8. Hotel Evil

We followed Wheatley back into her rustic farmhouse, the floorboards creaking underfoot. Donnie plopped himself down on the couch and whipped out his laptop.

“I’ll see what I can dig up on this mysterious Reddit poster,” Donnie said, cracking his knuckles. “Working on a laptop is way easier than a dinky phone screen. I’m going to have to work some of my special magic to pinpoint the location.“ He glanced up at Wheatley. “What’s the Wi-Fi password, toots?”

Wheatley rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a half-smile. “Network is ‘GetOffMyLAN’. Password is ‘password123’.”

“Wow, super secure,” Donnie quipped as he hunted and pecked the keys. I paced behind the couch, my mind churning. I’d been so wrapped up about the information Wheatley shared—about everything she knew about the Hellgate—and spinning up ideas with little success about how to rescue Angi that I hadn’t thought about whoever the mysterious Reddit guy was. Usually I was the one who was level-headed, but given all these new revelations, thinking about saving Angi, I wasn’t on the top of my mental game.

Donnie kept up a running commentary as he worked. “Chances of pinpointing an exact physical address are pretty much nil. Everyone and their grandma browse on phones these days...”

His voice trailed off and his eyes bulged. “Well, bite my butt!”

“No thank you,” Wheatley retorted dryly. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What did you find, Donnie?” I leaned over his shoulder to peer at the screen.

“You’re not gonna believe this...” he started.

Donnie spun his laptop around, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. A map of Wakan Hollow filled the screen, a pulsing red flag marking a specific location.

“This is where our mystery poster is located. And get this—they’re using a landline. Like, dial-up old school.”

I squinted at the screen, incredulous. “You mean like AOL? I didn’t even know that was still a thing.”

“Welcome to 1995, my friend. You’ve got mail!” Donnie chuckled, clearly amused by his own joke. “Believe it or not, dial-up is still kicking, but hardly anyone uses it these days. The real question is, why is our mysterious friend accessing the internet from a physical address here in Wakan Hollow using tech old enough to be in a museum?”

I turned to Wheatley, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. “Any idea who lives at that address?”

She shook her head slowly, her brow furrowed in thought. “That old place? It’s been abandoned for years. My father used to run it as a hotel, then eventually converted it into small apartments for people he recruited to town.”

I crossed my arms. “To help guard the Hellgate?”

“Exactly. When my parents adopted me, they weren’t sure I’d be able to carry on the family duties alone. They brought in others with gifts, sensitivities.”

She paused, her gaze distant, as if lost in memory. “Most of them are still living here, keeping watch. Ready to help when I ask. But some moved on. Turns out, not everyone’s abilities were suited for the job. The thing is, nearly everyone my father recruited stayed in that building when they first came to Wakan Hollow.”

I let out a low whistle. “So what you’re telling me is that this place has ties to everyone in Wakan Hollow?”

Wheatley nodded. “Afraid so. But no one lives there any more. Hasn’t for a long time. Been thinking about tearing it down. No one’s kept up the place and it ain’t safe.”

“But someone has a landline there,” Donnie’s eyes were still glued to his laptop screen. “Which means someone has to know who got the line installed.”

I could see the gears turning in Wheatley’s head as she considered this new information. Her eyes narrowed, and I could sense her determination building. “Might not need to dig that deep,” she said finally, pushing herself up from her chair. “Come on, boys. Let’s check out the place ourselves. If someone’s operating out of there and I don’t know it, it’s trespassing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So we need to get the cops involved?”

Wheatley scoffed, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “They’re trespassing on my property! But even if we need the cops, that’s not a problem. They answer to me.”

As we drew closer to the abandoned hotel, Wheatley slowed her motorcycle, the rumble of its engine fading into a low purr. She guided it gracefully to a stop on the side of the street, effortlessly dismounting and removing her helmet. I followed suit in the Chevelle, pulling up behind her and killed the engine. As she turned to face me, I could see the furrowed brow and worried lines etched into her features as she took in the dilapidated structure looming before us. The once grand hotel now stood forlorn and forgotten, its windows boarded up, and the old brickwork in desperate need of tuck pointing.

Donnie and I got out of the car and stepped up behind Wheatley as she examined the entrance of the building.

“Something’s not right.” She tugged at a chain that held the double-doors together. “All the doors are still padlocked shut. How the hell did our mystery man get inside to set up that landline connection?”

I scanned the decrepit façade, taking in the boarded-up windows and the rusted chains criss-crossing the entrance. Wheatley was right—there didn’t seem to be an easy way in. But I knew better than to take things at face value. In my line of work, the most obvious path was rarely the right one.

