Hotel Hex, page 1
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HOTEL HEX
Linda Wisdom
A JOYRIDE ROMANCE
Published by Joyride Books, PO Box 258, La Honda, CA, 94020
Copyright © October 31, 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
ISBN: 978-1-937791-63-6
Cover by Rae Monet
HOTEL HEX
By Linda Wisdom
Chapter 1
“What a lovely destination for a romantic getaway, Nick,” Jazz cooed, as she stared at the four-story gray stone monstrosity known as their destination. Her moss green eyes sparked with not-so-nice magick. “I haven’t seen anything this atmospheric since watching Chiller’s all night slasher marathon. When does the psychotic killer appear?”
Nick winced as her razor-sharp tone tore through his brain.
“It’s like revisiting the 1500s. You remember those days, don’t you, Nikolai? Dark days that included smoky fireplaces, chamber pots, and a lack of any kind of hygiene,” she continued, bestowing her patented you are so undead to me right now look on him. “Why you wouldn’t even know we’re in the Hollywood Hills of the 21st century. And just like magick we have pouring rain and hail the size of basketballs. Yet it was sunny and eighty degrees when we drove down Wilshire Blvd barely twenty minutes ago. You would think we stumbled into middle of one of those creepy storms in merry olde England.” Her smile flashed fiery darts.
Nick took a quick look at her hands to make sure there wasn’t any witchflame hovering there. When his hexy lady was mad, she tended to bring on fireballs and sometimes thunder and lightning. He slowly guided his black Navigator between the open ornate iron gates and down the muddy track to the hotel’s entrance. He’d barely stopped before Jazz’s hand was on the door handle.
“Rain, rain, go away, come again another day. Because I say so, damn it!” Jazz ordered, as she pushed open the driver’s side door. “Hey!” She ducked as what felt like the entire contents of the Arctic Ocean dumped on her head. “Damn it, that spell should have worked! Wet begone, damn it!” Her drenched look didn’t change and her mood only grew darker.
“Do you wish assistance with your luggage, madam?” The voice was like cut glass on the senses.
Jazz screamed and would have fallen in the gooey mud if Nick hadn’t flashed to her side and grabbed her arm while she fought to keep her balance. She turned her head toward the speaker.
The seven-foot zombie standing in front of them was garbed in a moth-eaten bellhop uniform circa early 1900s, complete with a round tattered green felt cap on his gray-skinned head. One milky eye rolled in one direction while the other looked ready to pop out of his ash-skinned skull at any second.
She spun around to face her vampire honey bun. “And a zombie. Oh yes, it gets better by the minute.” She made her way to the front steps, her boots sinking into the mud.
Nick held onto the Navigator’s doorway and slammed his forehead against the metal, leaving forehead-size dents. “Stake me,” he muttered. “Just stake me now.
The bellman held a three-fingered hand out to Nick. “If you’ll give me your keys, sir, I’ll get your bags inside and put your vehicle in the carriage house. I’m sure you’ll want to go on inside and get yourself warmed up. Don’t worry. I’m a very reliable driver.”
Jazz had already reached the door. She looked over her shoulder at Nick.
“I know,” he told her, grabbing the Coach bag that held the magickal supplies she never traveled without. He also picked up another bag that he knew carried items that were just as valuable to his dazzling witch. “This and your make up bag are to never leave my sight.”
Nick had an easier time traveling across the gooey mud than Jazz did. The couple walked into the building where warmth wrapped them like a comforting blanket.
Jazz paused for a moment as she inhaled the homey scent of lavender and lemon polish that permeated the high-ceilinged entryway that had been turned into a pleasing-to-the-eye reception area. She briefly admired the mahogany table graced with a crystal vase of fresh flowers along with the crystal chandelier over the reception desk that sparkled like diamonds. Her cold and damp bones welcomed the hotel’s heat.
