Instead I move from hotels to motels to trailer parks to Beverly Hills mansions empty while the occupants are summering in the Caymans. I never stay more than three, four weeks in the same place, the same neighborhood. Shake up my routine on how and when I go in and out.

Right now I’ve got a room at the Biltmore in Downtown under my own name. But I’m staying about three miles away at a ramshackle motel on Third and Alexandria right at the edge of Little Bangladesh.

Yes, I know. It’s called paranoia. With a load of mages, a pissed off god, and a cartel assassin after my ass, not having a fixed address is something of a bonus. Anything with my name on it might as well be a bomb site.

Paranoia’s also one of the reasons I keep a handful of burner phones around. The one I used for my room at the Biltmore is ringing. Caller ID shows me that it’s coming from the hotel desk.

“Hello?”

“Mister Carter, this is Kevin from the front desk at the Biltmore. I’m calling to let you know there’s been an incident in your room.”

“What happened?”

“Two people tried to break in, but were stopped by our . . . by security measures, before they could enter. We’ve called the police and they’ll be contacting you soon, I’m sure.”

That didn’t take long. “Did they catch them?”

There’s a long, awkward pause on the other end. “They . . . were found on the floor outside your room. I’m afraid the police will have to give you details.”

“My god, I hope they’re all right,” I say, knowing they’re not.

“I really think you’ll want to speak with the police about it. We merely wanted to let you know so that you didn’t come back to an unfortunate surprise.”

“I appreciate it. Thanks for the call.”

“If there’s anything we can do—”

“No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

If things went the way they were supposed to, what Kevin from the Front Desk isn’t telling me is that these people were found turned inside out. It’s a really nasty ward I learned a couple months back after I almost got gunned down in a hotel in Zacatecas. I put it on the door. If anybody used a key it wouldn’t have triggered. The last thing I want is a couple of dead housekeepers outside my room.

But try to jimmy the lock or break the door or whatever and off it goes. The really horrible part is that you’ll stay alive for about five minutes before all your organs shut down and you go into hypovolemic shock from blood loss. I kind of feel sorry for whoever had to clean them off the floor.