Inked

glasses—lenses thick enough to blur my eyes, though they were nothing prescriptive. I stuffed chewing gum in my mouth, too, just to make my cheeks look puffier. Slid on a pair of pink knit gloves to hide the armor on my hand.
    As disguises went, it was pretty awful, but if Ernie had used a credit card to stay here, then the police would track down his room sooner or later. Best not to be too obvious with my appearance. The boys could disable security cameras—out on the street and inside the hotel—but not eyewitnesses.
    The front doors were locked, but I used the key card to get in and strode across the lobby with my shoulders slightly hunched, head ducked, a harried expression on my face. Apologetic, even. A young woman dressed in an ill-fitting brown suit manned the front desk, and gave me a questioning look as I approached.
    I held up the room key. “Sorry to bother you, but my grandfather is visiting and forgot his medication in his room. He gave me his key, but I can’t remember if he’s in 304 or 403.”
    The woman smiled faintly, which eased the shadows under her eyes. “His name?”
    “Ernie Bernstein.”
    “Oh!” she exclaimed, smile deepening as her short nails tapped the keyboard. “I like him. But it’s not either of those numbers. He’s in 610.”
    “Thank you so much,” I said, and began to turn away. She stopped me, though, and dashed into a small room on her right. She was gone just for a moment, and when she returned there was a slender FedEx envelope in her hand, which she slid across the counter to me.
    “This arrived for Ernie. And…could you tell him hi for me?” A pretty flush stained her cheeks, maybe because I was staring at her. “There was a…guest who was rude to me last night, just when Ernie was checking in, and he…you know, took up for me. I appreciated that.”
    I smiled, throat aching. “Yes. He’s a…good man. He’ll be glad to hear from you.”
    She beamed, which took years off her already young face, and made her look twelve years old; a kid who needed a hug and pigtails. Made me hurt for her, that Ernie was dead—made me hurt for Ernie, too, who seemed to have been a decent man.
    I took the elevator up to the sixth floor, and found the hall quiet and still. The door to his room opened as I approached. Aaz peered out, giving me a toothy grin. A do not disturb sign hung on the brass knob.
    There was nothing extraordinary about the room I entered, except that it was nicely decorated with cherry accents and a king-sized bed dressed in pale sunset-orange canopies. Covers rumpled, unmade. Curtains closed, all the lamps turned on, though the light felt stifled, strangled; like most hotel rooms. I had never been in one that felt truly well lit.
    A briefcase lay on the desk. Behind me, the boys were prowling. Sniffing the floor and sheets, peering into the bathroom. I glanced over my shoulder and found Raw eating a bar of soap. I cleared my throat and he shrugged, also taking a bite out of the chrome dish it had been sitting in. He gave the rest to Aaz, who swallowed the metal without chewing, and licked his lips with a sigh.
    “Maxine,” Zee rasped, poking at the contents of a small carry-on suitcase. He dragged out a stuffed black sock, which he sliced open with one claw. Several wads of cash tumbled out, each one as thick as my wrist. Nothing but one-hundred-dollar bills.
    It was a tremendous amount of money. After some thought, I scooped up the rolled wads and tossed them into the canvas tote bag I had brought with me. I did not need the cash, but it was Ernie’s and if he had family somewhere, then they deserved to have the money sent back to them.
    “You must know what this is about,” I said to Zee.
    The spines of the little demon’s hair flexed, and he glanced at Raw and Aaz, now sprawled on the bed, rubbing their round little tummies. “Old hunt. Old work from our old mother.”
    Old mother. My grandmother. I gave them all a hard look, and focused on the briefcase. It was an antique but well-made, and the locks were crafted from solid brass. Dek slithered from my hair, humming to himself, his snakelike body coiled around my upper arm while his small furred head tilted in careful scrutiny. He touched his long black tongue to the lock, and it began sizzling from the acid in his saliva.
    I had the briefcase open in moments, and found files inside. I flipped through them, noting yellowed pieces of paper covered in handwritten notes, along with typed