by Krista Wolf
Kara ignored the ominous tone in his voice. She flipped a few more pages. She was still baffled.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked. “What any of it means?”
Jeremy shook his head. “No. Your guess is as good as mine.”
She came across some diagrams, but couldn’t make sense of them. A few sketches of unknown objects. A page here and there, painted with shapes and colors. Everything was absurdly weird. It was unlike anything Kara had ever seen.
“We need to get this to Xiomara,” she said.
“Already done,” said Jeremy. “The connectivity is shit in here, and half the time my phone won’t work at all. But I was able to get out of the Averoigne before the storm hit, and I sent full scans a few days ago.”
Logan shuffled closer. “And?”
“And nothing yet. The Order is working on it. They’ve got Bennett dissecting the lettering, says it might be some kind of runic code. Hayes is working on the artwork and diagrams.”
Kara let out a low whistle. “Hayes is good.”
“Damned straight.”
Logan started tapping his foot. He was getting restless. Kara was too. It was hard to sit in one place when there was so much to be done. Especially after downing so much coffee.
“The two of us need to meet with the owner,” Kara said, “get a few things settled. We’ll also want to take a look around ourselves.”
“Sounds good,” said Jeremy. He began piling everything neatly back into his briefcase. It amused Kara to see him still doing everything by the book. “I’ve got more detailed files back at my room,” he added. “Number 222. Come see me whenever you’re ready.”
“I will.”
“We will,” Logan corrected her, just a little too quickly. Enough so that Jeremy actually smirked at him.
This is all we need, thought Kara. A dick-measuring contest between my two exes.
She got up to leave, stopped, and sat back down again. Then she turned to face Jeremy.
“One more thing before we go,” added Kara.
“What’s that?”
“Tell us all about the third floor.”
Fifteen
Travis Radcliffe’s office was a tiny room set off from the hotel’s main lobby. For the amount of stuff packed between its four walls, it should’ve been crowded and dumpy. For some reason it wasn’t. Except for a few too many coffee mugs and some runaway paperwork, everything had its perfect place.
“Sorry about the mess,” said Radcliffe. The man’s eyes were still puffy, probably from lack of sleep. “With the storm and all, I haven’t been able to straighten up much. We’re running out of just about everything. Things here have been… hectic.”
He cleared off a chair and pulled it out for Kara before sinking into his own. Logan was apparently invited to stand.
“So what can I help the two of you with?” he sighed tiredly.
“Lots of things,” said Kara. “Starting with why you didn’t tell us last night that another one of our people were already here.”
The man shrugged. “I guess I thought you knew?” He yawned. “Besides, it was three in the morning. I wasn’t exactly in a condition to be thorough.”
Kara studied his reaction. It seemed genuine. She hated surprises, especially when they involved her directly. And Jeremy was about as directly involved as things could get.
“Fine,” she said, not really satisfied. “Now, about our room—”
“Ah, your sleeping situation.” The man nodded curtly. “I spoke to the desk, and I’ll have a separate room for you by this afternoon. Good?”
“Yes please,” said Kara, shooting Logan a sideways glance. If he had an opinion on her decision, his face didn’t show it.
“Very well,” the owner said. “What else?”
“We’re going to need access to the third floor.”
At this Radcliffe’s entire demeanor changed. His shoulders slumped, his eyes went dark. It was like an invisible wall had dropped between them.
“That I cannot do.”
“Can’t do?” asked Logan. “Or won’t do?”
“Both.”
Kara wrinkled her nose. Her expression was one of boredom. “We thought you might say that…”
She nodded at Logan, who pulled out his phone. He pressed a few buttons, and it began ringing.
“Listen,” Radcliffe implored them. “Like I already told your associate. You might think you want to go up there, but you don’t know what—”
A voice crackled through the phone’s speaker before the screen actually blinked on.
“What the fuck do you want Rhodes?”
Logan held the phone out at arm’s length so the three of them could see. On the video chat, Xiomara looked thoroughly bedraggled. Like an angry elf on a tiny screen.
“Ah, LoPresti. You too? Shouldn’t you both be—”
“Yes,” Kara interjected, “we should be. But the owner here, Mr. Radcliffe, won’t allow us access to the Averoigne’s third floor.”
They could see Xiomara’s eyebrows knit together, even on the five-inch display. It was a look Kara had seen plenty of times in the past.
“And why the holy fuck not?”
“Good question,” said Kara. She reached out and shifted the phone directly onto Travis Radcliffe. “Why don’t you ask him?”
The owner suddenly seemed two shades paler. He’d started tapping his leg, too.
“Uh… h—hello Ms. Magoro. It’s good to see you ag—”
“Don’t ‘miss’ fucking anything with me, Radcliffe! These assholes dragged me out of bed for this. If they say they need to go to the third floor, then that’s where you send them.”
“Yes but…” He leaned in confidentially, closer to the phone. “I mean, you know what goes on up there.”
“You’re Goddamn right I do! That’s why I have people there. Three of them in fact! And all you have to do is stand aside and get out of their way.”
