Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

bleary-eyed man told me to piss off. I did as he requested, saying I’d forgotten the last digit of my room number. The second try resulted in a woman’s voice suggesting I ask at the front desk. She wisely didn’t open the door.
    At the third door my knock went unanswered. I tried it twice more, with long waits in between. With my heart pounding in my chest, I put on my sunglasses and forced the lock. I slipped inside, finding the king-sized bed neatly made and smelling of fresh sheets. I stretched out on the bed with a sigh and considered a shower, but reached for the phone instead. I was glad they didn’t have a computer system disconnecting the phones when not in use. Some hotels had such systems. I tapped in my cell number and Holly answered on the second purring ring.
    “Draith?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “Are you OK?”
    “Yes. How about you?”
    “I’m alive,” I said. “Where are you?”
    “I had a cab drop me off at my apartment complex, but I got into my car and left. I was too scared to go up there.”
    “Did you see someone?”
    “No, but the neighbors told me Sherri was dead.”
    “Who?”
    “My landlady.”
    “Oh, right. Sorry about that.”
    “She was a witch, you know, but I never wished her dead.”
    I was quiet for a few seconds. “You don’t mean—like an actual
witch
, do you?”
    Holly laughed. “No, not like that.”
    “So, you’re out driving around?” I asked.
    “Yeah.”
    “I’ve got a new room. You can come stay the night if you want.”
    It was her turn to pause. “Yes, I’d like that. Thanks, Quentin.”
    “No thanks necessary. I owe you several nights’ lodging.”
    She laughed, and after I gave her the room number, she promised to come right over.
    I heaved myself up and took a shower. By the time I came out rubbing a towel against my head, I heard a tapping at the door. I checked the peephole and let Holly in.
    She ran her eyes over me once, then frowned. “You’re pretty scarred up,” she said.
    I nodded. “Thanks for noticing. The cuts have healed, but they still turn red after an application of hot water.”
    Holly reached out and ran a finger over one ridged spot on my flat stomach. I recoiled slightly in pain. She pulled away.
    “Sorry,” she said, then she pushed past me.
    I followed her inside and finished drying my hair. When I came out of the bathroom, she had poured us two glasses of clear liquid.
    I smiled. “That’s not water, is it?”
    She walked close and gave me mine. She smiled up at me. I could see now why Tony had hired her. It wasn’t just for her dancer’s legs. Her smile was entrancing.
    “I raided the minibar,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind.”
    “Not at all.”
    “We need ice. I’ll go get it.”
    I sipped at my drink. It was straight vodka. I made a face, then rummaged until I found a vial of orange juice or something that would pass for the real thing.
    Holly took a long time coming back with that ice bucket. I muttered to myself about justifiable paranoia and I pulled on my jeans. I made sure my .32 automatic was in the front pocket.
    While I waited I wondered if she would come back with someone who wanted to kill me. Could this be a setup? Was Holly an innocent bystander I’d gotten into trouble—or was she part of the trouble disguised as an innocent?
    It was a disturbing thought that I tried to dislodge. I blamed Gilling. That guy was a crazy snake. He had put thoughts in my head, possibly seeking to pry me apart from one of the only living friends I had.
    I tried to look cool when the tap came at the door again. I looked through the peephole. No Gray Men. No cultists. There was no one there but Holly.
    I opened it and let her back inside. I checked the hallway after she came in. Empty.
    “Sorry,” she said, dropping cubes into our glasses. “I had to go down a floor to find ice.”
    “I see.” I took my automatic out of my pocket and put it on the dresser. When I turned around again, she was staring at it.
    “You didn’t trust me,” she said.
    “What? No,” I said, “I was getting ready to go look for you.”
    That made her beam again. It was a glib lie, but it had worked. She found the orange juice and put a dollop in her glass as well. We stirred our drinks and sipped them. She told me how scared she’d been in the cab, and how the cabbie had been eating her up with his eyes and asking her an annoying barrage of questions at the same time. I nodded and listened. I didn’t talk about