people. It’d be a real drag if you didn’t get along with them.”
“Yeah.” I smiled and nodded and I hated myself for trying in a childish way to make him jealous. He’d kissed me. Big deal. If he wasn’t bringing it up now then it obviously hadn’t meant anything then. Just a kiss between friends…even though he’d never kissed me before. “So, uh, how’s Rogette? Angry with me for waking her up?”
He laughed. “Nah. She’s a morning person.” He palmed the back of his neck. “She’s here, actually, in the back. She sometimes comes along until I start my shift. It’s kind of funny that you two never ran into each other for as often as you’re both here.”
Funny. Right. Hearing that from him made me reluctant to keep visiting him with such regularity. I had every right to come to Ozium. It was a public place and he and I were friends. Yet even if no one else knew, I knew that each time I saw Jasper I fanned a tiny torch that burned for him.
It was probably high time I let that torch die out. What if one night Rogette caught me staring at him with my heart in my eyes? I shuddered.
“Guess we were ships passing in the night,” I said with an empty smile.
“I’d call her out here now but she’s got a coven meeting tonight, so she’s prepping some snacks.”
The news caught me off-guard. “Rogette is a witch?”
His reaction was strange: discomfort and frustration, touched by the tiniest brushstroke of fear.
“It’s new for me, but she’s interesting,” he said. “It’s good that we have different interests.”
I would have believed him if he’d made any effort to look believable. What was going on with him?
He frowned and took a step closer to me. “Listen, forget that. Arrow, is everything okay? I don’t want to say that you look tired, but you look—stressed. Are you sure things are fine at the hotel?” He gave a quick, oddly furtive look over his shoulder before shutting the bar’s door behind him. “Did anything happen in there?”
“A lot happened,” I told him, thinking of running into the Count, and the shifting hallway and the man in it whose face seemed familiar to me. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, though.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, I know that. You’re badass at IMT.” He grew serious. “What about the under the table work? Has that come up yet?”
I hesitated. I wouldn’t be doing him any favors by telling him I’d been hired to assassinate a mysterious shadow killer. If one day Tower decided to clean up after himself, he would be forced to include Jasper.
“Nothing yet,” I told him. “Maybe it’ll never happen. We’ll see.”
I couldn’t read his expression which was odd because he was normally pretty transparent. But tension pulled at the skin around his eyes and their bright blue depths held what I would have called concern if that had made any sense. But it didn’t. I hadn’t given Jasper any reason to worry about me. The last time we’d talked over coffee we’d agreed that I would take advantage of this situation if I could. We’d parted on an optimistic note.
Yet the longer I looked into his eyes, the more I began to question whether for the first time since I’d become his friend, Jasper was hiding something that mattered to me.
“Well, let me know if anything changes,” he said, his expression easing and the carefree attitude I was accustomed to seeing from him asserting control. “I’m very curious about your job, in case you can’t tell. I want to hear all the dirty details when you get the chance.”
“I’ll try to stop by when I get a night off,” I told him, even though I questioned the wisdom of drinking around him now that I knew Rogette was often at the bar, too.
Unrequited lust—infatuation, whatever it was—was an indulgence I knew better than to cultivate. Besides, I had more important things to focus on than my attraction to Jasper.
~~~~~
Sheridan was alone at the front desk, typing on her unusual keyboard. She glanced up at me and stopped typing when she noticed my approach from the front door.
“Hey,” I greeted her casually.
She smiled back. Sheridan was a tough nut to crack. While my instincts told me she wasn’t up to anything nefarious, my inability to read her emotions kept me faintly suspicious of her. It was that smile. The perfect hostess smile. But how much of it was real?
“What is that?” I asked her as I leaned on the desk and looked down at the keys with their unrecognizable symbols.
“It’s an encryption keyboard. Mr. Tower requests that I use it when composing certain briefs.”
I arched a brow. “Briefs?”
“I’m afraid I can’t explain further.”
I bet that even under torture Sheridan would say the same thing, and probably with that same pleasant expression on her face.
“How are you enjoying your employment with the Sinistera?” she asked me.
She didn’t appear tired even though I believed that she hadn’t slept in at least twenty-four hours. It was slightly disconcerting, reminding me of the super enhancements made to the freedom fighters during the war.
“It’s the most unusual job I’ve ever had,” I told her, smiling ruefully.
