Hypnosis is for hacks, p.15
Hypnosis Is for Hacks, page 15
“The fire alarm?” Uli turns a sharp eye on me. “So that was you?”
I mentally curse Vivian for letting our secrets slip in front of a man I’m still not sure I trust and do my best to make a recovery. “It was an accident, I swear,” I say. “I slipped and hit the emergency alarm with my elbow. I’ve already been issued a citation from Inspector Piper, so there’s no need to make me feel worse. It’s costing me a small fortune.”
I’m not sure how much of my lie he believes, but he lets us go without further questioning. I have to elbow Vivian to keep her from continuing her commentary while he’s in earshot, but that only has the effect of making her flounce away to finish her meal. I’m left alone with Liam, who’s looking more and more concerned the longer we remain.
“Don’t say it,” I warn him, and not just because we’re standing in a public place. The last thing I need right now is a lecture from Liam in full older brother mode. “I had no idea that would happen.”
“I know,” he says. His brow puckers, his dark eyes flashing with concern. “That’s what worries me. The longer we stay here, the more it seems you don’t know.”
Chapter 17
Under the pretense of dizziness, nausea, and a headache—none of which I’m currently experiencing—Nicholas visits our room around eight o’clock. He carries a medical bag for authenticity and wears the resigned look of a medical practitioner forced to work on his holiday, but he drops both those things the moment the door closes behind him.
“I just spent the past two hours listening to the recording on repeat,” he says. The bag falls open to reveal that it’s filled with nothing but the crinkled pages of yesterday’s newspaper. “Why the devil didn’t anyone tell me how bad it was?”
I make a move to go to him, my arms outstretched and my sweetest smile in place, but he holds me back with one upheld hand. With a start, I realize he’s angry. At me.
“Liam wasn’t in the room at the time, and I—if you’ll recall—was somewhat indisposed while it was going on. If you’re upset, you should take it up with your mother.”
“I intend to,” he says through his teeth.
Since my embrace is obviously not going to do much good right now, I scoop Freddie up from the bed and hold her out. Without realizing what he’s doing, Nicholas accepts the bundle and holds her to his chest.
It’s ridiculous—and difficult—to be angry while running a finger up and down the spine of a gently purring cat, so he sighs and lowers himself to the end of my bed. “I’ve never heard anything like it before,” he says, more composed now. “That scream, Eleanor. It wasn’t human.”
I cast a nervous glance at my brother, afraid of how Liam will take this, but he looks more interested than alarmed. “I haven’t had a chance to listen to it yet,” he admits. “She screams and then the furniture starts flying, right? Or is it the other way around?”
I fail to see what difference it makes—and am about to point out as much—but Nicholas hands Liam the phone. “Take it into the bathroom and use headphones,” he says. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Liam handles the phone the same way he did Brunhilde—which is to say with extreme caution. “Don’t be such a wimp, Liam,” I say. “It’s just a recording. It can’t hurt you.”
“No,” he agrees. “But it can hurt you.”
Nicholas and I sit in silence as Liam grabs his headphones and sequesters himself in the bathroom. Even with Freddie in his lap, Nicholas holds himself tense until enough time passes that he accepts I’m not going to go off into a trance by proximity.
“I was never in any real danger,” I say. “It’s strange, yes, and I don’t fully understand what’s going on, but—”
“I want to talk to that man.”
I blink at Nicholas. That particular tone—of anger and hatred, of actual violence—is one I’ve never heard from him before. “To Armand?”
“Yes. Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. Even if I did know, I doubt I’d tell Nicholas right now. He looks as though he’d like to snap Armand in half using his bare hands. It’s a sentiment I’ve shared myself, but only because the idea of my causing physical harm is laughable. Strength isn’t my strong point, if you’ll pardon the pun. “But it should be easy enough to rouse him. He’s never far from this hotel—or your mother.”
