Spellbound

Original Edition: Six

That night as I tried to go to sleep, the covers felt too heavy, like I was being crushed by bricks. I kicked the blankets to the bottom of the bed and huffed out a breath, staring at the ceiling.

I had so much on my mind—Aunt Hazel's room and the intimidating task of organizing it, the run-in with the handsome man at the bar, and the fact that Lloyd claimed to have not seen him at all was just adding to the intrigue.

Before I could stop myself, I sprung out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, slipped on my white Vans, and slid out the door. There's no way I was going to sleep any time soon, and I might as well work out some of this excess energy.

After seeing the boys in the painting over the mantel, I even more desperately wanted to find the room Larry had alluded to. What if someone was actually living there? I would not entertain the notion that they were spirits or supernatural creatures of any kind, but couldn't some humans be squatting in the hotel? And if so, shouldn't the owner know about it?

I slid the key into the lock of Aunt Hazel's—my—suite and crept inside, unsure of why I was so nervous. It's not like anyone else could get in.

Except for maybe those boys.

I didn't even know where to start, but an overflowing stack of papers on the desk caught my attention. What if I could find the blueprints? Wouldn't the room have to be there? Even if it was secret to everyone else, it still had to be designed, right?

I pulled a chair to the desk and started rifling through the stack, careful not to damage anything. Most of the papers were already fragile and yellowing with age. There were receipts for big purchases, small purchases, letters, invoices, greeting cards, but no blueprints. At least not in what I'd just gone through.

I got down on my hands and knees and peered under the bed. That's where my mom kept all the things she wanted to hide, like her collection of weird, kinky sex toys she didn't want anyone to know about. I shuddered at the horrifying memory of finding that during a game of hide-and-seek with Raven and my brothers.

Thankfully, a shiny box captured my attention, distracting me from scarring memories of childhood. It was a fireproof metal box, and my heart sped up. Surely there would be something important inside. I stretched my arm as far as it could go and swept the box toward me. I sat cross-legged on the floor and turned the latch, but nothing happened.

I crammed my fingernails between the lid and base and pulled and all I had to show for it were aching fingers. The hole for a key stared at me, mocking my failed attempt to break in.

"You think you're so smart," I said, pulling the key to the room out of my pocket. If Hazel felt the need to keep this key safe from everyone, then it had to open more than just her suite.

The lock popped and inside were a few other papers, Aunt Hazel's Social Security card and birth certificate, but underneath was the jackpot.

The unmistakable mylar paper of blueprints—I'd seen them a million times at Hunter's job sites.

This was it.

I rushed out into the living room and swiped everything on the coffee table to the floor except a weird wooden statue and a huge marble on a pedestal. I placed the items on the corners of the plans and set to work studying them. The first sheet was stamped with a date of November 20, 1863. They were simplistic, basic rooms without restrooms. There was a total of one-hundred sixteen. I flipped to the next set of plans, which were from the early-1900s and included the current consolidation of the rooms to accommodate the bathrooms and the addition of the bell tower. But it was the design from the 1960s that captured my attention. The plans for a new floor—the fifth floor that sat right under the belltower, just above Hazel's room.

With fear and excitement, I jumped to my feet and began opening every single door, hoping it would lead to a stairway. If there was ever a time that I was grateful to be by myself, this was it. I must have looked out of my mind, opening coat closets and feeling along the back and side walls for another doorknob. I even tore the canned food out of the small pantry. Yet again, I found nothing.

This was an ongoing theme of the Reynard—vanishing men, empty hallways, and missing entrances to secret rooms. I was tired of falling short of logical answers.

I rushed back to the coffee table and flipped to the next set of plans. This time I found myself puzzled by the layout. A series of mazes—passageways, running between rooms and winding from floor to floor. There was a secondary entry to almost every room in the hotel. Starting at the fifth floor, I traced the only passageway down to the fourth. It ended in the hallway just outside of this room.

Minutes ticked by as I contemplated my next move. Did I really want to see what Hazel was hiding up there? What if it were dead animals or body parts? Oh God, what if Hazel was some kind of cult priestess leading sacrificial killings to her ghost friends? But what if I was just buying into the hype that made the Reynard so popular? That was the most logical question I'd asked myself all night.

I grabbed the wooden statue, chiding myself for falling into the rhetoric again. But better safe than sorry.

With several deep breaths and a continuous mental mantra that I was not turning into my aunt, I stepped into the hallway. Every step I took sent the old floorboards groaning under my weight until I reached the middle of the corridor where the passage was supposed to be. I ran my palm along the wall, but there was nothing out of place.

Standing back, I crossed my arms over my chest and rhythmically swung the statue back and forth as I examined the wall. It was dual-toned—dark wood on the bottom and beige on the top—and separated into framed panels. Each section of the wall had a sconced light fixture. I stepped forward and grasped the brass bottom of the nearest light and squeezed the statue in my other hand. My muscles coiled as I counted to myself.

One.

Two.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I spun around and lifted my weapon above my head. The air left my lungs as I came face to face with the drink-buying-guy with the disappearing act.