~ chapter twenty-four ~
Sparing John's life was a hefty decision for Angela to make, but the following morning, she continued work like usual, just remembering bits and pieces of what happened aside from the clearly recalled promise to kill him if she ever crossed paths with him again. Angela looked down at the counter's smooth wood finish as she also recalled another highlight from the night before—killing the Countess.
She now had her gauntlet, inheriting it as almost heir to her throne. Angela now kept it with her at all times, feeling like an angel of mercy or the female reaper whenever she put it on. It hadn't been put into full use just yet, but when she looked up at the entrance of the hotel, her feline-blue eyes widened to the sight of two women and one man.
"H-Hello, welcome to the Hotel Cortez," she greeted casually. "Do you have a reservation?"
There was no answer, but Angela took the silence in the lobby as an opportunity to analyze each of the three incoming hotel guests. The first she focused on was quite unusual but extremely beautiful, but also taller than the other two with her. Standing approximately five-foot-nine, she had icy white skin that was flawless enough for Angela to believe she too was afflicted with the blood virus. However, this was not the case, because she could see her jugular bursting to life with mortal blood rushing through it. Another thing Angela noticed was the woman's hair, which was platinum in color but with snow white and silvery strands scattered throughout. It was very hard to tell how old she was between the strange hair color and the flawlessness of her sculpted, graceful face that looked as though it were carved out of marble by Michelangelo or some other great artist. Her outfit was the one thing that made Angela cringe, as it was composed of a dress-like tunic in navy blue over a white garment fastened with Nordic-styled brooches on the side and just under the buxom breasts it accentuated. Hanging from her neck were what looked to be amulets or talismans, but Angela was too enthralled by her appearance to actually take time and make out what they were.
The other woman in the group of three was more normal-looking, but again, her choice of fashion made Angela cringe with disgust. In fact, this one reminded her of Pamela and her gaudy, 70s-style fashion—this woman was braless under a green tank top and shawl with a wide leather belt and a long maxi skirt with enough flowers to fill a garden. She wore layered necklaces with polished, semi-precious gemstones and even one with a plain cross about measuring about a few millimeters. Her face reminded her of an ethereal fairy plucked out of the world's most mystical woods with mysterious blue eyes showing naivety and wonder at her surroundings. Her golden blonde hair was very wavy and looked as though it hadn't been brushed in a week, adding to the raw bohemian style the woman bore.
The last guest she noticed actually humored her in a way—Angela noticed his gait as different from a rest, having a little spring in his step as a child of ten years old would. She saw he was rather handsome with a sculpted face from the cheekbones up, but he was shorter in stature than the other two women at about five-seven. He was rather lanky and thin, reminding Angela of the typical 'string-bean' cartoon character. This man had dark blond hair hidden under a New York Yankees baseball cap, but beneath the front brim she could easily notice what looked to be a burn scar near his eyebrow. His most distinguishing feature was his hands—Angela was nearly horrified at the severe deformity in them, seeing only two digits on each with a deep cleft in each palm.
A soft, but strong voice finally spoke; it was the tall, icy-white woman looking down at her with her stormy gray eyes that were more benevolent than menacing: "yes, we do."
That was when Angela nodded and took out the reservation book, looking down at a name written down with the names of several other guests who have long since checked out—"Darling? I-Is that the name?"
"Yes," the woman said. "That's our name."
"Hm, interesting," Angela said, looking to the shorter-than-average man at her side and seeing his jugular beating like a heart in his throat with the urge to slice it open and drink from it being controlled by her desire for peaceful living without killing people.
"I'm Chase," she saw the man say, reading his lips while distracted by his pulsing vein. The way he said it caught her attention, knowing full well something was wrong with him. Poor guy, she thought.
"Uh…" Angela began nervously, "h-hi, Chase."
"I put in a deposit for $600. You have a record of it, right?" the woman with white hair asked.
"Oh uh," Angela began nervously, looking down at the checkmark next to the deposit with the check stapled into the page, "yes, ma'am."
There was an awkward silence—struck by her beauty and the pulsing vein in Chase's throat, she was almost in a trance until the woman spoke again.
