Hotel Hex by Linda Wisdom Page B

She gulped and kept her eyes on the door as she slowly walked toward it. The longest five seconds of her life passed before she reached the latch. If she could open it….
    But the bolt refused to release no matter how much she fought it with her magick. Jazz’s nerves started to unravel as the door remained fully stuck.
    “Is there something wrong, Ms. Tremaine?”
    She spun around at the sound of Mrs. Babbington’s soothing voice.
    “I-uh-I came in looking for some coffee and needed fresh air. I mean, look at—” Her words floated off as she stared at a butcher block table that now only displayed a large crystal bowl filled with fruit. A coffeemaker wafted rich fumes and metal pots bubbled away on an industrial size stove.
    No blood, no gore. No smell assaulting her senses.
    Just Mrs. Babbington standing inside the door. Jazz frowned. The woman looked as if she’d lost two sizes since morning. Her amethyst silk dress looked well tailored and even her wrinkles were less defined as if she’d spent the morning at a luxury spa.
    The imp’s right, Jazz. Things aren’t what they seem to be.
    She forced a smile to her lips. “I guess it’s the rain. Having to close windows and such.” She managed to walk across the kitchen that now smelled of roasting chicken and rosemary instead of a gutted body.
    “Let me get you some coffee.” The hotel manager glided toward the coffeemaker.
    Jazz felt her gorge rise. You can’t let her know you realize things are very very wrong. “Thank you.” She managed not to tremble as she accepted the proffered cup and escaped to the library.
    “What’s wrong?” Nick only had to take one look at her face.
    “A lot,” she said tight-lipped, wedging in next to him in the easy chair. He grimaced and obligingly shifted for her. “But we can’t talk here.”
    He nodded. “I’ve found some interesting books in here,” he said in a normal voice. “Mr. Perry collected some fascinating volumes on history, world events of the day, and even the occult.” He held up a large leather-bound book with faded gold-leaf lettering, The History of Manfred’s Keep.
    “I see you have found some reading material, Mr. Gregory.” Mrs. Babbington paused in the library doorway.
    “I found an interesting book about Laird Manfred.” He held up the volume as he smiled using his vampire power to have her simpering and blushing.
    Jazz, quick to pick up what he was doing, tried to pluck the book out of his hands and discovered it was a lot heavier than she thought. She cradled the weighty tome in her arms as she leafed through it. “Look at these drawings. How bloodthirsty.” She gave a dramatic shudder. “What else have you found, love?” She leaned over him to study the four books piled on a table by his other elbow.
    Mrs. Babbington stepped inside and stood in front of the couple, her hands lightly clasped in front of her.
    “I thought I would let you know that I tried contacting the owner about poor Madame Fairfield, but due to the storm the telephone lines are down,” she said.
    Jazz plucked her cell phone out of her pocket and grimaced at the lack of bars. “Looks like the landline’s not the only service down,” she muttered, looking at the woman. Hm, if she wasn’t mistaken the innkeeper’s eyes appeared a bit sharper than earlier along with a decided lack of crows feet.
    Nick said nothing, but didn’t miss the tension in Jazz’s body.
    “Mrs. Babbington, how much do you know about magick?” the witch asked.
    The woman smiled. “While I am aware there is quite a bit of supernatural power in the world, I know very little about it, Ms. Tremaine. I am aware that Zorak is called a zombie and also what you and Mr. Gregory are.” She self-consciously touched the coil of hair at the base of her neck as she sent a shy smile in Nick’s direction.
    Jazz frowned at her. She kept her cup in her hand as she walked over to the mahogany bookshelves and idly examined the contents. “Then you