Memories of her short-lived career as a housemaid haunted her before she brushed them off. Best not to remember those two days of Hades that brought about a broken china vase and a grabby nobleman who soon sported a horrendous wart on the tip of his nose for the next five years. It was more than worth the five years added to her banishment from the Witches Academy to see the vain man cry for a good hour.
“At least the interior is better looking than the exterior,” she drawled.
“Oh my poor dears!” The silver-haired matron standing behind the desk clucked, her plump face showing distress. Her navy wool dress with its snowy white collars and cuffs was conservative but didn’t have the air of a uniform. “Welcome to Stonefield Manor. Such a terrible wicked day for your first view of our lovely hotel. You must be freezing.” Again she clucked over Jazz, helping her off with her coat and carefully draping it on a walnut coat tree. “The weatherman said we’d have a lovely day and instead we ended up with all this nasty rain that I swear chills one to the bone. You must be Ms. Tremaine and Mr. Gregory.” She smile broadly as she pulled an onyx plumed pen from a bronze holder and handed it to Jazz as she turned the registration book around.
As the witch accepted the pen she realized the body of the writing instrument was carved in the likeness of Puck, the Trickster. It took some doing to ensure her fingers didn’t touch any of the dangly parts that seemed to increase in size as she wielded the writing instrument. She quickly scribbled their names in the register and jammed the pen back into its base. As she did, Puck’s head swiveled in her direction and he wagged a tongue as long as his dangly parts at her along with a lascivious wink. She glared at the offending creature and flicked her fingers in his direction.
Ow! Wincing in pain, he closed the eye that was streaming from a good dose of pepper magick just before he flipped her the finger. Nick grimaced and pulled out his own pen.
“You’re in luck. I registered for the both of us,” she told him.
“Good,” he muttered, glaring at Puck who grinned back.
“I am Mrs. Babbington, the manager.” The woman smiled at them. “I have a lovely suite prepared for you that I’m sure you will enjoy.” She bestowed another warm smile on the couple. “Thank you so much for accepting our invitation to launch our haunted hotel. I am so happy you were also able to come, Ms. Tremaine. Your skills as a curse eliminator are legendary.”
Jazz smiled back.
“Thank you for the invitation. I am curious though. I couldn’t find anything on the hotel’s website to indicate why you think the building is haunted,” Nick commented, his sharp gaze taking in their surroundings.
Jazz wasn’t surprised by his question. Nick’s past career as an investigator with the Protectorate, the security agency that oversaw all vampire activities, and now on his own as a private investigator meant he liked to know what was going on around him. It was that kind of scrutiny that saved his undead ass for over 900 years. It did make her curious as to why he was willing to come here if he didn’t have all the facts. That wasn’t like him. She glanced at her lover.
Nick caught the why-are-we-here-again look Jazz sent him. He’d seen the invitation to the hotel’s weekend event as a nice getaway opportunity for him and Jazz. Something they’d wanted to do for some time, but hadn’t been able to coordinate their schedules. He’d recently finished a drawn out case for the Protectorate. While the pay had been more than excellent, he was relieved when he handed in his final report.
Even though he knew he would be expected to participate in whatever the hotel had planned this weekend, he still intended to have some private time with his favorite witch.
The manager beamed with pride. “Stonefield Manor has a long and fascinating background. Logging magnate Randolph Perry built the house in the late 1800s. He wanted the perfect family residence and he had the money to create it,” Mrs. Babbington explained. “Unfortunately, sorrow also resided here. Mr. Perry’s wife suffered six miscarriages before delivering a child. The boy was sickly and only lived a few years. She killed herself after her son’s death. Mr. Perry remained a recluse after that and died a raving lunatic at the age of seventy. A nephew inherited the property and it remained in the family until 1964. No one lived here during those years because of the rumors the house was cursed. It lay abandoned until 2008 when it was purchased by an international corporation with the intent of turning it into a corporate retreat. When that venture failed the property was put up for sale. The new owner refused to believe the rumors about the property and has worked very hard to return the manor to its original sophistication. He thought the way to do it was open it as a hotel offering the European old world elegance you rarely see in this part of the country. And since we’re secluded high up in the hills we can offer our guests privacy along with relaxation. While it’s a large house, we are presently only allowing six guests at a time with the thought of creating theme weekends.”
