3.0 - Shadows In The Garden Hotel

by Krista Walsh

  To have endured it for someone she knew — and, even more unusual, liked — made the process that much more unpleasant. Monique hadn’t been the nicest person, but Allegra had respected her as well as desired her, and it pained her that the woman’s light was no longer in the world.

  Not enough pain to make a show of emotion, of course. She would leave that to the hypocrites she worked with — the ones who’d broken down at the news as though Monique had been a childhood friend or close confidante instead of the competition they only tolerated out of professional consideration. Allegra had hidden her sadness behind a veneer of blank shock and watched her colleagues perform their ridiculous piece of theater until she couldn’t handle it anymore.

  She left the lights off in her blissfully empty room, relying on her heightened senses to guide her through the darkness. An overlay of clouds prevented anything more than a glimmer of moonlight to pour through the window, but it was enough to make out the shape of the bed and the shadow of the bathroom door.

  The silence offered a sweet contrast to the chaos of the sitting room from earlier this evening. The police had gathered the entire crew together and left them there to await their turn for questioning while they used an empty guest room on the main floor as a base of operations.

  Most of what Allegra had endured throughout the day had melted into a blur of images she doubted she would be able to pick apart later. Telling Courtney about Monique, having to prop the woman up so she didn’t faint dead away on the hard flagstones. Waiting for the police to come, and then sitting for hours with them as they dug into the minute details of how Allegra had found her. When had she last seen Monique? How did Monique get along with the crew and other models? Had Allegra touched anything in the room?

  She realized now that she’d forgotten to mention turning off the radio. Maybe her shock hadn’t been as feigned as she’d believed it to be.

  Allegra hadn’t known the woman well enough to answer the personal questions with any sort of certainty, but she’d done her best. The male detective, Hunter Avery, had irritated her. He’d been too considerate and gentle, as though he’d seen her as some fragile flower who might break under pressure. He was handsome enough, lean and muscular with intelligent hazel eyes, but something in the flavor of his scent told her he’d already been claimed by someone else’s otherworldly energy, leaving him out of bounds as a future target of her mealtime hunt.

  She had felt far more comfortable with the female. Detective Meg Kealey had been sharp and to the point, on top of being beautiful. She’d pushed where her partner had backed off and hadn’t let go until Allegra had provided all the information she could drag out of her numbed mind.

  Rumors were abounding among the crew that Monique’s rehab hadn’t stuck and her drug use had finally caught up with her. It was widely known that Monique dabbled here and there with cocaine and pills to keep her figure slim and her energy levels high enough to maintain her busy schedule. Allegra hadn’t noticed any of the obvious signs of an overdose as she’d stood over the woman’s body, but since she hadn’t looked closely enough to offer any other suggestions, she was willing to go along with the assumption.

  After hearing everyone’s theories and reactions, the police had declared that the group was free to go as long as they remained in town. Allegra had rolled her eyes at that — as if she had a choice in the matter. At least she was able to go up to her room after Courtney dismissed them for the night.

  Allegra remembered passing Tim Banks in the lobby and catching his obvious discomfort over having his guests exposed to police and panicked models. He would be forced to do damage control to ensure everyone remained calm and satisfied. She didn’t envy him the task.

  She stripped down to nothing and grabbed her silk robe from behind the bathroom door. After wrapping it around herself in a cool hug, she sat at the vanity table to brush out her hair and get ready for bed. She eyed the bathtub through the mirror, but didn’t want to ruin her pampering with images of Monique’s wide-eyed gaze flashing behind her eyelids.

  Their conversation from that morning echoed in her ears like a record, and a twinge of guilt pinched Allegra’s conscience. If Monique’s death had been an accident, could Allegra have helped her avoid it by accompanying her to her room as she’d wanted? She hoped the woman hadn’t done something stupid because of her rejection. Allegra had done her best to fan the hope that something might happen later, but she sometimes found it difficult to guess people’s emotional reactions.

  This is why the human race is doomed, she thought as she pulled down the bedspread and slipped between the sheets. Momentary blips of experience become great mountainous obstacles they feel they’ll never surpass.

  Shaking her head, she rolled onto her side and tried to fall asleep.

  ***

  At mid-morning the next day, Allegra clutched her coffee cup and made herself comfortable against the doorway of the sitting room behind the gathered crowd. Courtney stood at the front of the room, the crew spread out around her.

  Compared to her usual, simple style, Courtney looked a mess. The lines of her pantsuit were crooked, as though she hadn’t checked herself in the mirror before coming downstairs. Her limp brown ponytail sat too tight against the crown of her head, pulling back the skin on her forehead in a way that showcased the dark circles under her eyes. Makeup clearly hadn’t been a priority for her, either, her cheeks blotchy and pale.

  “Good morning,” she said. Her eyes were moist with unshed tears. Unlike the rest of the red-eyed models and crew, her grief was no doubt sincere. Courtney must be heartbroken that her photo shoot would no longer go according to her tightly bound schedule. “I’m so sorry I need to gather everyone here today, but I thought it important we decide as a group how to proceed. Losing Monique comes as a shock to us all —”

  A current of low grumbles from a couple of the models — Allegra tried to identify which ones, the names Lisa and Val attaching themselves to the faces — interrupted her, and Courtney threw a dirty look in their direction.