Radcliffe swallowed. There was a bead of sweat rolling down one side of his face now.
“But—”
“Do I have to remind you? You were the one who came to us.”
“But we have guests here now,” Radcliffe hissed. “The hotel is totally booked. It’s Christmas week!”
“And I should care about this… why?” Xiomara snapped. When the owner didn’t reply she continued the savagery. “It’s not my fucking problem the Averoigne acts up at an inconvenient time each year. It is what it is.”
The man at the desk let out an exasperated sigh. “If I open the third floor I’m screwed.”
“If you don’t open the third floor you’re screwed even harder.”
There was a moment of silence. A moment where Kara thought the man was finally broken. But then:
“And what if I say no?”
Kara’s sucked in a quick, awkward breath. She risked a look at Logan. He winced.
“Are we really going to do this?” Xiomara growled. Onscreen she crossed a large room and slipped on pair of glasses. Casually she pulled out a sleek black book.
“Do wha—”
“October, nineteen thirty-two” she read. “A ten-year old boy falls from the railing overlooking the Averoigne’s lobby. Two of his older brothers claim he was pushed by a ‘woman who had no legs’. The boy survives but is paralyzed.”
Radcliffe’s face registered nothing as the Head of the Order went on.
“November twenty-first, nineteen forty five. Two women staying at the Averoigne claim to be visited by the apparition of an ‘incensed, enraged man’. For two straight nights they report it, but management and police do nothing. A day later they’re found in room 218, dead of a pair of heart attacks. Both were healthy women were in their twenties.”
Xiomara flipped a page. Now she looked even more pissed.
“Winter of nineteen-sixty: a newlywed couple is found on the balcony of room 321, frozen to death. Their balcony door is determined to be unlocked. They could’ve gone inside any time the
y wanted.”
Travis Radcliffe shifts uncomfortably. “Okay, I—”
“Nineteen seventy one: ten reports of activity and three deaths over a six month period. A year later, the skeleton of a missing guest is found beneath—”
“Okay!” the owner shouts. He dropped his head into his hands. “Okay… I— I get it.”
“Do you?” Xiomara snapped. “Or should I keep going? This is only part of what I have. Imagine all the events that didn’t get reported, or were written down or lost.”
The man nodded without looking up. Kara actually felt some sympathy for him. She’d been exactly where he was right now.
“Radcliffe, I sprang for the limo and sent you three dates for the prom!” Xiomara practically shouted. “Don’t try to clamp your legs closed now. You’re getting fucked either way. Might as well lay back and enjoy it.”
He glanced up. Nodded again. Now he was broken.
“Alright. You win. I’ll let your people up on the third floor.”
“Damned fucking right you will. And anywhere else they need to go.”
“Yes.”
Xiomara’s expression didn’t change one bit, not even after she’d gotten her way. She delivered them all one last scathing look of death before reaching down and cutting the connection.
The screen went black. Logan whistled. “Shit. You got lucky.”
“What?”
“You caught her in a good mood for once.”
Kara laughed without laughing. “He’s right,” she said. “She didn’t even tell you to ‘fuck off’ before hanging up.”
Travis Radcliffe allowed himself a long deep breath, and then finally sat up straight. “You do realize most of the hotel’s activity has taken place on the third floor?”
“Most but not all,” Logan pointed out.
“And that’s why it was closed,” the owner said. “Back in the sixties.”
“Nineteen sixty nine,” said Kara.
The man looked at them both and sighed. “I’ll open it up to you, but just you. Even the staff is afraid of the third floor, although we do send people up twice a year for a very quick once-over.”
“And they’ve never seen anything?”
He shook his head. “The cleaning crews are sent in large groups, for protection and to make things fast. And only during the day.” He grumbled. “I can only get them up there by paying triple time, too.”
Kara ignored his last statement. “Anyone we should talk to?”
Mr. Radcliffe steepled his hands together for a moment, lost in thought. “You should probably see Jonathan. He’s the janitor — or rather, the head of maintenance. He’s been here longer than any of us. He also knows the Averoigne inside and out.”
“Roger that,” said Logan. “Jonathan.”
“I’ll tell him to give you the master key. It’ll open anything on the third floor.” Radcliffe leaned across the desk confidentially, almost like he did on the phone call. “But please, try to keep things quiet. We have a lot of guests here right now, and some of them might be curious.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’m also absolving myself — and the Averoigne — of all responsibility,” said Radcliffe. “Whatever happens up there, it’s on you.”
Kara settled back in her chair and sighed. “Always is.”
“Is that all?” Radcliffe asked. He sounded almost annoyed now. “I really need to get back to work.”
“No,” said Kara. “Tell us… what’s next to room 207.”
“What?”
“The room you gave us last night,” she repeated. “Number 207. What’s next to it?”
“Room 209?”
“No, on the other side.”
The owner’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling, like he was checking on some mental map. “Ummm…” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right. Maintenance closet.”
Logan and Kara looked at each other.
“Jonathan got the key to that?”
Sixteen
They were only a few steps out of Radcliffe’s office when a woman with sharp features and tied-back hair came running up them. She was wearing a hotel uniform.
