***
Frey drives straight into Flagstaff after a drive with the top down on his Jeep that coupled with the speed he was going, made it impossible to talk.
A deliberate and not very subtle move on his part to keep from answering the hundred questions I’ve peppered him with since we left the reservation.
He maneuvers the broad, flat streets of Flagstaff like a native and within minutes of entering the city, we’re pulling up to a big square brick building that occupies the corner of two main drags. Above the building, Hotel Monte Vista glows in red neon against the night sky.
“I take it you’ve been here before,” I say dryly.
Frey is gathering his stuff from the back. “Once or twice.”
I follow him into the lobby. It’s an old hotel, austere on the outside, garish on the inside. The lobby and entrance are gold-toned and brightly lit. Music and loud voices drift up through an arched doorway to the left over which a backlit sign proclaims: Cocktail Lounge.
I let Frey take care of room arrangements since he seems familiar with the place. And he doesn’t have to worry about the big mirror behind the registration desk.
I drift around the lobby, soaking up impressions. It’s indeed an old hotel, a plaque commemorates the 1927 grand opening. It’s a popular hotel, voices and music from the direction of the cocktail lounge form a constant backbeat to a steady stream of patrons drifting in and out…
It’s a haunted hotel.
The hair on my arms prickles.
It’s a haunted hotel.
I’ve already had one experience with a ghost. My friend, Max, came to me minutes after dying. Max came to say good-bye and to set me on the path that ended with my marrying Frey and starting a life I never believed I could have. Vampires don’t usually get a happily ever after. His visit was not in any way malevolent or threatening.
The spirit in this hotel is different. I feel it as surely as the goose bumps dimpling my skin. Worse, it’s reaching out to me. Tickling my consciousness with icy feather-like fingers.
I don’t like the sensation.
Maybe staying here isn’t such a good idea.
I turn to look for Frey and bump smack into him. “Frey, I don’t think—”
He’s studying my face. “You feel it, don’t you?”
“You know?”
He dangles a key from his right hand and waves an envelope in his left. “That’s why we’re here.”
“What?”
“To exorcise the ghost of Monte Vista.”
“Exorcise a ghost? Are you crazy?” My voice is an octave or two above screech and it causes a ripple among the dozen or so people in the lobby. They turn as one to look in our direction.
Frey shuffles uncomfortably in place. “Please, Anna. Not so loud. Let’s go up to the room and I’ll explain.”
Back stiff with anger and embarrassment, I follow him to the end of the lobby where an elevator stands with door yawning open. It’s dark paneled and barely big enough for two. I step inside gingerly. “Is this thing safe?” Then, as my outraged brain finally catches up, another question pops out. “What do you mean, the room?”
He pushes the button for the third floor in lieu of a reply. The doors creak slowly closed and there is a moment of hesitation before the elevator starts to labor upward. It moves like an arthritic old lady being roused into a standing position from a rocking chair.
We could climb the three flights of stairs faster.
I glare at Frey, who is studiously ignoring me. It seems to take forever before the elevator comes to a thudding halt. Just when I’m about to ask if the doors are ever going to open, they do. We step out and in a flash, the elevator suddenly revives. The doors slam shut and the elevator whisks downward with sudden, brisk efficiency.
Which is almost as creepy as the feeling I got downstairs when I realized the place was haunted.
The hallway looks benign enough. It’s narrow, painted the same gold tone as the lobby, but well lit by wall sconces that cast warm shadows. There’s a windowed door at the end of the hall where rose hued twilight seeps through. My mind is on high alert, but so far, the only thing I’m sensing is Frey’s nervousness.
Frey uses the key to open the door to 306. He steps aside to let me precede him. I suspect the gallantry is not out of chivalry, but because he’s reluctant to take the first step into the room. The set of his mouth and worry lines creasing his brow give it away.
Curiosity now has me firmly in its clutches. Frey is not a coward. Whatever is haunting this hotel, if it scares Frey, it’s got to be bad.
I glance around the room. It’s a big, square, corner-of-the-building room. The walls are painted the same gold tone as the lobby and hall. Must have had a sale on that color when the hotel was last renovated. There’s one double bed set against the middle of the far wall covered with a pale green spread. Throw pillows take up half the bed’s surface. Two large windows flank the corners on each side of the bed. Tiffany style lamps on tables, a couple of cushion-less wooden rocking chairs that look stiff and uncomfortable and a big flat screen TV suspended near the ceiling across from the bed complete the décor.
Looks like a hundred other rooms in turn-of-the-century hotels. Nothing out of the ordinary except…
I close my eyes and breathe in.
Except for the faint whiff of lavender and spice. A fragrance that ebbs and flows around me like a receding tide.
“Do you smell that, Frey?”
There’s no answer. When I open my eyes and turn around, I see that Frey hasn’t moved from the doorway. I take the key out of his hand, pull him inside, and shut the door.
“Talk.”
He looks around as if expecting something to jump out at him. I’ve never seen him so spooked.
I prod him. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
A couple of gulping swallows until at last, he manages to speak. “I hate this place.”
“That’s helpful. Then why are we here?”
