Page 17 of The Haunted Hotel

“Yes, well, we should be going,” Bertie says hurriedly as she glances over her shoulder. “Things to do and all that.”

The pair of them wink out and Rosie and I are once again left on our own. Frowning, I turn towards her. “Is it just me, or did they look like they’re up to something?”

5

Istand with my palms pressed against the tiled wall and my head bent forward so the hot water can pound against the back of my sore neck. Rolling my stiff shoulders, I sigh.

I’m exhausted.

I may be only just pushing forty, but the older I get, the more jetlag kicks my ass. Or maybe it was the ninety-hour workweek I pulled before even getting on the damn plane. Most likely, it was that I’d only just got off the red-eye from Chicago before turning around and getting on a plane to Heathrow.

Now that I’ve finally stopped, all I want to do is crawl into that incredibly ancient-looking but surprisingly comfortable bed. Not yet though. As tempting as it is to take a power nap, I know I won’t be sleeping tonight if that happens, and the last thing I want is to be up at some ungodly hour in a creaky old house with only my brain for company.

Not to mention the fact that I need to see my grandfather first. Jesus, I’m not even sure what I’m doing here. It was a knee-jerk reaction. I’d been in Chicago dealing with a problem at one of our hotels when the news had broken.

The article had been less than flattering, but it’s not the first time I’ve been in the spotlight and I guarantee it won’t be thelast. However, something had touched a nerve, poked at me in a place I didn’t even know was vulnerable.

I really don’t know how the hell that slimy reporter put my name together with an obscure, eccentric British family I don’t even remember. To be honest, I’d rather have ignored all of it and waited for it to blow over, but my brother had insisted I get on a plane and deal with it personally. He seems to think it’ll end up coming back to bite us in the ass later on.

Rolling my shoulders again, I wince when something clicks uncomfortably. I sigh and shut the water off, then pause as the water flicks back on. Frowning, I shut it off again and wait for a few seconds. When it remains off, I twist back to the shower door, but as I lift my hand to open it, the water turns on once more.

What the hell?

I shut it off yet again, this time turning the handle extra hard until it’s so tight I doubt I’ll be able to turn it back on the next time I want a shower. I shrug at the thought; with any luck, I won’t be here too long. Hopefully, just long enough to have a very stern conversation with my absentee grandfather, then I’m on the next flight home.

I glance up at the showerhead, watching as a single drip of water escapes, but it otherwise remains off. Satisfied, I reach once again for the glass door to let myself out, but before I can get it open, I’m blasted in the face with a tsunami of frigid water.

I let loose a shocked yelp as I’m pelted with icy shards of water that stab viciously at my face and chest. Grabbing the handle, I yank it as hard as I can back into the off position.

Fuck me, it’s cold. My balls have shrivelled up into my body and my dick is trying to follow them. I give one last twist and yell in frustration as the handle comes away in my hand. Clutching onto the useless piece of metal, I reach up and try to angle theshowerhead away from me as I can barely feel my face from the numbness.

There’s a loud clatter and I look down to see the shampoo and body wash bottles tumble to the floor. Somehow, all the lids have come loose and the slippery liquid gathers into the shower base faster than it can wash down the drain.

Feeling my feet slip underneath me, I try to grab onto something, anything, to keep my balance. With the useless detached shower handle in one hand, I manage to grasp the only other thing in the shower, which happens to be the metal caddy that had held the toiletry bottles. My relief is short-lived, however, when the damn thing, accompanied by the sound of cracking tiles, rips away from the wall and my feet slide out from under me. Sliding across the shower in a skating rink of shampoo and body wash, I fall backwards. The door swings open and slams against the sink as I tumble out. My elbow cracks against the doorframe, causing an intense pain to shoot up my arm, and my breath whooshes from my lungs when I hit the floor.

I lie motionless for several moments, my whole body in pain, and stare up at the ceiling light while I attempt to catch my breath. As I shiver, it occurs to me that I’m still clutching onto the handle and the caddy, and my feet, now covered in soap suds, are still resting in the bottom of the shower enclosure.

Fuck. My. Life.

The handle and caddy clatter to the tiled floor when I release my grip, and I shiver even harder. It’s fucking freezing in here and I’m wet and naked, sprawled out on the bathroom floor like I starring in my own personal Hitchcock movie.

My groan echoes in the small room as I drag myself off the floor gingerly, my battered body protesting and making me feel my age.

I stand and glare at the goddamned shower, which has somehow managed to switch itself off. Shaking my head in annoyance, I glance around for the large soft white fluffy towel I brought into the room with me.

The bathroom isn’t that large, it’s not even a quarter of the size of the guest one in my apartment, yet I can’t see the towel anywhere.

What the hell? I could’ve sworn I brought it in with me and set it on the counter.

Shaking my head again, I head out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. I guess I’m more jet-lagged than I thought. Maybe a thirty-minute nap would be enough to freshen me up, and then I might be able to stay awake until a more reasonable hour. Although I dislike napping immensely, I could set an alarm on my phone and then I…

I stop dead and blink slowly after I step into the bedroom. Turning back to the bathroom, I gaze at it in incomprehension, then take in the bedroom once more. Maybe I will be taking that nap after all because I am almost certain the very heavy, old-fashioned wooden four-poster bed was on the other side of the room when I went into the bathroom. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure the dresser and the wardrobe have switched places too.

Don’t worry if the furniture moves…

The cute little blonde desk clerk’s words come back to me and I feel myself scowling. Is this some kind of prank? Do they do this to all the new arrivals? If so, I can understand why they don’t have any guests.

Shivering violently again, it occurs to me that I’m standing in my room completely naked and dripping water on the faded old carpet. Determined to give the staff a piece of my mind as soon as I’m dressed, I glance around the room for wherever I left my towel.