The hotel was coming along nicely.
Located in the north eastern part of Harper Rock, Valdimar’s Northern Lights catered to the thrill seekers, those wanting something a little different. Though the city’s life-long occupants seemed to be picking up and leaving due to the zombie outbreak, the city by no means became a ghost town. In fact, the world was filled with those fascinated by the supernatural, those excited to find out that zombies were a real thing, that vampires were a real thing. That there could be more beneath the surface, and that the supernatural creatures didn’t stop at those more dead than alive.
Ghost hunters travelled from far and wide to see this famed city; relic hunters, goths, men and women seeking the elixir to eternal life. Something could be said about modern society, at least – fear was no longer a prominent and driving emotion. Fear did not keep people away. Instead, it drew them closer, their perhaps naïve belief that nothing bad could happen to them keeping them safe in their own little bubbles.
The Northern Lights was expensive enough to keep out most of the crazy people, catering instead to the elite. The bottom ten floors of the hotel had been stripped out and renovated. Artists were hired to sculpt the ice; the technology was installed to keep the ice solid and frozen even through the summer months. The top five floors were ordinary rooms. If by ‘ordinary’ one meant lush, with clean modern design and floor to ceiling glass windows with views of the city and the river that ran through it, or, on the other side, of the wilderness stretched out to the horizon. The top floor was all one room – the penthouse suite.
The first bookings had been made and Valdimar, not wanting to crowd the new employees with his presence, lurked. He circled the lobby before wandering outside for some fresh air. He’d go for a lap around the block before returning to the hotel. With his hands pushed into his pockets and his shoulders squared, he struck quite a figure as he took to the footpath.
Around the next corner and he was passed by a vaguely familiar face; a woman, late twenties. She, too, had a model-esque look about her, though she was one of those who didn’t know it. She wouldn’t know that she was magazine material; that if she started up her own youtube channel or created a social media presence, she could be famous. A frown creased her brow as she glanced up at Valdimar, though Valdimar thought nothing of it. And then she turned, she followed after Valdimar.
“You!” she called, breathless. She kept her distance as he stopped, brow arched.
“I remember you! You…” she coughed, bundled up in jacket and scarf. Her nose was red and her voice clogged. She had a cold.
“You… at the club! You fed from me!” she exclaimed. Furious.
Valdimar, at first, could not remember. But then it dawned on him. Yes, he’d fed from her, and had left her dazed in a booth. Not alone – he’d told one of her friends that she’d drunk too much, that she better be taken home. He hadn’t killed her. But… how did she remember?! He supposed it did not matter. Valdimar shrugged.
“You’re fine,” he said, as if that would make all the difference. The woman glowered.
“You could have asked. You didn’t even ask. I felt violated. Do you get that?! You ******* men thinking you’re entitled to do whatever you damned well please…” she said. She was flustered, but she wasn’t scared anymore. Her anger fuelled her. And now, there were witnesses. There were others taking night-time strolls, and they’d stopped to watch the altercation, to whisper to their friends, to wonder at the outcome.
Valdimar’s lips pressed into a thin line. How many others had he fed from that now remembered his face…?