  “Look, I know none of us are happy to be inconvenienced like this, but deal with it,” she snapped. “Shit happens, it sucks, but we need to decide if we want to call it quits now or press through and finish the shoot. I spoke with Mr. Banks this morning, and he agreed to let us continue work if we choose to do so. As long as we don’t cause any further disruptions for the other guests.”

  She cast her dark glare over the group. No one said anything.

  Allegra raised her shoulder in a half shrug and said, “I do not see why we shouldn’t continue if we have the space. Monique was a colleague and a part of this endeavor, and while I regret her loss, our purpose here is not yet finished. I do not see that personal reasons should prevent us from carrying on with our professional work.”

  Val broke down in sobs and sank toward the nearest chair. The photographer sitting in the chair rushed to vacate it to avoid being sat on.

  Allegra closed her eyes, sipped her coffee, and tuned out the other voices who offered either a yea or a nay. By the time everyone voted, the majority agreed with her.

  Courtney puffed out a breath and nodded. “That’s that, then.”

  “What about the party?” the recently unseated photographer asked, adjusting his ball cap. “Is that still happening tonight?”

  “Why not?” asked one of the cameramen. “I suspect we all want to sit around and get trashed anyway. We might as well put it on the magazine’s bill.”

  No one voiced any opposition to his suggestion, so again, Courtney nodded. “Then let’s get back to work. I appreciate everyone’s patience and understanding at this time. The faster we get these shoots done, the sooner we can leave and put this behind us.”

  She babbled on about the importance of working as a team, and Allegra’s attention waned. As her thoughts wandered, her skin flushed and prickled with the now-familiar sensation of someone watching her. Just like in the garden yesterday, the hidden stare brushed across her bare
arms like a physical caress, and she shuddered with distaste, shifting away from the wall as though that would solve the issue.

  It didn’t. Instead, the light touch around her arms firmed, and the same constriction she’d felt yesterday wrapped around her neck, cutting off her breath. As though someone had wrapped a hand around her throat and squeezed.

  Her pulse sped up and the details of the room sharpened.

  She told herself she wasn’t panicking — why should she panic, she was safe in the middle of a crowded hotel — but her demon strength scratched at her skin, wanting to come out and play with whoever was stalking her. She wiped her clammy hand on her skirt and twisted her fingers into the fabric to keep control over herself.

  Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and she drew in deep, steady breaths.

  A shape lingered in the corner of her eye, and she knew that, this time, if she turned toward it, she would catch whoever had been watching her since her arrival at the hotel. One shift of her head and the mystery would be solved.

  So what was holding her back? A fear of finding out?

  She mentally scoffed at herself, disgusted that such a base emotion as fear should prevent her from resolving such a simple problem.

  And yet she had to press her lips together to hide the fangs now cutting into the inside of her bottom lip, and the effort of craning her neck toward the stairs strained the muscles down her back. For the length of a breath, she swore that in the corner of her gaze, she spotted a pair of dark, inky eyes glaring at her from the shape of a tall man standing at the other end of the marble-tiled lobby.

  “Don’t spill your coffee, now,” a voice called to her from the opposite direction.

  She jumped at the suddenness of the man’s words, cursing when her coffee sloshed over the edge of the cup and onto her hand. Her heart pounded in her chest in an uneven patter, and her breath came quick and shallow.

  She turned toward the person who had spoken and found an old man with a thick gray beard standing near the archway to the salon. The rest of his head was partially hidden under a grease-stained blue ball cap, and his gaze was locked on hers, his eyes as flat and gray as a calm ocean. He said nothing else but made no move to walk away. As his stare continued to bore into her, Allegra realized he’d turned her attention away on purpose, preventing her from satisfying her curiosity.

  Her heartbeat gained more speed. She glanced over her shoulder, toward where the shape had been standing and found nothing but an empty stretch of lobby.

  Relief rushed through her, offsetting the heat of her adrenaline buzz. She turned back to the old man, but he’d already set off down the hallway, disappearing through one of the staff doors.

  “All right, everyone,” Courtney’s tone of finality jerked Allegra’s attention back into the room. “Let’s get moving on today’s stuff. I’m sure we all want to make sure we’re finished in time to get ready for tonight.”

  She clapped her hands, her usual call to arms that drove Allegra mad, and as one, the crew moved to get started. Allegra allowed them all to pass by, not able yet to step away from the doorjamb. She used the solidness of the building to support her shaking legs, which wouldn’t go still no matter how soundly she cursed herself for her weakness.

  No one else in the sitting room had apparently noticed the disruption, but her stomach churned with the dread of what it all signified.

  Before Courtney reached her, Allegra shoved away from the wall and hurried up the stairs to get ready.

  Her demon nature was still swimming along the surface of her thoughts as she reached her room, but in an unusual twist, it was calmer than the rest of her. It whispered to her that perhaps fear was the appropriate reaction to be having. Whatever had stood in the shadows of the stairwell with those dark, threatening eyes had come for her.

