The Guest With Claws by Ella Maven
ChapterOne
Nessa
The doorman stared down his nose at me. The wall sconces on either side of the door cast a yellow glow over his waxy complexion. His eyes were a sharp blue that pinned me where I stood.
“I have an interview.” I tried not to fumble my words. Making a good impression here was vital. I needed this job. “With, um…” Shit, I knew the manager’s name, but stuck under this man’s piercing glare, my mind went blank. And then I couldn’t stop the panicked sounds from rolling off my tongue. “It’s, um, uh—”
“Cazz Vizmin.” The doorman’s nose crinkled like tissue paper.
Yes, that was it. I’d practiced it in my head a million times in my bare bones apartment. I’d said it to the raven I’d named Gary who visited my window for food scraps. I’d repeated it in the shower getting ready for this damn interview. My stomach squirmed, and I placed a hand there. The doorman’s eyes dipped down, and I quickly shoved my hand behind my back.
I nodded. “Yes, Ms. Vizmin.”
Someone shouted down the street—a bark of sound that startled me. I tottered on the cracked sidewalk in my heels, praying that the glue holding my right heel onto the sole didn’t decide to quit. With a balmy trickle, nervous sweat slid down the back of my neck under my low, conservative ponytail.
The doorman knew. He knew I didn’t belong here applying for a job that was way out of my league. It wasn’t like I couldn’t do the job, but the employees of Hotel Castle Verna weren’t hired off the street. It was the best paying job in the whole damn city of Baxint, and to even be standing in front of the massive wooden doors, you had to know someone who knew someone.
I knew someone who knew someone and that someone knew someone else and that someone else had the same name as me but died before her interview. So here I was, wearing borrowed heels in front of this very judgmental doorman hoping that no one realized I was actually Nessa Black and not Nessa Wentworth. But I wasn’t a quitter, and no way was I going to walk away or back down when I’d gotten up the nerve to come this far. Not even in the face of this stupid doorman who still stood like a wax statue. My life hadn’t been rainbows and roses for a very long time, but I always managed to find my way out of terrible situations. Glass half-full and all that. If I didn’t remain positive, I was pretty sure I would have curled up in the fetal position and given up long ago.
A breeze blew over my bare arms, carrying the oily smell of fried meat from the food truck down the street. I should have brought a sweater, but this dress was one of the last pieces of my life when I had been able to afford anything decent. It fit me like a glove, hugged my curves like nothing else, and I wanted to show it off.
Finally the doorman sniffed, which was the first human gesture he had made, and slithered up the steps in his shiny black shoes. With white gloves, he lifted a five-inch ring shaped into the jaw of a golden skeleton and slammed it against the wood three times.
The door swung open, and he took a step to the side. Staring past me with his gloved hands clasped in front of him, he stood silently.
I hesitated, and when he didn’t speak, I peered through the door. A faint glow could be seen at the end of a long hallway past a large foyer. It was now or never. I took a step forward on wobbly legs and placed one heel onto the stone floor just inside the door. As soon as my other foot cleared the doorframe, the door slammed shut behind me with an eerie thud.
I stumbled forward and whirled around to glare daggers through the door at the doorman. I wouldn’t have dared to do that where he could see me. Well, the old me would. The one who spoke her mind and didn’t worry about consequences, but that person was the Nessa Before. Before I had a mountain of debt. Before I was looking down the barrel of homelessness and possible forced labor.
Decades before I was born, the attacks started in Europe. Then Asia. Then here in America. We didn’t know who bombed our cities and vital centers of power. The finger pointing of blame among the world’s leaders only led to more fighting. Countries fell, cities burned, and we all suffered.
Campaigning on better living conditions, the Regulars party soared to power in America. But their conditions came at a high price—regulations and rations ruled our lives. Our justice system gave way to bribery and no due process. So I knew what would happen if I couldn’t afford my bills. I’d be sent outside these walls—formerly Chicago—to work and likely die paying off my debt either in the dangerous factories that clogged the sky with smoke or in the farm fields where I’d toil with no rest and little food.
