Fourteen

Dev’s Room

 

The alcohol had burned almost completely out of me, but now I had a spike of adrenaline from the kill. The world around me was bright and full of colour, and I was bright and full of want and heat.

I grinned deliriously and strolled along, finding the lights still on in our motel room.

But Melinoë was out completely. She’d crashed fully clothed including her boots atop the bed face-first. Her head was turned on its side, mouth open as she snored. 

I was...disappointed. Enough so that it startled me. I’d grown attached to her in the few days we’d been together. There were bits of Melinoë that reminded me of Tanvi—a way she analyzed the world around her, the way her brain worked, how swiftly our thinking aligned on the same wavelength. The difference, though, was that Melinoë didn’t judge me for what I did—she never gave me that look that suggested she looked down at me or thought badly of me for the choices I made. Because I could be wrong, but I suspected I could tell her Jim was dead in a ditch and she wouldn’t criticize me, wouldn’t rant about the morality of it. I realized she’d been offering me something I’d badly needed: acceptance. No lectures on morality, no pushing me to be sympathetic and tolerant towards those who should know better. Just someone who saw the light of a kill in my face, who knew what I was capable of, and didn’t ask me to be anything different than who I already was.

But she was asleep and missing out on all the fun.

I looked away and slipped back outside again—I’d intended to check Dev’s room and I still should do that.

In the car ride to St. Philip Point from the city, Melinoë had mentioned Dev’s room was the second one, so I made the brass number 2 my destination. A single light from outside the main motel office was the only real light in the parking lot; bulbs hung above each door but none were on. It made slinking through the shadows easy, though I sensed no witnesses to what I was about to do.

I paused outside the door and ran my hand along the cool smooth wood of the frame. The faintest threads of energy buzzed along my fingertips, fading traces of Dev’s warding. Similar to what I’d put around my motel room, though with that tinge of demon magic unique to him. And Melinoë, I supposed, though she hadn’t learned how to do that yet.

I didn’t bother finding my lockpicks in my messenger bag—didn’t need them. My hand passed over the lock and the bolt turned easily, allowing me access to the room.

The open curtains over the window let in the little light from outside. I drew them closed and flipped on the light after closing the door—I didn’t imagine anyone would be out for the few minutes I’d be poking around. A visual skim of the room revealed nothing, as Melinoë had said—garbage emptied, bed made, small closet open and only showing a spare blanket folded at the top. I still did a thorough search, checking every corner, under the mattress, dropping to my knees to peer beneath all the furniture and feeling any spots I couldn’t see.

I kept coming back to what she’d told me—that Dev had claimed if something serious ever happened, he’d go to me. If I believed that—and did I? I wasn’t sure—then perhaps I should believe he’d leave...something here, some kind of warning or message. If he thought Melinoë might come to me for help if he was in trouble, was he considering that I’d eventually come across this room?

I stood again and skimmed the room, gaze snagging once more on the door I’d walked through. I hadn’t tried it at his apartment—it might not have worked for me there, the magic around it so personal—but it might be worth it here since it was so similar to the warding I’d used myself.

Hand pressed to the doorframe, I let my eyes go unfocused and breathing slow. Relaxed every part of me, head to toe, until I was nearly wavering on my feet. Let my guards down, let the filaments of warding around the door creep over to brush my skin, tasting and testing, finding me familiar yet foreign. A tingling in my fingertips and then images brushed my mind—brief glimpses, faded and grayscale, moving backward.

Me entering—just the briefest of glimpses, head tilted as I took in the room.

Sometime back, Melinoë—a quick flash, sunlight making her black hair gleam sharply.

A woman with a laundry basket and bucket of cleaning supplies, eyes tired and dark hair wound in a messy bun—motel staff.

And then I nearly started at the sight of my brother.

Dark hair cut to his jaw, heavy dark coat, pack slung loosely over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold in a hurry.

Behind him, another figure. Not Melinoë, but female—just an outline, shorter than me, more petite, glimpse of long hair.

The warding faded entirely, the last of the magic dissipating.

I frowned at the doorway and crossed my arms. The images had degraded between each of them—that last one was likely a week back, right when Dev went missing. He was in a hurry and not alone. I hadn’t seen the swarm, but then they wouldn’t necessarily use the door if they were what made him flee. He had the one extra pack with him, but the image was too degraded to tell whether he wore the pendant.

What the hell was going on here?

I searched the room again but found absolutely nothing. With a heavy sigh, I left, magically relocking when I made my exit.

A cool autumn breeze stirred through the parking lot as I gazed toward the road. Dev and whoever was with him had left the room, gotten in the car...and gone where? Cemetery Road, or did they leave St. Philip Point entirely? Had I seen what the warding recorded a day or two earlier, I might’ve found more clues, but that kind of spell was like an electrical charge on a battery—it couldn’t go on forever.

Damn it.

Frustrated, tired, and possibly still a touch drunk, I went back to my room and sealed the door after me. Melinoë was still passed out entirely and I thought briefly of waking her with my findings but she was still likely catching up on sleep from the past week. It could wait.

I turned off the lights and moved toward my bed. Kicked off my boots, wiggled out of my jeans and hoodie, and got under the sheet, watching the faint beams of moonlight gloss her hair and jacket. 

Eventually sleep hit without the need for magic to help it along, and it was sound, for once.