She stepped inside. This room was smaller than the others. A twin bed with a cream coverlet nestled below a window, and an antique dresser stood in the corner. Kester muttered the spell again and the lantern that sat on the bedside table flickered to life, bathing the room in warm light. On the ceiling, someone had painted the zodiac—gold on midnight blue. It was perfect. It just needed a few finishing touches, maybe a bit of color, to make her feel at home.

“I love it.” If Ursula had brought a bag she would have tossed it on the bed to claim it as her own.

“There’s one more thing you need to know.” He stepped back into the hall, pointing to a door across from hers. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before.

Made of rough oak studded with iron nails, it could only be described one way: creepy as hell. It looked like something you’d find in Vlad the Impaler’s castle. A pale yellow glow surrounded its frame, the exact color of the shackles Kester had clamped on her wrist in the Lotus.

“In case the spikes didn’t make it clear enough, that room is off limits.”

Suddenly chilled, she hugged herself. “What’s in it?”

Kester glared at her. “You don’t need to know that. And now, I’ll leave you to that shower. Alone, of course.”

He turned to leave, but she touched his arm. “Kester. What happened to the last hellhound? What did he move on to?”

He stared her down. “That’s not for you to worry about, Ursula. You have enough to take care of. Get some sleep.”

His response didn’t do anything to put her mind at ease.

* * *

Kester let himself out, leaving Ursula to rifle through the drawers and cupboards on her own. After a glorious hot shower to wash off the remnants of the Muppet’s stale beer, she picked through the apartment again, one room at a time.

In the kitchen, she discovered a chrome espresso machine and coffee grinder stowed in a closet. She dusted them off, moving them to one of the marble countertops. I love coffee. I belong in America. Would it be strange to pay for coffee beans with gold ingots?

Returning to the library, she read the spines of every book in the room. There were first editions of all the modern classics: Melville, Poe, Dickens, and Brontë. She even found older works by Chaucer, Dante, and Shakespeare—many of them written on parchment and beautifully illustrated in the margins.