"You don't care for me,

I don'-a care about that.

Got a new fool, ha, I like it like that.

I have only one burnin' desire.

Let me stand next to your fire,"

Jimi Hendrix- "Let Me Stand Next to Your Fire"

She'd grown tired of him. Elizabeth often became bored with every lover she took, but Donovan was a special case. He tried too hard. He loved too deeply. He was so convinced she felt the same. The longer Donovan remained in her life, the more comfortable he became. Before, they went out for hunts every night. Now, he liked staying in and binge watching Netflix. She hated it. Rachel brought more excitement. She knew Rachel's thirst was only beginning. She wished she could be there when it hit her. She imagined her anger brought on a whirlwind of destruction. She found it intriguing.

It angered him when he learned of her night with Rachel. It bothered him that Elizabeth even spoke to her. He constantly brought up James's words. James wouldn't hesitate to kill her if she even dared turn Rachel. She knew this, but Donovan acted as if she didn't. She knew his heart was in the right place. Yet, she became increasingly irritated by his jealousy.

"Why should you care if the ghost bitch wants her?" he asked as they lay in bed. "She's always annoyed you. It wouldn't be such a bad thing if she took Rachel with her."

"Yes, it would be."

She thought of the previous Mrs. March. Elizabeth only ever saw her once in a picture. James kept it hidden in his desk drawer so she wouldn't find it. Joanne had been gorgeous. Soft brown curls brushed around her neck in a faux bob and eyes stared back at her with sweetness. She couldn't imagine a woman like that committing such heinous crimes. She seemed almost incapable of them. Then again, so did Rachel. Since her death, Joanne became a pest mostly. Elizabeth never heard of her murdering or hurting any of the guests. Her purpose was frightening people. She couldn't physically harm them, so she terrorized them instead. She'd tap the walls, break things, and leave little messages on mirrors. Joanne fed off their fear and confusion. The messages on Rachel's walls were only the beginning.

"She'll come for her," Elizabeth whispered. "She'll try taking Rachel."

"How? She's stuck in the walls like the others. She can't get out."

"That's the problem."

Like a lot of James's victims, Joanne was trapped in the hotel's walls. Those who died after James suffered a corporeal existence. Elizabeth imagined hundreds of tortured souls pounding inside the walls, desperate to escape their eternal prison. When Joanne died during childbirth, she joined them. There was only one way she could come back to James.

"I don't know what you see in her," Donovan asked, lighting a cigarette. "If she's poisonous, why are you bothering with her?"

Elizabeth couldn't believe he fell for her lie. "She's beautiful and I like beautiful things."

It was only half true. She knew James's claws sunk too deep for her to unhook them. However, femme fatales have more uses than one. She could always use someone with strength and cruelty around the hotel. Elizabeth looked back at Donovan and smiled.

"Suspected Twins Found Dead"

"Wealthy twins Shawn and Michael Davis were found dead in the late hours of last night. Both twins were disemboweled and hung from their bed posts. As it is well known, both twins are suspects in the deaths of their parents…"

Rachel bit into her toast as Ms. Evers poured her coffee. She pictured the handsome twins as described. She'd read something about their parents' boating accident, but she'd taken in few details. They'd inherited a large fortune and there'd been rumors of a family feud. Apparently, the twins weren't very fond of their father. Rachel didn't understand why there was even a trial. It was obvious they'd done it. She figured the twins paid for their innocent verdict.

"I dry cleaned your outfit for the big event, Ms. Corbin," Ms. Evers said. Tidying up the room, she spotted the dress Elizabeth gave her. "If you don't mind me saying, madam, I personally think you should have stuck with your collection. This dress is very much beneath you."

Rachel giggled. "I save my wardrobe for James," she answered, glancing at her closet. "Elizabeth's dress is fine for today." She eyed the long, white mermaid dress that fanned out in ruffles of feathers and dragged along the floor. Elizabeth said she looked marvelous in white. Rachel took her word for it. She sipped her coffee, put down the paper and focused on her laptop instead.

She didn't know what to write. Every sentence she typed was worse than the last one. The first paragraph should hook readers into the story. However, for the life of her, she couldn't make anything stick. Rachel hated everything she wrote down. The sentences were choppy. They didn't fit together neatly or sound smooth. She tried simply writing what came into her head and working from there. That didn't seem to work either since she immediately erased what was in her head. She told herself she should come back to it later, but she ignored it. Rachel needed this book. She already had enough trouble with the first. All the self-publishing sites sounded good, but sketchy. With everything going on, she found herself ignoring her novel more and more. She didn't like it. She needed her work. It was the only thing she had.