“Then make it happen. Find a way for us to meet. Tonight.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I make the mistake of reaching out to touch his forearm. It’s the same arm I’ve touched countless times in the past, strong and supportive and always there for me to lean on, but there’s so much rigid tension in it that I almost recoil. I don’t, though. I wrap my fingers around his muscles and hold my hand there until he looks at me. “He wouldn’t hurt me. Not like this. Not when it could so easily be traced back to him.”
If the firm set of Nicholas’s jaw is anything to go by, he doesn’t believe me. “It’ll have to be somewhere with a lot of ambient noise,” he says as though I haven’t spoken. “That way he can’t hypnotize you without your consent. And somewhere we can all be without drawing attention to it.”
Both of these things sound eminently sensible and not at all like what we should be talking about right now.
“He’s greedy, yes, but not a monster. I’m not in any real danger.”
I might as well not have spoken for all the attention Nicholas pays me. He drops his hand on mine and holds it there. “Promise me you won’t be alone in a room with him, Ellie.”
It goes against the pluck with me to give in when Nicholas is being his most autocratic—and not just because my kneejerk reaction to anyone giving me orders is to blithely and unapologetically do the opposite. As much as I wish I could give him what he’s asking for, I can’t. Armand is too much tied up in all this, too much a part of my past. I can’t just dismiss him and hope he goes away.
I tried that once already. If there’s one thing I’m coming to learn in all this, it’s that the past will always find a way to catch up.
“I think we should hit the clubs,” I say with a decisive nod. I pull my hand out from under Nicholas’s. “That’ll give you a sound cover and an excuse to be out with me and Liam. If we make sure your mother goes to bed early, Armand will be sure to tag along. He won’t want to waste an entire evening sitting around the hotel, twiddling his thumbs.”
“Did you hear one word of what I just said?”
“Yes. I heard several of them. You want ambient noise and a chance to meet with Armand face to face. Behold.” I give an airy wave of my hand. “I deliver.”
Nicholas doesn’t go so far as to crack a smile, but he does relax slightly. It helps that Beast, sensing his distress, plants herself at his feet. They’re shameless, my cats, but they know how to get results.
“I haven’t gone to a club since I was in university,” he says. “And to be perfectly honest, I didn’t much enjoy them then.”
“No kidding? You?” I force a light laugh. “You forget that I’ve danced with you before. You’re not half bad when you put your mind to it.”
I think he’s going to reply in kind—offer a playful rebuttal of his moves or even show me a few of them right then and there—but he shakes his head. “I don’t like what that man did to you,” he says.
My throat suddenly feels tight. It would be easy to pretend he’s only talking about the hypnosis and the unearthly scream, the way Armand entered my mind and planted something strange inside, but he and I both know that’s only half of the story.
If we take my wayward youth into account, Armand had a lot more influence on me than that. As much as I’d like to pretend that he was an evil influence, and that I was an unwilling participant in his many different games, the truth is that I’m just as responsible—and just as culpable—as him.
And Nicholas, who has the uncanny ability to see all, knows it.
* * *
Nicholas Hartford III might not be much of a one for clubbing, but Piers Pierson has the lifestyle on lockdown.
“Save me,” Liam gasps as he joins me at the bar. I’m nursing a cranberry vodka in hopes that it lends me an air of authenticity, but there’s no denying that I’m hardly the target audience for a place like this. My skirt is too long and my makeup too gothic, and the repeated thumps of the music are starting to make my head pound. “I don’t know how Piers can dance like that and not sweat. I might die if he keeps this up.”
That makes two of us. Piers Pierson, who’s wearing a tight T-shirt under a blazer as well as artfully weathered jeans, appears indefatigable. And, I need hardly add, gorgeous. His usual cashmere sweaters and well-cut suits have nothing on this new look of his. I can’t believe he’s been holding back on me all this time.
“Too bad,” I say as I push a glass of water toward my brother. “You have to make it look as though you’re enjoying yourself. Armand just walked through the door.”
