It was a moody blue-and-gray color scheme—odd colors for a woman, but fitting for a storm witch. He glanced across the corridor to the other room. Yellows, reds and creams. The colors of summer and the sun. Kirby's room. He resisted the temptation to go and look. Instead, he watched as she opened the wardrobe.
"She usually kept things she wanted hidden in with all her shoes," she said, getting down on her knees.
"Wait, don't touch anything." He knelt down beside her and swept his hand through the shadows, searching for any indication of magic. "Clear," he said, sitting back on his heels.
She leaned forward, pulling out various boxes and shoes, but in the end found nothing. She sat back, her shoulder brushing his arm as she contemplated the wardrobe.
"What about the storage space up top?" he said, pointing to the shelf above the hanging space.
She wrinkled her nose, and for an instant looked so damn cute he just wanted to kiss her. A desire she must have sensed, because she edged away slightly.
"Helen was short, like me. She usually settled for lower hiding spots."
"We can't stay here long," he reminded her softly. 'The cops could be here any minute."
"I know." She took a deep breath, then climbed to her feet. "You check up there. I'll check her drawers."
"Deal." He rose and began pulling everything out of the top of the wardrobe. There was nothing there that even remotely resembled a present. He shoved it all back and headed over to the bed. Kneeling down, he looked under it. There, in the darkness, a silver wrapped present sat waiting.
"Found it," he said, reaching out. Magic tingled across his skin, but its touch was warm, muted. Non-threatening.
He held it out to her, but she didn't take it, just regarded it warily.
"Are you sure it's from Helen? Maybe it's another gift from our murderous friend."
'There's nothing evil to the feel of this present. I wouldn't let you touch it, otherwise."
"Oh." She swallowed heavily, a bright light in her eyes. "You hold it for me. I have to get some clothes and stuff."
He followed her out of the room but waited in the hallway, sensing she wasn't comfortable about having him in her room.
When she came back out, she was wearing a long black coat similar to his and holding an overnight bag. He took it from her and checked to make sure there was nothing resembling anything magical in it, then dropped the present inside.
'That all?"
She hesitated. "I need my wallet. I can't keep letting you pay for everything."
"And you can't exactly run if you haven't got cash or credit cards, can you?"
She didn't deny his accusation. He sighed. "Where did you leave it?"
"It's in my handbag, which I dropped near the front door when I came in last night."
"I'll go get it. You wait here."
He dropped the bag next to her and headed down the stairs. Her handbag was where she'd said, zipper open and the outside covered in white dust. He squatted, carefully nudging the zip open with a finger—and felt the sting of magic burn through him.
He yanked his hand away and quickly up-ended the bag. The contents fell out, littering the carpet. Wind stirred, raising the hairs along the back of his neck. Something was coming. Something bad.
He grabbed her car keys then rose. The air shimmered and flexed, half forming the shape of a hand. The wind keened into the silence, battering at him, as if trying to force him away.
Watching the energy-forming hand, he stepped back.
And fell into darkness.
Eleven
The high-pitched howl filled the air, and goose bumps chased their way across Kirby's skin. She froze, listening to the sound and wondering what in hell was coming after them now. Then, as abruptly as it started, the sound stopped.