"Having trouble, Madam?" Ms. Evers asked as she folded up a used sheet.

"A bit," she replied. "Have you ever tried doing something you love but can't? Like, you've done it so many times it becomes bland?"

"I can't say I have," she said. "I've always loved housework. It's why Mrs. March hired me in the first place. Though, I remember her asking me something similar once."

"Really? Why?"

"Well," she placed the sheet in a laundry basket, "She absolutely adored gardening. The March's had this glorious garden out behind the house. She planted all kinds of things there. Roses, tulips, herbs, and any other kind of plant was placed in the garden. Yet, she grew tired of it. I could tell she grew restless."

"Restless? How?"

"She didn't plant as much anymore. She didn't seem as happy. Nothing The Master did could lift her spirit," she said. Picking up Rachel's pajamas, she added them to the dirty laundry. "She felt purposeless. I think she was lonely. A young married woman with no child? Stuck in this large house all day with nobody but me and a couple of bushes for company? She asked me if I'd ever grown bored of the things I loved doing. I told her I never did, of course. She told me everything she did disinterest her. She found no joy in gardening or playing the piano or reading or anything anymore. I suggested she take the things she loved and point them in another direction."

"What other way could she direct her gardening?"

"The corpses," she answered. "Before the garden, Mr. March disposed of his victims with acid. Once they began killing together, Mrs. March used her garden instead. She claimed the decomposing bodies made wonderful fertilizer. Mr. March would dig the hole and she'd settle the plants on top. She went back to being her old self again, chopping up body parts and scattering them among the flower beds and bushes. It gave her something to do and she loved it. Perhaps you can do the same? Take your novel in a different direction?"

"I thought about that," she said. "I came here wanting to write about the hotel. I'd admired James's work for such a long time and it inspired me in so many ways. Yet, since I met him, I don't want to write about it anymore. I…" she thought how she kept James's true identity from her mother. She recalled how she'd mentioned him to Jeanine. James was hers and hers alone. "I want him for myself. I don't want to share him. I don't want anyone knowing anything about him. He's like my own little secret." She thought for a moment, and then said, "But what could I write about? Crime is such a broad spectrum..." She sipped her coffee again, "Everybody writes about greedy widows, spoiled teenagers, and angry husbands. I wasn't the first to write about Richard or John. I want something new, Ms. Evers. I want my book to be original and give fresh information."

Ms. Evers picked up the newspaper, "Perhaps this fellow? He appears to be quite the artist."

Rachel eyed the headline. She took the newspaper and examined it. Someone who puts so much effort into his art wouldn't simply stop. When one loves something, the hunger for it becomes insatiable. She thought of her idols. They only stopped because they'd been caught. Zodiac stopped due to Parkinsonism as he'd told her in his napkin. This killer would keep on killing. The idea dawned on her and it sunk into her skin like needles. "Ms. Evers," she smiled, "You are a genius."

"I do what I can, Madam," she said. "I'm sure you'll become quite enthralled with this one's work. I can only imagine the stains!"

Rachel giggled, "You are truly married to your work, aren't you?"

"As you are to yours," she lifted up the laundry basket and said, "I'll return with fresh towels and your unmentionables later."

"Thank you, Ms. Evers."

Ms. Evers left as she finished her toast and coffee. She wondered if the murdered couple and the twins were related. Rachel would need to look into them more. Unfortunately, she'd be busy attending a fashion show.

Will Drake's Fall Fashion Show was exactly what she envisioned. They'd set up a run away at the base of the stairs and towards the door. Waiters walked around with trays of champagne and appetizers, while pop music played in the lobby. She'd thought she'd spot famous people there but found nobody recognizable. Will Drake was a fashion icon. Surely some people would be interested. Elizabeth walked beside her absent Donovan, her arm linked around Rachel's. The two women both wore white with feathers in their ensembles. She noticed they each caught glances from men and women.

"Why are they staring at us?" she asked as they walked through the crowd.

"They're amazed by you," Elizabeth answered. "I think you don't realize just how gorgeous you are."

"I guess. I never thought I was worth look-"

"-You lived in the shadow of someone who liked you in the background. They never would've let you be prettier than them."

By 'them' she meant Jeanine. "You're right," she said, "She never did like me being better than her."

