Chapter 11

Eleven

Roc

Dusk had given way to dark as we trudged along the gravel shoulder of the road, the crunch of our shoes and the rolling of Harlowe’s suitcase wheels the only sounds breaking the silence of the swiftly descending night. Crickets didn’t chirp, cicadas didn’t sing, owls didn’t hoot. Not yet, although I suspected that we’d soon be deluged by night noises.

I cleared my throat and cut a glance to Harlowe, illuminated softly by the light from her phone as she used it as a flashlight to guide her steps. She hadn’t disagreed with my plan to go to the motel, but then she hadn’t said anything since we’d started backtracking. I wished the woman was easier to read. I wished all women were easier to read.

I’d popped the hood of the truck to let the steam from the overheating engine spiral into the air and left it up. I’d taken the keys with me, although the locks on the doors were rusted and prone to sticking, and a hard yank would have ripped off either door. Still, I doubted anyone would steal a truck so old it appeared to be sagging into the ground one rusted hunk of metal at a time.

I would owe the farmer something for the use of his truck, although I wondered if he had any idea how close to collapse it had been when he’d watched us drive away. Did he suspect we’d end up on the side of the road or did he think the rickety truck could get us to the airfield? I was too weary to be annoyed, especially since I knew how grateful I should be that Harlowe and I were alive.

So far, I’d managed to keep her safe and out of public view, which meant I’d done my job. Maybe not in the way I’d imagined doing it, but sometimes you had to adjust on the fly.

I spotted the sign for the motel, the swirling forest-green letters lit up from below by gold light. Why anyone would choose to name a motel on a country road The Velvet Cloak Inn was a mystery. The long, squat building was painted the same dark green as the font on the sign with gold numbers on the room doors that must have once been shiny.

Harlowe sighed as we walked past the ten rooms all in a row to reach the front of the building and the reception office that boasted a glass door with a bell that jingled as we walked inside. She’d probably never stayed in a roadside motel, although something like this might be the safest place for her. No paparazzi would ever look for her here.

Even though the air was musty in the compact reception area, I detected the cloying floral scent of an air freshener that did little to hide the latent scent of cigarette smoke. A man emerged from a curtained area behind the well-worn wooden counter, swiping his hand across his forehead to smooth his comb over into place.

“Welcome to The Velvet Cloak.” He smiled broadly, his eyes only flickering wider for a moment as he registered that I was an orc. He gaze paused on Harlowe, but it wasn’t in recognition, only typical male interest. Good. The fewer people who recognized her, the better.

“Our truck broke down.” I nodded toward the road behind us. “We need to get a tow and a couple of rooms for the night.”

The man nodded. “I can call Four A Auto Repair in the next town over. They can tow your truck and get it running again.” He glanced at the pegboard behind him with brass hooks for keys. “But I only have one room available.”

I tracked his gaze to the single key hanging on the board and frowned.

“But there are only a couple of cars outside.” Harlowe spoke for the first time since we’d left the truck. “There’s no way all your rooms are booked.”

I could practically hear what she hadn’t said. How could a motel in the middle of nowhere be at full capacity? Who was coming to The Velvet Cloak Inn if they hadn’t been stranded on the roadside with no other option?

“They aren’t booked.” The man looked genuinely apologetic as he hitched up his pants with both hands. “But we had some water damage in over half of them. It was a big mess. We had to rip up the carpet and everything. What with business being slow and all, we haven’t been able to finish the renovations as fast as we’d hoped.” Then his expression brightened. “But you’re in luck. The room we do have available is our best one. It’s the honeymoon suite.”

My body went rigid, and I didn’t dare look at Harlowe. The Velvet Cloak Inn had a honeymoon suite?

The man cocked his head at us. “You two are married, aren’t you?”

I opened my mouth to say that we weren’t, but Harlowe cut me off.

“Of course, we’re married.” She let out a laugh that was unnaturally high-pitched as I swung my head to her in shock. “You probably wouldn’t rent us the room if we weren’t.”

He chuckled. “I can’t tell you how many teenagers we used to get trying to pass for married.”

I managed to close my dangling mouth. “We’re hardly teenagers.”

“And I’m grateful for that.” He turned and plucked the key on its plastic keychain from the pegboard. “You’ll be in Room 10 down at the end. Will that be cash or credit?”

“Cash.” I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and thumbed off several crisp twenties. “Will this cover it?”

The receptionist slid the bills off the counter as quickly as I’d placed them down, secreting them underneath as he nodded. “We don’t have room service, but the diner next door will deliver, especially if you tell them you’re in the honeymoon suite.” He winked at us as he handed me the key. “Ice and sodas are right around the corner. If you need extra towels, press 0 on your room phone.” He smiled broadly. “Local calls are free.”

“Thanks.” Harlowe spun on her heel and headed for the glass door. “Come on, honey.”

I walked briskly to catch up to her as she practically stomped down the walk toward the end of the building. “Why did you—?”

She held up a hand. “Not a word until we’re in the room.”

I twisted to look back at the motel’s reception and found the man hanging his head out the door and watching us. He waved as if it was the most normal thing in the world. I jerked my head around with a grunt. Maybe a motel in the middle of nowhere wasn’t as safe as I’d thought it would be.

When we reached room 10, Harlowe paused for me to put the key in the lock and push open the door. It swung open with a slight creak to reveal a large room with a single king-sized bed covered in a shiny red comforter and topped with a profusion of heart-shaped pillows. Over the bed and attached to the ceiling was a heart-shaped mirror.

“It’s official,” Harlowe said. “Hell is decorated in red satin.”