Page 2 of The Monster of Hotel No. 7
Stein needed a puppet.
Now he pulls my strings.
He only arrived to do so himself seven months ago, but in the interim, he had me acting for another; his guards.
But he cannot be everywhere always.
Tomorrow, Friday night, there is a gap for the first time in years, not only of his absence but a few of his more brutal men too. I know his schedule like I do the back of my eyelids.October 2nd - Vancouver.It’s written in the ledger embossed with snakes, the symbol of Writhe. One night only. I won’t accompany him, and I won’t be guarded inside this prison.
Finding Karia could be simple enough. Being who I am, there are many mouths willing to open and divulge what it is I want to know. Not from respect, but fear of Stein. If they only knew just how much he loathes me.
Regardless, I’m not sure I trust myself alone with her.
I didn’t before my relocation, where I was kept inside a different tower in the same way. I watched her from the window of my room; we spoke in glances. She, like everyone on Ritual Drive, was frightened of me. And yet she rarely looked away.
I bow my head, pressing my scarred knuckles to my temple, her letter kept inside the cage of my hand.
I don’t know why Stein delivers the epistles to me. Or perhaps it is just another form of torture. I know she places them in her mailbox, no address, and she understands how everyday tasks work in mysterious ways on Ritual Drive. But does she know I read each word?
One letter a month, sometimes less, and I have them all inside my pillowcase.
Tomorrow night, I could find her.
There is one place we might spend hours in alone.
Would she walk out alive though, when the sun rose?
I think of green light and test tubes and wet specimens, and my stomach hardens with sickness.
I am not sure I won’t kill her.
I am not sure I can stay away.
Chapter2
Karia
Istare at the double doors of the ballroom, intricate wood in deep blue, twisted with silver serpents, closed off to me.Inside, Von Bentzen and Isadora Croft and their parents discuss upcoming movements within Writhe, next assignments, ways to better deflect and conceal. My father is inside too, and my mother is at home, but I came to Hotel No. 7 because even though I am relegated to the outside, it feels better being near than far.
“Why do you give a fuck what's happening inside that room?” Cosmo de Actis’s voice wisps against the shell of my ear and I straighten, my spine stiff as I ball my hands into fists at my side but don’t turn my head to look at him.
“You came,” I say instead, my voice hoarse.
“It’s a Friday night in October, Alexandria is alive, and I knew you would be here wishing you were somewhere else.” He speaks with that familiar lilt of amusement, so different from Sullen Rule in that way.
Both childhood friends; one—Sullen—inside Writhe, the clandestine organization my family is a part of, helping to keep guns and drugs and more nefarious crimes moving slowly and quietly through the city of Alexandria, North Carolina. The other—Cosmo—a boy who attended my private school and thus, we became close.
I’ve never wanted an in with Writhe; my parents have spoken in hushed voices about arranging my marriage and at the age of twenty-three, I think they would like it to happen soon. But I’ve heard nothing of my potential spouse and since Mads Bentzen—Von’s father—just assumed leadership of Writhe as Stein Rule stepped down and vanished without a trace, just like his son, I don’t think they have any immediate plans for me.
Sometimes I think I could fall into Cosmo’s arms, but he is not involved in Writhe despite his nearness. It would give my parents no advantage to bind us.
“I want to be right here,” I lie, tipping my chin up and taking in the sheer height of the doors in front of me, locked from the inside. I can hear nothing due to the thickness of the wood and the well-erected walls lined in blue damask wallpaper surrounding it.
“Liar,”Cosmo calls me out, his fingers bracketing my waist, cold fingertips on my bare skin, thanks to the red crop top I’m in. The wordshalf-madare splashed across the chest in black. It’s how I feel, not knowing my place in this world. Never one for fighting like Isadora or cold command like Von. Writhe is wasted on someone like me.
I like shopping and fashion and film and luxury and maybe I am spoiled and stupid because of it, like Sullen once told me. One of the few times he spoke to me despite the fact we grew up on the same street and his father led Writhe and therefore, my own parents.
“What do I want, then, Cosmo, since you know me so well?” I fold my arms over my chest, and he squeezes my sides, making me squirm a little as I rock back in my white Vans. My spine grazes his solid core and I feel him dominating the space behind me. Shaved head, green eyes, olive white skin, that tilt of humor on his full lips he carries like an accessory; he is gorgeous.
