by Tricia Owens
“We’re lucky to have a medium on staff at all,” I told him, putting a positive spin on it. “You probably come in handy all the time.”
“Sometimes,” he agreed with a shy smile.
As we both stood up, I caught movement from the corner of my eye. I spun quickly, one hand jumping to my holstered gun. At the end of the hall was a man dressed in a startling, blood red three-piece suit. He appeared to float six inches above the carpet. He didn’t cast a shadow.
“Playing instead of working?” he drawled in a voice that made me shiver. He didn’t notice my reaction because he was too busy staring at Elliott with his black gaze.
“There was a complaint,” Elliott said in a shaky voice.
“This place holds nothing but complaints,” the man replied, inciting another shiver from me.
“Hello,” I said aggressively, because I didn’t appreciate being ignored. “I’m Arrow St. Marx, the new Head of Security. You’re a guest here, I presume?”
Finally, his black gaze touched on me. It was a wild experience, like approaching a Tesla coil. I was sure my hair stood on end. The man’s features were pale and severely sculpted. There was an agonizing beauty about him. I felt an immediate ache to be closer to him and to feel his mouth on me.
“Vampire,” I accused and shook my head hard to clear it.
“So the Head of Security is not a complete fool,” the man said, derision shading his voice. His gaze released me to grip Elliott again. “Not like the last one, hmm, pet?”
Elliott said nothing but he trembled beside me. I didn’t blame him. This vampire was overwhelming, his regard almost painful. Conducting electricity would feel more comfortable. When the vampire glanced back at me and smiled, my knees nearly buckled and a moan lifted to the back of my throat.
My feet shuffled me closer to him.
“No,” I bit out. I gritted my teeth and stepped back, regaining the ground that I had lost.
The vampire only watched me patiently. “Come here.”
My right foot slid forward.
“Leave her alone.”
The vampire looked away from me, breaking the thrall. I slumped as though an invisible fist around my body had loosened.
“Leave her alone,” Elliott repeated, his voice wavering. “She hasn’t done anything.”
The vampire’s smile meant absolutely nothing. “Not yet. What is she really doing here, I wonder.” When Elliott didn’t respond, the vampire stopped smiling. “Why is she here, pet? Is it time? Is the game finally beginning?”
“I-I can’t tell you,” Elliott stuttered, distressed. “I don’t—I don’t—”
“Of course you can tell me. You want to.”
“Stop it,” I barked. That only swung the vampire’s terrible gaze on me again but at least that meant it wasn’t on Elliott, who had been wilting rapidly beneath it. “If you’ve got a question about me, ask me directly.”
But strangely, that seemed to surprise and maybe even intimidate the vampire. Without a word, he turned fluidly and glided around the corner and out of sight.
Freed from his powerful thrall, I grew angry at how he’d played with me. “Wait!”
I ran after him. When I turned the corner, the intersecting hallway stood empty.
“He does that,” Elliott said with a sigh once he’d joined me. “I don’t know if he becomes invisible or he dematerializes or what. He’s just gone and won’t return until he feels like it.”
“Who is he?” I didn’t want to have any interactions with supernatural beings like vampires but knowledge was power.
“Conte Grigore Ionescu is his real name, but he’s been okay with us addressing him as ‘Count.’ He’s been here forever, it seems. Maybe as long as the hotel’s been standing. He’s a legend.”
I gave Elliott a look, unable to decipher the note I’d heard in his voice. He turned his attention to the bag he held, lightly stroking the moving bulges within as if soothing them.
“He’s a guest?” I asked.
Elliott nodded. “Except no one knows which room he lives in. Some of the staff thinks he moves from room to room so that we won’t be able to catch him.”
“Why would someone want to do that?”
“To stake him,” Elliott said, acting surprised that it wasn’t obvious to me. “He’s killed hundreds of people in his lifetime. He’s still killing them in here.”
