Here's chapter 11! I'd like to thank my editor weebly for helping get through my funk and finding my drive again. I am really confident in the quality of upcoming chapters. I really think they'll read very well. There are about three to four chapters left in Book one, after which there will be an interlude about three or four chapters long, and then book 2. After book 1 is finished, I might take a week to crawl through previous chapters to fix some issues.
Book I Chapter 11: Postcards from Hell
Luke slipped his plastic keycard into his door, and pushed it open. His heart skipped a beat; it was his luggage, sitting quietly in the brilliantly lit room. It was unexpected, yet exactly as Franka had predicted.
Well, I'll be… he thought in disbelief. However, a lurking doubt remained, persisting in the corner of his mind: How could the hotel distinguish one guest's luggage from another? Whatever. It wasn't his place to scrutinize the hotel's logistics. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, he stepped inside, locking the door behind him.
Luke flopped belly-first onto his bed, sinking gently into its plush embrace. He exhaled deeply as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. The tension in his muscles gradually dissipated, draining from his body like a river of sweet molasses. For a fleeting moment, he let the cacophony of the world below grow soft and distant. The vibrant pulses of the city and his persistent anxieties seemed to melt into insignificance.
Gravity, with her magnetic arms, wrapped her chains around his body, refusing to let him go. The simple idea of moving seemed like a herculean task.
Gradually, he took in his surroundings. The large room featured polished wooden floors that gleamed in the afternoon sun, contrasting with pristine white walls that created a warm, yet modern ambiance. The lack of partitioning in the minimalistic layout gave the room an open feel, making it seem larger than it truly was.
He appreciated the ensuite bathroom, but his eyes were drawn to a kitchen nestled in the corner opposite of the balcony—an unexpected delight in his temporary haven.
Luke eyed the room's dresser, toying with the idea of neatly folding away his clothing. "What's the point?" he mused. "I'll be out of here in a few days." The thought of simply rummaging through his suitcase each morning held a rebellious allure. After all, Grani wouldn't know.
His phone suddenly buzzed to life, jolting him out of his stupor. Looking at the screen, he noticed a text from Franka. "Come to room 3001?" He sighed, his visions of a long, relaxing bath—crushed within seconds.
However, Franka wasn't one for frivolous summons. It's probably important. He pushed himself off the bed and made his way to the door, his steps heavy and unhurried.
Luke approached door "3001" and knocked lightly, expecting to be greeted by Franka's friendly demeanor. Instead, he was met by Grani's stern expression.
The lines on her face seemed to tighten further as she took in his appearance. "Have you unpacked everything? Squared it all away?"
Luke paused, remembering the unopened luggage in his room. "Well, more or less," he admitted, attempting to lighten the mood with a smile.
Her eyes narrowed.. "Uh Huh… Just be aware," she remarked coolly, stepping aside to let him in, "This is Sora's space, I expect you to respect that, so don't make a mess. Got it?"
Luke nodded. "Understood."
Sora's room was immediately apparent in its grandeur. It was opulent, easily dwarfing Luke's suite in size. The space was less befitting of a hotel and more like a lavish apartment, exuding class and luxury fit for a global icon like her.
The heart of the suite was dominated by a posh common area bathed in the warm afternoon sun. Texas and Exusiai sat in plush, ornate chairs, engaging in casual conversation, punctuated by the clink of soda cans. Above them, a delicate chandelier cast a golden glow, capturing the fine mist from their freshly opened beverages.
Off to the side, the full kitchen boasted cutting-edge appliances. Liskarm stood there, her full figure silhouetted against the dim under-cabinet lighting, seemingly lost in thought. Sora, the star, sat on one of the chic bar stools lining the kitchen island. She twirled her drink delicately with a distant gaze, and a small wrinkle on her brow.
Franka stood before a sweeping floor-to-ceiling window. Framed by the azure sky, she stood with one hand on her hip while the other traced an outline on the window, seemingly engrossed in the panoramic urban splendor.
