CHAPTER ONE

It was an unusually gray and cool day in Los Angeles. Isabel spent it within Java Jive, the cafe that was now the Go To meeting place for her and her literary agent, who was late.

Again.

Isabel sipped her second (third?) coffee as she watched the second wave of customers flood in to get their morning fix before their grueling 9 to 5 shifts. The first wave came at six in the morning; dedicated souls that Isabel had never seen. She didn't have to. She was fortunate enough where her shift started and ended whenever she wanted. The glory of being a novelist; no wonder her father loved it so much when he was alive.

The baristas picked up speed as they filled complicated customized orders, and Isabel found herself hypnotized by it. It did occur to her that she had the freedom to sit there all day and watch. She had no office to go into, no manager to yell at her.

What bliss.

She did use to have a schedule. She had a schedule when she was a high school student at Westfield. She sort of had a schedule when she was a student at Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. Even then, though, it wasn't much of a schedule. There was morning ritual, and… that was about it. Learning was on her own time as she had found herself in a bit of trouble, unsurprisingly.

Isabel looked over at the door when she heard the tingling of the bell.

"Sorry, sorry," Nancy said, not sounding sorry at all. She cut through the crowd and sat down across from Isabel. "Took a lot longer than I planned to pick these up."

"Pick what up?"

Nancy, with a grand flourish, presented two plane tickets.

Frowning, Isabel snatched them out of Nancy's hand and studied them. "Round trip to Paris?"

"One week in the City of Love."

"Bit extravagant for a first date, isn't it?"

Nancy rolled her eyes and snatched back the tickets. "Honey, you wish you could be that lucky. No, this is for something almost as exciting…" Nancy trailed off and gave a smug smirk as she waited for Isabel to catch on.

It didn't take long. "Book signing?" Isabel asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"In Paris, kiddo. You're living the dream."

"Holy shit." Isabel couldn't believe it. She was going international! She had a book signing in Paris! The City of Love was her city of success. Even her father hadn't gone international. "Holy shit," she repeated, unable to think of anything else. Holy shit!

"Holy shit is right. You and me and a launch party with a bunch of fancy Parisians."

"And some really good wine," Isabel said, raising her coffee in mock cheers. "So, talk to me about the book launch."

Nancy went into every little detail she had already created: it would be at the hotel where they would both be staying (as it would make getting drunk hassle-free). The ballroom was reserved, there would be food, champagne, good company― "Some of the finest men you could ever lay eyes on," Nancy mused—― and of course, days filled with exploring the city.

In short, it would be a working holiday, which Isabel knew she would enjoy immensely. The hardest part about all of this would be telling the house. She didn't even know how she would go about it. It wasn't like she could just waltz in and say she was going to Paris for a week.

Could she?

"I'm going to Paris for a week."

She didn't say it to anyone in particular. Isabel didn't even make it all the way into the house. She stood in the threshold of the front door, as if afraid to enter. Would the house chew her up and spit her back out?

"You're leaving?"

Unfortunately, Tate was the first one to reach her. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and studied Isabel, waiting for her to say "psyche!" But she didn't. She stood before him in apologetic silence.

"It's just for a week."

"You're always leaving."

"I know." She was. Leaving to go to witching school at Miss Robichaux's, leaving to go to the Hotel Cortez; she was always leaving. But it was out of her hands! "I'm sorry. I'd take you if I could, you know I would."

Yes, he did know that. But that wasn't the point. "Just don't go." His brown eyes were soft and pleading; he was begging her to stay. "Come on, Iz. You're better off here anyway. You know you are."

She did. She belonged here. No matter what happened, she always ended up back at the Murder House. At this point, she was the longest living resident. The house accepted her; it respected her.

"It's just for a week," Isabel promised.

"You said that about the hotel."

It was a valid argument. Isabel had indeed said she would only be staying at the Hotel Cortez for a short time and then disappeared for months. "I promise this isn't going to be like the hotel." Could she guarantee that? No, no she could not. But she couldn't imagine running into any blood sucking hotel owners. She wasn't able to say the same about ghosts. Running into ghosts was inevitable for her. "This is a good thing for me, Tate. You're my older brother; you should be proud of me."

"I am, I'm proud."

"Then can you act like it?"

Tate didn't reply. He rolled his eyes, turning to storm up the stairs; a petulant child who didn't like being in the wrong. With his back to her, Isabel rolled her eyes as well.

"He'll get over it," Moira said, standing in the doorway. "Would you like coffee?"

Isabel winced at the offer. "God, no, please, I think if I drink anymore coffee I'll explode."

"Nancy was late then?"

"Always."

Moira stifled a laugh, though a smirk did shine through. "So, Paris… that's exciting."

"You don't really sound excited."

"Well, you know how I feel about you leaving. I―"

"Worry, I know you do." And it wasn't without good reason. Isabel was well aware that she had a tendency for trouble. Trouble was her shadow. But that didn't mean she shouldn't go out and do things. This was a big deal for her! She was having a book launch party in Paris! "Please, can you at least pretend to actually be excited for me?" Just a little support from someone would be nice. This was amazing, but only Nancy seemed to understand that.

Moira came forward and pulled Isabel into a secure embrace. "I am excited for you. I promise." She pulled away and cupped Isabel's cheek. "Now start packing."

"But I don't leave for a week."

"And I know you too well. Go start packing."

That ended up being a smart call on Moira's part. It took the entire week for Isabel to finally pack everything. She had what she needed, nothing more and nothing less.

The morning she was meant to leave was bittersweet. She could feel the house clinging onto her, begging her not to go. Perhaps she should have paid attention to such a strong reaction from the house. Clearly it did not want her going on this trip. But Isabel brushed it off as the house acting like the rest of the ghosts: everyone was just worried she was going to disappear for weeks on end.

But this was different from her investigation at the Hotel Cortez. This wasn't researching for a book; this was a book launch. She had no reason to snoop around and stay in Paris after the party. She would be gone for a week and no more. Isabel was confident of that fact.

"Call as soon as you land," Moira said, embracing Isabel tightly. "You know I'll be awake, so no excuses."

"Alright, alright, I will." Isabel stepped away from Moira and looked at the stairs, waiting for her brother to make an appearance. When he didn't, Isabel shook her head, muttering, "He's such a brat." Was he really going to act like a child? Even now, right before she was about to leave the country? Apparently so.

Isabel picked up her suitcase when she heard the honking of a cab in the driveway. "Right, cool, see you in a week," she told Moira, sounding both excited and a little nervous about her adventure. Her first time to France!

She turned to leave, but hesitated. There was a heaviness in her chest as the house urged her to stay. When she tried opening the front door, it wouldn't budge, the locking having turned. Even the house was being a brat! She waved her hand, forcing the door to unlock with magic. She was going on this trip, and everyone would just have to deal with it.

When she was out on the front porch, the door slammed shut behind her. Isabel jumped a little at the loud bang, and gripped her suitcase tightly, stomach twisting. If only she had the power of clairvoyance; maybe then she would know what the big deal was about Paris. But she didn't, and would just have to go and hope for the best.