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The name screams luxury. The interior screams haunted.
The historic hotel sits on Michigan Avenue, overlooking Grant Park, a massive pale stone reminder of another century wedged into modern Chicago. According to the little brass plaque near the front desk, it opened in 1893 for the World’s Columbian Exposition.
Which sounded charming downstairs. Up here… not so much.
The elevator stops on my floor with a metallic groan, its ornate brass doors sliding shut behind me as I step into a hallway covered in faded floral wallpaper and patterned carpet that has probably seen some things.
I stop so quickly that Darcy’s carrier bumps lightly against my leg, startling us both.
“Oh, heck no.”
The hallway stretches in both directions beneath old-fashioned wall sconces, casting pools of warm yellow light with a slight flicker. The corridor seems to bend slightly near the end, disappearing around a corner that I have absolutely no interest in seeing where it leads.
Certain death.
I make a mental note to remove some of the murder mystery and horror books from my TBR and tighten my grip on Darcy’s carrier as I glance down the empty hall. “If twins appear at the end of this thing, we’re sleeping in the car.”
A disgruntled meow comes through the mesh.
I open the door to my room and try not to think about how many people have died here since 1893.
My room is huge compared to any modern hotel room I’ve stayed in, with ceilings that feel ten feet high and antique furniture where nothing quite matches. I kind of love it.
It is beautiful in a murder-y sort of way.
One enormous window overlooks the park, and when I investigate, I discover an actual latch instead of the usual hotel glass designed to keep guests safely contained inside. My investigation ends there, because there are some things a woman staying alone in a potentially haunted hotel does not need to know.
I open the carrier, and Darcy hops onto the bed and circles twice before collapsing against the white comforter like he’s been traveling for twelve hours instead of three.
“Sure. Make yourself comfortable.” I kick off my shoes and drop onto the edge of the mattress beside him after setting up his litter box in the corner of the tiled bathroom.
An hour later, instead of finding somewhere to live like a responsible adult. I’m Googling things on my phone about this place I wish I hadn’t. Something groans across the room. Or maybe that’s just my stomach reminding me it’s well past time to eat.
“Time for some takeout,” I say to myself, or maybe my new ghost friends.
Right after I place my DoorDash order, my phone rings loudly in my hand, scaring the crap out of me while Darcy keeps sleeping like the dead.
MOM!
I swipe to answer the call and mumble. “Glad one of us feels safe.”
“Delaney? Are you okay?”
“Hi, Mom. Yes, I’m good. I was just grumbling at Darcy.” I push myself farther onto the bed and lean against the headboard.
“Oh, okay, good. Are you all settled then?”
Define settled.
I glance at the suitcase on the floor. Darcy on the bed. “Mostly.”
“Mostly? I noticed your location still shows at the office.”
Of course she did. Because I paused sharing, and I choose to omit that little detail for now.
“There was a little housing hiccup.” I pick at a loose thread on the comforter.
Silence.