He draws in a breath, holds it, lets it out with a sigh. “I owe the manager.”
“You owe the manager? That explains why you’re here. Why am I here?”
“Because you’re my wife and you’d do anything for me just like I’d do anything for you.”
He says it with such sincerity, I feel the shell of my irritation crack. Truth is, I would do anything for him, just as he’s done so much for me in the past—from fighting witches to rogue vampires, he’s always been on my side.
I sit on the edge of the bed. “What do you want me to do?”
Frey drops down beside me on the bed. “We’ll stay here tonight. When the spirit shows up, talk to her. Ask her what she wants. Help her move on.”
“You know it’s a she?”
He nods. And takes up the envelope he’d laid beside us when we sat down. “Phil put this packet together for us.”
“Phil?”
“The manager.” He guesses my next question and answers it before I ask. “Phil and I go way back. We met at the reservation my first trip here. We were both donating time to build a new school.”
“How long ago was that?”
“I don’t know. Twenty years maybe.”
“Does he know you’re a shapeshifter?”
“No. But he’s lived in this part of the country for a decade. He accepts that there are things beyond the scope of what most think of as normal. He works in a hotel with a ghost, after all.”
“Did you bring me here because I’m a vampire?” I touch his hand. “It’s all right. It makes sense that one undead might communicate with another.”
He squeezes my hand, then releases it to open the envelope. He pulls out a weathered sheaf of old newspapers and hands them to me. The date of the first is 1942, and the gist of the story is this: In June, 1942, a young girl was lured up to room 306 during a family party being held for her sixteenth birthday. Her abductor was a business associate of her father’s. She was attacked and strangled sometime after ten o�
�clock and her body thrown out of the window. Her attacker was arrested, but his lawyer got him off. Three weeks later he was shot dead. It was suspected that the girl’s father killed him. Suspected but never proven.
One of the stories has a picture of the girl. The face smiling up from the yellowed newsprint is full of life and promise. Her name was Imogene Cocker. As I look at her, the hair stirs on the back of my neck. It feels like the soft breath of someone standing behind me. I don’t want to spook Frey so I say nothing. But Imogene is here, there’s no doubt.
“So, why do you think she’ll show up tonight?”
His jaw tightens. “Because I’ll be here.”
“She’s after you?”
An abrupt wave of the hand. “Not me specifically. She always shows up when there’s a man sleeping in this room. She doesn’t like men.”
After what I read, I can hardly fault her for that. “So, the plan is, you’re the bait.” I look at those two stiff, unforgiving rocking chairs. “You get the bed and I, what, have to sit in those chairs all night?”
He shrugs.
“And what do I get if I manage to dislodge the ghost from this room?”
“The manager’s undying gratitude. This room has caused more than a few male guests to run screaming down to the lobby. Which in turn, tends to unsettle nearby occupants, too. It’s gotten so bad, the manager is afraid to rent out the room. And having one unrentable room in a hotel of only thirty is unacceptable to the bottom line.”
“What do I get from you?”
That brings a smile. “What do you want?”
“I can think of a few things.” I start to lean toward him. “It’s only eight. Maybe I can get an advance on that payment.”
But Frey is on his feet. “Let’s go to the bar. We have an open tab in the lounge.”
“Your’e turning down sex? With me?”
Frey is on his feet, moving to the door with a speed I wouldn’t have thought possible, even for a panther.
He must really be spooked.
He doesn’t wait for me, but plunges into the hallway. I follow, pausing to pull the door closed. A whiff of perfume and the creak of floorboards make me hesitate. Look back.
Something moving.
One of the chairs in the corner begins to rock.
***
The image is still in my head—the empty rocking chair moving slowly back and forth. It makes my skin crawl even though I know there could be a logical explanation—a draft from those corner windows for instance. The Monte Vista is an old hotel, after all.
But even as I think it, I recall the smiling face of Imogene in the photo.
I follow Frey to the elevator, but steer him to the stairs before he can press the button. I’d like to get to a drink sometime before midnight.
The entrance to the Cocktail Lounge is down a short flight of stairs at the back of the lobby. The noise level has ratcheted up considerably. Crowds make me uncomfortable and antsy. Sensory overload for a vampire is no laughing matter. Suddenly, I’ve lost my thirst for booze.
Frey seems to have no such concerns. He heads down the steps. Predictably, there’s barely enough room to find a place to stand let alone a table to sit. The hotel may be suffering from its ghostly guest but the bar is certainly doing well.
Frey throws me a glance. “Pretty crowded.”
He has to yell to be heard over the din.
I jab him with a finger for stating the obvious and yell back, “You think? Are there any other bars around here?”
“None that will pick up our tab.”
Shit.
He attempts to clear a path for us through the crowd and toward the bar. The noise becomes unbearable. My head starts to throb.
I grab his arm and stop his forward momentum. “I have to get out of here, Frey.”
He cups a hand to an ear. “What?”
I don’t wait to repeat. I turn and push my way back toward the door. I feel like I have a hundred cymbals crashing against the walls of my brain. I can’t remember the last time I was so overwhelmed by sound. The loud hip-hop music and the cacophony of raised voices bring the vampire dangerously close to the surface. I need to get away from this dimly lit, hot, claustrophobically crowded hellhole. Not only for the noise—the place reeks with mortal blood pounding through alcohol-saturated veins. It awakens vampire’s blood lust.
