Queenie had seen a lot of crazy shit in her short lifetime, but this had to take the cake. Well, aside from the undead man-turned-minotaur she had encountered back home. But that was a memory she had been trying to rid herself of for a while now.

In her current state of imprisonment, Queenie had been introduced to creatures she hadn't been aware existed. It may have been somewhat hypocritical, she'd admit to that, but the last thing she had expected during her trip to sunny California was to be held captive by fashionable vampires in a haunted hotel.

The self-titled Countess had stayed true to her word though; Queenie was alive and in decent health. She had been moved to what appeared to be a white living room and had been granted a position on a stiff couch—which was still more comfortable than the cement floor she had been resting on before, even in restraints.

The Countess had also, undoubtedly to ensure the witch didn't try to fight her way out, placed Queenie with a quad of adorable—yet literally bloodthirsty—children. It was an unspoken fact between the two women; Queenie may have been a rebellious, headstrong witch, but she wouldn't hurt innocent kids.

Maybe 'innocent' is a stretch, Queenie reminded herself as the doors opened. Routinely, the grouchy receptionist would come in with some young man or woman who was too dazed to understand what was going on until it was too late. She barely paid attention to Queenie, instead focusing on shoving the innocent person inside and getting the hell out of the room before the children swarmed around their victim, biting and tearing at their flesh. Afterward, they would turn to Queenie and, with ruby lips and teeth, grin at her as though expecting her to praise them for their killer skills.

Occasionally, the provider was a young man. He once introduced himself to Queenie as the Countess' lover. Donovan was his name. Not that Queenie particularly cared. If he had no intention of setting her free, she didn't want to know his name. He seemed to gather this as well, because he never stayed much longer than the receptionist.

Today, however, there was a new face delivering. "Liz!" one of the children squealed when the door opened. The four scrambled over to a tall woman with a shaved head, eyes lined in charcoal, wearing a black Hepburn-esque dress. A smile stretched over her thin lips as she crouched, welcoming the youth into her arms for a hug that almost knocked her over.

"Now, now," came a low chiding voice that Queenie quickly realized belonged to the stranger. "I brought you dinner." Liz straightened up and stepped outside momentarily before re-entering with a young man. He had the same stupid look on his face as all the rest, and the boys were quick to grab his hands and lead him over to their corner.

Queenie closed her eyes, trying to ignore the initial cry and squelching, slurping noises that followed. She had learned to occupy her mind with other things; memories, meditation, anything to get past the—

"Well hello."

Queenie opened her eyes to see Liz standing above her. Arms crossed, lips pursed, and brows raised; the woman seemed to be scrutinizing the witch. "So, you're the new babysitter." The word had such distaste laced into it that Queenie couldn't help but snort. Liz sat down next to her, ignoring the wary look she received. "How are you liking the kids?"

Queenie's eyes reluctantly fell on the four children. Beyond their blonde heads she noticed the man had stopped moving, his whimpers replaced with quiet suckling sounds. "They're okay, I guess." The boys tried to get her to play video games with them, or proudly waved their drawings in front of her. The oldest girl didn't say much, but she was in charge of bringing Queenie her meals, so she couldn't hate her completely. If she hadn't seen them murder innocent human beings, she would have assumed they were normal kids. "For blood-sucking monsters."

Liz hummed, glancing over at the children fondly. "I learned a long time ago that you can't blame the children for the mother's transgressions." She paused thoughtfully before heaving a dramatic sigh. "I used to feel bad for her—Elizabeth, I mean. All she wanted were beautiful children. I can understand that. But I could never truly bring myself to agree with her... methods."

The witch brought her focus back to Liz, a frown tugging at her lips. "Why are you telling me this?"

Liz shrugged. "I think it's only fair to share something before you start asking questions, don't you?"

"You have questions for me?" What could she possibly want? Was she a vampire too? Queenie sighed, shifting into a somewhat comfortable position. She deserved a real vacation if she ever got out of this.

Liz smiled and nodded. "Don't worry, it doesn't really have to do with you directly." The girl's brows furrowed and Liz's expression slowly transformed into something more serious. The woman glanced over her shoulder before leaning forward. "Is she like you?" Her voice, free of its previous indifference, was barely above a whisper and Queenie pulled a face, not actually sure whether or not she had heard the woman correctly. "Look, this isn't the time to play dumb. Is she?"