"You see?" she smirked, taking two glasses of champagne and handing one to Rachel. "You were the little wallflower and she was a goddess. From now on, it'll be the other way around. That goes for everyone else too."

Rachel smiled at her. She believed her. Kissing the side of her mouth, Elizabeth took her about the room. Rachel smiled when she spotted Liz across from her. Hands' moving around her face, she knew instantly the woman was 'vogueing' to the music. A man sporting expensive glasses, dressed in an equally expensive suit, approached her with an amused smile. Liz seemed unashamed. Rachel wished she could have such freedom. Even with James's encouragement, Rachel could never truly be herself in a group.

"Is that him?" she asked Elizabeth.

"Who? Will Drake? Yes, that's him," she said. "One of the biggest fashion designers in the world is buying the Cortez. He's planning on remodeling the place; you know, more upscale and modern. It'll make him millions if he does it right."

"I like The Cortez the way it is," Rachel said, finishing the champagne. She never could stomach the drink. She wasn't used to the fizz. Though, Elizabeth drank it just fine. "It has character and history."

Elizabeth laughed, "And because Jimmy would want it this way. I'm sure your book will give it some popularity when it's finished."

"I don't think I'll write about The Cortez."

She turned to her in surprise, "Really? What changed your mind?"

"I don't know. I'm tired of writing about the past. I want to write about something fresh. Ms. Evers gave me a good idea this morning," she said.

"What's the idea?"

"The man who murdered those twins; I think he also murdered that couple a few weeks back when I first got here. I mean, I can't prove it, but I'm sure they are."

"So, you'll write about him instead?"

"I think so," she nodded. "I don't have anything solid yet." Rachel stopped herself, "I'm sorry. I know it's boring talk especially for a fashion show."

"Oh please," Elizabeth said, taking her hand, "Anything you tell me is interesting."

She left a small silence between them before she said, "Why'd you really invite me? Are you trying to make Donovan jealous?"

"Oh, it's way past that now." She brought her closer, "I brought you because you intrigue me. There's something about you I can't shake. I can understand why Jimmy is so fond of you. Rachel, you have rage inside you. You have this gorgeous, disastrous rage that burns like wildfire. It's marvelous. Do you want to know what your blood smells like to me?"

"What?"

"Deadly Nightshade berries," she answered. "They're bitter and toxic. The only reason Donovan hasn't tried killing you is because I told him you were poisonous."

"Am I?"

"Not in the slightest," she grinned. "I didn't want his jealousy getting the better of him. He might not kill much anymore, but it wouldn't be his first time either."

"He's jealous of me? Why?"

"Well, when you've been with someone for so long, you feel threatened by competition," she said. "The fact I give you any attention bothers him."

"I can't imagine why," she said. "I look nothing like him."

"That's why I wanted you and not him. I care for Donovan. I truly do. I saved him when nobody else could. He's lost that fire he once had. He doesn't excite me how he used to. I'm tired of being tied down. I always promised myself I'd never let someone think they own me or my heart."

"You wanted me?"

"Like I said, you intrigued me," she caressed her cheek, "But Jimmy took you first."

"He makes me feel free," Rachel instantly said. "I don't have to hide from him."

"I can imagine you don't," she responded. "For all his faults, Jimmy was always open minded. He never minded when I took female lovers. Why do you think he allows me to still be around you?" She chuckled, "The two most beautiful women in his life fucking each other? I'm surprised he didn't watch us."

"Maybe he did and we didn't see him," Rachel suggested. "So, we're fucking now? Is that what this is?"

"Something like that," Elizabeth said, "We can talk more later on. The show's about to start."

The two of them passed through the crowd. Rachel stopped when she heard a familiar voice. "I live here god damn it!"

She looked over to see Sally by the hostess podium. Her usual wet cheeks smudged make-up and grunge outfit didn't surprise Rachel. She figured they wouldn't let her inside. Walking over, she listened as Will Drake approached them with a dark-skinned woman. He told her if she wasn't on the list she couldn't attend the event.

"She does live here," Rachel said to them.

Will looked back at her and said, "She can't stay here."

"She won't," she said. "What's wrong with her coming through? She has every right to be here just like you."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" he sized her up, "I own this hotel. I can reject anyone I like."

"That must be nice," Rachel said, "Getting to have that kind of power. It wouldn't kill you to have her here. She lives here whether you own this place or not."

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to?" the dark woman said in a posh accent. "This is-"

"-Will Drake," she finished, "And, personally, I couldn't give two shits." She looked over at Sally, narrowing her eyes, "Sally, you can go. Get a drink and then go up to your room. I'm sure there's something interesting for you there."