“Isn’t it?” She laughed. “I’m very fond of it.”
Sensing a relaxing of her usual restraint, I rested my elbows on the desk and leaned closer. “Sheridan, you probably have all the dirt on this place, don’t you?”
Her eyes crinkled at t
he corners. “What if I do?”
“Then I’d try to coax you into spilling some secrets. Or at least answering some questions about this place for me.”
She glanced from side to side, prompting my spine to tighten with anticipation.
“Secrets won’t be secrets if I tell,” she murmured coyly. I began to deflate, thinking she’d brushed me off, but then she said, “Then again, there are some secrets that the Head of Security deserves to know. For the good of the hotel, of course.”
“Of course.”
Her grin was less stock receptionist and more conspiratorial. “What would you like to know? I can’t promise I’ll be able to tell you everything. Mr. Tower considers me to be his gatekeeper of knowledge and access. But as I said, you need to be informed to adequately perform your job.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” I told her quickly, though I wanted to dance in my excitement. There was so much I wanted to ask her. I sifted through my questions and picked my most burning one. “Who is Mr. Tower? Really?”
“A loaded question, but I believe I know what you’re asking.” She tapped her fingers lightly on the desk as she considered her answer. “He is a family friend of the owner of the Sinistera.”
“Who owns the Sinistera?”
“He is currently unavailable so the property is in trust, run by Mr. Tower until rightful control by the family may be resumed.”
“Okay, but I’m still asking: who is the owner?”
There was a definite twinkle in Sheridan’s eyes as though she ached to tell me but couldn’t. “Next question, please.”
I pursed my lips, frustrated at being thwarted. “Alright, then. This may be another question you’re unable to answer: is Mr. Tower a good man or is he…not?”
I left it to her to interpret what ‘not’ meant, and I could tell she was on the same page as I.
“I believe he is a good man,” she replied, “otherwise I wouldn’t have dedicated so much of myself to the Sinistera. This is my home. This is my family. This is my life. And this is…my cause.”
Cause. I was a big fan of that word, assuming the cause was just. Sheridan believed she was working for an idea that was worthy of her life, but what could that possibly be within a supernatural hotel filled with cohabs, criminals, and creatures who were being protected from the police?
“If Mr. Tower is as good as you say,” I said carefully, “then why won’t he allow the police on the property when there is at least one killer here?”
“Are the police infallible, then?” Sheridan adopted an expression of innocent surprise. “Incorruptible? Selfless?”
I stared at her, my heart beginning to race. “You don’t trust them? Why?”
“Great injustices have been inflicted upon innocents in the name of public good,” she murmured. “Or so I’ve been told. The war was before my time.”
The war again.
“It was before my time, too,” I said slowly, “but you hear things…”
“Yes,” she said, smiling and holding my gaze, “you hear things.”
I felt better receiving confirmation—however vaguely worded—that I wasn’t a conspiracy nut like Wolfgang. Something was happening in Victory City. That it was tied to the war made me uniquely qualified to deal with it, though I questioned whether Tower knew of my family connections or it was pure luck that I’d been handed this job.
“For instance,” I said, pushing my luck, “I’ve heard things about ‘hearts.’ That they’re disposable.”
It was her turn to study me with a keener eye, as though I’d clued her into something that she had wondered about. “I see. So that’s your assignment, then?”
“He wants me to kill something,” I said bluntly, hoping to shock a reaction out of her.
I should have known better.
“I’m sure he has good reason to request such a thing,” she said calmly. “And if it helps, you will be generously rewarded.”
“You speak like you have experience.”
“I do. I’m a Master level TM specialist. Occasionally, my skills come in handy for Mr. Tower.”
“Time manipulation? Wow.” I didn’t have to fake my admiration. TM was one of the most difficult specialties and Sheridan was a Master level. “I’m a piddly Junior level IMT. Actually, I’m not even that because I didn’t graduate. Would you—could you help me with my assignment? I’m trying to find out what the ‘hearts’ connection could mean.”
“You might ask the sidewalk ward.”
I stared at her in confusion. “What sidewalk ward?”
“The one in the sidewalk,” she said, obviously holding back a laugh.
She looked down as she typed something on her strange keyboard for a few seconds, her fingers a blur. When she lifted her hands again, she cocked her head at me. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
Her generosity surprised me but I didn’t second guess it. Before she thought better of her offer, I blurted, “The Architect.”