"Who?" Queenie asked, shaking her head. Great, the woman was crazy. "I have no idea what you're talking about, lady."

Liz rolled her eyes, grabbing the girl's cuffed wrist. "Honey, if you want to get out of here, you need to tell me the truth. Your friend—is she like you?"

Heart skipping a beat, Queenie's eyes widened. "Friend?" Surely she couldn't mean—there was no way. "What—Who?"

Liz's eyes narrowed slightly. "What—You didn't know she was looking for you?" She frowned, her gaze searching Queenie's face for any sign she wasn't being honest. All she saw was a sliver of weakness; hope and desperation that hadn't been there when she first arrived. "I don't have time to explain," she sighed, "but I need you to tell me now. Is Zoe Benson a witch?"

Zoe rubbed her hands together before closing her eyes, attempting to muster as much energy as she could. She felt like she hadn't left her room in ages. According to her phone it had been three days.

She was determined—constantly reminding herself that Queenie couldn't just die; not when she could inflict her own wounds on others. Of course, Zoe wasn't completely sure how well her abilities worked with those that were already dead, but if there was any time to be an optimist it was now. Still, she couldn't help but feel as though she wasn't getting anywhere. Days were flying by her, yet again, and there were still no sign of her sister witch.

The hotel had its fair share of conflicting energies, making any kind of divination or clairvoyant search more difficult than it should have been. Zoe concluded it was because of the ghosts—their confusion, anger, and resentment making up most of the auras in the building. There were the occasional glimmers of light and hope, but they were drowning in the darkness, leaving Zoe to dive in after them. It was draining; opening yourself up to emotions and consciousness that were not your own. Each spirit stood as a roadblock between she and what may have been hints to solving the mystery of her missing friend.

One step forward, two steps back.

"C'mon, Queenie." She let out a frustrated sigh, forcing the rambling thoughts away yet again. "Tell me where you are."

She was somewhat successful, after an hour or so. Familiar dark energy soon made itself known, setting up the barriers that she had grown used to. The first time she had gotten past one, she had been greeted with want. It was hard to explain, but her entire body itched, burned with desire and lust. She felt like an addict denied a fix, and had suffered from a headache for hours.

This time, she was presented with growing apprehension that she was sure was not her own. Her pulse quickened, anxiety coursed through her veins. Why had she gone with them? Why had she fallen for his smile? Zoe frowned, beginning to pull back. It wasn't who she was looking for. She had no business allowing this random girl's emotions in—

Please... I don't want to die.

The sudden voice was so prominent in her mind, it was as though it were a thought of her own. The unexpected threat of tears burned her eyes as they blinked open, sickening realization quickly settling in.

Somewhere in the hotel, an innocent girl was being murdered.

Zoe grabbed her key, barely stepping in her shoes as she stumbled into the hall. She made her way to the stairs, following the growing fear. The girl's screams and pleading echoed in her ears, almost deafening her as she reached the top floor. Just as her hand touched the knob, everything fell silent. The fear was replaced with an overwhelming sense of dread. Her hand fell to her side and she slumped against the door, a sob slipping past her lips as she realized she was too late.

Why?

In her despair, it took her a moment to realize the word had not come from her own thoughts. She wasn't sure when a presence had joined her, but she could feel the change in the air. It was cold and thick with grief. Her blurry gaze focused on a pair of boots posed front of her. Between them fell a crimson bead, followed by another and another until a ruby stream began pooling on the gray floor. Holding her breath, the blonde slowly lifted her eyes to the source. Her scream caught in her throat.

Standing above her was a young woman, probably no older than Zoe herself. She looked relatively normal—pale, over-sized sweater, dark ringlets framing her round face, thick lashes and curious blue eyes—aside from the large gash in her neck. Blood poured down her front and she, seemingly oblivious to it, locked eyes with the cowering witch before her. "You were here," she mused quietly, voice a strangled gurgle. Her blue eyes turned icy, accusation and betrayal filling them. "You were here. Why? Why didn't you help me?" Her voice suddenly escalated to a scream and Zoe struggled to get to her feet. "Why didn't you save me?"