"Well, will you give us the keys?" she finally asked, sounding a little impatient.
"Uh…ma'am?" Angela asked, "c-can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," she replied, straightening her back and looking taller and more authoritative as if she were some divine queen, "what is it?"
Angela looked up at her with her feline-blue eyes and focused on her unusual hair color—"I don't want to sound rude, but…your hair…uh, is it dyed?"
The woman just laughed, but Chase and the other woman also giggled, but the white-haired woman replied with a snicker: "I always laugh when people ask that!" Her laugh faded to a simple chuckle. "But to answer your question, no. It's not. It's all natural."
"Yeah," the other woman said with a proud smile and a heavy Southern accent. "Julie got beautiful hair."
Angela took note of the accent and smirked slyly—"you're not from around here, are you?"
"No," the tall woman, whose name was revealed to be Julie, answered, "we came from New Orleans."
Angela reached to the key rack behind her and pulled off the key to Room 66, which neighbored the hallowed room once belonging to James March, her ghostly friend. She listened to the three talk to her, pretending to be occupied with their reservation arrangements.
"We're just married," the Southern woman said with a clearly happy tone.
"I love you, Misty," the man said in his childish excitement; Angela could even hear him kissing her on the cheek.
"I love you, too, Chase," the woman said.
"Wait," Angela said, turning around, "why are you with them? It's their honeymoon, right?"
"So?" Julie asked.
"But…married couples…are alone on their honeymoon," Angela said with a brief pause. "Right?"
Julie leaned in almost intimidatingly, looking into her eyes as though she was a mouse beneath her shoe, inferior to the blow of heavy boots crushing her—"Chase never leaves without me. He is my brother and needs me."
Attached much, lady? Angela asked herself in her head. Then, she could suddenly hear the woman's voice in her head; looking up in shock, she realized that Julie was reading her mind and speaking to her telepathically.
You don't understand, Julie said telepathically with an intent look on her face that denoted she was getting impatient and was not happy, he is borderline mentally challenged as well as disabled, and all our lives, he has needed me. I trust Misty, but not enough for them to be alone. Not just yet. So please, give us our keys and show us to our room.
"Get out of my head," Angela said aloud, "and maybe I will show you to Room 66."
Suddenly, Angela felt a strange tingle in her head as Julie held out on of her icy white hands palm up as if to collect something. Realizing she was holding their keys, she placed it in Julie's hand, but before they could walk off to the elevator, Angela came out from behind the counter and led the way to the elevator, accompanying them on the lift up to the floor Room 66 was on.
She unlocked the door and opened it for them, stepping in first only to see Misty, the bohemian woman with the shawl, bring the garment closer to her as well as the satchel-style bag on her side. Julie just walked in, but Chase went further by hopping on the bed backwards and getting comfortable. Angela looked at the three, making sure they seemed comfortable, but a spoken Southern accent caught her attention.
"I got vibes," she said.
"What?" Angela scoffed.
"I got vibes," Misty repeated with an uncertain look of horror on her face. "Real bad. Do you feel 'em, Julie?"
The icy-white woman closed her eyes and seemed to be putting out her hands, taking in a sharp, deep breath only to have it slowly come out in exhalation as her stormy orbs reopened and looked around, shaking her head and painfully looking at an oblivious Chase on the bed.
"Oh yeah," Julie grunted. "I…don't feel right in here…uh…" She looked down at Angela. "C-Can we get another room? Please?"
Angela shook her head—"Sorry, I can't do that."
"Why?" Julie asked suspiciously.
"Can we get a refund? Maybe get 'nother hotel?" Misty offered. "I don't feel so good."
"No refunds." Angela's response was short, brief, and to-the-point, her tone firm and fair-sounding as to not reveal her frustration with the guests.
"Give us another room," Julie asked, "please? I'm asking nicely."
"I can't," Angela responded fearlessly, "because we are almost at full capacity."
Julie shook her head—"no you're not. I'm asking you one more time," she replied more firmly, "give us another room now."
