Throwing Shade: A Humorous Paranormal Women's Fiction (Magic After Midlife Book 1) by Deborah Wilde

Author:Deborah Wilde [Wilde, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Te Da Media Inc
Published: 2021-03-14T18:30:00+00:00

15

Giving the blood a wide berth, I tiptoed through the hotel, hoping I’d find Laurent alive.

I checked on Rupert first. The elevator door was still locked, but the hole where something had bashed through the drywall rendered that kind of moot. I flicked on the light and stuck my head through.

He sat on the ground with his legs hugged up to his chest and his head resting on his knees.

“Rupert? Are you hurt?”

He raised his head, revealing the two puncture marks in his neck. His eyes were glazed and he wore a dopey smile.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I looked around but I was alone. However, my sense of dread grew stronger, so I checked the walls and floor for blood. There wasn’t any.

The problem was Rupert’s shadow, which was a sickly-gray and flecked with crimson. Exactly like Alex’s had been.

No, no, no. My hands balled into fists. I hadn’t known this guy, not at all, really, but he was supposed to have more time than this.

The dybbuk had fully possessed the host and Rupert as I’d known him was dead. I still didn’t understand how. Dybbuks inhabited a body during the Danger Zone between sunsets on Friday and Saturday night, and according to Laurent, remained in the enthrallment period until a week later.

It was only Monday. Could a vampire bite speed up the effects?

Rupert rattled his chains. “Where’d the other one go? I liked her.”

Another female vampire. Had there been more than one? “Did she have any friends? Did they take Laurent?”

“She and cauliflower boy grabbed him.” Rupert lunged at me, rattling his chains, his face a mottled red. “I hope the shifter’s dead.”

I flinched at his viciousness. That was the dybbuk talking, not Rupert… because Rupert was gone. I’d failed him. “I’m sorry.”

He tilted his head, considering me with narrowed eyes. “For what? That you didn’t save that poor miserable wretch?” He drew out his words mockingly. “Make it up to me and let me out.”

“I can’t.”

He rattled the handcuffs. “Let me out, you bitch!”

I fled, his curses ringing in my ears. Ignoring him as best I could, I searched the rest of the floor, since the top two stories were boarded up.

At the back of the main space was a hallway that ran the width of the building. To the right was a spacious, airy kitchen. A lovingly-crafted room, it boasted weathered gray cabinets, oil-rubbed bronze hardware, granite counters, and—I frowned—a cheap laminate table with one chair.

The dybbuk inside Rupert had run out of steam and fallen silent. The iron band around my ribcage fell away and I took a deep breath, heading into the narrow bathroom on the opposite side of the corridor.

It was completely utilitarian with a basic white toilet, nondescript shower stall, and box store cabinets, with the peculiar addition of a frosted sliding door at the back. I slid it open and stepped through, my eyes lighting up at the patio area, its high walls covered in greenery. Moss

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