Sacrificing Virgins
Page 35
Walking into the foyer of the Inn was like stepping back in time 100 years. The floor was of rich, dark walnut planks and the walls were covered in a floral-patterned wallpaper. A wooden coat rack stood to the side of the door, while a grandfather clock faced him across the room. There were portrait paintings and framed photos covering much of the walls, but before he could take them in, a voice called to him from the left end of the room.
“Well, hello there!”
He turned and saw the Inn’s check-in desk, an ornate long counter carved in wood that matched the rest of the room. Everything seemed to be richly veined, dark and well-polished. Behind the desk were a couple dozen thin wooden cubbies for mail set into the wall. And the woman who likely filled them for the guests stood in front, offering him a clearly practiced “how can I help you” smile.
She was the one who’d called to greet him, with an accent that couldn’t deny her pedigree. She was a Southern woman, no question. And one who’d seen a summer or 70. Her hair was grey and hung in loose, short curls. Her dress was a quiet blue-checked affair. Her voice was welcoming, and calming.
“Hi,” Scott said, walking towards the desk. “I’m Scott Belvedere, I…”
She cut him off before he said another word.
“Yore tha heir,” she said. Her honeyed accent made Scott think a moment, to process what she’d said. And then it clicked and he nodded.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“My name’s Ellen and I’ve managed the Family Inn fer your uncle fer the past 44 years,” the old woman said. She came out from behind the desk and held her arms out to him. “Welcome home!”
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Sacrificing Virgins
Copyright © 2015 by John Everson
ISBN: 978-1-61923-131-3
Edited by Don D’Auria
Cover by Angela Waters
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First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: December 2015
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