Nightside 07 - Hell to Pay

“How about the rest of the staff? Did none of them see or hear anything suspicious, or out of the ordinary, before or after Melissa disappeared?”
    “I did question every member of the staff most thoroughly, sir. They would have told me if they’d known anything. Anything at all.”
    “On the evening Melissa vanished, did you admit any unusual or unexpected visitors to the Hall?”
    “People are always coming and going, sir.”
    I gave him one of my hard looks. “Are you always this evasive, Hobbes?”
    “I do my best, sir. This is Miss Melissa’s room.”
    We stopped before a door that looked no different from any of the others. Solid wood, sensibly closed. No obvious signs of attack or forced entry. I tried the brass handle, and it turned easily in my grasp. I pushed the door open and looked in. The room before me was completely empty. No boy band posters on the walls, no fluffy animals, no furniture. Just four bare walls, a bare bed, and an even barer wooden floor. Nothing to show a teenage girl had ever occupied this room. I glared at Hobbes.
    “Tell me her room didn’t always look like this.”
    “It didn’t always look like this, sir.”
    “Did the Griffin order this room emptied?”
    “No, sir. This is exactly how I found it.”
    “Explain,” I said, just a little dangerously.
    “Yes, sir. Miss Melissa was supposed to join the rest of the family for the evening meal. The Master and Mistress have always been very firm that all members of the family should dine together, when in residence. Master William and Miss Eleanor were present, and her son Master Paul, but Miss Melissa was late, which was most unlike her. When she didn’t appear, I was sent to summon her. When I got here, the door was ajar. I knocked, but received no reply. When I ventured to look inside, in case she was feeling unwell, I found the room as you see it now. Miss Melissa never was much of a one for comforts or trinkets, but even so, this seemed extreme. I immediately raised the alarm, and security searched the Hall from top to bottom, but there was no trace to be found of Miss Melissa.”
    I looked at him for a long moment. “Are you saying,” I managed finally, “that not only did Melissa’s kidnappers remove her from this Hall without anyone noticing, but that they walked off with all her belongings as well? And no-one saw anything? Is that what you’re saying?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I have a major slap with your name on it in my pocket, Hobbes.”
    “I feel I should also point out that no magics will function in Griffin Hall unless authorised by a member of the Griffin family, sir. So Miss Melissa could not have been magicked out of her room…”
    “Not without her cooperation or that of someone in her family.”
    “Which is of course quite impossible, sir.”
    “No, Hobbes, nailing a live octopus to a wall is impossible, everything else is merely difficult.”
    “I bow to your superior knowledge, sir.”
    I was still thinking Inside job , but I wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
    I peered into the empty room again and tried to call up my gift, hoping for at least a glimpse of what happened, but my inner eye wouldn’t open. Someone with a hell of a lot of power really didn’t want me using my gift in this case. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps Someone was playing games with me…
    Footsteps sounded in the corridor behind me. I looked round just in time to see a uniformed maid come to a halt before Hobbes and curtsy respectfully. Damn, the servants moved quietly around here. She bobbed a quick curtsy to me, too, as an afterthought.
    “Pardon me, Mr. Hobbes, sir,” said the maid, in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “But the Mistress said to tell you she wants a word with Mr. Taylor before he leaves.”
    Hobbes looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
    “Oh please teach me how to do that,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to be able to raise a single eyebrow like that.”
    The maid got the giggles and had to turn away. Hobbes just looked at me.
    “Oh what the hell,” I said. “Might as well talk to the Mistress. She might know something.”
    “I wouldn’t bank on it, sir,” said Hobbes.

    The maid hurried off on business of her own, and Hobbes led me all the way back up the corridor to Mariah Griffin’s room. I was curious as to why she would want to see me and what she might be prepared to tell me about her grand-daughter that Jeremiah wouldn’t, or couldn’t. Women often share