I couldn’t do either of those. I wouldn’t last a month. Every menstrual cycle, I suffered debilitating pain. I’d seen specialists and took every test under the sun, but no one could figure out what caused the pain. That was why my hospital bills were so high, and why I needed this damn job.
Lately, there’d been rumors of uprisings, but I couldn’t hold out for political change. My bills were due, and they were due now. My parents died long ago during the last crack down of regulations, and I had no siblings. Friends? No time for that, and my chronic pain was apparently a mood killer. I had to fix my own shit, because no one was going to fix it for me. Starting with this interview.
Squaring my shoulders, I smoothed down the front of my dress. It was a jewel-toned blue sheath dress that looked great with my dark hair. I wore the one piece of jewelry that I hadn’t pawned off—the pendant necklace my mother had left for me in her safe deposit box. The plain gray stone wasn’t worth anything to anyone else anyway, even though it meant the world to me. Squeezing the stone for good luck, I began walking down the hallway.
The walls were lined with flickering candelabras, and my heels clicked ominously on the stone floors. Up ahead, lights glowed from a large room, I heard voices, more heels clicking, and the swish of clothing.
As I reached the end of the hallway, I sucked in a breath at my first sight of Hotel Castle Verna’s circular lobby. The ceiling had to be six stories tall. A large fountain statue took up the center of the lobby—a winged creature reared back in agony with water trickling from its wounds to spill into the pool below. Behind the fountain was a massive staircase of white marble that stretched up to the first floor where a circular hallway held guest rooms. I squinted to make out the mural on the ceiling but could only see some sort of battle scene among fantastical creatures.
Figures milled about. A tall man with light brown skin and biceps that severely tested the seams of his tan suit. A pale woman kissing another woman—both wearing dresses that had to cost more than my debt. Off to the right was a cluster of plush leather couches and a few guests sat there, clinking glasses with amber liquid and playing cards.
My gazed shifted to a large white marble desk directly in front of the fountain where two employees watched me. They were identical, down to a single mole beneath their left eyes, prominent on their pale skin. They wore red suits and had long, straight white-blonde hair that brushed their shoulders. They gazed at me with pale eyes, and I felt my face grow a little hot. They were stunningly attractive. Golden jewelry glinted off their ears, necks, and fingers. They wore so much they were almost gilded.
When they spoke, it was in unison with soft voices. “May we help you?”
I just managed not to stumble over my words. “I’m here for an interview with Ms. Vizmin.”
In unison, they raised their left arms and pressed on a device attached to their ears. “Interview for the Ms.” They lowered their arms and stared at me silently.
I stared back, unsure what to do without direction and not wanting to assume anything. But silence stretched on, while the three of us remained frozen in place. The guests chattered around us. My eyes caught on a lone figure standing at the top of the staircase leaning against a tall pillar. His build was hard to make out as he wore a long black overcoat that nearly brushed the top of his thick boots. But his height was massive, and his broad shoulders seemed to take up more room than was possible. Covering one eye was a lock of dark hair streaked with a silvery-gray. But what was most curious about him was he wore a swath of worn black fabric that covered his nose and the lower half of his face. His black as night uncovered eye, set deep in tan skin, peered over the top of his mask. His right hand was shoved into the pocket of his coat, but the other flipped a single key with gloved fingers. I knew I should look away before he caught me staring. Wouldn’t do to gawk at a guest before my interview, but he was just so… intriguing.
A shudder ran down my spine and my stomach cramped. I pressed a hand to it, and at my small gesture, his head tilted ever so slightly. I dropped my hand immediately.
A sudden heat at my back made me jump and cry out. I whirled around, and my heel caught on the edge of a tile. I would have fallen directly on my ass if a big hand didn’t reach out and grab my arm with iron strength. Somewhere in the distance, a crack of sound made a few of the guests’ chatter.
