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“One bed is fine.”
The receptionist gives them a keycard and then keeps typing on his computer, muttering to himself about how slow it is.
They go down the narrow hall, which smells of rain-damp carpet and weed. The shell-shaped lights wink. A single roach scuttles under one of the cream-white room doors.
When they find their room, #26, Lauren?iu raises the card to the door. The reader blinks red.
He tries again. Red.
“The card’s not working. We might need to go get the...”
Beside him, Paimon touches the door, and Lauren?iu hears a faint click as it creaks open.
Lauren?iu nods approvingly. “Or that. That works.”
The room is a wide rectangular, painted a plain beige with a faded yellow ceiling. In the center is a large king-sized bed with a polished oak headboard facing a stand with a flatscreen TV. Beside the TV, one one side, is a simple desk and chair with a square mirror that reaches the ceiling. On the other side is a black mini-fridge. There are no paintings or photos on the wall.
The bedsheets are white with a yellow and green comforter and four white pillows. An out of place diamond-patterned blue chair sits by the window. The bathroom door to his left has no knob.
The room is warm and feels good with the rain stuck to him.
Looking at their one bed, Paimon says, “Hey, not too shabby, and this bed’s pretty big. Looks like we won’t be touching toes.”
“It’s certainly on the upper-end of affordable motels.” He’s seen worse. Lauren?iu goes to turn on the extremely tall nightstand lamp and, taking off his shoes, sits on the bed, and it’s as if a weight temporarily rolls off his shoulders. Even though he feels more alert at night, the rain and his lack of recent feeding instill a lethargy in him. There’s something about the outside weather and mist that make him feel like he’s already dreaming.
As he sits by the pillow, Paimon kicks off his shoes and sits cross-legged on the carpet and opens the minibar, unlocking it without a key. Inside are chocolate nougat bars, Cokes, and beers.
“Hm.” Paimon reaches across to pick up something from under the edge of the bed—crumpled boxer shorts. “Wonder whose these are.” He tosses them back and focuses on rifling through the minibar contents.
He at first tries one of the beers, flinging the cap carelessly on the floor. He makes a face.
“Blech. It’s no Dom Pérignon. And not even a hint of absinthe.”
“That costs quite a lot.”
“Surely this isn’t more than ten bucks.”
“Using the minibar costs a good bit.”
“Please. Like we’ll really pay for anything.”
We’ll. No. Paimon has the money. “You shouldn’t get anyone in trouble.”
With his mouth full of part of a chocolate bar, Paimon says with a raised brow, “You’ll kill someone, but you don’t want the staff stiffed of their paychecks?” He swallows.
Lying back, Lauren?iu folds his arms behind his head, pantomiming calmness. “I have standards.”
“Relax,” Paimon replies, another candy wrapper crinkling, “I’ve got infinite Hell credit.”
“Credit. Did they have infinite credit in Heaven?”
Despite his complaints, Paimon takes another swig of beer to wash down the chocolate. When he offers an unopened one, Lauren?iu just shakes his head. “No, no. There wasn’t really money in Heaven. Our duties we just did out of pure love and joy, or whatever.”
“Mustn’t have loved it too much, evidently.”
“You got me there, my vampire.” He has a thoughtful look. “You know, we’ve been with each other a long time.” With each other. They sound like a couple. “But there’s a lot we don’t talk about.”
“That’s true,” Lauren?iu states, noncommittal.
