Chapter 1 #2
Iris lets out a sound that might be a laugh—or a sneeze, it’s unclear. “Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen today. The dead are terribly unhelpful when it comes to paperwork.”
I mean, so are ferrets, but I don’t point that out.
She gestures toward a stool behind the reception desk.
“Have a seat, dear. I hate to disappear on you, but this can’t be avoided.
I’ll be back faster than a ghost in the moonlight.
But do stay right here. Certain areas around here…
Let’s just say strangers don’t do well wandering about.
And we wouldn’t want you getting misplaced before we get to the fun part.
” Her smile stretches, just a hair past the border of creepy. “Right?”
“Yeah. Right.” I won’t have any time to go exploring anyway. I’ll be too busy sitting here wondering who the hell this kooky woman is, and how I could possibly be misplaced.
“Good. I’ll be back in ten.” Iris pats my head like I’m five, then she nods at Liz, who follows her without another word.
As the echo of their steps fade down the corridor I already plan to avoid, I let myself take a closer look around in an attempt to distract myself.
The lobby is eccentric. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across one side, framed by thick velvet drapes in deep forest green.
The chandelier above me is a nightmare of twisted iron and crystal, casting distorted reflections on the black marble floor.
Antique furniture sits arranged in cozy clusters that look like they’ve never once been touched, one grouping in front of a large stone fireplace that only has embers left in it.
There’s a smell of old wood, though I don’t see any logs, and cloves—warm, almost nostalgic if not for the underlying scent of something a little too metallic.
Behind the desk, the wall is lined with pigeonholes and old brass keys, like this place hasn’t heard of digital locks. A collection of dusty books and even dustier guest ledgers sits stacked near a massive landline phone that looks like it could summon the dead.
Archie peeks out from my hair with narrowed eyes.
“Yeah, I know,” I murmur, scratching behind his ear. “This place gives villain vacation home energy.”
I roll my shoulders and settle onto the stool. One minute in, and I’m already bored.
There are cabinets beneath the desk, so I decide to be nosy.
The first one is toiletries, but not just shampoo and conditioner.
No, there are candles, matches, bottles of dried plants I can’t identify, and…
nope. I close the door when I see liquid with floating objects.
I don’t need to know what kind of crap they keep here.
Though that doesn’t stop me from opening the next one. This has white towels and a stack of folded robes. Each one black cotton with an embroidered NS on the front. Phew. I move toward the third to find snacks and bottles of alcohol.
Chocolate sounds good after my long drive, but a shrill sound makes me jump before I can grab something and sends me tumbling, landing on the hard floor thanks to my hunched position.
I guess that’s what I get for snooping.
When I get up, it’s the ancient phone ringing so loudly that I’m sure the entire manor can hear it.
I sit back on the stool and realize Archie isn’t on my shoulder any longer.
Panic sets in as my eyes search for him, doing my best not to get a headache from the blaring noise that’s more like a fire alarm than a phone.
It quiets just as I finally spot Archie, wiggling his furry butt toward the door. I knew I should have made him stay in the car.
I move to go take him back, but the phone starts up again, and it’s just so damn loud that I can’t ignore it any longer.
With a sigh, I reach over and lift the receiver. “Hel—”
“You took long enough. Where’s the hospitality, Iris?
” The voice on the other end is male. Deep.
Sharp. British maybe? Hard to tell under the impatience.
“My mini bar is still busted, and I need my whiskey to sleep,” he adds sharply.
“Unless you want me inviting a siren in, I’d suggest you get to Room Four. Now.”
There’s a click, then silence.
“Well, that was delightfully odd.”
I hang up with zero intention of following through on the demand, and I’m halfway to Archie when the ringing starts up again.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Archie growls. Like, actually growls. I didn’t know ferrets could do that.
I leave him be and take four long strides to the desk before snatching up the phone. “Wha—”
“Still waiting on that whiskey.” The voice is smug now. “Don’t make me call again.”
Another click.
I glare at the phone, then turn my attention to the cabinet behind the desk, already knowing there’s a plethora of choices down there, minding their own business. Unlike the maniac who apparently thinks the failure of his alcohol delivery could be world-ending.
Archie tilts his head from where he’s still waiting near the door, his whiskers twitching.
“Come find me if I’m not back in two minutes,” I say as if he actually understands me.
He gives me a long blink—one that feels full of judgment—but before I can reconsider my life’s choices, he’s already scampering toward me.
He scales my body like a tiny, furry mountaineer, claws hooking into my sweatshirt as he takes his usual perch on my shoulder. A warm, familiar weight in a place that feels anything but.
Not that I want to do this, and even less than I want to be helpful, but I’d rather not be yelled at again, especially if he decides to come down here.
So, I grab a bottle of dark whiskey before turning down the right hallway.
Following the directions from the faded placard hanging on the wall near the desk, I head toward the guest rooms.
The polished floors gleam beneath my boots, immaculate and smooth, their surface catching faint reflections of the chandeliers above.
The wallpaper lining the hallway is a rich, deep green with gold filigree, flawless and perfectly pressed.
Yet, it feels too perfect, like it’s trying a little too hard to charm, or like it’s not even real.
The lights glow low and warm, casting shadows that stretch along the corridor. They seem to stay still, almost as if they’re watching and waiting.
The air cools with every step I take, turning thin and frigid, biting at my cheeks. It’s the kind of cold that doesn’t come from broken radiators or poor insulation. It feels wrong. Like the hallway was hollowed out just to hold this chill.
Archie presses tighter against my neck.
I stop in front of Room Four.
The door stands tall and imposing, its dark wood polished to a soft sheen, the kind that absorbs more light than it reflects. I knock, my heart starting to pound and seeming louder than it should in the silence that follows.
I’ve almost decided to turn back when a voice calls out. “Come in.”
Something prickles down my spine, like invisible fingertips brushing against my skin.
Maybe I should’ve listened to Iris and her weirdly specific “don’t wander” directive. I should’ve let the phone ring until the handset melted, screaming men be damned.
But I also know I’m a grown-ass woman, and this is just a drink delivery. I’m definitely overreacting. It’s a hotel room, not a trapdoor to hell.
I reach for the doorknob, fingertips brushing cool brass as I twist.
The door creaks as I push forward and, before I know what’s happening, the world around me erupts. Literally.
A blast of heat punches outward like a furnace kicked into overdrive. The bottle flies from my hand. The hall twists. The light explodes behind my eyes and then…
There’s nothing.
Until the burning and pain and darkness begin.