"Undermind, Part 2" by Garon E. Whited

Eric rubbed Bronze’s neck and considered the empty bucket. 

“Enjoy lunch?” he asked.  Bronze nodded.  Eric disdained to mount, but walked with Bronze across and down the street.  They headed for the hotel, but Eric kept an eye on the temple.

It wasn’t as large as he thought, but still impressive.  Steps ran up the entire front of the building, while tall pillars supported the stone roof.  Carvings decorated most of the front of the temple.  There was a definite motif of owls, trees, and spears.  Nothing appeared to be watching him.  He felt no untoward attention.  Still, had the hotel been at the other end of the street, he would have felt more comfortable.

Eric stopped outside the hotel and stroked Bronze’s neck again.  She nosed at him and he smiled.

“I’ll be checking in here.  I don’t see a stable, so just wait for a little while.  I’ll be back.”

So saying, he turned to the front door and entered.  The lobby, like most of the architecture, seemed perfectly normal, although out of place.  The floor was apparently marble, while the high ceilings were done in late-Renaissance frescos, framed by florid carvings.  The front desk was solid, massive, and the reddish color of mahogany, also intricately carved.  Several uncomfortable-looking sofas, chairs, and divans were scattered in small groups all around the lobby.  A heavy, arched door graced the left wall, between two floor-to-ceiling windows.  A broad, grandly curving staircase swept up from near the main desk, spiraled up and around along the curve of the right-hand wall, and vanished into the second floor somewhere above his head.

Eric eyed the other door.  It looked like rather medieval and somewhat out of place.  Why did the lobby have a door leading out to—he craned his neck to look between the drapes of the windows—a pasture full of cows? 

A moment later, it occurred to him that he had not observed the pasture, nor smelled the cows, while approaching the hotel.  He stepped back outside and walked around the building to check.  That wall of the hotel was unbroken by any doors, although externally the windows appeared the same.  He peered in through one window, half-expecting to see the pasture again.  Instead, he saw the lobby.  He nodded to himself and stepped back, then frowned and took a second look.

The view through the window was perfect, provided there was a window where the staircase was supposed to be.  Across the lobby, he could see the heavy door and its flanking windows.  And the cows.  The sense of strangeness in the town failed to diminish.

Eric entered through the front door, somewhat more thoughtfully, and approached the desk.  Behind the desk was a long, tall rack of pigeonholes, each with a room number.  At one end of the desk was a tall, ornate clock, ticking softly.  There was a single candle burning in a holder, despite the light from the lobby windows.  A large, heavy book was mounted on a turntable.  Next to it was a silver bell.  Eric picked up the bell and rang it with a pretty tinkling noise.

There was a grating and hissing as shutters slid across to slam shut over the windows.  The lobby plunged into a sea of blackness with a single island of light at the desk.  A gentleman emerged from the back.  He was dressed in white tie and tails, including a full, black cloak with a high collar and crimson lining.  His hair was dark, his eyes were bright, and he was very pale.  His fingernails seemed more pointed and sharper than strictly necessary.

“Good afternoon,” he said.  “Welcome to the House of Night.  How may we be of service?”

Eric blinked at the man for several seconds.  The vampire costume was not amusing.   Obviously, someone was having their little joke.  Still, it implied that everyone who was in on the joke wasn’t too disturbed by the knowledge of a vampire in town.  Maybe it was meant in fun.

“The sheriff tells me I should get a room,” Eric replied.

“Always a pleasure to have a referral,” the man said.  “My name is David Draper.  Please, call me ‘Dave.’  I’m the manager here at the House of Night.  If there’s anything at all we can do to make your stay more pleasant, simply say so.”

“Eric Marid,” Eric said, and extended a hand.  They shook.  David’s hands were cool to the touch.  “I’ll be sure to keep you posted.  So, how do I go about getting a room?”

“Smoking or non-smoking?”

Eric remembered the effects of sunrise and sunset on his peculiar metabolism.  He winced.

“Non-smoking, please.  And do you have a room without a view to the east or west?”

“Certainly.  King-sized or two doubles?”

“King-sized.”

“Of course.  What era?”

Eric blinked.  “Era?” he repeated.

“Era.  Time frame.  Do you prefer the seventeenth century in Paris?  Or the twentieth, in Japan?”  David eyed Eric openly, taking in the functional armor and the large sword.  “Or would you feel more comfortable in a room patterned after a private residence in the late middle ages of Europe?”

“You have themed rooms?”

“Naturally, considering the types of traffic we get.  Rooms can be reconfigured to suit a guest, to make one feel more at home—or as far away as home as is required to feel comfortable.  As a cautionary note, however, the House of Night has a few oddities.”

“Oddities?” Eric asked, feeling lost.

“The windows, and occasionally the extra doors.  Don’t open doors that don’t have a room number.  To be safe, don’t open any doors except the entryway,” David nodded toward the front door, “and your own room.”

Curiosity operated Eric’s mouth while his brain was busy with the concept.

“What happens if I open the wrong door?”

“You might wind up going through it when you didn’t mean to, or letting something through it that shouldn’t be here.  Some doors don’t always lead to the far side of the wall, you see.  There’s no telling where they might open up to.”

“Riiiiiight,” Eric agreed, glancing at the door in the lobby.  It sat quietly, apparently unconcerned with his regard.  “Got it.  And the windows…?” he trailed off, already knowing the answer.

“They don’t always look out on the same street,” David admitted.