As Luke crossed the room, he caught the attention of Texas and Exusiai. Exusiai offered a warm smile and a wave, while Texas merely nodded subtly.
"You rang?" he quipped.
Franka lips curved in a sly smile. "Luke. Right on time. How do you feel about a lunchtime adventure?"
"Color me intrigued."
Luke noticed Franka toying with a vibrantly illustrated postcard nonchalantly. He was captivated almost instantly.
The imagery on the card depicted a classic Yanese panorama: soaring mountains touching the heavens, a tranquil river below reflecting the forms of historic pagodas and willow trees. Against the backdrop of a setting sun, cranes gracefully flew, their silhouettes stark and captivating. Scattered throughout the landscape, fishermen on bamboo rafts set their nets, while the traditional houses of Yan, characterized by their distinctive roofs, were nestled quietly amidst terraced paddies.
"What a beautiful painting. The bold lines, and this color… This is the work of Madame Ling! Where'd you get it? I might get one of my own." Luke inquired of her.
Franka glanced at her watch, her tone indifferent. "Oh, this?" She chuckled. "I didn't take you for a fan of the arts. A bellhop handed this over a moment ago—said it was for Sora." She continued, noting the handwritten script on the back. "There was a message for her as well."
"Dearest Sora," she began, her tone filled with amusement.
"In spring's embrace, many bask in Lungmen's breeze or tread Shangshu's ancient paths, yet you alone are drifting. You stood at a crossroads, and have taken the right path: The golden bridge awaits your arrival. Beware: Amass a store of gold and jade, and no one can protect it. Claim wealth and titles, and disaster will follow. Oversharpen a blade, and the edge will soon blunt. Being at one with the Way is eternal. And though the body dies, the Way will never pass."
As Franka read aloud, Luke felt a gnawing unease deep within him. An old Yanese proverb from one of his favorite poets whispered back to him: "The five colors blind the eye. Therefore the wise are guided by what they feel and not by what they see."
"Could I see that?" Luke interjected, extending his hand.
Franka, noting the shift in his demeanor, handed him the postcard with a frown. "Something bothering you? I mean, it's eccentric, but perhaps it's just a fan reminding Sora to remain humble?" She massaged her chin in thought.
Luke's brow furrowed with contemplation. "Franka," he began, his tone hesitant, "These poems—they sound familiar. I can't put my finger on it, but there's more to this than meets the eye. Yanese proverbs shouldn't be taken at face value."
A stray strand of Franka's chocolate-colored hair fluttered about, tickling his cheek as she shook her head. "You're the last person I expected to hear that from! I think you're overthinking things," she said with a reassuring grin. Luke, however, wasn't convinced, but Franka was an experienced operator, and in his mind, far more level-headed than Liskarm.
He crossed his arms in resignation. "Maybe…"
Sensing his hesitation, Frank wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him down to her height. "Tell you what?" she asked, serving him a dazzling smile that sparkled under the sun. "Why don't we get ourselves some lunch? You'll feel much better after a hearty meal."
Luke looked away, not too keen on having certain assets pressed against his arm. "Well I'm not too hungry, but—"
"Great!" Franka exclaimed. If she had heard him, then she had decided to ignore him. "Let's order room service!"
"Should we invite Father Antonio?" Exusiai asked.
Sora flashed a brilliant smile. "That's a great idea! We can ask him about places to visit in between concerts!"
Texas nodded towards a phone sitting on a nightstand next to Exusiai. "Call the front desk: Check if he's free."
"You got it!"
With his team preoccupied with arranging lunch, Luke's mind began to wander. He couldn't help but feel that there was more to the postcard than met the eye. There were many unanswered questions: who sent the card, and more importantly, how did they know where Sora was staying? That wasn't the kind of information someone could simply look up. Questions aside, the postcard itself was unnerving. You stood at a crossroads, and have taken the right path: The golden bridge awaits your arrival. Those words tickled his brain, like an itch he couldn't scratch. They were so eerily familiar, and the mere thought of them sent nervous jitters down his spine. They were definitely analects from his favorite poet, Madame Ling.