Zoe let out a horrified wail, tears pouring down her cheeks as she raced down the steps. She knew that there was no use in trying to outrun a ghost, they could materialize wherever they wished at will. Not to mention, regardless of how many flights she descended, her guilt stayed with her.

She wasn't sure what possessed her to stop where she did, but she collapsed against the door of the third floor. The girl hadn't followed her, to her relief, but she still felt awful. Slumped against the wall, she was a whimpering mess. Her body shook with her sobs—guilt, fear and frustration knotting up her stomach. The dead girl's cold eyes were still in her mind, her accusations mixing in with the ones that haunted Zoe from her nightmares

She felt so helpless. Cordelia shouldn't have sent her—she was too weak. She had wasted over two weeks and was no closer to finding Queenie than she had been in New Orleans. A girl had been murdered under the same roof and Zoe hadn't been able to save her. Upon arriving, she hadn't even been able to protect herself. At home she hadn't been able to save Kyle.

She mentally punched herself for even momentarily finding the concept of her helping both Queenie and James—James. She lifted her tearful gaze to the number on the door. The third floor. His floor. She had been trying to keep him out of sight and mind after the encounter with he and Liz. Liz had suggested she give him time, and Zoe needed space in order to focus on Queenie. A lot of good that had done.

Now, she was terrified, hopeless, and in need of some form of comfort. Before she could talk herself out of it, she allowed her feet to carry her to where she knew she would find just that. She tried not to be hopeful when she stopped at his door but failed, pure relief and elation filling her when it opened. James' face bore a series of emotions before it settled into what Zoe assumed was confusion. She could only imagine how she must have looked.

"A girl was just murdered upstairs," she said, as though that explained everything. "Can I come in?"

The words probably could have been arranged differently, judging from the momentarily stunned look on James' face, but he let her in all the same. She sat down in the same chair she had when she first spoke with him. It wasn't long before James pushed a drink into her hands.

The two remained silent for some time, James smoking off to the side while Zoe tried to steady her nerves with the pleasant burn of alcohol. She couldn't deny the calm she felt just being in the room with him. He unknowingly returned a piece of her sanity by just being there. She wondered if, even in the quiet, he felt the same.

"I was looking for my friend," she finally began. James didn't verbally respond, nor did he reveal anything with his stoic expression. Zoe dropped her gaze to the amber liquid in her glass. "I really have to find her, James."

James made a quiet sound—it could have been a sigh or a scoff, Zoe wasn't really sure—before taking another long drag of his cigarette. In truth, he didn't want to hear about Zoe's determination in finding Queenie. It was simply one more reminder that should she actually find her friend, she would disappear. The past few days had felt like months to him. He had stayed in his room, doing nothing more than staring at walls and tolerating Miss Evers pointless chatter. He had feared Zoe simply wouldn't seek him out again, and oh—was he pleasantly surprised when she did. But, of course, she had to ruin everything with her constant talk of rescue and escape.

"Did you see who did it?" he finally asked, attempting to keep the bitterness from his voice. Gaining a curious look in response, he elaborated. "You said someone was murdered upstairs."

Zoe shook her head slowly. "I just... saw her."

James frowned. If the girl hadn't died at his hands, then it had undoubtedly been Elizabeth and her pet. Normally, they were good to clean up their own messes, and surely Zoe wouldn't be sitting in front of him had she crept into their room. His gaze traveled over the girl's stricken face. Ah. "You saw her after death."

Zoe nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. "I've... seen ghosts before. They just... They looked like normal people. So real. You couldn't pick them off a street. But... I haven't seen..." Her hand slowly crept to the base of her neck, fingers lightly tracing where the girl's gash had been. James watched her with wide eyes, his own skin prickling at the sight. "They cut her throat. It was—It was awful. There was so much blood. It was this gaping—" her voice cut off and she closed her eyes, shaking her head as though willing the memory away.

Disgusted, a voice observed in James' mind. She seemed so disturbed, he could only imagine what her reaction would be upon seeing his own self-inflicted scar. "Miss Benson," he began quietly, but he wasn't sure how to comfort her. He couldn't comfort her.

