A/N: I must confess that I have not yet finished all of Hotel (I know, how lame of me). In addition, this story is more of an AU, so some minor plot details may be askew. That being said, please excuse any faults in my story that do not parallel the Hotel universe. Thank you! (^‿^✿)
She travels through countless states and cities, but is inevitably drawn to Los Angeles for its reputation of being covertly saturated in sorcery and occultism. She stays in various lodging residencies, some infested with rats and cockroaches, others teeming with sleazy men and overall corruption. None can compare, however, to the lavish disparity that is Hotel Cortez, though it is excruciatingly clear that it holds more debauchery than all of her previous shelters combined.
She easily succumbs to its depraved culture and partakes in recreations so previously unheard of in her delicate little mind. Who would have guessed that Miss Robichaux's former headmistress would inexorably fall victim to the beautifully fraudulent world of rough sex and skag-slamming?
But she is not Cordelia anymore, she is Sally, and she knows not of the meek woman that she once was.
Sally smears her dark maroon lipstick across her mouth carelessly, grinning maniacally at her own sloppiness.
Cordelia would never wear such a gaudy color.
Her smile contorts into a grimace, and she slams her palms against the mirror in fury.
Misty's tip-off as to Cordelia's whereabouts is sparked by an unassuming news story. Of course, she had previously scoured articles, reports, and other miscellaneous resources during her search, but this particular channel catches her eye for some indeterminate reason.
A makeup-caked woman with bleached teeth and analogous hair to match rambles on cheerily about the latest news involving the string of murders, also referred to as the "Ten Commandment Killings." This is all anyone has been talking about as of late; Misty pays the broadcast no attention at first, engrossed in scraping the uneaten scrambled eggs around her plate, and even contemplates muting the white noise until the anchorwoman's counterpart chimes in.
"Police believe that the city's historic Hotel Cortez may be linked to the killer," he says. "As it has been the site of all four murders."
Misty is no stranger to death. If anything, she is its arch nemesis, breathing life into its stolen casualties and smirking in the face of its short-lived opulence. Still, it is a creature that acts out of obligation, and she has learned over time that not all those who are deceased warrant second chances at existence. She frowns minutely at the screen.
"Damn, Los Angeles is really getting its ass kicked," Zoe comments casually, causing Misty to nearly fall out of her chair.
"Don't scare me like that!" she teases half-heartedly before returning to her seat.
"Sorry," Zoe smiles sheepishly and shakes her head before turning her attention to the screen. "But seriously, first the whole Murder House shit, now this?"
"Murder House?"
Zoe stares at her abruptly. "You never heard about that?" she asks incredulously. Misty shakes her head. "Dude, it was all over the news for, like, months." Misty shrugs, signaling with her ring and bracelet-bejeweled hands to continue.
Zoe grins. "So, this family moved into the house back in, like, 2011, and they all died in the same year. So the police came in and investigated shit, and it turns out that all these other people lived there and died the same way."
Misty's eyes widen in shock, and Zoe nods exuberantly.
"But that's not even the worst part: the first guy that lived there ran a secret abortion clinic in his basement, and his wife ended up shooting him and killing herself. Then it got turned into a sorority house and these two girls got frickin' stabbed by some maniac they let inside. And then…"
Misty tunes her out as she absorbs the wealth of new information. Something about it does not sit right in her bones. There is too much turpitude occurring in such a small amount of time, in such a condensed area.
"…so the dad ended up killing himself and their baby is still missing." Zoe finishes triumphantly. "Pretty fucked up, right?"
Misty nods, dazed. She shakes herself out of her stupefaction.
"Zo," she says finally, meeting the younger witch's eyes. "Somethin' ain't right here. I mean, it's all gotta be linked somehow." She pauses, chewing her lip raptly, before continuing slowly. "Out of all the witches we're teachin' here, how many are from LA?"
Zoe's expression is one of dubiety that slowly transmutes into solace and pity. She shakes her head. "I know where this is going."
Misty's fork clatters against her plate irately. "I didn't say—"
"Misty, you've got to give this up!" Zoe cries in defeat. "It's not fair to you, it's not fair to the coven, it's—"
"It's not fair to her!" Misty rebuttals, standing so swiftly that her chair nearly topples. She promptly turns on her heel, ignoring Zoe's hollers and apologies, and continues without deviation to her room, where she slams the door, wipes at her damp eyes, and pulls a sleek white laptop from under her bed.
The cursor blinks inside of the search engine monotonously.
She types out slowly "los angeles supernatural" and hits enter after an eternity of contemplation. It's as good a shot as any of the ones that she has taken thus far.