Curious… He pondered. First a painting by Madame Ling, and then her prose… If only he could remember what they meant! I'm better than this! How could you forget her words!? It tormented him endlessly. Regardless, one thing was clear to him; the sender was closer than expected.
"…uke, Luke?"
Luke's pupils narrowed, struggling to focus on the waving arm before him. The world around him sharpened as he blinked. "Wha…?" he droned out, bereft of words.
Grani stopped waving her arm with a sharp huff. "Finally!" she pouted. "I swear, I've been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes!"
"Two minutes." Texas corrected coolly.
Grani continued unabated. "Hungry?"
The mere thought of lunch drew a gag from the depths of Luke's stomach. "I'll pass. I'm still full from breakfast."
Exusiai shrugged as she plucked the phone from its receiver, tucking it between her shoulder and ear. "Suit yourself," she said while punching in the room service number. "Hi, I'd like to request some room service…" her cheerful tone faded into obscurity as Luke shifted his attention away from the angel and toward his partner standing beside him. He realized she wasn't wearing her usual brown and blue attire, but rather a pine green coat with white stripes that hugged her curves perfectly.
"Holy crap, you're not in uniform…" he muttered, astonished by her sense of style. He had to admit—Grani certainly cleaned up well.
She rolled her eyes. "Did you just notice?"
"Give me a break, I've slept on a sofa for the past three days, and I can barely move my head without my neck snapping like a twig."
A knock on the door interrupted their brief exchange. "That must be Father Antonio," Franka said. She excused herself and scurried over to the door, opening it with a smile and wave
"Long time no see!" The minister greeted jovially. "I hardly recognize you!"
"Oh please, Father," Franka chided. "It hasn't even been a day!"
"You must have a busy day ahead of you," Father Antonio commented as he shrugged off his coat. Walking into the room, the elderly man hooked his outerwear on a nearby coat hanger. "I must thank you for placing my order in my stead."
"No problem!" Exusiai replied with a one-eyed smile. "Rehearsals and setup take awhile, so we only have two hours at best. I figured the sooner we ordered, the more time we'd have to relax."
"Room service!" A boyish voice called from the hallway.
"Well, bless my timing." Antonio chuckled.
Liskarm pushed off of the kitchen island seamlessly. "I'll get it." She volunteered. Liskarm strode over to the door and held it open. The smell of various mouth watering food wafted into the room, assaulting Luke's senses before he could even catch a glimpse of the service boy. Liskarm stepped aside, allowing a smartly dressed bellhop to push a large service cart into the room. He stopped beside the kitchen and began to swiftly unload the plates onto the kitchen island.
"Be careful," he warned as he removed the final dish from the cart. "The plates are still hot."
Liskarm nodded in appreciation. For a short moment, the room was filled with a chorus of "Thank you's."
Embarrassed, the hotel worker hurriedly left the room with his cart.
Father Antonio wandered over to the island with his hands behind his back, inspecting the food set out before him. "Oh, who ordered the Chicken Piccata?" he asked with a nostalgic smile. "My mother used to cook this when I was but a boy."
Sora raised a hand with a proud grin, as though happy she had reminded the old man of fonder times. "That's mine."
The old man nodded appreciatively. "You have wonderful taste, Miss Sora."
"Thank you!"
Without further delay, the group convened around the kitchen island, sitting before their meals while Luke stood off to the side content with watching them eat
"Pancakes!" Grani cheered. However, a second, aggressive knock on the door interrupted her before she could tuck in. Confused, Luke turned toward the disturbance; they weren't expecting another guest. Moments later, as though answering their silent question, the mysterious interloper slipped a card beneath the door.