"Who does that?" She whispered, anger filling her eyes. "She was just an innocent girl! What kind of sick—sick monster kills an innocent girl in cold blood?"

Me, he silently screamed at her. Somehow, he managed to stay silent as the girl broke, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. He fought the urge to approach her, to embrace her. It was so seemingly out-of-character, but the way she looked at him. As though pleading for him to do something, to say something. He inhaled deeply, swirls of smoke accompanying his sigh. He wanted to tell her. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted her to know the truth. To know who she was speaking to, who she was associating herself with.

...two hundred victims...

...serial killer...

People don't run to the darkness, they run from it.

Who could love a monster?

Zoe noticed the way the man tensed, his eyes closing and his body going so still she wondered if he were even breathing. He suddenly appeared so vulnerable, so broken, so lost. She remembered that he was a victim himself. That he had probably seen countless innocents come to the Cortez and never leave. He had probably seen far more gruesome deaths than what she had encountered—he may have even seen them committed.

Slowly, Zoe got to her feet. He didn't seem to notice, not opening his eyes until her hand was on his. She silently led him to the loveseat, and the two sat by each other. "I want to ask you something," she said quietly. James eyed her warily and she took a deep breath. "Look, I need help finding Queenie. I can't do it on my own. I know she's still here, James." She paused and ran her tongue over her lips. "Could you—You know the hotel. Can you... Would you help me look for her?"

James struggled to be annoyed. No. Of course he didn't want to aid in her search for her dead companion. Was she blind to that as well? Instead of shoving her away and screaming in her face as he desired, James was further surprised as Zoe took his hand in both of hers, giving him no time to speak before she continued. "Look, I've been thinking... Liz said you knew the hotel better than most. If you can help me find Queenie, maybe I can get both of you out of here." James' jaw actually dropped, and Zoe would have laughed had she not continued to ramble on. "God, wouldn't you like to go outside, James? I can't imagine all the time you've lost. You don't have to be afraid. We can find Queenie and then... Then we can leave. Together."

After managing to press his lips together, James stared at her blankly. Zoe Benson was truly unlike any woman—no, anyone he had ever met. She was so passionate, so determined with her heart set on her plan. James was at a loss. She truly cared about him. She was so stupidly committed to the idea that he was someone worth saving, and that she could successfully do so, for that matter. She was so blind, but by what — James wasn't sure. Or maybe he was, but it was one more thing he was unwilling to admit.

Zoe again misread James' stunned silence; taking his horrified expression as incredulity. "Look, I can't... explain... what it is about you that makes me feel the way I do—whatever that is—okay? But I—I just can't imagine leaving here without you. Please, James."

James forced himself to look away. The sincerity in her eyes made his stomach churn. Tell her. Tell her now. His mouth opened but nothing came out. His fingers twitched, itching to grab the nearest item he may be able to use as a weapon. Do it. Do something. Instead, he stared dumbly at their hands, watching as Zoe slowly curled her fingers, entwining them with his own. He cursed himself for the warm feeling that settled in his chest.

Tell her.

Tell her now!

Do something.

"I will," James answered, voice almost inaudible. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until his eyes met Zoe's. She looked so expectant. So hopeful. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he had been attempting to silence the voices in his head. Or maybe he hadn't been. He wasn't sure of anything anymore and it didn't help that Zoe barely gave him time to ponder before she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug; similar to the way she had embraced him before.

"We'll get out of here," she whispered into his hair. "All of us. I promise."

James didn't see a point in trying to respond, so he didn't. He simply mustered the strength to hug her back.

Author's Note: Zames is so complicated. Anywho, now Liz (and Queenie) knows about Zoe, so that will come to play in the next chapter. And since it's only becoming harder to make Zoe so oblivious, and James so... un-James-ish, she'll be finding out the truth in the next chapter (I think). And then shit will go down, I promise. I'll check for mistakes later on, I just wanted to get this out. Sorry if it seemed rushed!

Also! Because I'm sad this will probably be ending soon - I'm curious; is there another AHS pairing that you'd like a story about? I'm open to anything really, (though Parmiga canons/crossovers are my favorite) and I'd like to hear about pairings you'd like since I have all these ideas for more AHS junk.

Thanks for the reviews and follows! Next chapter should be up relatively soon.