Blowing my hair out of my face, I looked up into the face of a grinning woman with light brown skin wearing a deep red suit. Her hair was the same wine color as her clothes, and her brown eyes sparkled. “Hey there, newbie.”
I blinked at her and slowly straightened with what dignity I had left. “Hello. Sorry about that. I startle easily.”
“No problem. I’m here to take you to see the Ms.”
She said it differently, less like Ms. and more like Mizz. I smiled at her. “Thank you.”
Letting go of my arm, she beckoned me to follow her. My gaze strayed to the top of the stairs, but that big stranger wasn’t there anymore. The identical receptionists behind the desk each held up their left hand in a silent wave as I walked away. I waved back.
“So, I’m Bee,” said my new host, who I immediately liked because she at least smiled at me. “The twins behind the desk are Q and X. They take their jobs very seriously but off the clock, they’re more laid back.”
“They were very professional.”
She winked a brown eye at me. “And gorgeous, right?”
I wasn’t sure of the etiquette on making any comments about potential coworkers looks, so I just made a murmur of acquiescence.
Bee, thankfully, didn’t press. “You look great by the way. Appearance is important to the guests here, and so it’s important to the Mizz too.”
I swallowed, glad she thought I fit the part. I’d agonized over my hair, applied my makeup about three different times, and plucked every stray hair I could find. “Thank you.” I should compliment back, right? That’s what people did? In my head, I thought she was gorgeous, so I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You have a great smile, and um, you make me feel less nervous.”
I panicked for a minute. Did she think I was flirting? But she just turned to me with an easy smile. “You’ll do fine.”
We left the lobby and entered another hallway, but this one was short and led into a room lined with floor to ceiling bookcases filled with books. It even had one of those ladders on wheels. A fireplace was positioned along the center of one wall and clustered around the front was a set of plush black leather couches.
Hotel Castle Verna had electricity, but the decor made it seem more like a Victorian castle with flickering sconces and candle-lit chandeliers. I appreciated the dedication to a theme. As we entered another hallway, I asked Bee, “How long have you worked here?”
“About a year. I’m the newest employee by about five years.”
“I didn’t realize they hired so infrequently.”
Bee shrugged as she stopped in front of two large ornate wooden door with wire-wrought handles. “Most employees don’t leave until they die.”
The words felt ominous as the doors swung open with a creak. She gestured for me to walk ahead. I took a few steps inside and turned around to wait for Bee to follow. But she remained outside. With a jaunty wave and sparkle in her eyes, she said, “Good luck,” and the door swung closed.
I stared at them a minute, thinking this was the second time in less than an hour that doors had been closed in my face. And then I took a deep breath to calm my nerves as I prepared for the most important interview of my life.
Behind an obscenely large desk was a thin and petite woman with braided gray hair and dark brown skin. I assumed she was sitting, but then she walked around to the front of the desk, and I realized she’d been standing all along. She probably wasn’t even five-feet and could have been mistaken for a teenager if it wasn’t her eyes—those were a woman’s eyes. A shrewd woman who ran this hotel as a profitable business in the depressing town of Baxint and had for as long as I could remember. Did she drink virgin blood or something? How was her skin so smooth?
She crossed her arms over her narrow chest, and the multitude of bracelets and bangles covering her forearms jangled.
Her lips, painted a deep red, split into a knowing smile. “Welcome to Hotel Castle Verna. Please sit, and we’ll start the interview.”
The only chair in the room—other than an ornate one behind the desk—was a straight-backed, non-cushioned chair with vines carved into the wooden armrests. It looked made for optimal discomfort. I nearly snorted out a laugh. I had to get it together. This whole vibe wasn’t real. It was a hotel decorated for a certain atmosphere, and it accomplished it. The two receptionists had been trained well. Any guests coming here—like that masked man—were likely a little odd because they were into this. I could play the part too. I had to do it.
So I sank down in the chair, crossed my legs and settled my hands on my lap. Then I looked up and met the eyes of the most intimidating woman I’d ever seen in my life.