Luke cursed under his breath, a knot forming at the bottom of his gut—another postcard. He hadn't read the letter, and yet, he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't fan mail. Its appearance only confirmed his nagging concern that Franka had so easily brushed aside: Someone was after Sora. "That's not good…" he muttered.
"Another love letter," Texas grumbled, finding the card to be a mere nuisance. She silently excused herself from the dining table and stalked across the room with swift steps, her tail flicking with irritation. Sighing, she crouched down to pick up the postcard.
After a brief pause, Texas's tail bristled with anger. "Tch."
"What's wrong?" Exusiai asked, concerned.
"Sora, my dearest," Texas read distastefully. "I can't help But notice how you've yet to leave the hotel. I suggest you start packing if you want to live to see another day. I hope you enjoyed your meal of chicken piccata over rice, for it will be your last." She flipped the card over to reveal a photo of herself leaving the RV.
"What a load of shit." She tore the postcard in two, casting a savage snarl over her shoulder toward the dining table.
Luke had never seen such an emotional display from Texas, and by their reactions, neither had the rest of his team. Her slender lips twitched as she fought to maintain control of her emotions, revealing a set of visceral fangs. He could tell she was struggling to control her anger—fighting against her instincts, but Luke would be a fool to assume anger was the only emotion she was fighting—No: There was something more.
Her tail hung low, bristling out behind her, and yet, its tip reached up as though begging for help.
She was afraid.
Of what—that was beyond him. If he had to hazard a guess, he'd guess she was afraid of what she would do to the postcard's author. Crude, but something he could relate with. He felt a sudden urge to console his acquaintance; but who was he to comfort someone he shared a professional relationship with? Someone he barely knew. Wouldn't that be creepy? After all, he wouldn't want someone butting into his business.
Screw it, Luke thought as he pushed off the wall. Nothing good could come from whatever she was feeling. He approached Texas without a second thought, much to Exusiai's concern.
"Luke, wai—" She reached out as he passed, but Luke danced around her grasp, stopping right behind Texas.
What the hell am I doing?! He thought in a panic. He was a shut-in—a loner! He knew absolutely nothing about consoling others. His only therapeutic experience was the frequent sessions he had with the Old Man.
With a sigh, Luke resigned himself to whatever fate awaited him, and placed his hands on her shoulders, just as his adopted father did to him. "You're better than this."
He felt Texas flinch beneath his firm grasp. She whipped her head in his direction, throwing a glare hotter than the Sargonian sun over her shoulder. "Don't touch—"
"Anger born from hatred is a sin—from love: a virtue. You are not your sins, not yet."
Texas's tail slackened against his knee, falling to a more neutral position. Luke felt her shoulders relax for a moment before she wrenched herself from his grasp, and stalked across the room. She stood before the window with her arms crossed, gazing out at the city silently.
Luke let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and leaned against the door. Could have been worse.
Franka cupped her chin with the palm of her hand, breaking the room's stunned silence. "So, the sender knows we haven't left. Then that means…"
"The sender must be a member of staff," Liskarm finished. "Only someone who works for the hotel would have access to visitor records."
A reasonable conclusion. Luke thought, but found himself at odds with Liskarm's assertion. It was too simple—too obvious. If visitors weren't allowed to mingle in the hotel's lobby, then yes, he could see why the culprit could be someone who works for the hotel. However, not only were visitors allowed to sit around in the lobby, but the lobby was technically open to the public. Sure, no sane person would randomly loiter around in one the capital's most luxurious hotels, but there also wasn't anything stopping them from doing so. If they considered the fact that the sender knew Sora hadn't left as evidence of guilt, then the entire city was suspect.
Luke shook his head. "We can't assume that," he said suddenly, startling the room. "Anyone could sit in the lobby and watch people come and go—even a random bum."
Franka frowned, the wind blown from her sails. "He has a point…"
"A fair statement," Father Antonio replied. "However, even if Miss Sora had left the hotel, the sender couldn't claim she had checked out without the proper knowledge. Unfortunately, it seems the culprit does, indeed, lurk amongst the hotel staff." Luke crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. He couldn't argue with him there.