Angela felt the tingle in her head again, nodding and smiling, twisting whatever psychological techniques this woman was using to get her way: "okay, ma'am. I can get you another room, but you'll have to wait until tonight. We're at full capacity. I can't give you one now, but I will definitely switch you guys out by tonight. I have a guest checking out at a set time. Nine o'clock sharp." The three listened to Angela's voice, even Julie, who had tried to bend her will to her own; "until then, I'll be downstairs. Local calls are free, there are fluffy towels in the bathroom, there's a bar on the second floor my best friend serves at, and the ice machine is down the hall if you need a quick refresher."
As Angela got off the elevator from welcoming the newlyweds and the man's sister up to Room 66, she saw Liz's ghost materialize and wave at her, walking closer while wearing a mustard yellow dress, dangly gold costume earrings with a matching necklace, and spike-heeled pumps with a distinctive violet-colored smoky eye done to beautify him even more. Liz also looked rather excited, smiling at Angela as she walked toward him with a bewildered look on her face.
"Why are you so happy?" she questioned.
"Do you even know who you just let check into this hotel?" the transvestite asked.
"Uh…just a…" Angela thought for a moment before answering, "an Amazon woman with a hippy who married a freak show performer. Why?"
Liz scoffed and straightened his back in a rather effeminate way; "hush, you! How can you talk about them like that?"
"I don't understand," Angela said, "get to the point."
"They're witches!" Liz said with excitement, clapping his manicured hands and smiling grandly.
Angela could help but burst out laughing: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…"
"It's true!" Liz said. "I read about them in the newspaper!"
"HAHAHA! WOW! You'll believe anything!" Angela exclaimed. "Are you crazy? Witches aren't real! All that…hocus-pocus shit!"
Liz gave her a stern look, shaking his head and sighing; Angela began to listen as soon as he started to talk again.
"Oh! It's this amazing story," he explained. "There's a whole gaggle of them. They're a bona fide coven in New Orleans descended from Salem. When I read the paper two years ago, they even revealed a bloodline from Europe had joined them earlier that year."
Angela's eyes narrowed, shaking her head. "You're shitting me."
"I'm not," Liz said. "I think it was a girl descended from…oh, I don't know, Switzerland, Spain, Sweden, or whatever! But anyways, they wear chic black, and they do spells…oh! It's wonderful what they do!"
"I don't believe it," Angela said. "Say, are you sure they're not some Satanic freaks who just try to scare people?"
"Goodness, no," Liz said, pointing his finger. "In fact, if you say that to them, that's actually ignorant and offensive. They're born that way. Each witch is part of an ancient bloodline."
"Blood, huh?" the afflicted brunette asked. "Well, speaking of which, I have needed to feed for a little bit now. I'm thinking of feeding off that man who came with those two—"
"DON'T!" Liz warned.
"Why? He's too mentally deficient to even function. I feel bad, it's that woman's husband, but geez," Angela said, "he's a good meal, at least. Would a witch or, uh, warlock's blood keep me strong?"
"Don't you dare!" Liz spat. "That is the Supreme's brother! Julie is like a warrior! She'll either run you with a sword or…her ice…"
"Oh, c'mon," Angela said doubtfully, "you're still on this? She's not a witch! None of them are. It's make-believe."
Liz lit a cigarette and dragged—"fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."
7:34 PM
Misty paced around the suite tensely, holding her small cross pendant in a fisted clutch as the TV's news channel made the silence in the room a bit more bearable. However, she was unable to shake off the feeling of dread the entire three hours they had spent there since checking in. Her ethereal, dark blue eyes looked over at her new sister in-law, who was sitting down at the foot of the largest bed where Chase napped in oblivious comfort atop the aged comforter. Julie just seemed to stare off into space, almost as if in a trance, with her back fully erect and the Nordic-style brooches shining in the light of the room.
"Julie…"
The tall, icy-white woman looked at Misty, who stood there with her shawl tightly wrapped around her, hearing her mutter. She said nothing, but in fact listened for anything else she had to say.
"Is it nine yet?"
"No."
