Along with our ability to hear very, very well, my species also comes with an exceptional sense of smell. To humans, this room would likely smell of cleaner, disinfectant, and some sort of room freshener. If they had an exceptional sense of smell, they might be able to detect the faint stench of coffee lingering over the stains in the carpet, or the traces of faint smoke from the motor of the vacuum used over that spot.

My kind, however, would not only be able to pick up the aroma of coffee, but be able to tell you what kind of blend it was, if it had lingering traces of saliva or other additives, and how old it is. Within reason, of course, but that reason would be something in the ballpark of the past few weeks to a month. We could tell you if the smoke from the motor was because the motor was old, not well-oiled, or if it was because it was jammed. We would be able to pick out the scent of the human that cleaned the area, if they wore perfume, track the path they took throughout the room.

We could tell you the last time the sheets were washed and with what.

We could tell you if the last resident tracked water across the carpet.

We could tell you the components of the soap residue of the shower, splashed upon the tiles.

Similar to our sense of hearing, we're able to mitigate how much we take in of what and where. Because again, overwhelm is always a possibility with senses such as ours.

But the added benefit of keeping our noses open and to the air, especially in times of danger or in foreign land, is our ability to pick up traces and scents of magic.

So when I say that I smelled trouble coming, I hope it's clear that I didn't mean it figuratively.

I glanced at Layla and motioned for her to hide before going over to the door and listening. I stretched the range of my hearing to cover outside the door and some of the parking lot, doing my best to filter the sounds of the other rooms. I didn't want or need to know what other guests were doing here, I just needed to know if what I smelled was correct.

Because what I smelled was something from home.

As you might have guessed, Earth is not home. Not for Layla, and not for me.

And not for those lurking outside in the rain, either.

It covered their footsteps well, the soft padding almost mimicking the sounds of the rain itself on the concrete. But the pattern of where the rain was hitting was different were it hit them versus the cars or the street. And the smell that the rain loosened from their skin and hair was as blaringly loud as any sound they could have made. Might as well have been yelling "we're on your tail" as they approached for the amount of smell they carried.

It told me a few things. They likely were here for Layla.

And they didn't know one of my kind was watching her.

Good. Advantage.

I did my best to smell through the rain, trying to determine the scent of metal, what kinds, how well it had been cared for. Gunpowder, bullets, oil, sheath or scabbard, anything that could tell me about the armaments of these creatures. And either the rain was diffusing the scent so much that it disguised it, or they had no armaments. At least, not with them.

I waited for them to approach, hand wrapping around the handle of my own knife and moving to glance out the window as best I could. I turned the TV on and left it loud enough to cover Layla's movements and pointed, and soon enough she disappeared back into the bathroom. Moments later, the shower turned back on.

A knock at the door.

It creaked as I opened it enough to peer out.

"What."

Three figures. Hooded. Almost as tall as I was. Two fighters. One talker.

"We're looking for someone," the talker said. "A young girl. She's been lost for some time now. Have you seen her?"

The talker held up a phone. Picture of Layla. Blurry, and mid-run. From far away. Enough to make out the details. Not enough for an average human to make out the pointed ears or the hidden wings. This picture was taken three months ago.

I'd killed the one that took it seconds after it had been taken. Crushed the phone and made arrangements to have the image deleted.

When I caught the imp I was going to wring his neck.

To the talker, I shook my head. "No. Haven't seen her."

"Are you sure?" Talker feigned disappointment. Heart rate had increased. So had fighter one and fighter two. "Please, she must be so frightened."

"I would be too if I had three hooded figures chasing me," I said, grip tightening on my knife. "How do you know this girl, again?"

"We're family-"

The talker was interrupted as Fighter One's heart jumped. Shoes squeaked. Cloak dragged in a ripple. Metal dragged through cloth. Hidden blade. Probably in the sleeve, in a holster on the arm.

"Your prince will never put hands on her so long as I live," I hissed.

A collective gasp rippled through them. Fighter One leaned forward and I heard his own breath rasp as he hissed, "Onishiki."