“You never listen to me.”The woman waved her handwildlythrough the air.
Her partnerhuffed out a sigh. “That’s because you never shut up.”
Apparently, they weren’t a happy couple.
“My mother was right about you,”she hissed while scrawling down her name.
“Look on the bright side, maybe I’ll die in my sleep.”
He took a key fromtheman behind the desk,who did not lookat alllike a clerk. His black coat was all wrong,tailoredmore like a ringmaster’sthan a hotel clerk’s.It had golden buttons on the frontof themilitary-stylejacketthat stopped above his waist,whiletheback continued to drape downin an extravagant tail.All he was missing was the top hat.
“Good,” the woman snarled. “Then we’ll both be put out of our misery.”
She stormed away and upthe large staircase with the man not far behind her.
Was it wrong that their argument put me at ease? It made this place feel normal.
“Ah,”the clerkrolled his eyes over tome. “Our next guest has arrived.”
His voice was smooth as velvet and twice assuffocating.His choice of attiredidn’tthrow me off—some people were eccentric. It was his looks in general. It was wrong how insanely attractive he was. Dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a chiselled jaw that men on magazine covers would kill for.
But when he smiled at me, the hairs on the back of my neck rose.
“Welcome to the Carven.”
That sounded more daunting than welcoming. There were other things about him that were disturbing.Thespiderwebtattoocrawlingup his neck, the gloves on his hands that were way too white for a dusty place like this,andtheplayfulglint in his eyes.
Icouldn’tmove. I just stood there while water dripped off my clothes and pooled at my feet.For one breathless moment, I wishedI’dbraved the storm.
Theringmaster leaned forward and tapped the open guestbook. “Your turn.”
My turn? Did he want me to sign that?
“But…” I stayedwhere I was. “I didn’t book a room.”
His smile widened. “No one ever does.”
What was that supposed to mean?I guess itwasn’tthat strange a statement. This place was secluded. Theyprobably didn’tget many guests.
“It’sstill early. I might drive a little more and stop somewhere else.”
“There is nowhere else.”
“What do you mean,there is nowhere else?” It was a back road,but still a highway. Surely there was another hotel somewhere.
“You can try to leave,” he said more like a dare than a suggestion. “But you’ll find the roads quite impassable.”
Impassable? Who talked like that?
“I’m afraid you’re stuck with us,Poppet.” Once again, his gloved finger tapped theopen book.
Something about signing my name in that thing felt wrong, even afterI told myself it was a formality and walked over to pick up the pen.
I stared down at the couple’s namesscrawled in red ink.
My gaze shifted from their signature to theringmaster.
He said nothing, just looked at me with that smile on his face.