Sheridan had so far appeared unflappable to me, but there was no mistaking the shock that rolled through her.
“I saw him,” I told her.
“That’s—that’s quite interesting,” she managed to say as she composed herself.
“Who is he? He didn’t design this place so what is he an architect of? And why is he—” I broke off, unsure how to explain myself.
“He’s trapped within the Sinistera,” Sheridan whispered. She glanced around, clearly nervous about being caught. “It was done by his father, to keep him alive until the time is right for him to take control of the hotel. Whatever you do, Arrow, you can’t tell anyone else that you’ve seen him. It will attract the wrong sort of attention.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are some in the Sinistera who want access to him, and some who won’t be happy that you have access to him.” Fear darkened her eyes. “He’s a very important man, Arrow. Unbelievably important. To all of us.” She took a breath.
“But, who is—”
Nova Fallow glided through the doorway behind Sheridan like an iceberg. I immediately jerked upright as a warning to Sheridan, who understood immediately. She calmly adjusted some papers on the desk.
“As I said, I believe Elliott will meet you in ten minutes,” Sheridan told me in a clear voice. “He had a last-minute errand to attend.”
“Okay, great. I’ll just wait for him here, then. Thanks.” I nodded at Nova. “Hello, again.”
The pale-haired night manager stared at the back of Sheridan’s head for a disturbingly long time. I began to sweat on Sheridan’s behalf. Much to my relief, and likely Sheridan’s, too, Nova turned to look at the mail slots. Mine was empty because I knew it would be a waste of time to ask Tower why he wanted me to hunt down the shadow killer. I’d have to uncover that on my own, if at all.
“I am pleased to see you adjusting,” she said once she faced me again. “I will be sure to let Mr. Tower know.”
“It’s an interesting job,” I said guilelessly. “I look forward to making an impact here.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, as though she found me a touch more amusing than a fly repeatedly banging into a window.
“You will have those briefs soon, yes?” she said to Sheridan, dismissing me.
“Of course, Nova,” Sheridan said without looking at her. Her fingers flew over the strange keyboard.
With another cool look at me, Nova disappeared through the doorway again.
“It’s indeed a very interesting place,” Sheridan said, her eyes on her work. “There are a handful of us who do our best to make an impact. We call ourselves Specials. As in, Special Hires.”
“How many of us are there?”
“Six at the moment.”
“Then the number goes up or down…”
Sheridan nodded, giving me another meaningful look. “Yes. It goes up and down.”
In other words, some of the Specials had died in the past and could again in the future.
“You might speak with the sidewalk ward,” she reminded me before she bent her head to concentrate on her work.
Obeying the prompt, I headed outside again.
Night had fallen in the time I’d been speaking with her. The glow from the Sinistera’s signage and the crescent-shaped lamps on the building were the only illumination thanks to heavy cloud cover. I could have done without the ominous setting as I warily circled the square of concrete that had been my first introduction to the strangeness that was the Sinistera.
“I’m back,” I said, unsure if the sidewalk could hear me or if it was pressure sensitive, like a landmine.
The concrete remained hard and unyielding. So I did what I did when someone ignored me.
“I have a question for you. About the blood testing. What if you made a mistake about me? What if you’re wrong?”
The concrete softened and a gouged line began to swirl through it. I hid my smile that baiting the sidewalk ward had worked.
Blood will always tell. There can be no mistake.
“There are three dead witches. Are you the one who killed them?”
They came together. They died together. There will be others.
Not the most helpful of answers, but I understood that this was like speaking with the Sphinx. “What did they want with the hotel?”
The concrete smoothed out and remained so.
I wasn’t clever enough for this. But fortunately, my need was simple: “What were their names?”
The sidewalk ward began to write.
Chapter 12
I strode purposefully up to the front desk. Sheridan, who’d been speaking on the phone, took one look at my expression and murmured something into the receiver before hanging up.
“They’re witches,” I stated triumphantly. “All witches share some variation of ‘heart’ in their surnames.”
“All witches of that particular coven,” Sheridan corrected me mildly.
“Fine. They’re all in the same coven.”
More pieces fell into place. Had the shadow creature been at Ozium because it wanted to kill Rogette? It definitely looked that way. She was a witch. She might have been at the bar that night since Jasper claimed she often hung out there. But if that were true, who had killed Morrison?