As I anticipated, it didn’t take Armand long to get wind of our activities and rig himself out for a night on the town. And by rig himself out, I mean he looks a lot like me—as if he just stepped off the pages of Emo Teen Monthly.
“Thank goodness.” Liam gulps the entire glass of water. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “This is where I’m supposed to enact part two.”
“There’s a part two? Actually—scratch that. There was a part one?”
He holds up three fingers and ticks them off in succession. “Part one, party. Part two, snag a private table at the back. Part three, let your dear boyfriend loose on the enemy.”
That plan sounds a lot more ominous than Liam realizes. “Liam, please make sure that Nicholas doesn’t—”
There’s no chance for me to issue my warning. Armand catches sight of us and makes a beeline for the bar. Liam, who is turning out to be as phenomenal at acting as Nicholas, takes one look at him and falls drunkenly on his neck.
“Armand!” he cries as though he just guzzled vodka instead of water. “Good to see you, mate. Come dance with me and Piers. The party’s just getting started.”
From the looks of it, Armand would much rather sit next to me for a private chat, but Liam is nothing if not persistent. “You look like a man who knows his way around a dance floor,” he says, dragging Armand away by the arm. “Show us what you’ve got.”
Whether because Armand is trying to save face, or because he knows that any attempt to hypnotize me in this booming, blaring environment will be useless, he gives in. I waggle my fingers as I watch them go, torn between gratitude that I don’t have to join them and annoyance at being left out.
“I’ll have what she’s having.” A woman smelling of citrus and cigarette smoke sidles up next to me. It takes me a moment to place her. She’s not wearing the crisp white shirt and black skirt of her hotel uniform, but those burgundy-painted lips and long waves of dark hair couldn’t belong to anyone else. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you. I was supposed to meet a friend, but she’s not here yet. I hate being at clubs alone.”
“Laurel, right?” I ask. I don’t know the front desk clerk’s last name, but I do remember that she was the one who upgraded our room. For that, she’ll always have a place in my heart. “From the hotel?”
She nods, pleased to have been recognized. Although the low lights of the club are meant to make everyone look younger—and all the surfaces cleaner—I note the same lines around her mouth from before. I thought they denoted age, but her cigarette scent makes me think they might have a more direct cause. I double down on this theory when I recall the burgundy-lipped cigarettes from outside the hotel.
“I know.” As if reading my mind, she grimaces. “It’s a nasty habit, but I can’t seem to shake it. I’ve been trying to quit for years.”
“Green tea has been proven to help,” I say, offering the same advice I once gave Inspector Piper of the Peter variety. “Chewing licorice sticks or taking skullcap can also do the trick.”
She grimaces. “Thanks but no thanks. I’ll stick to good old-fashioned vodka when I need a distraction.”
As if to prove it, she lifts her drink in a mock toast and kicks it back. The burn of the alcohol doesn’t faze her in the slightest.
“Rough day at work?” I ask.
“Something like that.”
“Belligerent guests, or just the general mayhem of working in a place that’s haunted?”
As I hope, she checks at that second bit. “Who told you the hotel is haunted?”
The truth—an aging society damsel who shares Vivian’s love of all things eccentric—doesn’t have the same ring as visions from beyond the grave, but I’m oddly loath to lie to this woman. She’s been nothing but helpful.
“Oh, right.” She taps her temple before I have a chance to say anything. “I forgot. You’re a paranormal investigator. You must have known the moment you walked through the door.”
There’s no choice now but to accept my fate. I had been angling my body toward the dance floor so I could keep an eye on my unlikely trio out there, but I turn so that I’m fully facing Laurel instead. As long as this opportunity is presenting itself, I might as well take advantage of it—even if watching Nicholas dance circles around Liam and Armand is rapidly becoming my new favorite pastime.
“I’ve seen the ghost maid two times so far,” I say.
Laurel nods as though this makes perfect sense. “Yeah, she comes and goes. She never hurts anyone—just sort of wanders the halls. They say she used to work at the hotel back when it first opened, and that she was murdered by a guest who walked away scot-free. Some rich toff with a penchant for violence. You know how it goes.”