Wheatley stepped forward, reaching for a set of keys in her pocket, but I quickly intercepted her. “Hold up,” I said, my hand gently grasping her wrist. “Let me take a crack at this. The guy we’re looking for must’ve found another way in. I find it best to follow the path of whatever I’m after. Helps me get into its head—think what it was thinking—and usually turns up a few clues about what it’s up to.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You must be some kind of hunter, huh?”

I couldn’t help but wink. “Not my first rodeo. I know it seems like a waste of time when you could just unlock the doors, but trust me—the extra legwork might pay off. People tend to drop breadcrumbs when they think no one’s looking.”

Wheatley stepped back with a flourish. “All right then, hotshot. Lead the way.”

I chuckled a little. Wheatley’s no-nonsense attitude and sharp wit were growing on me. She knew what she was doing—that much was clear. But she wasn’t a hunter. She was more like a magically-equipped security guard. She knew how to deal with shit that came out of the Hellgate, and since the world was still spinning and people were none the wiser to what Wakan Hallow represented, she’d done a damn good job of it.

I led our little trio around the perimeter of the hotel, my eyes scanning every inch of the weathered brick and boarded-up windows for any signs of disturbance. Donnie trailed behind me, his thumb sliding up and down the screen of his phone. Probably checking his damn feeds, or whatever.

I didn’t have a social media profile. I wasn’t interested in wasting time on the Bookface, TokTik, or whatever. Donnie lived for that shit. His self-esteem was directly tied to his follower counts, and the “likes” he earned on his posts.

“Put that damn thing away,” I snapped. “We’re on a mission here, Donnie.”

He grumbled, but obeyed, shoving his phone back into his pocket with a huff. Wheatley walked beside me, her strides purposeful and her gaze sharp as she took in our surroundings. She didn’t seem bothered by the eerie stillness that hung heavy over the abandoned building. She was the mayor of Creepyville. This shit was her jam.

As we rounded the back of the building, I spotted it: a fire escape, its metal cage door swinging open in the breeze. The padlock that should’ve been keeping it secure lay on the ground.

“Bingo.” I crouched down to examine the lock. Someone had broken it open with bolt cutters. “Dollars to donuts. This is how our mystery Reddit troll got inside.”

Donnie scoffed. “He wasn’t a troll.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course he was a troll. Probably set up a fake account and pretended to be some two-bit hunter just to get my attention.”

“That’s not what a troll is,” Donnie retorted. “Do you know nothing about the Internet?”

I shrugged, a smirk tugging at my lips. “I know plenty about the Interwebs.”

I could practically hear Donnie’s blood pressure rising in annoyance at my deliberate use of a term that wasn’t a real thing. Screwing with Donnie was my favorite pastime. The stupidest things got under his skin—and I was a pro at exploiting it. Because nothing was funnier to me than a flustered Donnie. His face reddened, and he opened his mouth to correct me, but suppressing a laugh, I cut him off.

“Donnie, give me your kit.”

Wheatley looked confused, but Donnie seemed to know exactly what I meant. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a compact fingerprint dusting kit. I took it from him and started applying the fine black powder to the metal rungs of the fire escape ladder.

“See,” I explained as I worked, “you can’t climb a ladder like this without getting a solid grip on the rungs. But it looks like our guy was wearing gloves or took the time to wipe his prints after he was done.”

Wheatley chuckled. “Let me guess. Donnie hacks into databases. If you find prints, he checks for a match.”

I nodded. “Sometimes. But that’s only if we’re dealing with human monsters. They’re the worst kind, usually. Other creatures leave distinct prints, things I can identify in a pinch. Dusting in advance can give me a clue about what we’re dealing with.”

Wheatley laughed a little. “Damn. You’re better at this shit than I thought.”

I winked at her. “I know, right?”

We climbed the ladder, the metal cold under my fingertips. The fire escape led to a series of boarded-up windows and doors. I tested each one as we passed, hoping for a weak point, examining the boards for damage.

Then I felt it. One board gave slightly under the pressure of my hand. I dug my fingers into the gap and pulled; the wood coming away with a soft creak.

“Someone popped this open recently.”

Wheatley leaned in, her brow furrowed. “How can you tell?”

I pointed to the marks on the window trim. “See how clean these are? Like someone used a crowbar or the claw end of a hammer to pry the wood away. Based on how fresh the marks look, how the exposed wood isn’t weathered, this had to have been done pretty recently. This is how our mystery guest got into the building.”