"That girl said nine," Misty repeated, "that we be gettin' a new room. I hope it ain't got bad vibes like this one…"
Chase, who had been napping for the past half hour, stirred and rubbed his eyes wearily with the more solid part of his cleft, split hands. His childlike gray eyes looked around, and the first thing he did was smile at Misty, not even aware that she was uptight and tense from the rather hallowed, craven environment in which they checked into.
"Misty!" he exclaimed happily, his enthusiasm misplaced in a rather inappropriate situation. "Did the food come? I want ice cream! But I want my burger first…and my—"
"Chase," Julie cut in, looking back at her newly awakened brother, "calm down. Okay?"
"I'm sorry, Julie," he replied rather calmly, "I'm hungry."
"I am, too. I'm dying for honey mead, but…I don't think—"
Knock-knock!
Julie rose from the edge of the bed rather slowly, but both she and Misty were beat to the door by Chase, who, thinking it was room service coming to bring them their dinner and his long-awaited bowl of ice cream for dessert, bolted to the door and opened it. With a smile on his face, he saw Angela, whose dark, wavy locks were tied back in a ponytail holder to reveal her blank expression.
"Hi! You're from downstairs! Did you bring us food?"
SLICE!
Within moments of him finishing his sentence, Chase found himself choking excessively and holding his deformed hands to keep the blood escaping from a freshly-cut wound across his throat. His gagging turned to blood-curdling screams for mercy and help from Misty and Julie, who immediately noticed Angela push him to the floor with full force and attach her hungry lips to his wound to collect all of the fresh blood that spilled from his major blood vessels. Not surprisingly, she had afflicted the wound with the razor-sharp talon of the Countess' gauntlet.
"HEEElllppppp…..JUUULLIiiee…"
Chase's screams grew weaker, but Julie and Misty worked together in getting her off their beloved family member, who was now pale and weak as he started to die on the floor of the hotel suite. Misty gripped Angela's dark chocolate ponytail, making her scream in agony before Julie got every bit of anger and pent-up fury out of her system by holding out her hand and telekinetically pulling her off the floor and pushing her out the suite door so fast and so hard that by the time Angela saw the door shut by the same means, she felt a crack in her back and in the back of her head. The agony from the impact was unbearable, but she knew that she had gotten nourishment—but Chase was way worse off in the room as Julie screamed and cried over Chase, whose head rested in a sobbing Misty's lap. Her maxi skirt was covered in his blood, but she did not care.
"Don't die on me! Chase!" Misty screamed, caressing his pallid, weakened face. "NO!"
"Chase, please…" Julie said under a broken sob, holding out her hands toward his neck and holding them over the wound, getting her pale white hands covered in blood as she concentrated. "Misty…if this doesn't work—"
"It will! I'll b-bring 'im to life!" Misty said with all her might.
Before Julie knew it, her concentration manifested in the form of healing her brother's wound. The major arteries mended and meshed together as though his throat had never been slashed; any muscle that was damaged from the talon came together like a weave in a loom; as his skin repaired and was restored by her amazing power, he opened his gray eyes a little wider and put one of his still-bloodied, deformed hands to his throat, but not before feeling Misty's lips touch his forehead.
"Chase," she smiled sadly, "y-you're alive!"
"W-Where's my ice cream! Do I still have blood?!" the man exclaimed, asking his sister.
"Shh, shh," Julie lulled, holding her newly-revived brother in her arms and tearfully smiling with pride at what she had done. "You're alright, Chase. It's okay…"
Misty and Julie shared a group hug with Chase on the blood-soaked carpet of the hotel suite. His sister began rubbing his head and smiling with joy at the fact that she had saved him from the edge of the brink of death with the help of her new sister in-law. His baseball cap slid off onto the soiled carpet as she did so, and when Julie finally opened her eyes, she looked up and let Chase go, seeing the figure of a woman with strawberry-blonde hair, gaudy vintage jewelry with an even gaudier open shawl top with flower decals sewn into canary yellow fabric. Beneath this garment was a lace crop top met at the waist by the elastic band of loose, light brown palazzo pants. Misty also looked at the woman, admiring her sense of style but feeling a chill run down her spine as her blue-gray eyes looked back at her solemnly.
