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stared out of the window in astonishment at the soaring hotel, garishly emblazoned with lighted script that set every nerve in his body to jangling.
    Silviu closed his eyes. “He named the hotel Witch Hunt ?”
    Eliasz’s lips twisted. “It gets one-star reviews on the Internet, but it’s always packed with tourists.”
    “He spells it,” Ileana said as she shuffled toward the window for a better view. “I can see the magic surrounding the structure, calling in the travelers.”
    Silviu saw the same thing, an unsubtle red swirl climbing the damp brick exterior. He didn’t doubt that the magic extended to everything to do with the hotel, exerting a small tug on anyone looking at the accommodations. Even over the Internet.
    “It’s a dangerous thing to do,” he finally said. “There are regular people in the world who will be able to see that magic. God , and the name…”
    Ileana patted his arm. “It’s been a long time since the witch hunts swept through England, Silver. It probably doesn’t mean anything and no one will think much of it. Relax.”
    “Yet, there are so many hunts still taking place in much of the world.” Silviu slid from the car and lowered his voice. “It doesn’t take much to spark mass hysteria. The rest of us are so careful, so insular, and he does something so stupid.”
    Eliasz helped Ileana exit the vehicle, pulling her into his side as two men in green bellhop suits rushed to take their bags from the trunk. “Graves sold the Ngozi Family manor soon after he took over the branch, and bought this hotel instead.” He turned to bare his teeth in a parody of a smile at the driver, standing too close for comfort. “It has flair, doesn’t it?”
    Silviu hid a shudder. “Sure.”
    They made their way inside and a curious sensation curled around Silviu’s nerves as he entered the hotel. He couldn’t identify the cause. The front steps were awash in green lights, making it tricky to judge the depths of each stone platform, but that was still better than the dark lobby, illuminated only with soft blue spotlights, effectively creating a dungeon-like effect.
    Silviu glanced around the oppressive room and fought to keep his face impassive. Two groupings of stiff Victorian furniture created an unwelcoming aisle leading toward the long check-in counter. The wildly patterned dark carpet was ragged at the edges. Massive palms and ferns lined the walls. “This is awful.”
    Eliasz frowned. “And it’s hard to see what all this shit is hiding, or who’s listening.”
    “Yes,” Silviu agreed.
    “My esteemed guests! Welcome!”
    A man stepped from a nearly invisible doorway to the right. His poison-green suit shone in the dimness, the matching fedora on his head set at a jaunty angle. His right hand wielded a walking stick boasting a green stone the size of a baby’s fist, while his left dragged a woman in his wake.
    Silviu blinked. The woman was beyond beautiful, the perfect symmetry of her face only marred by the pull of her lips as they twisted with bitter anger. She struggled slightly against the man’s hold, but he paid her no heed. Within a few steps, she was forced to pick up her feet and move as quickly as him, or suffer the indignity of being dragged across the carpet.
    Eliasz gave a low curse and Silviu went cold as he sensed the other man’s inner white knight rise up. The Levy man’s honor would be the death of him if he wasn’t careful. Silviu prayed Eliasz could hold it together, at least long enough to evaluate the situation.
    “I am Graves Ngozi, and this is my humble abode.” The man grinned and waved his stick.
    Silviu elevated his head. “I am Silviu Lovasz—”
    “No Lovasz was invited.” The grin dropped from the man’s face.
    “Nevertheless”—Silviu smiled and gestured to indicate his companions—“my sister was expected, and as she’s not yet married to Eliasz Levy, I’m here as a chaperone.”
    It was a thin excuse—very thin. A marriage after a