And you make twelve. Did we gain somebody?
“A nut with a knife,” he said.
She glanced down at the descending group, and a woman looked up at her.
Mom?
The woman—the illusion of her mother, nothing more, surely nothing more—waved at her to follow, and then she made the turn and was gone.
Kendra took a step but slipped in the blood. The man caught her arm and squeezed hard enough to hurt.
“Easy,” she said.
“No, honey, it ain’t easy,” Gruff said. “It’s real, real hard.”
She looked at him, and his eyes were just as dead as Burton’s, the smoky moonlight pushing gray across his skin, the moustache lifting to reveal blunt teeth and a mocking grin. She recognized him now, though it was only through her artistic talent of sizing up facial features.
“Rochester,” she whispered.
“Among other things.”
She tried to pull away, shouting Cody’s name, but another rumble came and the stairs skewed sideways. The wall broke open at the end of the hall, spilling night into the hotel. The smoke made her cough, and the first flickering flames rose from below. The ghost hunters yelled frantically over one another, now fully aware of the danger.
“Maybe if you draw me purty, I’ll let you live,” Gruff said. “Just long enough.”
Her sketch pad was on the landing, forgotten in the chaos. She thought of the fantastic creatures she’d drawn on those pages, the imagined ghosts and disembodied spirits. Her morbid art now seemed like a survival instinct, because she had already dreamed the worst and could so easily accept the unreal.
“What do you want with me?” she said. “You could have anybody.”
“Don’t you get it?”
Her arm was almost numb under his grip. She wondered if Cody had noticed her absence, or if he was so intent on playing hero that he only had room for his ego. A few stair balusters fell from the landing above, clattering against wood.
“I just want out of here,” she said.
“You came back.”
“I’ve never been here before.” She tried to tug free as the hotel groaned around them, timbers snapping overhead.
“You think Digger brought you here for no reason?” Gruff’s face morphed and shifted in Rochester’s, looking almost silly because it still had the moustache, but then the face grew hairy, pointed, and rodent-like, two yellow incisors gleaming in the moonlight. “You don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
In her panic, she couldn’t remember what Cody had said about demons. Something about power. The only power they had was the power you gave them.
“You can’t have me,” she said.
The rodent face twisted and became softer, rounded, clear as a photograph. It was the woman she’d seen on the stairs, the woman who’d spoken to her the night before.
Her mother.
Kendra quit struggling. The smoke grew thicker and flames crackled below like rumpled cellophane.
“I only had you for a while,” her mother said, and though the voice was feminine, Kendra knew it was really Rochester’s. Kendra saw a lot of her own reflection there—the dark hair and moody eyes, the broad nose—and her panic was dampened by sadness. It didn’t seem right that her mother would stay thirty-two forever, would always wear the face in the photograph on her dresser back home, would remain constant while Kendra grew up and older.
Just like my characters. Made from scratch. Not good or evil, just drawn that way.
“What?” Kendra said, coughing against the acrid smoke. “Do you want me to die here? Afraid to be alone?”
Mother’s voice hardened, became a chorus. “We’re never alone.”
The floor tilted, and Burton’s body slid across the landing and thumped down a few steps, rolling over so that his arms were splayed as if in jubilation.
Her mother—demon, she’s a demon, a ghost kid in disguise—released Kendra’s arm and she fell against the wall. She glanced out the window, expecting to see fleeing guests on the lawn or the distant red lights of emergency vehicles, but the grounds were still and empty under the moonlight. Smoke drifted toward the surrounding forest like an army of ghosts, melding with the mist in the shroud of night.
The hotel lurched and timbers grated, plaster board crumbling as the hotel shook again. Dad was downstairs somewhere, maybe trapped under the falling rubble or cornered by the fire.
Free now, she clambered up the stairs, thinking she could navigate the third floor and go down the stairs at the other end. She glanced back at her mother—not my mother—and Gruff blinked, confused, as if wondering what he was doing standing there with hell erupting around him. He shouted, ran over Burton’s back as he hurried down the stairs, and lost his footing. He tumbled, gasping in surprise, and slipped through a gap of torn wood where the stairs had given way.
Kendra paused, knowing she should run, knowing she could trust none of her senses, but tugged by a heroine’s instinct to save the day.
Emily Dee to the freaking rescue.
Gruff was only visible from the chest up, and he reached toward her with one arm while scrabbling for purchase with the other. His eyes were wide and scared.
“Help,” he wheezed, smoke billowing up around him.
Despite herself, she reached for him. Rochester, or the thing that owned Rochester, had made Gruff delay her until the stairs had collapsed. And now that Rochester had played his game, Gruff was just another toy to be discarded. She stooped and extended her hand, bracing herself against the stair railing, judging the man’s weight at 220 or so.
But just before their fingers met, Gruff slid down a few inches, and then dropped away in a sudden eruption of splinters and rising sparks.
She gazed into the smoking well for a moment, understanding he was lost. In more ways than one.
The hand locked around her ankle.
Kendra kicked, but Burton held tight, his eyes now open and filled with mad light.
“The Diggersh daughter,” he said, the words mushed by blood and gore. “You going to leave without burying me?”
“Sorry, Burton,” she said. “But I know it’s not you.”
She brought her other foot down on his wrist, jamming her heel into the flesh. He didn’t wince but the muscles tensed. She stomped again, sick to her stomach but driven by fear and rage. Bones snapped and the clutching fingers loosened.
Kendra danced away and ran up the stairs to the third floor.
Chapter 47
Violet stood by the main lobby entrance, arms folded.
The small crowd pushed against her, shouting as the smoke blinded them. Rhonda had spit out her gum and Jonathan Holmes, the burly, bald member of SSI, tried to shove past her. The only light was from a torch held aloft by one of the guests. She searched for Philippe among the flame-licked faces but didn’t see him.
Maybe her friends in the basement had taken care of him. She had a new maintenance staff, and they would be on call around the clock, forever.
“Remain calm,” Violet shouted.
“Let us the hell out of here,” Jonathan said.
“The door’s jammed,” Violet said.
“The second floor’s caving and the stairs are shot,” said Cody, the young, good-looking SSI guy. He cradled a whimpering old woman in his arms.
Janey? Her heart clutched. No. This place is mine now.
The old woman rolled her face away from Cody’s chest. Violet was relieved. Besides, Janey was too proud to accept help.
The hotel gave a deep shudder, settling on its framework. Outside, shingles tore loose and rained down past the windows. The floor was warm beneath them, the carpet steaming. Some of the people were groggy and bleary-eyed from the carbon monoxide.
Sleep tight, my valued guests. Enjoy your stay.
Jonathan Holmes threw his shoulder against the massive door. He bounced off with a thrunk, cursing, while a couple of people joined Jonathan and put their weight against the door.