Chapter Sixteen
Anthony
The thing had settled like an out-of-place eyesore on Haven Hollow property a few years or more before my arrival and had only settled in comfortably in the interim.
Its spectral presence was beginning to sprawl, add-ons popping up as needed when new spooks and other tenants moved in.
If you asked me, Death was getting a little too loose with his zoning permits.
Maybe I’d bring it up with the Hollow charter at some point.
The neighbors wouldn’t appreciate any poltergeists roaming into their backyards by accident.
The interior of the hotel was even more eye-catching than usual when we strode through the double doors into the lobby.
The drab evening scene gave way to turn-of-the-century glitz and glamour.
The lobby carpet was a field of black and white tiles that led further into the building.
The white walls reflected back the lights of golden chandeliers and veins of silver in the marble.
Silhouettes lined the halls, the portraits done in sharp relief and a dash of eye-catching red.
The path up to the front desk was lined with white-upholstered chairs.
The desk itself would probably have been featured in an abstract art exhibit.
It was Art Deco gone mad, a mess of metallic angles that might burst into violent life and end an unwary guest. And that thought was only half as intimidating as the man seated opposite us.
He was beautiful in the same fashion as a well-cared-for blade.
He was made of sharp angles and deadly purpose.
What else did one expect from an aspect of literal Death?
The man’s amber eyes tracked Darla across the lobby, barely sparing the rest of us a glance. We were living and didn’t concern him. Well, at least until our time came. With any luck, that day was a long way off for all of us.
The ex-ghost, however, was something new.
She was the second spin on the wheel that never should have happened.
She’d cheated the natural order, which apparently came with a certain amount of unconsummated desire as far as Death was concerned.
As it was, he was eyeing her up and down like she was a steak and he was a starving man.
“Damon,” Darla greeted him warmly, reaching past his abandoned crossword puzzle to take his hands.
She gave both a cursory squeeze before pecking one of his cheeks lightly, like she thought she was European. Then she grinned and turned her face to the side before he could manage to turn it into a proper lip lock.
“You’re a real cake-eater, Mr. Death, but I ain’t that kinda girl an’ you know it,” she said with a light laugh.
“You can’t blame a man for trying,” Death replied, leaning back in his seat with an unrepentant smirk. “What brings you to my humble hall today, beautiful? Have your minions rustled up another restless spirit to be remanded into my care?”
“Not exactly,” Darla hedged, inching a leg onto the counter.
It hiked her skirt a few inches, a rather unsubtle ploy on her part, but it had the desired effect.
Damon’s gaze dropped to the square of bare flesh, rather than try to parse what living annoyances were doing in his presence. “See, I got a... favor to ask.”
“What sort of favor?” he asked, putting enough suspicion into the question to make Darla flinch. It wasn’t a big tell, as things went, but Death noticed.
“It’s got something to do with your guests,” Darla hedged. “Those of the living persuasion, especially.”
“Go on.”
“I’d be real interested to know if any monsters have settled in here over the last... oh... few weeks or so? Anyone really stick out to you? Give you a bad feeling?”
Death’s, or Damon as she called him, eyes narrowed and he leaned further back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t give out that kind of information for free, you know. Not even to you.”
Darla toyed with a string of pearls around her neck, batting her eyelids at Damon in an outrageous fashion.
I would have told her to stop laying it on so thick, except it seemed to be working.
His stern expression wavered, giving way to an almost indulgent and amused look when he reached out to run a finger along her jaw.
“You know I don’t do anything for free,” he amended. “What do you have to offer?”
“A double date?” Darla asked. “Me and Henner and whatever Sheba you wanna bring along. We’ll go someplace real nice. You can flirt with me all evening—Henner won’t mind.”
But then she’d go home with Henner. The pair were running hot and heavy these days.
I suspected he’d pop the question at some point.
Though I didn’t get the allure. In fact, I doubted I’d ever be totally comfortable with the premise of marriage, given who and what I’d grown up around. Marriage just seemed so... stifling.
“Try again, Darla,” Death said in a chiding tone.
“Well, I’m not wagering anything in a card game this time,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her assets weren’t the most impressive I’d ever seen, but Damon watched them hungrily nonetheless.
Then he waved an idle hand, dismissing the notion.
“No, I would never use such overt action again. You reacted badly last time. I want...” He paused, tapping his chin.
“A real chance at a date with you. I’ll throw a party.
All monsters and psychics in the Hollow are welcome.
I’ll pull out the stops and you’ll be on my arm the whole night. Sound fair?”
Darla paused and he continued.
“I get to borrow you for just an evening—a party.”
“No funny business?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“No funny business,” Damon promised.
Darla pursed her lips once in distaste but nodded. “Just so long as you don’t get offended when you end up alone in bed that night.”
Damon’s smile showed a flash of hungry teeth. “I can be very charming.”
“Charming, shmarming,” Darla said with a scowl as she waved him away with an unimpressed hand. “I’m taken an’ you know it. Throw a party if you want. I have a friend to rescue.”
“Rescue?” he repeated.
She nodded. “If I’m right, your guest has a woman I know stuffed in a bottle—well, her spirit anyway.”
“The Mananaggal, yes,” Damon said with a yawn.
“I sensed the spirit when she came in. I was under the impression that she was going to leave her in my care, but I haven’t felt a new soul enter the premises.
I was going to see to it anyway. It’s against the Hollow charter to imprison someone without due process of the law.
” Then he gave her a really smarmy look.
“I’m glad you’re taking the chore off my hands. ”
My heart threw itself violently against my ribs.
The admission was said in a bored tone, but it was nonetheless good news.
My hunch had been correct. Lydia was here.
More than that, Death’s flirty alter-ego could lead us right to her.
The plan I’d been given by the Scapegrace Coven through spotty texts might actually work… if I could free Lydia.
Death’s smile widened by a few molars when Darla smacked his bicep.
“You just wanted an excuse to take me out!”
“Something like that,” he admitted with a laugh. Then he reached behind him, deftly twisting a set of room keys from a peg on the far wall. He threw them underhanded at Darla, who had to teeter dangerously on her heels to catch them. Damon let out a rolling chuckle when she smacked him again.
“You’ll find what you’re looking for in Room 204.”
“Thanks, doll,” Darla smiled and then gave him a wink.
“Be careful, Darla. She bites.”