We crawled through the window, dropping into a dim, dusty hallway. The moment my feet hit the floor, a familiar scent assaulted my nostrils. Sulfur. The pungent, egg-like odor that we noticed outside the barn before.

Donnie wrinkled his nose. “Sebastian, did you—“

“No,” I snapped, glaring at him. “I didn’t fart, Donnie.”

Wheatley’s face had gone pale. “Something from hell was in here. A Mimic or another beta demon, most likely.”

“Does that mean...” I couldn’t finish the thought.

“Whoever was in here,” Wheatley breathed, “something came after them. Let’s hope we don’t find a body.”

I shook my head. “We won’t. Whoever was here must’ve bested whatever demon showed up and left its stench.”

Wheatley quirked an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because,” I gestured to the window we’d just come through, “someone boarded that window up again after getting inside. I know little about demons, granted, but if something from Hell came in here and killed our John Doe, do you think it would bother to reseal the entry point?”

“Makes sense.” Wheatley’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “But that also means whoever we’re looking for isn’t here any more.”

I nodded, my eyes already scanning the hallway for clues. “But if there was a fight here, if a demon tracked our guy here, we’ll find something. There’s always something we can use.”

We started moving. The building groaned around us, settling and shifting like a restless beast. Every creak pinged my hunter’s instinct. I’d only guessed that our guy killed the demon. Maybe I was wrong. There was more than one way someone could come and go from a place this size.

“I might have made a mistake in my assessment,” I admitted. “My theory about the boarded-up window.”

“You made a mistake?“ Donnie shook his head. “Unbelievable!”

I wasn’t in the mood to entertain his sarcasm. Look, I was about as good as any hunter could be—but in situations like this, there were so many variables, it was more likely than not that even I’d miss something from time to time. “Our target might be using more than one exit or entrance.”

“So there still might be a body…” Wheatley whispered. “Or a demon…”

“Be ready for anything,” I warned.

The sulfuric stench grew stronger as we moved deeper into the building, like a noxious trail leading us to the heart of the mystery.

Donnie’s eyes darted to the floor. “Sebas, check it out.” He pointed to a set of footprints in the grime, the dust and dirt brushed away by the passage of someone—or something—that had come this way recently.

We followed the trail, the silence broken only by the creaking of old floorboards beneath our feet. The prints led us to a single room at the end of the hall. I signaled for the others to wait, then cautiously pushed open the door.

The room was empty, save for a single wooden desk. The smell of sulfur wasn’t as intense inside. On the desk was nothing but a half-smoked cigar, resting in an ashtray, its embers long cold.

Wheatley stepped forward, her brow furrowed. She lifted the cigar to her nose and inhaled. “That’s Nicaraguan,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The color drained from her face, like she’d seen a ghost.

I turned to her, my eyebrow raised. “Does that mean something to you?”

She nodded, her eyes distant. “My father... he smoked Nicaraguans.”

Donnie, meanwhile, was examining the phone jack under the desk. “Someone rigged this up recently.” He traced the wires with his finger. “But it’s a shoddy job. Like someone did it themselves in a hurry.”

I looked at Wheatley. “Could your father tap into phone lines on his own?”

She shrugged, her expression uncertain. “I don’t know. He was a resourceful man. Anything’s possible. But...he’s dead. It couldn’t be him.”

Just then, a high-pitched cackle echoed through the room, sending a chill down my spine. Wheatley spun around, one of her enchanted devices already in her hand, glowing with an eerie light.

“What was that?” Donnie asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Wheatley’s eyes narrowed. “A demon. A velocigorgon, to be precise.”

I frowned. “A veloci-what now?”

“A velocigorgon,” she repeated, her gaze never leaving the doorway. “They’re demonic assassins from hell. Like a cross between a gorgon and a reptile. Faster than Andretti. If it locks eyes with you, it can devour your soul.”

I grimaced. “Lovely. Sounds like you know how to kill these veloci—whatevers.”

Wheatley shook her head. “Technically, you don’t kill a demon. You can destroy its physical form, but its essence will just return to hell. Beheading it will work, but it’s almost impossible to catch these bastards. I need to hit it with my enchanted blaster.”

Great, I thought. Another day, another demon.

Donnie fidgeted nervously beside me. “Why is it here? What does it want?”

Wheatley’s expression turned grim. “If a velocigorgon is here, it’s here to kill someone. To eliminate whoever it is we’re looking for. Or worse…”

Donnie gulped. “One of us.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Donnie’s eyes widened. “What the—“

I raised my index finger to my lips. “Shhh. It’s just outside the door.”