“Okay.  I’m going to need heavy curtains or something.  I don’t cope well with sunrises or sunsets.  Do you have any rooms without windows?”

David broke into a smile.  His teeth looked perfectly normal.

“Absolutely!  But, if I may pry just a little bit, why do you avoid sunrise and sunset?”

“That’s when I come back to life, or when I turn into an undead, respectively.  The light is bad for me around then.”

David nodded, still smiling.  “I’m very pleased to know that, and even more pleased to meet a fellow member of the fraternity.  I’m a full-time undead, myself, although I’ve worked very hard at simulating humanity.  May I say that it is a very great pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.  You mean you’re really a vampire?”

“Oh, yes.”  David grinned again and extended his fangs.  His eyes began to glow with an inner, blood-red light.  “I can do other things, but this is about as far as I care to go when the Sun is up.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Eric agreed, staring.  “Um.  Are there, you know, lots of…?”

“Here?  A few, about and around.  You and I are the only ones presently in the hotel, though.”

“Good.  I think.”

“Now, a room without windows, one big bed—oh, what era?”

“Hmm?  Oh, anything with a hot shower.”

David looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned to the rack of pigeonholes.  He selected a key and handed it to Eric.

“Just sign the guestbook, please.  Any luggage?”

“No,” Eric replied as he accepted the key.  “I have a horse, though.”

“Stabling!” David cried.  “Of course!  I knew I was forgetting something!  Maybe a garage…”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, nevermind.  I’ll make arrangements.  War-trained horse?”

“Yes.  And she’s really an intelligent golem.  Sort of.”

“Really?”  David’s eyebrows rose.  “That’s interesting.  Yes, I know just who to ask for help on that.  At any rate, if you’d like to go see your room, I’ll see what I can do about a place for your trusty steed.  I’ll give you a ring when I need your help in parking her.”

“Okay.  Three-cee?”

“That’s the one.  Up to the third floor, second door on your right.”

“Thanks.  What do I owe you?” Eric asked, reaching for his pouch.  David waved a hand in dismissal.

“I don’t run this place for money.  I have no use for it.  I just like people, and this lets me meet just about everyone who comes through town.”

“You don’t need money?”

“Not at all.  I’m insanely rich.  You wouldn’t believe how rich.”

Eric turned the key over and over in his hands, thinking.  He had encountered people and things much weirder—and much worse—than a highly-social, insanely-wealthy vampire that ran a magical hotel as a way to meet people.  Usually, the weirder things were also much more unpleasant.  This wasn’t so bad.

“All right.”

“Have a nice day.  If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.  Thanks.”

Eric walked up the stairs, still thinking.  The town, as a whole, was mildly strange, but the hotel was definitely weird.  At least, the proprietor was a kindly wacko.

A panther, black as coal and large as life, bounded down the steps, yowling.  It sprang toward the wall along the outside of the curve, claws digging into the woodwork and plaster, while Eric jerked himself out of the way.  He didn’t draw his sword, nor did he attack in any way, mainly because a small boy, perhaps five years old, was riding the beast.  The child was in a miniature suit of brightly-gleaming chainmail.  He held the reins to the great cat’s bridle in one hand, a miniature, razor-sharp sword in the other, and was belted into a saddle just behind the panther’s shoulders.  He laughed as the cat tore down the steps at a full sprint.

Behind him, a half-human, half-dog creature, almost as tall as Eric, came sprinting along.  It was yipping in a clear, almost-human voice, with the words “I’m gonna get you,” predominating.

In less than a second, they were gone around the curve of the stairs, to the tune of something crashing into expensive pieces and a yipping voice shouting “Tag!  Tag!  Tag!”  Further noises indicated what was probably an entire rugby team becoming involved in a scrum.

Eric shook his head and continued up the steps.  At the second floor, he met a little girl coming down.  She was a little older than the boy, perhaps seven or eight.  Someone had done her dark hair in a ponytail, but it was defiantly refusing to remain a captive.  Her dress was a dark brown and probably play-clothes; a few smudges and stains were visible only to inhumanly precise eyes.

“Excuse me, sir?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“Did you see a big cat and a little half-elf werewolf go by here?”

“Yes.  They were in the lobby, last I heard.”

“Thank you, sir.”  She hurried down the stairs.  Eric watched her go and reflected on white rabbits and waistcoats. 

Eventually, he made it upstairs to his room; third floor, end of the hall, on the right.  The hallway seemed identical in design to the lobby, saving only that the floor was covered in some sort of thickly-woven rug.  He tried his key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

The room looked perfectly normal.  It might have been any room in any decent hotel in any major city of the late twentieth century.  There was a king-sized bed that dominated the room, along with a dresser, a television, a writing-table, some lamps, an alcove for hanging garments, a bathroom, a telephone, even a small, refrigerated snack bar.  The only thing missing was a window.

Eric grinned.  Normality!

Instantly, he went into the bathroom to strip off his armor and have a shower.  He found several bars of paper-wrapped soap, stacked in a neat pyramid, along with a trio of tiny plastic bottles full of shampoo, conditioner, and lotion.  White, fluffy towels were folded tidily on metal racks above the toilet.  The one he pulled down had an H-N monogram in black and red tastefully embroidered in one corner.

It was so normal, it seemed weird.  That didn’t stop him from taking his first real shower in… in… It didn’t stop him.

He did lock the door and hang his sword next to the shower, however.  After all, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t meant they’re not out to get you.  Paranoia may just be a perfectly sane reaction to circumstances.