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Stalker-guy broke from the script. Instead of waiting for Paige to throw open the door, he took out his gun and snapped it back together. Then he eased the door open another half-inch and lifted the gun to the door crack. Last year, I'd seen an innocent woman gunned down because of me. Whether Paige was innocent or not was a matter of some debate, but I doubted she deserved to be murdered in a hotel hallway. I leaped over the railing and landed on the man's back. He fell forward. I grabbed his head and twisted his neck. The simplest, quietest, and cleanest kill.
As he dropped face-first to the floor, I looked up to see Paige holding the door open and staring.
"Stand guard," I said. "Is your room unlocked?"
"My--? Umm, yes."
I hoisted the dead man onto my shoulder and pushed past her into the hall. "I said to stand guard. He wasn't alone."
"Where are you--oh, wait. My room? You can't put him--" She stopped. "Take him to the suite next to ours. The near side. It's empty."
"All the better."
"I can unlock the door with a spell," she said.
She hurried down the hallway alongside me, murmuring words in a foreign language. While she was talking, I covered my hand with my shirt, reached over, and snapped the vacant room's doorknob.
"Run back and get the gun," I said. "Then wake your aunt and get in here."
Paige hesitated, like a knee-jerk reaction against taking orders. She seemed to think better of arguing and paused only a second before jogging to the stairwell. I dragged the dead man into the bathroom, closed the door, and checked his pockets for ID. Nothing. Seeing the two-way radio in his pocket reminded me that there was a second gunman, and Paige and her aunt were taking their sweet time evacuating their room.
I opened the bathroom door as they walked into the vacant room. Paige was still wearing her chemise and wrapper. Ruth's long housecoat covered her nightwear. Both carried a change of clothing and their purses, and Paige had the gun.
"Good idea," I said. "Is all your ID in there?"
"No sense leaving them any clues if they break in," Paige said. "If we have to, we can leave the rest of the stuff behind."
"Paige told me what happened," Ruth said. "We're very grateful. Also very impressed. You have excellent reflexes."
"Self-defense classes," I said.
"Still not admitting to the werewolf thing?" Paige asked.
I walked to the bathroom and held open the door. "Either of you ever see this guy before? Don't touch anything. The cops will dust for prints."
"Cops?" Paige repeated.
"Yes, cops. Who do you think will handle the murder investigation? Hotel security?"
"Murder? You mean he's dead?"
"No. He's resting comfortably," I said. "People always sleep best with their heads at a ninety-degree angle. He looks comfortable, doesn't he?"
"There's no need for sarcasm," Paige said tightly. "Maybe you're used to hauling corpses around, but I'm not."
"Sheltered life. You're supposed to be a witch and you've never had to kill anyone?"
Paige's voice tightened another notch. "We use alternate methods of defense."
"Like what? Cast a spell to make your attackers think happy thoughts? Turn their guns into flowers? Peace and love for all?"
"I'd have used a binding spell," Paige said. "Kept the guy alive so we could question him. Wow. There's a novel idea. If you hadn't killed him, maybe we could have talked to him."
"Oh, that's right. Paige's ultra-efficient binding spell. Tell you what. Next time I see a guy pointing a gun at you, I'll let you do things your way. You start your invocation and see if you can finish before he guns you down. Deal?"
Paige lifted the gun, opened it, removed a tranquilizer dart, and held it up. "No one wanted to kill me."
"Are you sure about that?" a male voice asked.