"W-Who're you?" Misty asked; Julie had a look of horror on her face, Chase still in her arms as the female replied.
"Who are you?" she asked in return.
"You're dead," Julie blurted, noticing right off the bat what her state of life was. "What is your name?"
"Pamela," the woman's ghost answered.
"W-Why are you here?"
"To tell you to leave," Pamela said haughtily.
"B-But my ice cream!" Chase exclaimed.
Pamela simply rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest—"kid, there's enough ice cream in the world to make a fat lady sing! Leave this hotel! For your safety!"
"We're gonna," Misty said, standing up and getting a little bit of Chase's blood on her boots from the carpet; she was distracted by the gaudy 70s-style ensemble she was wearing. "W-We need our deposit back."
"Say no more."
Pamela held out a thin, crisp white envelope and held it out to the ethereal, earthy woman, who held her hand out to collect what was given to her. Opening the unsealed flap, she could see the check written by Julie for $600, which had been for their security deposit during their stay in the Hotel Cortez. Julie's eyes widened, knowing exactly what it was as she helped the shorter Chase to his feet to stand steadily—it was only then that Pamela was slightly intimidated by the woman's height of five-nine when she herself was only five-two.
"How did you get this?" the icy-white woman asked. "Y-You can't get a refund here."
"I stole it from downstairs. I saw you were in trouble," Pamela explained.
"You…saw?" Julie questioned.
"Yes."
"Hm…a psychic, huh?"
"Yup," Pamela said, "I know who you guys are."
The tall, icy-haired woman nodded ceremoniously and held out her hand to shake Pamela's, but withdrew it as she remembered her ghostly state: "Julie Darling."
"I'm Chase," the newly-revived man said with a smirk, which Pamela returned kindly. "This is my wife, Misty. We're on our honeymoon. We just married."
"I know."
"You know?" Chase asked. "How?"
"I'm like your sister," Pamela said.
"You even got that right!" Julie smiled.
"Of course I do. Then again, you're Supreme of the Salem descendants," the police psychic's ghost said. "How have things been since I was expelled?"
Julie's stormy gray eyes widened in shock, relating to her; "expelled?"
"Yeah. I was sent there for a year by my mother because she wanted to get rid of me," Pamela explained with a squirm of distaste. "I couldn't do anything except divination. I've always been psychic. The gift chose me, not the other way around."
Julie nodded with understanding, narrowing her beige-colored eyebrows inward as she adjusted one of the Nordic-style brooches adorning the front of her Scandinavian tunic.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Julie said. "If it makes you feel any better, I was kicked out before being welcomed back in again along with my brother. We met a relative of ours in the process."
Pamela just looked at her, seeing her rather unusual garb—the long, navy blue tunic that resembled a dress that was pinned at the top with brooches. The tall woman's buxom breasts were accentuated by the empire waistline of the dress, and hints of a white undershirt showed through the neckline along with what looked to be an intricate tattoo on the upper side of her chest.
"Y-You're not a Salem descendent, are you?" the police psychic asked. "H-How are you the Supreme?"
"Beats me," Julie said with a shrug. "I was chosen."
"Julie's real powerful," Misty said with a proud smile. "She's been takin' real good care of us. She's made lots of changes to the academy. No more wearin' black, and the school ain't for just young ladies. We've welcomed men, too."
"Sounds like you're doing well there," Pamela said with approval. "But I suggest you go back. Now. Take this money back, and never again come to the Hotel Cortez."
"Gee," Julie smiled with gratitude, "if I could hug you, I would. Thank you very much for saving our lives."
"It's nothing," Pamela replied.
Chase looked at Pamela, but his voice caught the attention of his sister instead. His clothing was covered in reddish-brown, dried blood, and he even let out a shiver of fear: "wait, what will we say to Eleonora and Zoe and Cordelia and—"
"We won't say anything," Julie ordered, looking into her brother's eyes. "We won't tell them."
"We can't just forget it happened!" Misty exclaimed. "Chase almost died, Julie!"
