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“Oh. Uhhhhhh… He had a tattoo like yours—the guy.” He scratched at his neck. “Couldn’t tell if the girl had one.”
“What do you mean you couldn’t tell?”
He shrugged. “Makeup. Hair. Glamor. Who knows?”
“Which symbol?”
Clark was staring into space again. “Huh?”
“Which,” Max gritted out, “symbol?”
He shrugged. “My eyes are bad. I need glasses, but they’re not covered by my extended healthcare.”
Max glanced at Malakai. “Think it was Darien?”
“Why the hell would Darien be here?”
“Darien Cassel?” Clark cut in with one of his random, inexplicable moments of clarity. “Nah. I would’ve known if it was him. It wasn’t your symbol.” He gestured to his cheek. “It was here.”
Max shared another look with Malakai.
“Yveswich,” Malakai said. He faced Clark and beckoned with an impatient hand. “Give me your guest names.”
A nervous laugh bubbled out of Clark’s mouth. “Pretty sure that goes against some sort of policy—”
Malakai stalked forward. “How about the gun-up-your-ass policy?” he snarled, towering over Clark.
Clark blanched and stumbled back—
The door to the motel office swung open, and a lady in her sixties, a name tag that said ‘Priscilla’ pinned to her flowery blouse, bustled out. “What in heaven’s name is going on out here?” Short as she was, she somehow managed to look down her nose at Malakai. Max was majorly impressed. “May I help you, sir?” she clucked.
Max spoke first. “We’re looking for my little sister—she’s missing. Is there any way you could give us a few minutes of your time, please? Just a few minutes, then we’ll get out of your hair. Promise.”
Priscilla looked him over with pinched lips, but her eyes were kind, and it was those eyes that told Max she was taking him seriously.
About damn time.
Clark side-stepped toward Priscilla. “Can I go for lunch now?”
Priscilla padded his arm. “You may go.” He left immediately. As soon as he was out of earshot, Priscilla’s eyes flicked about their group. “You’ll have to excuse him, he’s new.”
Malakai said, “And zonked. I want what he’s smoking.”
Priscilla beckoned them into the office. “Come, come.”
They filed in, the room hardly big enough to hold all five of them, and crowded around the desk as Priscilla plopped herself into a swivel chair behind it.
“Is this about Anna Cousens?” She put on the eyeglasses she wore on a gold chain around her neck.
Max’s brow creased. “No. What makes you ask that?”
“A couple of hellsehers came looking for her.” She frowned, peering up at him through the tiny, squeaky-clean lenses. “Don’t tell me there’s been another abduction.”
Max considered his response. “Not a recent one, but I’m starting to think they could be connected. What can you tell us about these hellsehers?”
“Well, the law says ‘nothing’,” she said cheekily, folding her arms on the desk. Her smile turned her cheeks into red apples. “Why don’t you tell me some details about what led you here, and I’ll see if I can help?”
“A rental car,” Max answered promptly, “and three men who came here with a girl with blue hair.”
