"This is some Where's Whetey bullshit," I say.

Petey isn't in the room. Petey isn't even in the shower or on the toilet. Petey isn't even hanging from the window with a rope made of sheets trying to escape. I have Petey's autopsy report and neither piece of the man in question is even polite enough to be here to receive it.

Indignant, I visit the receptionist.

"Hey Leslie," I say. Cheekbones stands behind me so that Leslie can't throttle him from behind the desk without getting at me first. "Have you seen my corpse? He's missing. Last time I saw him, I left him marinating and gassy on the bed with a pizza box and a two-litre bottle of pop."

"What's the room number?" the receptionist asks, after squinting at Cheekbones. He checks his computer when I give it to him. "I don't have a checkout time for him. No keys returned, either. Then again, I've been busy seeing to some client," he blinks his second black eye, "conflicts."

"Your cousin?" the (for the moment designated as) superbly powerful bellboy asks, walking in from the rotating door. He's holding a machete with a blade made of silver. Cheekbones shrinks further behind me. "I saw him walking out the door earlier."

"Out the-?" I have to register this for a moment. "You're sure?"

"He said something about getting more fuel?"

"How long ago was that?" How long did Cheekbones and I swap spit in the head medical examiner's office again? Granted, it was a very productive time. It also made me realize I was missing out on the earthly pleasures of life when I'd been a high school miscreant, fully intent on raising corpses to postpone my final exams.

"Three hours." Roderigo's expression changes. "Oh, that did remind me. We did track down where the blood came from."

Oh, this'll be good. Where'd they drain the poor dead guy? "Where?"

"The local high school. Your cousin asked about the address too."

"What? Why is Petey going to high school?" My Ultra Jacked Jock Cousin managed to walk held together by masking tape. This is alarming to me. "How did he not collapse?"

"Ah." Roderigo looks embarrassed, which is a new look for someone with a giant sword. The usual posturing requires pointing it at me and telling that flirting won't get me anywhere. "That'd be me. I suggested the bungee chords as a centering to a reattachment spell."

At my confusion, Cheekbones steps a little closer to me. "He's a warlock. That's why he keeps bringing out weapons that'll kill us."

"Oh," I say. Why is a buff policewoman's biggest weakness a shotgun? She could probably twist it in her hands. Still. "Wow. I didn't see that coming."

"Being an all-powerful spell-caster doesn't pay the bills in a supernatural town," Roderigo explains. He sighs. "And hotel bellboy bouncer at least has job security." He glances at Leslie, who gives him a stiff smile. "Though at the moment, I'm being demoted for apparently not doing my job."

"It's not a demotion," Leslie says in a controlled tone. "You are on probation as a consequence of your latest evaluation."

"I'm sorry I have a working bladder," Roderigo snaps. "How was I supposed to know you needed me if you never communicate with me?"

"Oh?" Leslie's voice is cold enough to save us from climate change. "Isn't it because you choose to listen only when it's convenient to you? This isn't the first time it's happened."

Roderigo looks at him. Leslie looks back. Hackles are rising. Electricity's flying. The atmosphere's tense. Cheekbones tugs, unnerved, on my sleeve for me to do something because his hair's now static.

"Sorry to interrupt your domestic dispute," I say, reaching back to hold Cheekbones's hand. "But can I get that address? I have a bungee-chorded walking corpse to attend to and an anxious werewolf to soothe."

"I'm not anxious," Cheekbones says, squeezing my hand back. His palm is sweaty, his arm spaghetti. He looks like he might vomit at any moment. Either he really hates it when it storms, or this argument's making him uncomfortable.

"My apologies," Leslie says, calming down. The lobby immediately returns to room temperature. I breathe out a sigh of relief and Cheekbones leans into me. "Please excuse my unprofessionalism. It was outside of my intention to involve outsiders. Let me print out directions for you."

"We've been tense every since the laws made it impossible for us to be considered common law," Roderigo tells us as Leslie disappears into the backrooms. "I hope you won't take this against us."

"No problem." If I can tongue wrestle with someone inclined to sprout a full body of fur every 29.530589 nights, Magic Bellboy can be free to use his transforming weapon on Ice Age the Receptionist without judgment. "So what's the high school like? Is it far from here?"

"It's on the other side of town and my experience was bleak," Leslie says, now returned. He passes me a laminated copy of the printouts and also a set of car keys. "Return them to me upon checkout after you make the getaway drive back."

"Bad high school experience?" I ask, pocketing the car keys. I try to figure out what'd make Leslie angry aside from a general lack of responsibility.

"It's a mixed school. Of course there'll be some tension," Cheekbones says. At my raised eyebrow, he frowns. "I went there too. There's only one in town and the local heads were all trying to establish a mutual identity in Oldham."

"One where you're all hot and smell like old ham?"

"What?" Cheekbones makes a face. "No. I smell like nice body wash." He does not, I notice, deny the fact that he's hot.

"Good luck," Roderigo tells us, leaning on the counter. "And don't bang in the car."