Page 92 of Immortal Unveiled

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Zoltan marched into the office of the storage facility at the outskirts of Baltimore. The office shack was a functional one-story building with a glass door in the middle and windows to each side of it. On the door, the name of the business and the office hours were written in big white letters. The office itself was rather bare: a few visitor chairs, a clock on the wall, a door with the universal symbol for a unisex bathroom toward the left of it, and in the center of the office a high counter with another door behind it. The back office, Zoltan assumed, the one where the manager kept the book Nancy Britton had mailed.

A clever move by the dead emissarius, he had to admit that. And the demon who’d followed her that day and later killed her had neglected to mention that Nancy had dashed into a post office while he’d been trailing her. Idiot! Had he bothered to tell the truth and give a report that didn’t omit anything, Zoltan would have been able to get his hands on the book months ago. Well, at least his underling had gotten his just desserts: a hot bath in the lava pit. Served him right.

Luck was with Zoltan as he looked around the front office. It was empty. A little bell on the counter invited with the message Ring for service, but Zoltan didn’t accept the invitation. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was close to lunchtime. Was the manager out and had neglected to lock the office hut? Odd, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. This would be even easier than he’d expected.

He walked around the counter and searched the shelves and surface on its reverse side, which were hidden from visitors. Since the manager was expecting Kim to pick up the book, maybe he’d already brought it out from the back office and placed it somewhere easily accessible. But Zoltan didn’t get the chance to rifle through the clutter that greeted him. The sound of a flushing toilet alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t alone after all.

“Shit!” he cursed under his breath and rushed back to the other side of the counter, hitting the little bell just as a man stepped out of the restroom. The elderly man wiped his hands on his pants and looked at him.

“Oh, hello, how may I help you?”

Zoltan forced a smile. Change of plans. “Are you the manager?”

“Yes, yes, that’s me, I’m Mr. Songhurst.” He walked behind the counter, all business now.

“Ah, excellent. My friend Kim Britton sent me. She said she called you earlier to ask you about a package her mother mailed here… She asked me to pick it up for her,” Zoltan lied without blinking.

Songhurst gave him a quizzical look. “She said she was coming herself, not that she was sending somebody.”

“Yeah, well, plans change. She asked me to run this errand for her instead.” If Zoltan had to hold his fake smile any longer, his face would crack.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t give you the package. Not without a signed authorization by Ms. Britton. There are strict federal laws when it comes to mail, you know. If she can’t come herself, then have her email me a signed note or bring it with you next time you come.”

Anger churned up in Zoltan. This little weasel was quoting laws to him? “A signed authorization, you said?” He reached into the inside of his coat. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’ve got one right here.” He pulled out his dagger and pointed it at the insolent manager.

Panic in his eyes, Songhurst spun around and lunged for the door behind him. He managed to open it and rush through it, but Zoltan was already vaulting over the counter. He reached the door just as Songhurst slammed it shut from the other side and flipped the deadbolt.

It didn’t matter. A little lock had never stopped him before. With his shoulder, Zoltan pounded against the door, once, twice. On the third attempt, the wood frame around the lock splintered and the door gave way. Zoltan swung it open fully, and Songhurst screamed. As he should, because he’d just pissed off the most powerful demon this world had ever seen. Now he would pay for it. Dearly.

~ ~ ~

Kim was glad that Grayson didn’t mind breaking a few traffic laws in order to get her to the storage facility as quickly as possible. Despite the speed limits he ignored, Grayson was a driver who made her feel safe. The knowledge that he had super-fast reflexes due to his vampire genes certainly had something to do with that.

When they finally pulled up in front of the storage facility’s office, only one car was parked in a spot clearly marked Reserved for Management. Grayson stopped the car and switched off the engine.

Kim reached for the handle and opened the door. “Wait here for me.” She hopped out of the car, but Grayson wasn’t listening and was already outside, coming around the hood by the time she’d slammed the car door shut.

“I’m coming with you,” he insisted. “Protection, remember?”

“You’d do better staying out here, watching my back,” Kim insisted, pointing to the road they’d come from and the paths leading to the rows of storage units. “Just in case a demon followed us.”

Grayson gave it only a second’s thought, then nodded. “Fine. Make it quick. I’ll stay out here sniffing around.”

She knew he meant it literally and nodded. “Back in a flash.”

Kim headed for the entrance door and pulled it open. With a last look over her shoulder, she entered the building. The room was empty though she knew Mr. Songhurst couldn’t be far. He knew she was coming, and the door was unlocked despite the fact that it was lunchtime. Arrived at the counter, she noticed the bell on its surface and rang it.

“Mr. Songhurst?”

She glanced around when she heard a sound coming from the door behind the counter.

“Mr. Songhurst?” she repeated. “It’s Kim Britton. I called earlier.”

The manager didn’t reply, but she knew he was there. She could hear him rummaging through things in the back office. Impatient, she walked around the counter and gave a hesitant knock at the door. It creaked and opened enough for her to see a man bending over a cabinet, unwrapping something. She pushed the door open wider and made a step into the room.

“Mr. Songhurst, the door was open…”