Kitty's House of Horrors
Page 34

I smelled Provost. Didn’t mean anything, because he’d been in and out of here all week, on the porch, sitting, standing, walking. I found footprints, but again, Provost and his crew had been going back and forth the whole time we’d been here. I didn’t know enough about forensics to know if the wound on Dorian’s head was caused by the fall or by someone sneaking up on him and hitting him.
Grant found something, a scorch mark at the joint that had held the railing to the post. “A small explosive might have weakened the joint at an opportune time. It wouldn’t even have to be loud enough to hear.”
“So it’s sabotage. Not an accident,” I said.
“Seems reasonable.”
None of us had touched Dorian up to that point. For a second I entertained the thought that maybe he was just unconscious, and if I put my hand to his neck there’d be a pulse and he’d survive. But the Wolf senses knew otherwise, couldn’t be fooled. He smelled dead.
Grant, Jeffrey, and I took a spare blanket, wrapped Dorian in it, and brought him inside to one of the empty bedrooms upstairs. We closed the door softly, out of respect. It seemed almost laughable; we weren’t going to wake anyone up. But the whole situation seemed to call for moving softly, carefully.
Then we gathered in the living room to discuss—to confront—the situation.
“So we’re stranded,” Jeffrey said. “We don’t have any power, and there’s no way to contact anyone.”
“Has anyone checked the generator?” Lee said.
“We were on our way to do that when we found Dorian,” I said. “But do you really think this is just a matter of turning the power back on? We’re on our own here.” I wanted to pace, but I stayed in my chair, my feet tapping nervously. Jerome did pace, back and forth along the picture window, looking out.
“I don’t get this. What does this mean? What are you all saying?” Conrad said, shaking his head. “Because if this is some kind of haunted-house gag for the show, it’s in really poor taste.”
“There are bodies, Conrad,” I muttered. “This isn’t TV anymore.”
Grant said, “Until we contact the authorities, I suggest no one go anywhere alone. We should stay in this central area until we come up with a plan to contact the authorities and find out where Provost is.”
“We’re what, sixty miles from the nearest town? If I shifted I could run that in a day,” Jerome said. “Kitty and I both could.”
“There’s another resort lodge even closer than that,” Lee said. “Thirty miles, maybe. I can check the map.”
“That may be our best option,” Grant said.
I couldn’t explain what had happened—what was happening—but we were coming up with plans, and that was good. That made me feel better. This was a good, sensible, talented group of people to be stuck with.
But there was still something making me nervous. I looked at Grant. “We should go around and look for those remote cameras and shut them down. Put electrical tape or duct tape over the lenses if we can’t turn them off. I don’t want anyone salvaging footage for any shows out of this.”
“Or spying on us?” Grant said.
“I didn’t want to say it,” I said.
Conrad was pale, breathing too quickly, on the edge of panic. “But if the power’s out—”
“Batteries,” Jerome said. “They could still be filming.”
“We’ll do that,” Tina said, taking Ariel’s hand and urging her to her feet. “I’ll bet there’s duct tape in the kitchen or toolshed.”
Jerome and Grant paired off to check the generator, Tina and Ariel searched the kitchen for tape, and I kept wracking my brains, wondering what we were missing.
Jeffrey said, softly, “Someone should tell Anastasia and Gemma what happened to Dorian. They should know.”
Well. That was one of the things I’d forgotten. Or didn’t want to think about. I didn’t understand the bond the three of them shared, but I knew it was strong. I knew they’d be hurt. Devastated. I couldn’t guess how they’d react.
“Isn’t it a bad idea, disturbing vampires while they’re sleeping?” Ariel said.
“And how disturbed do you think they’ll be when they realize we’ve gone all day without telling them what happened?” I said.
“I don’t want to do it,” Tina said softly. A couple of the others—Lee, Conrad—looked away, in silent agreement.
“I’ll do it,” I said and went toward the stairs.
I didn’t want to. I didn’t like the idea of walking into the vampires’ secret lair with this news more than anyone else did. But if it had been me, I’d want someone to tell me right away. Not that I knew how I was going to do it.
I opened the door. The stairwell was pitch-dark. My eyes adjusted quickly; enough light bled from the upstairs to let me see, a little. I should have brought a flashlight. Keeping my hand on the wall, I inched my way down, until I felt the stairwell give way to open room.
The room looked like all the other bedrooms, a typical hotel setup with a king-sized bed, a bureau, a desk, a couple of armchairs, and a bathroom. A couple of suitcases stood by the closet. Fully dressed, Anastasia sat at the edge of the bed, facing me. She was ghostly pale, her skin grayish, lips thin, eyes half-lidded. She looked like a wax figure. Like a corpse.
“Something’s happened,” Anastasia said.
I swallowed. My eyes teared up again. “It’s Dorian.”
She bowed her head and nodded. “I could tell. Something woke me—I could just tell.”
“He fell when the porch railing gave way. It looks like… Odysseus thinks it was rigged. Anastasia, I’m so sorry.”
She sat very still. After a long pause, she said, “Stupid, fragile mortals.” A trembling hand wiped her cheek, though nothing was there. She took a deep breath, which was odd, because vampires didn’t need to breathe. They only drew air to speak. But she seemed to need to gather herself. The breath seemed to help her straighten and regain control.
She looked over her shoulder to Gemma, who was asleep, a still, waxen figure under the covers.
“Are you going to wake her up?” I asked.
“No,” Anastasia said. “Let her have a few more hours of peace. She’ll find out soon enough. The railing—you said it was rigged?”