must realize that strange things are going on in this building and I don’t just mean Beatrice’s death.”
“Strange things?” Mrs. Babbington echoed with a puzzled smile.
Jazz nodded. “Wallpaper and carpets are changing their designs and colors. Paintings appear sentient.”
The other woman held up her hands. “Actually, no I don’t understand what you’re saying about the wallpaper and artwork. I realize magick is something you are extremely familiar with, but I do not think what you are feeling is that. Ms. Vandemeer senses the hotel is filled with a great deal of sadness and pain and that is understandable. After all, this house has experienced many deaths and sorrows over the years, but doesn’t that happen with any building that has withstood so many centuries?”
Jazz abandoned her perusal. “True.”
“We still vote for going down to the Beverly Hills Hotel,” Fluff piped up from the floor. “No nasties there. Just pretty girls giving us massages and chocolate.”
She looked down at her feet. “And I vote for silence.”
“Not after seeing that nasty kitchen,” Puff muttered, his ears rotating like helicopter blades. “Splatter movies could take notes.”
The manager’s face twisted in shock. “Our kitchen has more than passed the health codes. Our chef keeps it immaculate.”
“Sorry. They have a twisted sense of humor,” Jazz said. “They’ll behave.” She shot them a warning look. “Or they’ll find themselves locked in my suitcase.”
Mrs. Babbington looked uncertain. “I must see how lunch preparations are going.” She turned and left the room.
“That should prove interesting when there was no one in there cooking among the blood and gore,” Jazz murmured. “I’m serious, Nick. We need to talk.”
“And we will.” He easily picked up the weighty books and carried them over to the shelf he’d gotten them from. Except the previously empty spaces were now filled with books.
“Like we didn’t expect that to happen. Just leave them on the table. I bet they’ll find themselves a home in no time.” She set her cup down and stood up. Not that she dared drink the contents anyway. “I think we need to return to Beatrice’s rooms and take another look.”
Nick kept his hand resting comfortably against the back of her neck as they walked down the hallway.
“No magick in this place my ass,” Jazz mused.
“And a sweet one at that.” He patted said body part.
She ignored him and wasted no time heading for the stairs.
“After everything else there’s no way I trust the elevator,” she told Nick. “For all we know there’s an axe murderer lurking in there.”
“Between your magick and my strength I’d say we’d be safe.”
“What magick?” Jazz hissed. “It’s not working.”
He spun around. “What in Hades do you mean it’s not working?”
“Just that.” She waved her hands. Not one spark of power appeared. “Kaput. Zip. I can’t open a simple lock. I can’t even open an easy door.” Her moss green eyes shone with fury. “Even worse, we can’t leave here.”
“Nonsense.” He walked over to the front door.
Jazz smiled without one smidge of humor. She waved her hand. “Be my guest.”
Nick tempered his strength so he wouldn’t pull the door off its hinges. It didn’t budge. “Shit.” He pulled harder. Nothing. He stood back and kicked the wood panels, then the glass. It remained intact, but he swore he felt the impact all the way up his leg.
“Told you so.” Jazz headed for the stairs.
“Ha! I could have told you it wouldn’t open,” Puck announced with a wicked chortle.
Jazz’s foot stalled on the first step. She spun on her heel and stalked over to the desk. “Tell us what’s going on.”
“That’s for me to know and you find out, sassy witch.” He snapped his fingers and winked out of existence.
“There’s another puzzle for us,” Nick sighed. “Why his magick works and yours
“Strange things?” Mrs. Babbington echoed with a puzzled smile.
Jazz nodded. “Wallpaper and carpets are changing their designs and colors. Paintings appear sentient.”
The other woman held up her hands. “Actually, no I don’t understand what you’re saying about the wallpaper and artwork. I realize magick is something you are extremely familiar with, but I do not think what you are feeling is that. Ms. Vandemeer senses the hotel is filled with a great deal of sadness and pain and that is understandable. After all, this house has experienced many deaths and sorrows over the years, but doesn’t that happen with any building that has withstood so many centuries?”
Jazz abandoned her perusal. “True.”
“We still vote for going down to the Beverly Hills Hotel,” Fluff piped up from the floor. “No nasties there. Just pretty girls giving us massages and chocolate.”
She looked down at her feet. “And I vote for silence.”
“Not after seeing that nasty kitchen,” Puff muttered, his ears rotating like helicopter blades. “Splatter movies could take notes.”
The manager’s face twisted in shock. “Our kitchen has more than passed the health codes. Our chef keeps it immaculate.”
“Sorry. They have a twisted sense of humor,” Jazz said. “They’ll behave.” She shot them a warning look. “Or they’ll find themselves locked in my suitcase.”
Mrs. Babbington looked uncertain. “I must see how lunch preparations are going.” She turned and left the room.
“That should prove interesting when there was no one in there cooking among the blood and gore,” Jazz murmured. “I’m serious, Nick. We need to talk.”
“And we will.” He easily picked up the weighty books and carried them over to the shelf he’d gotten them from. Except the previously empty spaces were now filled with books.
“Like we didn’t expect that to happen. Just leave them on the table. I bet they’ll find themselves a home in no time.” She set her cup down and stood up. Not that she dared drink the contents anyway. “I think we need to return to Beatrice’s rooms and take another look.”
Nick kept his hand resting comfortably against the back of her neck as they walked down the hallway.
“No magick in this place my ass,” Jazz mused.
“And a sweet one at that.” He patted said body part.
She ignored him and wasted no time heading for the stairs.
“After everything else there’s no way I trust the elevator,” she told Nick. “For all we know there’s an axe murderer lurking in there.”
“Between your magick and my strength I’d say we’d be safe.”
“What magick?” Jazz hissed. “It’s not working.”
He spun around. “What in Hades do you mean it’s not working?”
“Just that.” She waved her hands. Not one spark of power appeared. “Kaput. Zip. I can’t open a simple lock. I can’t even open an easy door.” Her moss green eyes shone with fury. “Even worse, we can’t leave here.”
“Nonsense.” He walked over to the front door.
Jazz smiled without one smidge of humor. She waved her hand. “Be my guest.”
Nick tempered his strength so he wouldn’t pull the door off its hinges. It didn’t budge. “Shit.” He pulled harder. Nothing. He stood back and kicked the wood panels, then the glass. It remained intact, but he swore he felt the impact all the way up his leg.
“Told you so.” Jazz headed for the stairs.
“Ha! I could have told you it wouldn’t open,” Puck announced with a wicked chortle.
Jazz’s foot stalled on the first step. She spun on her heel and stalked over to the desk. “Tell us what’s going on.”
“That’s for me to know and you find out, sassy witch.” He snapped his fingers and winked out of existence.
“There’s another puzzle for us,” Nick sighed. “Why his magick works and yours
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