I need to get away now.
It’s not until I’m back in the quiet of the lobby that I realize I’m shaking all over. I sink into a chair on the other side of the lobby, as far from the lounge entrance as possible, and wait for my heart to slow enough to ease the pounding in my head and for vampire to retreat. I don’t think Frey followed me. I don’t really care. I want only to lean back against the soft cushions and close my eyes.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
A male voice.
Without opening my eyes, I nod. “Yes. Thanks. I just need a minute.”
“I saw you come from the saloon. It’s too noisy, isn’t it?”
Saloon? Well, we are in the Wild West. “Yes. I must be getting old.”
A rustle of fabric close to my ear. “Oh no. Your kind doesn’t get old.”
Something cold, soft, like the tip of an icy finger, touches my cheek. A whiff of spice.
My eyes pop open.
Frey is standing in front of me, frowning. “Who are you talking to?”
I sit upright with a jerk and look around.
“A man. Did you see him?”
“A man?”
He follows my gaze as I search up and down the length of the lobby. Except for a few drunken revelers emerging from the depths of the cocktail lounge, we’re alone.
“Maybe you fell asleep,” he says.
His tone is hopeful.
I hoist myself to a standing position. I know I didn’t fall asleep. The goose bumps racing up and down my arms now are as real as the feel of that ghostly finger on my cheek. “Let’s get back to the room.”
It will give me a chance to figure out how I’m going to explain to Frey that there isn’t just one ghost in this hotel.
There are two.
***
When I look up at Frey, he has a darkly concerned frown on his face. We’re seated side by side on the bed.
He presses his lips together. “I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with you. I was afraid if I told you why we were coming here, you’d think I was nuts. Now I think I’m the one who’s nuts. You looked pretty spooked downstairs. It was the ghost, wasn’t it? Did she threaten you?”
Should I tell him that it wasn’t Imogene? And while it was nothing overt, the touch of that icy finger didn’t exactly feel welcoming.
I force myself to smile, swallowing down the guilt that now I’m the one fudging the truth. “Don’t look so concerned. For whatever reason, I think your ghost is trying to communicate with me. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Before he can speak, I take his hand. “Listen, Frey, I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight but I’m not sure you should be a part of it. Let me stay in the room by myself. ”
Frey blows out a breath. “Believe me, I’d love to leave this to you. But there’s no way I’m going to let you face this ghost on your own. I didn’t tell you what she does to the male guests, did I?”
I wave my hand in a go-on motion. Frey takes my hand “She smothers them. Puts a hand over their mouths and around their necks. They wake up fighting for breath. In the last two weeks alone, there have been three incidents. One man almost died from a heart attack and two stroked out. She may not seem threatening to you, but she has it in for men and one of these days, she’s going to kill someone.”
If this conversation had taken place two years ago, I would have written it off as urban legend. And told Frey that the men who claimed to have been attacked by a ghost were delusional. Now, battling monsters of every denomination, not to mention my own visitation by Max’s ghost, I sit here wondering what strategy I can use to persuade this ghost to
move on.
If not to a better place, then at least to another hotel.
One where Frey has no connections.
Now, how to ask the next question without raising undue suspicion. I spy the newspaper articles on the nightstand.
“Okay.” I glance at my watch. “The article mentioned Imogene was killed after ten o’clock. It’s ten fifteen now. Come on, my handsome hunk of ghost bait, time for bed.”
Frey grabs his duffel and heads into the bathroom. As soon I hear water running, I snatch the articles and slip them into my bag. In fifteen minutes, a scrubbed Frey wearing a pair of tighty-whities is back and headed for the bed. He waves a hand at me, presumably a “good-night” gesture, and settles under the covers.
Now that’s a switch. He’s gotten into bed alone and with underwear on. There hasn’t been a night since we’ve been married that if we were in the same town, we didn’t make love before going to sleep. The fact that he didn’t even kiss me before pulling those covers up means he really is spooked.
“Frey?”
He opens one eye. “Let’s get this over with. The sooner we make contact, the sooner I don’t have to sleep alone.”
I lean over and plant a kiss on his forehead, then move into the bathroom to change from my jeans into shorts and a camisole top. By the time I reenter the bedroom and click off the light, Frey’s deep, regular breathing is the only sound in the room.
I gather throw pillows and a blanket and try to make a nest for myself in one of the rocking chairs.
Not the one that set to rocking by itself this afternoon.
She may consider that her chair.
Once settled, I turn again to the articles. Luckily, a vampire’s sight is better than night vision goggles so reading in the dark is no challenge.
None of the articles mention much about the man who attacked Imogene. His name: Everett Black. His relationship to Imogene: a business acquaintance of her father. No previous criminal record. He was married, had two children.
So what made him go after Imogene?
I curl my legs under me, rest my head back, close my eyes. If he’s the second ghost in the Monte Vista, it’s a question I can ask him when we meet.
Fiction River: Hex in the City Page 18