“Inside the Sinister?” At his nod, my fingers itched to move to my gun. I doubted regular bullets would damage a vampire, but I could probably meddle something custom just for the Count.
“He’s hiding here just like the others are,” Elliott went on. He didn’t seem bothered by that. “Mr. Tower won’t allow law enforcement on the premises, so once you’re here, you’re sort of safe.”
“How does Mr. Tower get away with that? The police have every right to come in here and arrest people.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But trust me, you’ll never see a policeman in here and no one will ever be arrested. No matter what happens.” A touch of darkness passed through his eyes at the latter comment, suggesting he possessed some stories that I’d need to try to pry out of him later.
“Anyway, do you want to come with me?” He held up the bag. “I need to release these outside before they eat through the lining.”
When we returned to the first floor, no one was behind the front desk.
“Where is everyone?” I asked Elliott. “I’ve never been inside a hotel that’s so empty.”
“The majority of the guests are self-sufficient. And a lot of them have been living here for months, sometimes years. They don’t need bell hops and they rarely come down here to the front desk.” He shrugged. “I guess it is kind of weird, but I never noticed it. It is what it is.”
“Do you know Marcus Morrison?”
He looked to the front door, so I couldn’t see his face. “Um, is he a guest? I know most everyone, but if they checked in during the day shift…”
“No,” I sighed, “he’s not a guest.”
I tried not to let my frustration show. I’d hoped that someone in here would act suspiciously at the mention of my former counselor. But Sheridan and Elliott seemed clueless and I hadn’t seen anyone else to question. Tower was my biggest suspect, but he probably only worked during the day.
How was I supposed to make extra money on the side if we didn’t communicate? I swallowed around a growing feeling of unease. So much mystery didn’t bode well.
I stood beside the front desk while Elliott released the creatures out into the street. I doubted a city was their natural habitat but he would know better than I.
At the sharp click of fingernails, I started. A woman had appeared behind the front desk, dressed in a black pantsuit. Her hair was icy blonde, nearly white, and cut in a crisp bob around her heart-shaped face.
“I am the night manager,” she told me in a cool, inflectionless voice. “My name is Nova Fallow. You may call me Nova.”
“That’s an interesting name.”
“As interesting as yours is.”
Her cheeks were smooth and wide, her nose so small that it reminded me of a rock climber clinging precarious to a rock face. She blinked Arctic blue eyes at me before she reached into a pocket in her suit coat. She withdrew a manila envelope the size of her palm and held it out to me. “From Mr. Tower.”
“What is it?” I cautiously plucked the envelope from between her long fingers.
“From Mr. Tower,” she repeated, and though she was as emotive as a shard of ice, I understood completely.
“If you have questions, write them down and place them in the envelope,” she told me. “Avoid specifics. Leave the envelope in the mail slot for room two-fourteen. That is your slot. I will see that Mr. Tower receives it.”
“Am I the only—”
She turned and walked through the doorway into the employee area, leaving me with my question sitting on my tongue.
“Hey, it’s all set.”
I jer
ked around. Elliott showed me his empty bag and smiled.
“That’s great,” I blurted. I shoved the envelope behind my back. “So, uh, what’s next?”
“We’ll begin our rounds.” He glanced behind me, at the empty doorway. “Let’s get going while it’s still quiet.”
~~~~~
Sheridan hit the lockers hard, a muscle crying foul in her back. But she kept her feet and she didn’t show fear. Scars on her body and her heart had taught her what could happen when you failed to do both of those things.
“Tell me why she is here,” the vampire demanded softly.
Sheridan, much to her dismay, wasn’t close enough to her own locker to make a dive for it. Her fingers curled impotently. It wasn’t often that she had the Count in such close quarters. If she had her stake with her—
“Answer me!” he hissed.
“Mr. Morrison recruited her,” she replied calmly, as though she were dealing with a rude and demanding guest. “She’s a hire for Mr. Tower. You may draw your own conclusions from that.”
