Free Hotel Hex by Linda Wisdom Page A

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.