Aeromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 3)

He pushed a brochure over the counter. “Cinquante.”

Fifty Euros in big print ran across the pamphlet. That was pretty cheap, which meant it was a bad area or a questionable place. She only needed a room to rest, to think, and to figure out what to tell her parents when she called them in the morning.

The man tapped his fingers on the counter. “Alors?”

She took the money from her purse. “I only have dollars.”

Grabbing the money from her, he licked his thumb and fanned the bills. He looked back up to drag his gaze over her. “Quel numéro?”

She squinted at the words. Assuming he’d asked her which room she preferred, she looked at the keys. They were all there. She was the only customer.

She pulled up her shoulders in a tired gesture. “Doesn’t matter.”

He gave her number nine. He was counting the bills when she made her way upstairs. Number nine was on the first floor. The key turned with difficulty. Just when she thought she’d have to go back and call the man to come and help her, the lock gave way and the door opened. She closed the door and tried to lock it from the inside, but this time the key didn’t budge. Finally, too tired to struggle further, she gave up and pushed a chair under the door handle.

She looked around the room. The light that fell through the window basked the interior in a red glow. Everything inside was red, except for the furniture. The wallpaper was burgundy, reflecting the hue of the carpet. The room was old and shabby, but surprisingly clean. The French sleigh bed was noisy under her weight. She didn’t switch on the light. She wanted to stay in this semi-darkness, just for a little while.

Kat woke with a start. She lay on the bed, still fully clothed. She sat up to listen for the noise that had pulled her from her sleep. There it was. A thump on the floor in the corridor. Her throat tightened. Thump. Thump. There were no other guests. Unless it was a latecomer, or the man downstairs.

Thump. The sound stopped at her door. Kat clutched her coat lapels together. There was no other door, no en-suite bathroom. Assessing her escape routes, she looked at the window, but the movement of the door handle caught her attention. Someone was pressing it down.

Her heart slammed into her ribs. Adrenaline pumped through her body, making her skin prick with pins and needles. Before she had time to jump from the bed, the door splintered with a deafening noise and crashed into the room. The impact broke the chair as if it were a matchstick.

Chapter 4

Horror kept Kat frozen as a cloud of dust rose from the carpet. A man dressed in a black coat and hat stood in the frame. Two men with similar attire hovered behind him. Her breath caught. The men from the alley. Her only escape route was via the window. Without glancing away from the dark figures, she got up. Taking a deep breath, she sprinted for the window.

The stocky man blocking the door moved inhumanly fast. Grabbing hold of her hair, he yanked her back. She uttered a cry as he threw her onto the bed, making her land facedown. Pushing onto her hands and knees, she scurried to the other side and crouched with her back against the headboard.

“Hello there, lass,” the man said with a slight Scottish accent. “You must be Katherine.”

She gasped. “Who are you?”

He remained in the shadows, so she couldn’t see his face, but there was a strange glow to his skin that broke through the darkness. His cronies didn’t enter. They stood immobile with their hats pulled low, guarding the door.

“He said you were pretty.” The man took a step forward. Red light washed over his face. “But he didn’t say you were such a luscious piece of flesh.”

Repulsion made her shiver. He had a round, pudgy face, and a glowing white skin marred with pockmarks.

“Who are you talking about?” She was playing for time, wracking her brain for a way out.

He flicked his tongue over a set of teeth finer than toothpicks as he sniffed the air. “You smell good. Pity he wants the bairn you’re carrying worse than you.” He advanced toward her. “If it was me, I’d give up the babe, but,” he stopped at the side of the bed, “maybe he’ll change his mind when he sees you.”

Kat flattened herself against the headboard. “What do you want?”

Dark hair that fell from under his hat framed his fat cheeks. His lips were blood red, and his bulging eyes didn’t reflect the light. The scars on his skin weren’t pockmarks. They were … scales.

“I can’t bite you,” he said, “not without harming the babe, but I can enjoy you in other ways.”