“So it is as I thought. He has found his final soldier.” She watched the Count’s dark eyes lose their focus. For as many times as she’d managed to hunt him down and corner him, he’d never allowed his attention to drift while in her presence. As if hearing her thoughts, he snapped his gaze up. “Has she made contact with him?”
“Him who?” she asked, deliberately obtuse.
“You lying little bitch,” he snarled. “Tell me.”
Sheridan smiled. “Maybe you should ask her.”
The red-clad vampire stalked closer. “Or maybe I shall rip the knowledge from your feeble mind.”
“You can try,” she murmured.
His eyes narrowed.
She didn’t bother bracing against the power of his thrall. There was no point. She threw Time, and in the next fraction of a second she stood twenty feet away from him, at the other end of the room.
The Count paused, staring at the spot where she had stood less than a second ago. He turned around slowly to face her. “Your little tricks will fail you one day, Sheridan.”
“I’m a Master level Time Manip specialist. These aren’t tricks.”
“One day you will throw Time and I will be there waiting for you.”
She felt sweat beading on her upper lip, but her pleasant smile never wavered. “I doubt that will happen before I manage to stake you, Count. Perhaps we should make a bet.”
His lips peeled back off his teeth, revealing his oversized canines. “I do not make wagers with infants.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I hope you don’t feel insulted when it’s an infant who kills you.”
He shot toward her, the tips of his shoes skimming above the carpet, pale fingers outstretched. He’d caught her by surprise when she’d first entered the employee break room, but she was ready for him now.
She threw Time again and her body hurtled forward faster than the eye could see. This time she ended up near her locker. The Count snarled behind her. He knew what was in her locker, too. She felt him rush up behind her. She turned and flung up her hand, this time to pull Time. The vampire froze in midair, his snarling visage suspended mere feet from her.
Warm blood streamed from her right nostril and nausea rolled through her. Pulling Time to slow down the Count was a thousand times more difficult and traumatizing than throwing it. But she needed the precious seconds to spin the dial on her lock and yank open the door, to pull out her metal stake and turn—
The Count accelerated into the present as she raised the weapon. With a cry, she aimed it for his heart.
At the last second, he twisted and the sharpened tip tore through his shirt and vest, scraping along his rib cage. Carried by momentum, his body smashed into hers. She grunted as she crashed against the lockers again. Even through the pain, she kept her death grip on the stake.
He pulled away from her. She jerked the stake up in front of her, ready to thrust it again.
With eyes wild with fury and his hands covering his wound, the Count vanished.
Time ticked by, steady and predictable.
Breathing heavily, Sheridan continued to scan the empty break room, just in case the vampire materialized suddenly in an attempt to surprise her.
The seconds passed; became minutes that accumulated.
When five minutes had passed, she deemed him gone for good. At least for now.
Not in the mood for a true fight this time, apparently.
He was like that sometimes. Other times he lusted for violence. She assumed that his aggression was tied to how recently he’d fed. She made a mental note to inform Housekeeping to be on the lookout for a body drained of all its blood.
Sheridan allowed the stake to fall to the floor with a metallic ping and then let out a tremulous breath. So the Count was worried about Arrow St. Marx. Sheridan was intrigued. The enemy of her enemy was her friend, and in the Sinistera, friends were as rare as gratuities.
Chapter 7
Elliott raised his knuckles to the door. “I’m just going to see how she’s doing. We perform about a dozen welfare checks like this. Mrs. Larq is one of my favorites. She’s shy, though, so I’ll tell her about you for now and we’ll work up to a full introduction later.”
After a few seconds the door opened, but only a couple of inches, emitting pale green light. Elliott seemed to expect the security chain. He smiled at whoever he could see inside.
“Hello, Mrs. Larq. How are you this evening?”