That rich people get away with murder? Yeah, I’m familiar with the tale. “You’ve seen her?” I ask.
She shrugs an uncomfortable shoulder. “Everyone sees her eventually.”
“What about the cursed doll she leaves behind wherever she goes?”
Laurel’s gaze meets mine with a direct, piercing quality I find unsettling. I’m not sure why, unless it’s the surreal sensation of holding this conversation in an environment with so much going on. It’s loud and hot and smells of too many bodies packed together in a confined space, undergirded with the sickly scent of sugary cocktails. Despite the swirling cacophony of sensations, Laurel’s locked gaze holds me in place.
“I’m not the one you should be asking about that,” she says. “I’ve only been working at the hotel a few weeks.”
Uli, I think, but Laurel perks up and waves a hand before I can say his name out loud. Her friend, a tall woman wearing a silver shift dress that dazzles like a disco ball, has finally arrived.
And just like that, I’m forgotten. Laurel leaves me to dance the night away, Nicholas and Liam have enacted part two and disappeared to their private booth in the back, and even the bartender refuses to come back and refill my vodka cranberry. In other words, I’m alone and tired and a little bit sad.
Just like a cracked, broken doll left out for someone else to find.
Chapter 18
“I still don’t understand how he knew I was going to pick a purple elephant.” Liam enters our hotel room with the over-loud, overbearing demeanor of a man who spent the better part of his evening somewhere he had to shout to be heard. “I know it’s all fake, but how? I could have picked literally any combination of color and animal.”
I sigh as Freddie shifts from my lap to greet the newcomers. I’ve been spending my own evening keeping her company. I came home early from the club to find that Beast pulled another disappearing act. Liam might be mystified by how Armand uses his powers, but I’m much more curious about my cat’s movements. Unless the cleaning staff is ignoring the DO NOT DISTURB sign, I have no idea how she manages to slip in and out. Beast refuses to be contained by the laws of our physical world.
“He directed you to choose a purple elephant,” I say. “That’s the whole trick. If you’d have been paying attention, you’d have noticed that he was planting seeds the entire time he was with you. He probably asked for a bowl of peanuts from the waitress, right? And talked about his days as a circus performer? And then used a lot of alliteration about the peripatetic propensities of people from Portugal?”
I watch as Liam’s brain works through everything I’ve just said. Nicholas must already have some idea, because he grins as Liam first displays incredulity, then realization, then outrage. Those are the usual three stages of being duped by a mentalist. Oh, how I know them well.
“Are you serious?” He looks back and forth between me and Nicholas. “He was playing me from the start?”
Nicholas lowers himself to the nearest chair, looking just as groomed and put-together as he had been back at the club. The only sign of exhaustion he exhibits is the way he leans his head on one hand. “I would have said a cerulean arthropod, but I suspect that’s why he didn’t ask me. Pity. It would have been entertaining to see him work his way out of that one.”
Liam is crestfallen. “I had no idea I was so predictable. Ellie—why didn’t you tell me? Am I really that basic?”
He is, but it would only hurt his feelings to say so. “Of course not,” I soothe. “Armand is good at what he does, that’s all. I warned you. He’s a dangerous man for a variety of different reasons. What did you get out of him?”
“I don’t know that we got anything.” Nicholas runs his hand along his jawline, where another subtle sign of his exhaustion—his late-night stubble—is starting to show. “He managed to cadge a prescription for painkillers out of me, and I’m fairly certain he and Liam are promised to vacation in Aruba together next year, but he wasn’t particularly forthcoming.”
“Nicholas!” I cry. “You didn’t actually write him out an illegal prescription at a nightclub?”
“I believe he was testing my backstory.” He reaches into an interior pocket and extracts a pad of prescription paper that looks alarmingly realistic. “With any luck, the pharmacist won’t be able to read the atrocious handwriting I used. I believe what I did is classified as a misdemeanor.”