Sally smirked, lighting a cigarette, "Look who's grown a spine. I'll be on my way, Mrs. March."

"March?" Will questioned as Sally passed him. "Wasn't that the name of the guy who owned this place?"

"It's a nickname," Rachel lied.

"Rachel, darling," Elizabeth came to her side, "Is something the matter?"

"Yes," the dark woman said, "Your friend is being quite rude to the owner of this hotel."

Will looked Elizabeth over. Rachel spotted the interest in his eyes. "And you are?"

"The Countess," she introduced herself. She had the same seductive look she sometimes gave Rachel. "Rachel and I used to own the hotel before you bought it up from under us."

"Oh," he said, fixing his glasses, "I'm sorry about that. I had no idea." He turned back to Rachel, "Let's start this over," he said, putting out his hand, "Will Drake."

"Rachel Corbin," she shook his hand.

"Claudia Bankson," the other woman also shook her hand, "Editor for Vogue."

"Nice to meet you both," Elizabeth said for Rachel. "Both of us are big fans of your designs, Will. We're glad you bought the hotel and not some snobby elitist who'd tear it down."

"This place has style," Claudia said. "He'd be a fool to tear it down."

Despite the accent and color, the snobby tone and designer clothes bothered Rachel. She looked down at them as if they were beneath her. It reminded her of Jeanine. She hated it.

"Yeah, he would be," Rachel agreed.

Will invited them to sit beside him at the show. Rachel didn't care for him, but Elizabeth appeared far too interested in him. She never stopped her bits of affection as the lights dimmed and the spotlights came on. She rested her hand on Rachel's knee and whispered in her ear about the people and the models. She felt important around her. Rachel did the same, gripping it gently as she slid it up her thigh. Elizabeth only gave her a sideways look.

"Are you two a thing or what?" Claudia questioned.

"Excuse me?"

"You and her," she said, "Are you girlfriends or what? I don't care either way. I'm only asking."

"I don't know what we are," she said. "We've kept it in the air for a while." She thought about James. She wished she were with him and not this stuck-up editor.

"Must be nice," she sighed as models passed in front of them, "Having a lover who gives you such nice things. You're lucky. Not a lot of girls get sugar mommas these days. It's all about the daddies."

"I'm not a gold digger," Rachel defended. "Elizabeth and I are friends."

"Could've fooled me," she said. "That dress you're wearing is the real deal and it definitely doesn't suit you. I bet you're more used to a Sears rack than Dior."

"And I bet you're used to being on your back and not your legs." She had no idea where this hostility was coming from. Then again, Donovan's made no sense either. "Are you always this bitchy to people you just met?"

"You don't belong here, and you don't own this hotel," she said. "I'm not very fond of people who lie to get ahead in the world. If you're made for it, you're made for it. If you're not, then try something else. It doesn't matter how much money your sugar momma has, it'll never be enough to fit in with us."

"I don't care about fitting in with you," she said. "There's only one person I care about being with and it's not anyone here." She truly longed for James now. The darkness in her stirred the longer she was beside Claudia. "If you'll excuse me…"

She stood up from her seat and left the show. The knots formed back in her stomach. Her chest tightened despite how many breaths she took. She couldn't shake the darkness and she didn't want to. James would've told her she should run free with her feelings. However, she couldn't very well do them here. Walking up the stairs, she reached the bar. Liz slid a martini, which she downed right away.

"I don't normally drink," she said to her.

"But sometimes we need a little pick-me-up," Liz replied. "What's bothering you, love?"

"Bitches who think they're better than everyone else," she grumbled. "Ugh, that Vogue editor. She said Elizabeth was my sugar momma and that I'd never fit in."

"Well, fuck her. She doesn't know you. Why pay her any mind?"

"Because it's not the first time someone told me I didn't belong anywhere," she snapped. "I'm tired of being told I'm a nobody who depends on others. I don't depend on anyone. Not a soul."

"Not a living one anyways," Liz said. When Rachel glared she said, "What? It's true. Anyways, you should just solve your problem the way everyone else here does."

"I suppose," she said. "I'd need an opportunity first."

"She's staying in room 83," Liz said, pouring another martini, "In case you were wondering."

Rachel sighed, "I don't think I'm ready…"

"Mr. March wouldn't refuse if you asked."

"I know."

The thought of killing with James again sounded so arousing.