“Such as supernatural to go along with the hotel’s tortured history,” Jazz said.
“Yes.” The manager pulled down a brass key from a nearby hook and handed it to the zombie bellman that stood nearby with a small pile of luggage at his feet. “Zorak, Ms. Tremaine and Mr. Gregory will be in the Grand Dame suite.” She smiled at Jazz. “We serve dinner at seven with the cocktail hour beginning at six-thirty. Again, welcome to Stonefield Manor. I hope you have a lovely stay. If there is anything I can do just please press 0 on the telephone.”
“This way if you please.” Zorak bowed deeply. A couple flakes of gray-tinged skin dropped to the carpet. He gathered up the bags and led them to an iron grille cage elevator.
“It’s very film noir here,” Jazz commented, looking at Nick under the cover of her lashes. “You could almost see Philip Marlowe or Sam Spade hanging around. You should love it here. It’s like a better furnished extension of your office.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
“I am afraid I am not familiar with those gentlemen,” Zorak said in his toneless voice as he unlocked Jazz and Nick’s suite door and walked in with their bags. “I do not believe they’ve ever stayed here.”
Nick coughed to cover his snort.
“There are ice machines up here. You will have to call down if you wish some.” The zombie lit the fireplaces in the bedroom and parlor. He shook his head when Nick offered him a tip. “That is not necessary. Have a good stay.” He flicked his flaky-skinned fingers against his cap. “If you need anything, just ask for Zorak. Even special coffee for witches.” The smile he directed at Jazz was unnerving.
“Don’t tell me. The coffee has eye of newt and batwings in it,” Nick chuckled.
The witch rolled her eyes. “That is so last century. The only thing I’d want in my coffee nowadays is a healthy dose of Baileys.”
Welcoming the fireplace’s heat, she walked around the spacious sitting room. “This is lovely,” she said, admiring the beautiful antiques scattered around the room. She paused to run her finger down the delicate curves of a Lalique crystal vase. “This owner spared no expense decorating the house.”
“You may see lovely, but I see unnerving,” Nick said as he examined the paintings gracing the walls. He gestured to the one in front of him.
Jazz walked over and rose up on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. She brushed a light kiss across his neck before studying the artwork. Her nose wrinkled. “Ick.”
He chuckled. “Not what I’d say, but yes, that works too.” He reached behind him and curled his arm around her, pulling her forward against his side.
Jazz started to touch the painting then changed her mind. While she liked a seascape, this one didn’t inspire thoughts of a romantic walk on the beach at sunset. She wasn’t sure if there could be something harmful in the paint and wasn’t about to finger it to find out.
She tipped her head to the side as she studied the old-fashioned sailing ship that boasted tattered black sails. If she wasn’t mistaken the tiny figures on desk were skeletons with flesh hanging off them like ragged cloths and they all moved about, intent on their shipboard duties.
“Wow, talk about shades of Pirates of the Caribbean.” For a moment she swore she could smell the briny scent of the sea and the rancid stench of death. She covered her nose with her hand.
“And you’d know considering we watched it something like three million times,” Nick muttered, wincing when Jazz’s elbow connected with his midsection.
“No complaints. You don’t even breathe.” She moved away.
Nick remained staring at the painting. A frown furrowed his brow.
“Out! Out! Out!” One of Jazz’s bags rocked back and forth until it fell to one side. The zipper slid open and two fuzzy bunny slippers slipped out. Magick flared red hot as Fluff and Puff crawled across the Aubusson carpet. Their coughs sounded as if they’d each lost a lung. Instead, balls of black mucus-covered fur rolled out between their razor-sharp teeth.
