Devil's Night

If she wasn't back by three in the morning, Moira was going to phone the police. That was the deal. Even if Isabel called and said she would be late, Moira was supposed to get the cops involved. Isabel tried downplaying Moira's concern, but in her heart she was grateful for the worry.

The neon glow of the Hotel Cortez sign cast a devilish red glow.

How fitting.

She was hesitant to enter. If she stayed outside, she could turn around and go home. Walking inside meant sealing her fate. The last time she came to the hotel― something she had done in another lifetime― the events that transpired scarred her soul. Now here she was: risking that all again.

Isabel walked inside.

The lobby stood as it always had: tall and unwavering. It could make even a giant feel no bigger than a grain of sand.

There was no one in sight, but Isabel knew that was the secret of the Cortez. No one was ever in sight, but no one was ever alone.

She walked up to the front desk and stared at the bell. Maybe if she didn't ring it, she could just leave? It was a lovely thought, but as soon as it crossed her mind, Isabel knew it was a fool's dream. Even if she didn't sign in, the hotel knew she was here. There would be no peaceful exit if she tried to leave now. Resigned, Isabel raised her hand and her palm struck the bell.

The ring was sharp and resonated throughout the entire hotel.

Iris emerged from the backroom, her look of shock exaggerated by her thick glasses when Isabel held up the invitation. "You're dead?"

Isabel couldn't help but laugh. "You wish. No, I'm very much alive."

"Haven't heard much you lately. One book and you vanish."

"Sorry I'm not Stephen King. Not all of us can spit out a best seller every few days."

Iris handed Isabel a pen, and Isabel signed the thick book filled with so many names. Some alive, most dead.

"The police are going to show up if I'm not out of these doors by three."

"Noted. Do you know where you're going?"

"Unfortunately," Isabel said as she turned around and headed up the staircase. There was still time, and she was going to need something to help her get through the night.

If Liz Taylor was as surprised to see her as Iris was, it certainly wasn't as obvious.

"Miss us too much?" Liz taunted. She looked at the invitation in Isabel's hand. "Well, aren't you little Miss Popular? Need a bit of liquid courage before your grand entrance?"

"Some vodka would be nice."

"Oh honey, no. You're in a dress and you're wearing contact lenses; you need a drink with class." Liz filled a rocks glass with ice and poured amber liquid over the cubes. "Our finest bourbon, on the house."

"Cheers." Isabel took the glass and tilted her head back. The bourbon was smooth and gave her insides a warm hug.

"Best bourbon on the house, even I don't get that," Sally drawled as she sat on the barstool beside Isabel. "Some special girl you are."

Isabel desperately wished she wasn't. Being special didn't mean anything good. It meant living in her father's shadow. It meant being a witch with no use for her powers. It meant getting an invitation to Devil's Night. Bourbon was the only upside to being special.

"Hi Sally," Isabel said, noticing that Sally wouldn't even look at her. "I told you I'd be back."

"Because of him, not because of me." Sally took a long drag from her cigarette, the smoke smooth and soothing.

Well, she wasn't wrong.

Isabel sighed heavily. She wasn't going to have a conversation that was going nowhere. Besides, she had a party to get to. She finished off the bourbon and stood up, still feeling uneasy and unnerved.

She didn't come back for Sally, that was true and Isabel couldn't lie about that. If it wasn't for the invitation, she wouldn't be here at all. This hotel was Hell on Earth, and she would know; she had been to Hell.

Despite her hatred towards the fact that she was back here, Isabel silently hoped Sally would stop her, take her hand; something.

It was fucked up that she wanted Sally's attention. Sally was a murderer.

But Isabel was no better.

As Isabel walked away, Sally looked to her. Tears that never seemed to go away made her eyes glisten like a stream on a sunny day.

"They're going to eat her alive," Sally muttered, the cigarette clenched between her teeth.

And perhaps they would. But Isabel wasn't thinking about that as she stood in front of Room 78.

