Vail was a veritable Bavarian village, with crisp mountain vistas as far as the eye could see. Still, Maria took little comfort in the view, given the harrowing few days she’d had. No, not Maria anymore, she reminded herself as she stood in line in a small cafe. Sheridan. Having silently fled the house, she’d decided to change her name, her looks, everything, and lay low in a new city, in the hopes that she—and the strange jeweled chest—could disappear into obscurity. She’d decided to leave her car in the driveway in case they heard the sound and pursued her, choosing instead to run down the road until she could flag a cab. As she sat on the way to the bus station, shaking, she was frantically scrolling through possible names in her head. She couldn’t help but think of all the times she’d been forced to start over in her life and found herself dwelling on the last place she’d lived before moving to the Barlow’s house—Sheridan, Wyoming. She’d always liked the sound of it; thought it was classy.
Definitely classier than the box dye job she’d given herself. Stripping her hair of its natural, night-black hue, she was a redhead now, a shade somewhere between apple and plum, much purpler than she’d anticipated. But she was grateful for it, even if there was a little bit of dye around her ears. She was used to reinventing herself, and shedding her past life allowed her to shove the horrors she’d just seen into the recesses of her mind. She couldn’t yet bear to dwell over all she’d lost in that house.
Aside from her constant, pressing fear that they would track her down and finish the job, her most urgent problem was that she had about ten dollars left to her name, and no one to fall back on. Every time she thought about her circumstances she felt herself begin to panic, but she forced herself to stay calm. Get a job. Rent an apartment. Lay low. You can do this. You’ve gotten through hell before.
When it was her turn in line she asked the barista for an application.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the barista said, adjusting her black apron, “we’re not hiring right now.”
Sheridan looked around the room, noting how long the customer line was, and how few employees there were to tend to them.
“It looks to me like you’re a little understaffed,” Sheridan said desperately, leaning forward somewhat.
“Yeah,” the barista confirmed, “trust me, if it were up to me, I’d definitely hire someone else on. But it isn’t up to me, and policy is that we don’t hire in the off season.” The barista looked past Sheridan to the customer standing behind her, and Sheridan knew that there was no use trying to argue her way into a job. Dejected, Sheridan turned to head out the way she’d come.
“Excuse me,” a woman standing near the door said, catching her attention. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” Sheridan blushed a little, lifting her gaze to look into the woman’s face: she was rather nondescript, one of those faces that could get lost in a crowd. But Sheridan thought she had kind eyes. “If you’re looking for work,” the woman continued, “I may have something for you.”
“Really?” Sheridan asked, perking up. The woman tucked a lock of mousy blond hair behind her ear and reached into her huge, blue handbag, from which she produced a card. It was simple, white cardstock with “The Lodge” and a number printed in black across the front. Nothing more, nothing less. Sheridan turned it over in her hand. “My job is hiring. We’re always looking for… good people.”
“The Lodge,” Sheridan read. “What is it?”
“A glamorous vacation destination
“Wow,” Sheridan mused quietly, tucking the card into her pocket. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.”
***
Having called the number on the card as soon as she left the cafe, Sheridan had secured an interview for later that evening. As soon as she walked up to the elegant lodge, she knew she was underdressed. She smoothed her hands self-consciously over her gray pencil skirt, wishing she had nicer clothes. She hesitated for a moment, but found herself drawn magnetically toward the warm light of the lodge.
The lobby boasted vaulted ceilings and an antler chandelier, with two winding staircases covered in thick, red carpeting. At the far end of the room was a pair of wingback chairs in front of a roaring fire, even though it was the middle of summer. From one of the chairs rose a tall man, a dark silhouette against the orange of the fire. He wore an impeccably tailored three-piece suit with a burgundy pocket square, and his slight smile was a flash of bright white against his dark brown skin.
“You must be Sheridan,” he said, extending his hand to her. “I’m Hunter. We spoke on the phone?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, smiling up at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he said solemnly, his fingertips grazing the small of her back. “Please, this way.” He led her across the lobby toward the concierge desk. “So, I’ll get right to it: the position we’re looking to fill isn’t particularly glamorous, but it is necessary to keep things running smoothly. You will essentially be a personal secretary, running errands off site, managing the personal needs of the owners here.”
Sheridan blinked, unable to believe her luck. “That’s perfect, actually,” she said, walking double-time to keep up with Hunter. “That’s exactly what I was doing in my last position.”
Hunter rounded the concierge desk so that he was standing opposite Sheridan. “How fortuitous,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. “It sounds like we’re an ideal match.”
She was dazzled by his steady gaze, and she giggled nervously, like she’d had one glass of champagne too many and the bubbles were going to her head.
“So, does that mean you’ll take the job?” Hunter pressed, and all she could do was bob her head in a nod. She momentarily wondered why it was all so easy—he hadn’t even asked for a referral—but she shook away the feeling. Not everything has to be hard. You deserve this.
“Wonderful. Oh, there is just one more thing.” She watched him wake up a sleeping computer, type in a few words, scroll, click, swipe, and come back around the front of the concierge desk with a key card, which he handed to her. “Your room.”
“My…?”
“We’ve always had our secretaries live on the property.” She took the key and gripped it; it pulsed with potential. “Room 413.”
***
Sheridan climbed the stairs to head to her new room and into her new life, marveling at her good fortune. On her way up the stairs, she nearly ran straight into a gorgeous, slender woman who narrowed her eyes at Sheridan as she rubbed at her chest. Sheridan could have sworn she saw dried blood on the woman’s exposed collarbone, but her expression made Sheridan scurry quickly away.
Her room wasn’t difficult to find, and when she opened the door she gasped. It was a beautiful, luxurious suite with a marble bath, sitting room, and king-sized bed. The floors were hardwood, covered in a plush rug, and a large picture window boasted stunning views of the surrounding mountains.
Having virtually nothing to unpack, Sheridan went exploring, seeking out the little room that every hotel had that included an ice machine and a vending machine. Her plan was to gorge herself on salty snacks and watch something on the flat screen and try to forget, just for a moment, what she was running from.
Back in the hall, she could hear a few faint voices drifting in from the hotel bar, and she distractedly pushed her way through an unmarked door, thinking she’d found the ice machine.
But she couldn’t have been more wrong.
Inside was a small, elegant room with a king-sized bed and a man and a woman sitting on the edge of it. The man leaned toward the woman, and his mouth was soon nuzzling her neck as she smiled demurely. In a sudden flash, Sheridan
And when the man looked up, glaring menacingly, Sheridan could clearly see blood dripping from his—there was no other word for it—fangs.
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