The response from inside the room was garbled. I wasn’t sure it was English. It might not be a human language at all. I also heard what I thought was the clicking of claws, increasing my suspicion that this guest wasn’t completely human. I was curious, but I hesitated to step closer considering what Elliott had said about the guest’s personality.
As they continued to ‘talk’, I reached into my jeans pocket and fingered the envelope that Nova the night manager had given me. I itched to open it and find out what Tower had to tell me. Odds were, I had just received my first assignment and that Nova would be my go-between. I got the impression that Nova had done this more than once before with others. With my predecessors? Or were there others like me currently on the staff?
Elliott leaned casually in the doorway now, thumbs in his belt loops, laughing softly at whatever Mrs. Larq was telling him. I gave in to my burning curiosity. Turning my back on him, I pulled out the manila envelope.
It was unmarked, the flap sealed. I squeezed the envelope with my fingers and felt nothing unusual inside. Maybe a sheet of paper, folded several times. Maybe something more.
Before I could slide my thumb beneath the flap to loosen it, I noticed movement in my peripheral vision.
I quickly jerked my head around, thinking the Count had made a return appearance. What I saw was something far more inexplicable than a floating vampire.
The end of the hall was about fifty feet away. It ended at a rectangular window covered by black curtains. In front of it sat a half moon console table holding a red vase full of white phalaenopsis orchids. The vignette was attractive enough. The problem was that the scene shifted forward and backward and to the left and right, shuddering as though I was viewing a video with a glitch.
I blinked my eyes hard, but the constant shifting didn’t let up. The shifts were jarring and jerky, as if I were the one moving and my different visual perspectives overlapped each other. The prism-like scenes hurt my head. I took a step forward, hoping to stop the visual shifting, but nothing happened except that a man appeared within the confusion.
He shifted also, but different to the hallway. As the window and flower arrangement shuddered back and forth, he moved, too: sitting cross-legged on the floor; now standing in the center of the hall; now leaning against one wall; now with his back to me. I wanted to close my eyes, afraid that I was going insane. But I couldn’t close my eyes because I feared that if I did, the man would disappear.
He looked to be around my age, slim and dre
ssed in dark, narrow trousers, a charcoal gray vest, and a white shirt that he’d rolled partway up his forearms. It was the look of a student, or someone bookish. His hair was black and straight; in some poses it fell in a curtain around his face. In other poses his face was revealed to me: a chin dusted with stubble, brows knitted in concentration, a frown perpetually pulling down the corners of his lips. Sometimes he wore wire-framed glasses. Other times I could see clearly that his eyes were green.
In his hands was an opened book whose width suggested it might be a ledger of some sort. He seemed to care more about it than anything that was happening around him. No matter what position he was in, the ledger’s contents absorbed his attention more than life itself.
Was he alive, though? Or was he a ghost? Was I seeing flashes of moments in time? If so, why did he never change outfits? Why did his hair not grow or shorten? Why did the flowers never die?
It seemed more likely that something had gone wrong with my brain. I had to look down at my feet—which didn’t move, didn’t shift—to confirm that this was happening to the hotel and not to me. I raised my head again, steeling myself against the prismatic fracturing. I needed this to stop, for something to make sense.
“Hey,” I called out.
The shifting man raised his head. I inhaled sharply as our gazes met.
Did I know him?
A blink and he disappeared. I’d grown used to the hallway’s shifting movement, so when it abruptly stopped I stumbled sideways.
“You okay?”
I jumped at Elliott’s touch to my shoulder. “God!”
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, it’s okay,” I assured him as I glanced back at him. “I was looking at something…” I pointed back at the end of the hallway, where the scene was static. “It moved. Everything there. It kept moving. Jumping around. Almost like—I don’t know.”
“Like multiple dimensions were converging?” He smiled wanly at my surprise. “I’ve seen it, too. You’re not crazy. It’s the hotel. I asked Sheridan about it. She thinks it’s a time issue, like the past and present keep colliding in here.”