"Misty," the Supreme said, almost getting tunnel vision from the intense but calm-faced focus on her new sister in-law. "Kneel." She looked to Chase, using the mind-bending power of concilium to make him do as she said. "Kneel."
Both kneeled on their knees in front of Julie as if they were in church on prayer benches, but what Julie did was take a hand to each of their foreheads and concentrate, erasing their memories of the tragic event that nearly killed Chase while reciting an eerie incantation:
"Benedicite mente et corde,
Cogitationes eorum dolore discedere.
Haec memoria cursum suum,
Nunc eu eicerent illum et vim.
His verbis constantes effecti arbitror mortuis…"
When the incantation was recited, Chase and Misty looked at each other with confusion. Noticing the dried blood on the floor of the hotel room, Chase gasped and stood up, looking at Julie and Misty with fright as he went to go hug his wife.
"Let's get out of here!" he exclaimed. "There's blood!"
"I got vibes…" she reiterated from earlier, holding her husband in an embrace with the check in the envelope still in her hand. "Real bad."
"Come," Julie ordered, turning around to see that Pamela's ghost had vanished from the realm of manifestation. "Let's leave."
The Lowes had finally reunited—Alex, Holden, Scarlet, and John all were under the same roof and trying to readjust to life outside of the hotel. John had some major adjustments to make, especially after killing all of those people under psychotic breaks and the grave promise he had made Angela. If he were to even think of the Hotel Cortez, he knew of the grave consequences she would reprimand him with; the death of not only him, but his entire family. If it weren't to be her who kills him, it would be Pamela's ghost avenging the people he murdered while masquerading as a bona-fide detective.
When they entered their home the first night in nearly forever, Scarlet was the first to step in the door with Alex and Holden hand-in-hand behind her. John was the last to come in and he shut the door. He glanced blankly over at his afflicted wife and son, met at eye level by her crouching.
"Do you remember where your room is?" she asked her son.
When he shook his head with that same eerie, blank stare in his eyes, she stood to her feet and picked him up: "I'll take you."
Scarlet had unslung the backpack full of necessities she had taken from her stay at her grandmother's house, putting it on the sofa as John's voice caught her attention. He was approaching the small fruit bowl in the dining room and picked up an apple.
"Hey, uh…you want something to eat?" he asked light-heartedly, trying to lighten the mood. "How about some fruit?"
Scarlet looked behind her and shook her head with disgust: "It's rotten."
Realizing this, John dropped the apple back in with the rest of the decaying fruit in the bowl, even taking the bowl to the kitchen's trash can to throw them away. Scarlet's voice caught his attention as he saw her come into the kitchen as he was rinsing out the dirtied fruit bowl, the faucet running cool, cleansing water inside the hollow of it.
"How long has it been since we were home?"
"Too long," John answered solemnly, turning off the faucet and sighing. "Now that we have Holden, we will be a family again."
"How are you going to explain this to grandma?" the little blonde-haired girl asked. "He looks like a baby. Holden is supposed to be older than me."
"Grandma doesn't have to know," he replied. "This is our secret. As long as they take their medicine, they'll be healthy."
"You mean drink blood?" Scarlet asked with a mixture of fear and sarcasm in her voice. "I-Is that what happened to the dog? Are they going to eat me, too?!"
"Scarlet, you'll always be safe," John said, looking down at her and hugging her, patting her back and sighing. "Of course not. They won't eat you."
"But…how will they eat?" the girl questioned. "They can't kill people! That's bad."
"It's nothing you have to worry about," John replied, his intensely azure eyes looking down at his daughters almost eerily. "I have that all taken care of."
a/n
Okay, so after the last episode aired, I was really upset that Queenie was killed. No, literally, I was SO mad!
I know I said this story would not be connected/affiliated with my AHS AU series with Britta, Elina, Julie, Chase, etc...but I changed my mind! I figured that it would be appropriate and I know some of you guys really liked the twins, so...I brought them back for this brief appearance!
So guys, what do you think? Please leave a Review, and be sure to Favorite and Follow! Thanks so much for the continued support!