“Hi!” she said cheerily. “Are you two the—”
“Yes,” Kara cut her off.
The woman pulled out another bronze key, this time attached to a red plastic disc. She handed it to Kara.
“Room 120,” she said. “I know your rooms aren’t near each other, but it was the only space we could manage.”
“That’s fine,” said Kara.
“And sorry about last night’s mix-up.”
Logan cleared his throat with a smirk. He was staring down at her in a way that said: I’m not.
“Don’t be,” Kara replied quickly. She stared down at the plastic keychain as the woman bounced off. Their two rooms would now be a floor apart, and clear on the other side of the hotel from one another.
That was just fine with her.
“Wow,” said Logan. “Can’t believe you’re moving out.”
“I’m not,” replied Kara. “You are.”
She tossed him the keychain. He caught it easily and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re really staying in there?” he asked. “What with our friend coming and going, screaming bloody murder in your face?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously, Kara. Don’t be stubborn. What if she comes back?”
“I want her to come back. Maybe then I can figure out what she wants.” She began heading for the elevator — the main one this time, not the glass one. “That’s the whole reason we’re here, isn’t it? The Order didn’t send us away on some snowy Christmas vacation together.”
Logan smiled. It really was one of his best features. Despite her best efforts, Kara felt something melt a bit inside her. Her mind couldn’t help but wander.
He has a LOT of best features…
“All the more reason for me to be there,” her roommate went on.
Kara laughed. “Yeah, sure. Thanks, but no thanks.”
The elevator dinged. Its doors shuddered open unevenly and they stepped inside. Kara noticed immediately that it was old — very old. Maybe even older than its glass-and-brass sister.
“Besides,” she added. “If that ghost shows up again, Jeremy has the best chance of speaking with it. Much better than either of us. He’s the one gifted in apparitional communication.”
“Yeah yeah,” Logan replied. His voice was thicker now, as if something didn’t taste right in his mouth. “I know. The whole Order knows. We’ve all seen the Estonian footage.”
“Then you should—”
“I get it,” said Logan. He looked legitimately wounded now. “You made it clear earlier.” Then, in a lower tone. “Last night never happened.”
The doors opened onto the second floor. He hurried out.
Kara opened her mouth to say something. He stopped her.
“I’ll have my stuff packed in a few,” he said. “You don’t need to come. Why don’t you go poke around downstairs? See if you can find some of those other old photos Jeremy was talking about, the ones from the lounge. Maybe you’ll see something he missed.”
Kara closed her mouth and nodded. It was actually a good idea.
“O—Okay.”
“Bye.”
He walked off, and the sense of his disappointment was almost palpable. His whole demeanor threw Kara for a loop. Logan was tough; ex-military, physically capable, hardened both inside and out. The whole time they’d been together she hadn’t seen a softer side of him, not even once. No real emotion. No regret.
No love…
The elevator doors closed, but Kara was still distracted. Could he really be jealous? Of Jeremy?
He could.
She bit down on her lip. It almost make sense.
He is.
The elevator made some kind of a strange knocking noise, like it was impatient, and Kara reached for the faded ceramic buttons. There was only an ‘L’ for lobby, and a ‘2’
for the second floor. A third button — presumably for the third floor — had once sat above them both on the panel. It had been completely removed, and the hole covered with some sort of thick black tape.
Hmmmm…
Beneath the panel itself, Kara saw two keyholes set into the ancient wood. One was modern, and painted red. Probably something to do with emergency, or maintenance. The other keyhole was bigger. It was strangely shaped… and coated in dust.
Could he really be jealous?
Her time together with Logan had been short, but fiery. Consumed with a heat and passion she missed the instant it was taken from her, and one she resented never finding again. Not in any of her other boyfriends. Not even in Jeremy.
It was only young love, she thought. Just like he said. You were nineteen years old. Everything was fresh, everything new…
That had to be it. Logan hadn’t been her first first time with man, but it was pretty damned close. He’d certainly been her first true passion. Her first time falling hard for someone. Her first time being absolutely crushed, when he abruptly broke it off.
But while they were together…
You’re overly glorifying the whole thing, the little voice in her head admonished her. Time has softened all the rough edges. Polished up the good times, so that they shine like diamonds. Making them more than they really were…
“Maybe,” she said aloud. She’d almost even convinced herself. “Probably.” The elevator dinged again and the doors opened.
Kara was all business as she stepped out into the chaos of the lobby.
Seventeen
Kara once thought the origins of the Hallowed Order to be shrouded in secrecy. As if the knowledge of its beginnings were so important, so sacrosanct, not even Xiomara knew it in its entirety.
That part of the organization had always been romantic to her. The idea of being a part of something bigger than she was, even larger than the world around them. It was exotic. Spectacular. The sheer scope of it was astounding to Kara, much less the work the Order had done over the course of long, insightful centuries.
The truth however, was a lot less glamorous: almost everything that was known of the Hallowed Order had been lost to time. Even its name had been forgotten; at some point it had been the Hallowed Order of something, but whatever that something was had been unfortunately misplaced.