“Eww!” Jazz pointed at the offending objects and torched them.
“You couldn’t let us out first?” Puff growled, the more defiant of the two. His ears swiveled back and forth as he looked around. “Whoa! Did we do a Marty McFly and go back in time?”
“Not totally,” she told him, as she unzipped her muddy boots and wiggled her chilled toes. She picked up the slippers and set them on the bed. They chortled happily as they bounced up and down on the mattress.
“Wow, this room looks really old. The spa better be très modern. I could really use an ear reflexology massage,” Fluff commented. He stared at the fireplace while he was midair in a bounce. “Hey, dude! Whattya doin’ in there?”
Jazz spun around to face the fireplace. Instead of whatever her bunny slipper saw she only beheld orange-red flames burning merrily away. She snapped her fingers to bank the blaze. Fires and vampires weren’t a good duo. She preferred Nick to not be turned into a crispy critter.
“There was someone in the fireplace,” the slipper insisted, but no one was listening.
“Flames always look like there are faces in them. And, unfortunately, there’s no spa,” Jazz said as she picked up her make-up bag and carried it into the bathroom. She cast a quick look of approval at the large claw foot tub then she returned to the bedroom to hang her clothing up. Once finished she opened Nick’s bag. She held up a garnet shadow stripe shirt. “Umm, I love it when you get all dressed up.” She walked over to where he stood taking in the view from a window and kissed his cheek.
“And I love it when you’re not dressed at all.” He nuzzled her neck in return.
“Gross! Not in front of the bunnies!” Fluff and Puff shrieked, burying themselves under the stack of pillows. “Ewww!”
Jazz froze as the faintest of sounds reached her ears. ‘Nick.” She pushed at him, which was like pushing a concrete pillar. “Nick!”
He lazily lifted his head. “I thought we were having a romantic moment.”
She frowned at him. “Did you hear that, too?” As if there was any doubt since his vampire hearing was way better than hers.
He nodded. “It’s an old house. You have to expect to hear odd noises. There’s more than our share in your house. Oh wait, that’s the slippers having gas.” He tried to return to kisses and cuddles but the mood was gone as far as Jazz was concerned.
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross, Nick. Really gross. I know Mrs. Babbington said the place is haunted and rumors of a curse. For all we know she’s right and it is cursed.” She carefully climbed onto the bed and gingerly stood up with her legs braced. “Although I should have sensed it if there were any curses around,” the champion curse eliminator spoke without arrogance.
“This is not how I expected to see you on that bed.” But he still stood next to the mattress ready to catch her in case she lost her balance.
She cautiously rose up on her toes and splayed her fingertips a breath away from the painted ceiling. Whatever was up there was something she’d never dare touch.
“What the fuck?” Nick muttered, watching ceiling ripple as if reaching out to Jazz’s fingers. “Get off there now!” He reached for her.
Jazz hissed as something shot off the ceiling’s surface and raced down her body. For a moment she swore sparks flew out her toes. She uttered a few choice swear words as she jerked her hands away and stared at her blackened fingertips. She blew healing magick on them, waving her hands in the air until they returned to their natural color with manicure blissfully intact.
“I don’t know what’s up there, but whatever it is feels nasty. Not friendly at all. I hate to think what would have happened if I’d made actual contact.” She dropped down onto the covers, bouncing a couple times on the springy mattress. Nick took her hands and pulled her off the bed. He frowned as he held onto her hands a second longer.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, sensing his interest.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Something odd, but nothing I can explain.”
“Sounds like this place more and more.” She was relieved to see the skin of her fingertips turn a healthy pink again. “We need to have a chat with Mrs. Babbington and see just what’s going on in this place.”
“Is it safe?” Fluff asked, cautiously venturing out from under the pillow. One of Puff’s ears appeared from the fabric folds then disappeared again.
“Yes,” Jazz told him.
“It might be a good idea to leave the ceilings alone,” Nick said, walking into the bathroom with his toiletry bag.