"Also, the sender knew what Sora had for lunch. A 'random bum'," Liskarm said with air quotes, "wouldn't have access to that information."
What she said made sense, however, Luke wasn't fully convinced. Something felt off. Perhaps it was his desperate bias against Liskarm, or he was upset that she had soundly defeated him in a debate. Whatever it was, he didn't like it.
Still facing the window, Texas spoke. "Father Antonio, would it be possible to have a list of hotel staff written up for us?" she asked.
Antonio rubbed his gray beard with a hum. "Yes, it's possible… but the hotel is so large, I fear a list of employees would be hundreds if not thousands of entries long."
Exusiai snapped her fingers. "What if we limit it to those who work at the front desk and the kitchen?" she proposed with a grin. "Then we could cross examine the lists and filter out employees who work bothjobs!"
Inspired, Antonio nodded enthusiastically, his eyes shining like fireflies dancing in the night. "Yes! That could work!" He pulled an old flip phone from his shirt's pocket and dialed a number. The room hung in silence as they waited for him to complete his call.
After what felt like an eternity, Father Antonio's face brightened with visible excitement. He gestured frantically for a pen and paper. Thinking fast, Liskarm produced her notepad and pen from her jacket. Together they took note of every employee who worked at both reception and in the kitchen.
Tearing a page from her notebook, Liskarm walked up to Luke, and handed him the page. "Don't lose it," she instructed harshly. "We're going to help Sora prepare for dress rehearsals. In the meantime, I want you to search for these people."
Luke took the slip of paper with a nod. "Got it." Walking up to the kitchen island, he seized his partner by the arm and pulled her from the bar stool. "Let's go."
"But my pancakes…" Grani whined pitifully as she stumbled after him.
"Your pancakes can wait, Grani!"
Luke felt a groan claw its way out of his throat: To call the ballroom "packed" would be a severe understatement. The occupants were so numerous that Luke was starting to feel claustrophobic. "Alright, who's first on the list?" he asked with a frown.
Concerned, Grani pressed her ears against her head "Ugh… God, I'm going to butcher these names..." she bemoaned. "Laozi?"
Luke shrugged "Close enough." Luke peered out at the sea of people milling about the spacious room. "Wish we had pictures of these people. It would definitely make things a lot easier."
"Maybe we should ask the host's desk?" Grani suggested.
Luke hummed. It was the obvious solution, but would the workers help? If he was in their shoes, he'd tell Grani to shove it. Besides, Luke was fairly sure that handing out customer information was against the law. "Under whose authority? I don't think they'll listen to us."
Grani looked up at him with a devious smile dripping from her face. "I got this, trust me." She walked up to the hostess with quick, but deliberate steps. Confused, Luke watched on from the side, trailing after her. He was curious about what she was planning, but didn't want to interfere.
Grani smacked the butt of her pike against the marbled floor, catching the worker's attention.
The employee eyed Grani's weapon warily. "Can I help you?" he asked cautiously.
Grani reached into her coat and flashed a shining badge. "Officer Grani of the Victorian Mounted Police, we're looking for some of your coworkers. Your cooperation would be appreciated."
The employee stiffened. "O-oh. Y-yes, I'd be happy to help, Officer."
"Would you happen to know where this person is?" Grani asked, pointing out the first name in the list.
"Oh, him? He's over… there," he said, pointing to a slim man standing by the central stage. "W-would that be all?" The employee tugged at his tight collar.
Grani nodded stiffly. "Yes, much appreciated. Enjoy the rest of your day." She left the counter and approached Luke with a giddy grin. "Ooh, this is just like the old days!" Grani gushed once they were out of earshot. "We'll have this culprit behind bars by the end of the day!"
Luke gave her a doubtful look.
"Unless we get distracted, that is."