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“Yeah, you know. You win a dog for being right? Dingo.”

“That’s a thing?” I asked.

“Yes, everyone wants a dingo. Anyway, all vampires are bad and Uncle Zee was right all along. Plus, all super-nice folks are sneaky psychopaths . . . except you. Wait. No. I’m still right.”

I chuckled, but as we emerged at the top of the staircase under the main stairs, we both fell silent. There were still bits of timber scattered all over from Victor’s trip through the treads, but no sign of the golem. Or Larimer. Or anyone. The hotel was as quiet as a crypt.

“How do we find Wesley?” Zee whispered.

“Didn’t he say something about his room being on the top floor?”

“There are multiple rooms up there, though.”

“But how many will have their doors wedged open?” I asked. We knew he’d been planning to explore the hotel too, so his door would have to be open while all the other rooms were locked for the night, keeping their occupants safe from the axeman.

We hurried up to the top floor, keeping an eye out for other late-night wanderers, then jogged along the corridor, our footfalls light on the thick carpet. TV chatter came from a few rooms, but most were silent, their guests asleep and unaware of the confused fae who had a habit of freezing people in the basement.

The second door from the end clearly had a wastepaper basket wedged in the gap.

Zee nodded me forward, and together we arrived outside Wesley’s room, checked both ways to make sure we were still alone, and then I eased the door open some more to get a look inside.

The lamps were on, but not the main light, giving the room a soft and cozy feel.

Ruffled bedsheets suggested someone had definitely been using the bed, and a small bag was open on the floor. The jacket slung over the back of the dresser’s chair was the same one I’d seen Wesley wearing in the foyer . . . and there were his sunglasses, on the dresser. This was definitely Wesley’s room.

Zee headed inside to check the bathroom, but came back a few minutes later shaking his head. “Not here.”

“His bags are.”

“If you were a sneaky backstabbing vampire, where would you go in the middle of the night?” Zee asked, propping his ass on the edge of the dresser. His weight tipped it forward, and he yelped and jumped off to keep it from tipping over.

The square mirror had tilted some, and on the back it looked as though bits of paper were sticking out. Zee grabbed the mirror, slid it across the dresser top, away from the wall, and spun it to face us.

On its reverse, someone had stuck a whole bunch of pictures and article clippings in little collections, then linked them all together with red string.

“The fuck . . . It’s a murder board,” Zee gasped. “I’ve always wanted to see one of these.” He leaned forward, tail flicking. “Fangboy Wesley is a psycho. I knew we couldn’t trust that sucker.”

I joined Zee by the dresser and got a closer look at the document clippings. Most of them were taken from news sites, and appeared to be about the Stephanie Hotel. Eddie’s name was marked on one of the photos, showing a dashing, tall, dark-haired heavy-set man with his arm around the smaller, smiling Wesley. Articles about the hotel’s new management were here too, linked by red thread to the center of the mind map. All the red lines met in the middle, at a question mark on sticky note.

“People have been going missing at this hotel for years,” Zee said, pointing out a clipping from an old news article. A storm had encased the town then too, according to the reporter at the time. “This isn’t some one-off snow storm.”

I scanned each clipping, and the number of missing people stacked up. “Zee, I don’t think Wesley is bad, and I’m not sure we should be helping Stephanie.” All the evidence pointed to a campaign of kidnapping. “This isn’t just her freezing a few trespassers, she’s taking innocent people.” The list of missing people went on and on, stretching back decades . . . further . . . “I think Stephanie’s maybe . . . I dunno . . . a serial killer?”

“Kinda like Elsa from that kids’ movie, huh?”

“What movie?”

“Lots of singing, ice witch tries to kill her sister then a whole village, cute snowman, and something about sex gnomes.” Zee shuddered. “Not a fuckin’ fan of those.”

“There’s a kids’ movie about a serial killer and sex gnomes?”

Zee shrugged. “Humans are weird. But this Stephanie seems like a serial something, for sure.”

My heart sank and a little trip of panic set it racing. “Zee, we left Victor with her.”

“Like Fancy Fangs ain’t a serial killer too?” Zee gave a snort. “They’re probably comparing notes.”

“Ex-serial killer.”