Ilona Andrews: Hex Appeal

Five was one of the mystic numbers—well, any number could be mystic to the right person under the right circumstances. Go to the casino and ask people what their lucky numbers were, and every number, up to a hundred and often beyond, would be represented. But five—it was a prime number, some cultures counted five elements, a pentagram had five points. It was the number of limbs to the human body, if you counted the head. A number of power, of binding.

What kind of power did it take to bend a stairwell, Escher-like, upon itself? This magician, who’d orchestrated all manner of tricks and traps, was drawing on an impressive source of it. And that’s why the culprit hadn’t fled—he’d built up a base of power here in the hotel, in order to initiate his scheme. He was counting on that power to protect him now.

When turning off a light without a switch, unplugging the lamp made so much more sense than breaking the lightbulb. Grant needed to find this magician.

He pocketed his watch and drew out a few tools he had brought with him: a white candle, a yard of red thread, and a book of matches.

Julie paced in front of the doorway. She thought it was the first one, the original one that she and Grant had come through, but she couldn’t be entirely sure. She’d gotten turned around.

How long before Grant noticed she was missing? What were the rules of hiking in the wilderness? Stay still, call for help, until someone finds you. She took out her phone again and shook it, as if that kind of desperate, sympathetic magic would work. It didn’t. Still dead. She’d be trapped here forever. She couldn’t even call 911 to come and rescue her. Her own fault, for getting involved in a mess she didn’t know anything about. She should never have followed Grant.

No, that hadn’t been a mistake. Her mistake had been panicking and running off half-cocked. This—none of this could be real. It went against all the laws of physics. So if it wasn’t real, what was it? An illusion. Maybe she couldn’t trust her eyes after all, at least not all the time.

She closed her eyes. Now she didn’t see anything. The TV had fallen silent. This smelled like a hotel hallway—lint, carpet cleaner. A place devoid of character. She stood before a door, and when she opened it, she’d step through to a concrete stairwell, where she’d walk straight down, back to the lobby and the casino, back to work, and she wouldn’t ask any more questions about magic.

Reaching out, she flailed a bit before finding the doorknob. Her hand closed on it, and turned. She pushed it opened and stepped through.

And felt concrete beneath her feet.

She opened her eyes, and was in the stairwell, standing right in front of Odysseus Grant. On the floor between them sat a votive candle and a length of red thread tied in a complicated pattern of knots. Grant held a match in one hand and the book it came from in the other, ready to light.

“How did you do that?” he asked, seeming genuinely startled. His wide eyes and suspicious frown were a little unnerving.

She glanced over her shoulder and back at him. “I closed my eyes. I figured none of it was real—so I just didn’t look.”

His expression softened into a smile. “Well done.” He crouched and quickly gathered up the items, shoving thread, candle, and matches into his pockets. “He’s protecting himself with a field of illusion. He must be right here—he must have been here the whole time.” He nodded past her to the hallway.

“How do you know?”

“Fifth floor. It should have been obvious,” he said.

“Obvious?” she said, nearly laughing. “Really?”

“Well, partially obvious.”

Which sounded like “sort of pregnant” to her. Before she could prod further, he urged her back into the hallway and let the door shut. It sounded a little like a death knell.

“Now, we just have to figure out what room he’s in. Is there a room 555 here?”

“On the other end, I think.”

“Excellent. He’s blown his cover.” Grant set off with long strides. Julie scurried to keep up.

At room 555, Grant tried his universal keycard, slipping it in and out of the slot. It didn’t work. “This’ll take a little more effort, I think. No matter.” He waved a hand over the keycard and tried again. And again. It still didn’t work.

A growl drew Julie’s attention to the other end of the hallway, back the way they’d come.

A creature huddled there, staring with eyes that glowed like hot iron. At first, she thought it was a dog. But it wasn’t. The thing was slate gray, hairless, with a stout head as big as its chest and no neck to speak of. Skin drooped in folds around its shoulders and limbs, and knobby growths covering its back gave it an armored look. Her mind went through a catalog of four-legged predators, searching for possibilities: hyena, lion, bear, badger on steroids, dragon.

Dragon?

The lips under its hooked bill seemed to curl in a smile.

She could barely squeak, “Odysseus?”

He glanced up from his work to where she pointed. Then he paused and took a longer look.

“It’s a good sign,” Grant said.

“How is that a good sign?” she hissed.

“A guardian like that means we’ve found him.”

That she couldn’t argue his logic didn’t mean he wasn’t still crazy.

“Can you distract it?” he said. “I’m almost through.”

“Distract it? How on Earth—”

“This magician works with illusions. That thing is there to frighten us off. But mostly likely it’s not even real. If you distract it, it’ll vanish.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“I imagine so.”

He didn’t sound as confident as she’d have liked.

She tried to picture the thing just vanishing. It looked solid enough—it filled most of the hallway. It must have been six feet tall, crouching.

“And you’re absolutely sure it’s not real.” She reminded herself about the hallways, the room service cart. All she had to do was close her eyes.

“I’m reasonably sure.”

“That’s not absolutely.”

“Julie, trust me.” He was bent over the lock again, intent on his work.

The beast wasn’t real. All right. She just had to keep telling herself that. Against her better judgment, Julie stepped toward the creature.

“Here, kitty kitty—” Okay, that was stupid. “Um, hey! Over here!” She waved her hands over her head.

The beast’s red eyes narrowed; its muscles bunched.

“Remember, it’s an illusion. Don’t believe it.”

The thing hunched and dug in claws in preparation of a charge. The carpet shredded in curling fibers under its efforts. That sure looked real.

“I—I don’t think it’s an illusion. It’s drooling. ”

“Julie, stand your ground.”

The monster launched, galloping toward her, limbs pumping, muscles trembling under horny skin. The floor shook under its pounding steps. What did the magician expect would happen? Was the creature supposed to pass through her like mist?

Julie closed her eyes and braced.

A weight like a runaway truck crashed into her, and she flew back and hit the floor, head cracking, breath gusting from her lungs. The great, slavering beast stood on her, kneading her uniform vest with questing claws. Its mouth opened wide, baring yellowing fangs as it hissed a breath that smelled like carrion. Somehow, she’d gotten her arms in front of her and held it off, barely. Her hands sank into the soft, gray flesh of its chest. Its chunky head strained forward. She punched at it, dug her fingernails into it, trying to find some sensitive spot that might at least make it hesitate. She scrabbled for its eyes, but it turned its head away, and its claws ripped into her vest.