Should she knock? Announce herself? What exactly was the polite way to go about this?

She shouldn't think too much about this. For once she just wasn't going to think. So, without thinking she opened the door.

Music from a phonograph that probably would have been a big hit in the twenties greeted Isabel. It brought a sense of comfort that disappeared as soon as Isabel locked eyes with James Patrick March.

"Isabel Noble, you've made it!" he declared with a grin. "I must admit, I was quite anxious about your arrival."

"Because I frighten you?" Isabel teased, the words flowing as smooth as the champagne James was serving.

"Because you're quite a flighty thing." He held out a champagne flute to her. "Come, I'm about to make a toast."

Isabel neared the table, making eye contact with every single guest. She knew the faces well: Jeffrey Dahmer, Richard Ramirez, John Wayne Gacy, Aileen Wuornos, and a figure who didn't have a face and was instead covered head to toe; the Zodiac Killer.

"Ted Bundy couldn't make it?"

Her joke earned her a loud cackle from Aileen. "This girl's a fucking riot; she's gonna sit next to me."

"Everyone is going to sit where their place card is," James said as Miss Evers appeared with a trolley of clean glasses and a large bottle of eerie green liquid. "Now quiet down."

Miss Evers poured the green drink into each of the glasses and passed them around. When she reached Isabel, she raised her eyebrows. "You have to," she whispered, handing Isabel the glass of absinthe.

Isabel understood what Miss Evers meant perfectly: she wouldn't have a choice, and would need to drink. Her heart thudded with fear. Absinthe was illegal in the United States for a reason, and she was terrified of the effects.

"To another year! A reunion of old friends, and new ones." He looked to Isabel and winked.

Was he expecting her to smile at him? She couldn't. How could she smile knowing full well why she was there? As she brought the glass to her lips, the door opened and the last of the guests appeared.

"John! You're well past fashionably late, you know," James said, holding out the last glass of absinthe for the man Isabel never wanted to see again. "You missed my toast."

"Always next year," John Lowe, the infamous Ten Commandments Killer, said, and then downed the absinthe.

As he set the glass down on the table, he met eyes with Isabel, and Isabel wanted to vomit. Here was one the reasons she was invited to Devil's Night.

Was she supposed to talk to him? What would she even say? Perhaps she ought to apologize, though she wasn't sure how to go about apologizing to someone she murdered.

John Lowe sat beside her, his eyes never leaving her. It was difficult to tell if he was staring out of shock or anger, and Isabel decided she'd rather not know. Unsure of what to do, Isabel downed the absinthe as quickly as John had.

The black licorice taste didn't quell her urge to vomit, and she put a hand to her mouth as if to keep everything inside of her. She waited, and nothing happened. Perhaps it wasn't real absinthe?

Isabel blinked and suddenly she was standing in the corner of the room, watching Jeffery Dahmer drill a hole into a stranger's head. She wanted to feel horrified, but the emotions couldn't quite reach the front of her mind. They stayed quite in the back of her head.

She didn't know how much time had passed, and she found herself not caring.

"You don't deserve to be here."

Isabel's head lolled to the side and she saw John Lowe standing next to her. "Yet here I am," she slurred. It seemed absinthe didn't have as much effect on the dead. Though she was pretty far gone, Isabel could see that she was the only one out of it.

"You kill one person and suddenly you're a big shot."

"Two," Isabel corrected, holding up her fingers in a peace sign. "Two people… and technically you killed yourself."

"You made me kill myself," John snapped.

Isabel shrugged. "I dunno what to tell you… honestly I didn't think it would work. I was never too good at Concel… council… Concilium. Total shot in the dark. Ha, shot. Get it? 'Cause you―"

"Shot myself, yeah I get it."

There was a long pause, and Isabel swayed to the music trying (and failing) to hum along. She then looked to John and asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

Maybe it was the absinthe making her see things, but she could have sworn he smirked. "Kill you? So that you're stuck forever in this hotel? I'd rather not spend the rest of eternity with my killer."