  Her mouth went dry and she sank into the chair in front of the vanity table as her legs gave out.

  She didn’t want to believe it, but she knew it was true. The same way she knew that if she left New Haven again, the suffocating pull on her mind would drag her back to the city within a month or snap her sanity completely.

  Allegra grabbed her brush and spun the handle through her fingers, too distracted by her buzzing thoughts to set to work on her hair.

  Her wildness stretched within her, longing to be set loose so it could hunt down the threat and tear it apart, but her better self sagged with relief that the situation outside the sitting room had evaporated before she’d needed to react. Now would not have been a good time to reveal her true nature. She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to doing exactly that, her instincts overwhelming her reason in spite of all her years of restraint.

  A single slip and she could have ruined everything she’d worked to create: her reputation, her image — her entire lifestyle. She’d almost done it without even being aware of it. What would have happened if she’d turned around? The glimpse of those eyes within that indistinct frame...

  She had no idea why or how he might have done it, but somehow she knew the old man had saved her life.

  Her fingers went numb and her brush slipped out of her grasp to clatter on the table as a darker truth seeped into her thoughts. She pictured the expressions of Monique’s colleagues as they’d sat around the sitting room, exchanging glances that gave away their assumption of how she’d died. They all believed the worst of her — that her bad habit had killed her, that one mixed-up dose had removed her from the brilliance and beauty of her life.

  Allegra had been satisfied with believing the same, but now she suspected her lover’s death had been caused by something more terrifying. Monique hadn’t died of an overdose. It had been no accident. Something far darker had come for her in her room and taken her life without giving her a chance to fight. And that something was the same creature that had watched Allegra from the stairs.

  She would keep the realization to herself — the others would never believe her — but she now regretted casting her vote to stay. She wished she’d urged them to pack up and move on to whatever project presented itself next.

  The handsome concierge had said as much himself: the Garden Hotel was haunted. At some point in the hotel’s existence, some otherworldly presence had wrapped itself around these rooms, and now Allegra was trapped in the middle of it.

  As soon as her thoughts settled and her legs regained their strength, Allegra rose from the vanity table and began shoving clothes into her suitcase. The neat folds of her blouses fell awry and vaguely she realized she’d crushed her favorite shirt in her curled fingers. For now, she didn’t care about the damage. She had to get out of the hotel.

  Questions fluttered through her skull about who the old man had been and why he’d involved himself in her actions, but she decided she didn’t care about him either. His reasons didn’t matter. She was leaving and putting the entire business behind her.

  She refused to involve herself in whatever otherworldly problems the hotel had. She’d chosen her career carefully — one that would allow her to be fawned over regularly and wrapped in expensive clothing. Perks that soothed her demonic nature and made it easier to cope with the stresses of containing it. Her self-control was strong, but her instincts had a bad habit of breaking through under pressure.

  She may have surrendered to the trap keeping her in New Haven, but she would not become enmeshed in the city’s growing crisis. It didn’t matter that the others from the locked room kept trying to drag her into their messes or that the growing clouds of her dreams were clearly determined to ensnare her in their grasp. She was done with it.

  Allegra’s thoughts turned to her apartment, to the bottle of champagne calling to her from the fridge. She pictured herself neck-deep in warm water, bubbles popping against her skin from thigh to chest. Soft jazz would be playing on her speaker system, a feature installed by her dear, departed brother. She saw herself getting out of the bath and, wrapped only in a towel, stretching out in front of the fire to dry herself off.

&n
bsp; Then maybe she would go for a stroll to pick up dinner. Someone light and sweet. Someone she could sink her teeth into.

  She hesitated, her silk robe clutched in her hand as she held it over her suitcase.

  Of course, leaving would mean she wouldn’t be the first choice for the next photo shoot. People would talk, call her unreliable. They would wonder what had scared her away. They would see her as weak, as unable to cope with Monique’s loss. Maybe they would even suspect that she’d had something to do with her death. If she left now, her position would be at risk, and she had worked too hard to make such a fatal error.

  There had to be another option.

  Acid crept up the back of her throat to burn her tongue as the stress of her situation twisted her stomach. Her fingernails thickened and elongated into talons. With a cry, she threw her robe to the floor before the expensive silk was ruined. Why did her control keep slipping from her grasp?

  It’s the hotel. It has to be something about the hotel.

  She breathed deeply until her nails returned to normal, then shook out her fingers and rested her hands on her hips.

  Disgust wrinkled her nose. She was allowing fear to scare her away, as though she were no better than the humans surrounding her. She had bested demons and seduced some of the most powerful beings into giving her exactly what she wanted. So why was she willing to be pushed out of the way by a pair of dark eyes in the shadows and the interference of an old man?

  She didn’t have to leave the shoot. She lived close enough to the hotel that she could commute every day. If she waited twenty-four hours, she could distance herself from Monique’s death and blame the state of the room. One day would be enough to come up with a list of faults in the quality of the hotel, and she could use that as her excuse to leave. No one would be the wiser.