Page 49 of SOS Hotel: For a Supernaturally Safe Stay!

“Which is?”

I thanked Tom by tipping my glass and took a sip of warming whiskey, then turned to face Gideon. “I’m alive. My enemies are not.”

“Not all of them.”

“Clearly.”

We locked glares, our mutual understanding clear. Then Gideon smiled and headed for the door. “Good luck recovering from this PR disaster.”

I let him leave, waited a few minutes to be sure he wasn’t about to turn around, then slumped against the bar.

“Asshole,” Tom said, clearing Gideon’s glass away. “He left his ring.” He held Gideon’s ring between his finger and thumb. “Throw it out?”

“No, hold on to it.” I wasn’t sure what the ring meant, perhaps only that I’d won this round, or that he’d be back to get it. I had to go to Zee, but Gideon had been right about one thing. I was scared. He might be home, but he wasn’t safe yet, and it was because of me that he’d been hurt. I should have looked out for him, should have done more.

I dug into my pocket and pulled out the page from the Wilson’s Guide.

The Prophecy of the Lost Ones.

In the shadows of uncertainty, amidst the whispers of despair,

A heart shall rise, a beacon bright, with compassion beyond compare.

Forged in trials, tempered in tears, it shall beat with love’s pure flame,

Guiding Lost Ones through darkest nights, where hope seems but a distant name.

I didn’t need to read any more. I knew every line, every word, as though they were branded onto my soul. “You have a lighter?” I asked Tom.

He dug into his pocket, and handed me a rainbow colored Zippo. I downed my whiskey, poked the Wilson’s Guide page into the glass, and lit its edges on fire. The flames devoured it in seconds.

“Not a fan of Wilson’s work?” Tom asked.

“Something like that. If anyone asks after me, I’m indisposed.” I hopped off the stool and sauntered toward the exit.

“Adam?”

I stopped, thrust my hands into my pockets, and turned. Tom smiled an honest smile.

“You did a good thing. It won’t go unnoticed by those who care.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

CHAPTER 13

“Prepare yourself,” Reynard said, opening Zee’s door.

I entered the room, immediately struck by Zee’s eclectic décor of bright plastics coupled with fluffy cushions and soft furnishings. Reynard had laid him on his side on the four-poster bed, and he didn’t look any better now than he had when I’d found him. Shallow breaths barely moved his chest, and his tail, always so emotive, lay limp.

“What can I do to help him?”

“You found him once before? What did you do then?”

“That was different. He was just beaten up then, not like this.” He didn’t look physically hurt. There wasn’t a mark on him. The damage was demon.

“He needs attention, and he’s been starved of it.” Reynard said, bracing a shoulder against a bedpost. “Post on his social media? You said he feeds on those likes?”

“What do I say? Zee’s dying . . . like my post?” It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. I perched on the edge of the bed and laid a hand over his. His purple nails stood out against the pale pink sheets. Seeing Zee like this hurt in ways I didn’t know how to express, or even understand about myself. I wanted to rage, to scream, to tear the world apart, but also wanted to curl into a ball and weep, and make all the hurt go away.