Isabel laughed heartily as if that was the funniest joke she had ever heard, and John began chuckling along with her.

"Good to see the two of you getting along!" James said cheerily as he approached the pair. "I must admit, I was quite worried when making the guest list. I hoped that your similarities would outweigh your differences." He placed a hand on John's shoulder. "Would you excuse us for just a moment, old chum?"

John bowed his head and stepped away, leaving Isabel and James alone.

"Your wife hates me," Isabel stated.

"Hate is rather a strong word, dear. She… harbors a distaste for you."

"I killed her, she should hate me."

"Ah, but she nearly killed you," James reminded Isabel, his fingertips ghosting the scar on Isabel's neck.

She had received the injury when she and the Countess had gotten into a deadly altercation. Isabel tried reasoning with herself all the time that she didn't have a choice. It was a fight to death; what else could she have done?

She could have stopped it. She was a witch for fuck's sake. She should have stopped it. Instead, the gun had gone off and Isabel didn't even try saving her.

"Why did you invite me? I don't belong here. These people… they've killed way more than I have. They're murderers. They're proud."

"And you don't belong with them because of the shame… and you've only killed two people, the world not knowing about either of their deaths." He was stating a fact. James knew that Isabel didn't truly belong with this group. She didn't kill for fun; she didn't appreciate the art of murder. "But you do belong here. Here, in this hotel. You must know it as much as I do."

No, she didn't belong here. This hotel was not a home. Isabel had many homes, but the Hotel Cortez was just a moment in her life. A big moment, but it wasn't a place for her to return to. This wasn't the Murder House or Miss Robichaux's. She belonged to those places, but the Hotel Cortez was just that: a hotel, not a home.

Still dazed, Isabel watched Jeffery Dahmer stroking the hair of his victim, who was now long gone.

"What time is it?" Isabel asked, realizing that she could have been out of it for quite a while. "What time is it?" she asked again, the panic in her voice beginning to rise.

James would not answer her. He was gone; completely missing from the room. Isabel blinked and the room was dark and she was alone. She shut her eyes again and opened them, and the party returned. What the fuck was happening? Was it the absinthe?

"Isabel," Sally said firmly.

Sally was standing right in front of her, but Isabel couldn't tell if she was real or not. She shut her eyes so tightly that it hurt, and when she opened them once more, the party was gone but Sally remained.

"How was the party?" Sally asked, head tilted to the side.

"Dunno… I was out for most of it," Isabel admitted. She felt Sally's hand against her cheek, and leaned into her touch. "I don't think it was fun… I didn't belong there."

"You wouldn't have been invited if you didn't."

Isabel wanted to deny it, but she found herself exhausted. It had been a trying night. Facing demons was never easy, especially when it took on a literal form.

"I need to go," Isabel murmured, her head foggy from the absinthe and her sudden exhaustion.

Sally's face fell, and she stepped away from Isabel. "Again." Of course she needed to leave again. No one ever stayed.

Slowly, Isabel nodded. If she didn't leave soon, the police would come and that would be a mess.

"I'm sorry," Isabel murmured. Was she though? Was she truly sorry for leaving again? She couldn't tell what she was feeling. "I need to leave now… I'll uh, maybe I'll see you next year."

"You're lucky I'm not sewing you into a mattress," Sally muttered as she lit up cigarette.

"I know."

Isabel walked around Sally, and left Room 78 to go call a cab at the front desk.

She hadn't known what to expect at Devil's Night, and she supposed it could have been worse. She was coming out alive, and was going home, knowing that this time the hotel would release her without any problems.

Maybe Moira would have a nice cup of tea waiting for her.

Thanks to everyone for reading! I just wanted to do this quick little thing since I've gotten a couple of requests to do a Devil's Night story. I will be continuing with this series so expect to see more from me soon!