Free Hotel Hex by Linda Wisdom Page B

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.
    “Well, what do we have here?”
    The trio turned to find Mrs. Babbington gliding down the hallway. Except this wasn’t the sweet-faced, elderly woman who’d greeted them the previous day or even earlier that morning.
    Her silver hair was now a warm blonde color and stylishly crafted in a neat twist on the back of her head. Her plump body was much leaner and curvier while her face was free of wrinkles.
    Derwood’s mouth dropped open in shock while Jazz and Nick weren’t all that surprised.
    “It’s the house, isn’t it?” Jazz said, making sure not to sound accusing. “The house takes away and gives to you.”
    “Why, I don’t know what you mean.” The hotel manager smiled warmly, but there was a fleeting hint of malice in her eyes.
    “How-how did you change?” Derwood stammered. “And what did you do to Beatrice and Sylvie?”
    “Sylvie?” She looked past them and into the parlor. “Oh my.” She walked into the room without hesitation. She spun