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 liningthe hallway is a rich, deep green with gold filigree, flawless and perfectly pressed. Yet, it feelstooperfect, 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.
Chapter 2
