with here.”
I snapped them on, and the cool tingles of an activated spell swept over my hands.
A king-size bed sat catty-corner opposite me. The bedroom was painted white, but the comforter was crimson. Small black velvet bird appliques swarmed in the center. I’m not much for art. I’ll confess the deeper meaning of the twisted comforter was lost on me. Maybe death to all swallows ?
Speaking of death... The faint essence of decay lingering in the hall shrouded this room. It smelled ground into the accent rugs, and no amount of plug-in air freshener could mask it from a nose as keen as mine. I followed the sharpest whiff of odor straight to the bed and ripped back the covers. The center of the bed, where the sheets should have been white, was a rusty-brown color and crusted with dried blood.
“Shaw,” I called.
He padded down the hall, stopping when his shoulder brushed mine. “Is this what you smelled?”
Easing around the side of the bed, I lowered my face six inches above the mattress and inhaled. I straightened slowly, processing the puzzling information. “No. It’s not. Someone—or something—else was in here.” I gestured toward the stains. “This is old, faint. Human. What I smelled in the hall, and in here, it’s hard to describe. The stench has seeped into the walls from constant contact with whatever it is.”
His gaze bounced from the en suite bathroom to the closet. “Do you think it’s still here?”
“Unless it’s hiding in the walls...” which, I’ll admit, was a possibility with fae, “...no.”
“Then keep searching.” He cleared the bathroom and closet. “We’ll set a perimeter spell when we leave. I want to monitor the foot traffic in and out of this place for the next forty-eight hours.” His gaze swept around the room. “Call if you find anything else.”
“Will do.” I tugged the mattress off the box spring then stood it against the wall. Stains covered the base and, when I shuffled it aside, more blood had congealed in a puddle on the hardwood floor.
I read once the human body contained five and a half liters of blood.
I bet every ounce of it had spilled here.
Nothing worth noting in or under the bedframe. I kicked aside the crimson area rug and examined the contents of Mrs. Richardson’s closet. More shoes than a Payless, but no secret compartments, odd stains or odors.
The bathroom proved less interesting. Jars and tubes filled each drawer, the labels all printed in French. I collected a few hairs from her brush and bagged her razor. Her nail clippers also got tagged. Nothing unusual so far. Okay, so the freaky stuff only happened in the bed. Didn’t it always?
Reentering the bedroom, I noticed two things. The box spring sat on the bedframe as though I had never moved it, and the mattress no longer leaned against the wall but now stood in front of the door.
A blast of cold air shot down my neck, stirring the ripe scent of rot around the room. This was it, the stench from the hallway. I turned a slow circle, coughing as the stench worsened. “Shaw?”
No response.
Okay then.
Keeping it casual, I walked to the mattress and gripped the fabric handles sewn into the sides. It wouldn’t budge. I jerked harder. No dice. I threw my weight into tugging it aside when pain stung my hand. I stumbled back, dripping blood from a nasty bite mark swelling across the top of my hand.
So much for the cut-resistant gloves.
A bite like this should have healed a second after the teeth let go, but it wasn’t mending. It was festering as I watched. Ick .
“Come out with your hands up,” I snapped.
Gray mist drifted from behind the mattress and settled across the floor. As the smoke-like twists uncurled, a slender creature no more than two feet high at the shoulder solidified with massive teeth on display. It wore a tailored crimson half vest trimmed with white fur. Factor in the pointy ears and it reminded me of an elf. Not North Pole stock, either. More like
Learning to Kill: Stories