Empath (The Secret Hotel #1)

Chapter One

Chapter One

 

Sometimes I thought the night was brighter than the day. Here, beside Marina Del Ray with its lofty yachts, the anti-ghost UV floodlights reflected off the water and left me squinting. Combined with the glow of the solar tiles beneath my feet, it felt like the sun was everywhere, even if it had set hours ago. Either way, eternal daylight was better than finding out what might appear in the darkness of the night.

The swirls and eddies of pungent low tide in the marina left boats and jetties creaking and shifting, but not as loudly as my own labored breathing. How embarrassing. My bus stop hadn’t been that far away, but I was so woefully out of shape that even this quick jog down the winding pathway was just a teensy bit taxing.

My purse bumped up and down on my shoulder with each step. Blessed charms jangled together like dozens of tiny bells. Just a few charms would probably do to keep me safe if ever the solar lamps or walkways failed. At least, that’s what I’d been taught all my life. But the little dangling trinkets and shapes were just too cute to wear only a few at a time. Anyone who passed me jingled just as loudly with their own charms and chains and fancy jewelry—and mostly even louder, since everyone here could afford a lot more than me.

What if she noticed that?

What if I didn’t look expensive enough?

I sucked in a breath, filling my lungs with what smelled and tasted like a fish market, and I power-walked faster. It didn’t matter if the backs of my flats were cutting into my heels. I had an appointment to make and I needed to arrive early to make the best impression. Better than the best impression. I needed to have my chubby bottom in that seat before she even approached the restaurant.

The wind rolling off of the water was chilly, but it felt good. That probably meant I’d broken a noticeable sweat.

Model, punctual citizens didn’t sweat noticeably.

I tried fluffing out my curls without turning them into frizz, but I hadn’t yet mastered that skill and it probably backfired. What would I do if the back of my dress was splotchy with sweat? What if I had huge, gross stains under my armpits?

I was doomed to be total trash.

The restaurant crested the edge of the water. The building appeared to be fairly small from the outside, simple white stucco that promised something totally modern, chic and way too expensive on the inside. The restaurant’s solar lamps were a form of art, shining through iron grates to cast designs up the walls. A single guard stood outside the doors, but his job wasn’t to deter the living.

As I passed him, I glanced down at the iron baton and the UV gun strapped to his utility belt, among other bulging pouches. He took no notice of me. He was bored. Even if he didn’t let it show on his face, I knew. I always knew.

When I stepped through the glass doors and past the iron-lined archway, I discovered I was right—this restaurant was totally out of my league. I swore the marble tiles were so polished I could fix my makeup in them. The lights were warm and low, casting rustic yellow hues across the wicker and olive and cream furniture in the front lobby.

The scent of burning sage outside had been washed away by the winds, but inside, it saturated to the air. Intense like mint, yet sweet and clean, the smell was something I was so used to that I never noticed it until I’d spent time away from it. The little incense burner in my apartment produced sinus-clearing strands of smoke, but here there was no smoke. Pools of oil were suspended from the ceiling on either side of the entrance. Sage oil. Also more expensive.