"Be careful what you suggest," he cut in.
"My patience for your games is limited."
"We should get to know each other," she rolled her eyes and giggled.
"You're so stubborn. It's too bad mesmerism doesn't work on your family. Imagine the fun we could have if you were a bit more…agreeable."
Alaric pushed aside an image of himself under the Vampire Queen's command — razing villages, leading monster armies, taking out Bloodbane officials.
But when he looked into her half-slitted eyes, he got the creeping feeling that she entertained something far worse.
I want to sit on his face. That was the prevailing thought in the Countess's mind as she followed the Voss toward his proud discovery.
The Weekend Motel. A plain name. She'd seen plainer.
Her eyes moved across the strange cityscape.
Even with everything Thanaros's portal had poured into her, she still struggled to fit it all together.
"This appears to be some sort of…small town in a country that barely existed when you and I first did battle. America." The word felt strange.
"You mean ten minutes ago?" he asked, not looking back. With each step his shoulders rolled and his glutes flexed. Vladira had no living heart, but something inside her throbbed.
"More like three centuries ago by my approximation. When we were in transit to this time, I was flooded with information about the changes the ages of men had endured. Technology, language, cultural advancements — things of that sort. Did the knowledge of the portal not come to you?"
She was barely listening for his answer. She wanted him. She had to possess him.
"I received the same education," he admitted, hooking his whip back onto his hip. "And I learned that this age is complex, but not entirely alien. If we are to stay here, we will need money — that much is familiar.
To get money, though, we will need things like bank accounts, which require government-recognized identification."
"Trivial to deal with. I can use mesmerism to have the paperwork filled out for us with no questions. I don't think I'll show up in photographs, though." She frowned.
"Since you don't show up in mirrors?"
She nodded, then remembered his back was turned. "Yes. A minor inconvenience."
He groaned and stopped walking. "This is…maddening."
"What is?"
"Being forced into this situation with you — my family's archnemesis, the most vile villain of all time."
She shrugged. "It is what it is. I've lived through a few centuries already. To me, we've merely skipped a few more. I will rebuild my castle with time and reestablish myself as I always do."
"Over my dead body," he growled, finally glancing back. His eyes landed on her grin and he stiffened. "What's with that face?"
"Nothing," she cooed, hands on her cheeks. "You're just cute."
"I will not take a compliment from a demoness," he muttered, and subconsciously ran his fingers through his hair.
The motel's glass door opened to a front desk manned by a busty middle-aged clerk with naturally curly hair. The smell hit Vladira immediately.
Something she'd never personally encountered across her centuries. Tobacco, the knowledge told her. She took a long, unnecessary sniff.
She was going to have to get used to breathing again. She'd faked it before, but it always took adjustment.
"Wow, look at you two," the woman said, eyeing their attire — and in Alaric's case, the lack of it. She laughed. "Let me guess — you two are in town for the Fresco Comic-Con?"
Alaric made a fist.
"What did you say?! And what do you know of that foul tome?"
"Huh?"
"The Necronomicon, madam! Did you not just speak its blasphemous name?"
Vladira set a hand on his shoulder. He jerked.
"Sorry, umm, 'Charlotte'," she said, reading the name tag. "My traveling companion is merely tired. We wish to negotiate lodging with you."
"Why are you…talking like that?" Charlotte asked. "Your travel companion? Is he not your boyfriend?"
"If you are asking whether she and I are here for some sort of tryst, the answer is an unwavering no, madam," Alaric growled, scowling down at Vladira.
"Indeed, she speaks true. All we yearn for is a place to rest our heads."
"I mean. Okay, for a room with two beds, that'll be seventy bucks a night."
"One bed is fine," Vladira said. "We don't sleep on the same schedule. And you're going to give it to us for free." She leaned forward, palms flat on the desk, eyes beginning to glow.
Beside her, the Voss pressed his face into his palm.
"This is fiendish behavior," he murmured.
"The best room you can spare, please," Vladira chirped.
Charlotte's eyes dilated, went wide, then narrowed slowly. "Yes, Mistress. One room. As long as you like."
Voss placed a hand on Vladira's shoulder. Her legs trembled.
"W-what?" she asked.
"If you're going to take advantage of this poor woman, at least inquire if there's a room that's no longer in use. I simply cannot bear the thought of interfering with her honest business."
Vladira rolled her red eyes, then licked her lips and turned back to Charlotte.
"You heard the man. A room that's out of commission but still livable. Do you perhaps have one like that?"
The woman, hazy-eyed, fumbled through a drawer of keys and pulled one set out.
"Room 13. Local ordinance changed, saying we couldn't have a thirteenth room anymore, so we've been using it as an extra storage space, but the beds and stuff are still in there. Wallpaper's peeling, the carpet has some stains, and the mattresses are on the ground because we moved the bedframes into another room. But it'll work. It's got a kitchenette with a fridge, microwave, stove, and sink, too. Some of that's in the closet."
"Strange ordinance," Vladira mused, scratching her slender neck with one red nail.
Charlotte's shrug was slow and heavy, and something dark moved across her face.
"There was a slew of senseless murders in this county a few years back: our very own serial killer. She would go into hotel and motel rooms numbered 13 and kill whoever was inside with a knife."
She let that sit.
"Sounds grim," Alaric said, voice low.
Charlotte nodded. "She'd paint the mirrors red and leave strange messages in some foreign language on them using the blood from her victims. I have no idea what the messages said or what language it was. I didn't pay much attention to the details. Anyway," she sighed,
"long story short, we all stopped using the number 13, and to curb the killings further, every hotel room and even most residential addresses ending in the number changed by law — just to be safe. Some said it was unconstitutional but…" Her voice faded.
"It was tough times. People just wanted her to go away."
"Her?" Alaric asked. "This killer was a woman?"
Charlotte's eyes narrowed. The far-off look returned. "Yeah. They called her the Red Lady. All witnesses said she wore a red dress and carried a carving knife into every killing. Pale skin, long reddish-brown hair that was done up in a ponytail that went down to her ass. The creepy thing is that there were rumors she didn't show up on film or video."
The technology was new to Vladira, but something from the portal had seeped in. Enough for the detail to land. "How did she get into the rooms?"
"She somehow ripped off the knobs and locks. No one saw how she did it. I may be remembering wrong, by the way. It was interesting as Hell when it happened but — Well, let's see. It's 2023 now, and so that was about…ten years ago, I guess. It's a bit fuzzy."
Vladira's face gave nothing away. Alaric turned to look at her.
"Intriguing. Thank you very much for being so candid with us, my minion. Room 13, it is." She snatched the keyring, snapped it in half, and handed the spare to Alaric.
"Keep looking at me like that — you'll just make me want to bite you even more."
He answered with a scornful glare. "Foul creature." Then he turned to Charlotte and opened his hands politely. "Praytell, if I were wishing to acquire employment, where might I look? Are you hiring?"
"I could use a spare hand watching the desk during the midnight shifts on the weekends, but that's about it. Just across the street, though, there's a gas station. They're hiring, I think."
"Good to know. Thank you, Madam, for all your generosity."
She winked. "Hey, big fella, happy to help a strapping young man like yourself."