A Honeybun in Hell

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

THE GIRL BEHIND THE check-in desk stopped talking mid-sentence and gulped, her heavily shadowed, brown eyes widening as her gaze locked on the group coming through the revolving door at the front of the lobby.

They were all tall, leanly muscular, and emitted testosterone into the room like a wave before them. Blond to red hair tumbled softly around square-chinned faces with sexy eyes and full, sensuous lips. Shoulders flared widely from narrow waists, pecs flexed beneath formfitting shirts, n*****s rigid from the cool outside air, and jeans molded yummily over firm, round buttocks and long, well-shaped legs.

Never before had she seen so much muscular manliness clustered together into such a small space. The group of seven men prowled toward her, shoulders swinging and long limbs flexing and stretching like a pride of predatory cats. The men’s blue to gray gazes fixed on the check-in counter with the intensity of that same breed of predator.

All the air in the lobby condensed and sucked in their direction. Patrons stumbled to a halt. Women, old and young alike, gasped. And the three women behind the long check-in counter stood breathless, their heat-infused cheeks sucked inward from lack of air and a sudden surge of pure, unadulterated lust.

As if drawn inexorably toward them, Wendy, the concierge, stood up and stumbled over her chair, barely stopping herself from slamming to the marble tile beneath her feet.

“Holy mother of god,” the youngest desk clerk mumbled.

“I love my job,” muttered the oldest. “Grrrrr.”

“Buck up ladies, they have kitties with them.”

Like marionettes joined together on a single pair of sticks, all three women turned their heads to peruse the three, beautiful women walking into the lobby behind the cluster of male yumminess. The young women stopped, their eyes widening in awe, and erupted into excited conversation.

“Witches from that bad place,” the youngest clerk, who was dressed like Morticia from the Addams Family, uttered.

“Not so fast girls, do the math. Seven males, only three females, there are leftovers,” the witch in the center told them.

“Grrrr,” said Vampira.

“Amen, sistah.” Wanda the witch added with heartfelt sincerity.

###

THE HONEYBUN BROTHERS approached the counter and smiled, wondering why the three women standing there looked glazed and had wet chins.

An elderly woman standing at check-in angrily slammed her purse onto the top of the counter. “Helloooo! Morticia! I said I need a key for my room.” Waving a hand in front of the clerk’s heavily made-up face, the old woman said, “Are you in there?”

Like a flash, the woman dressed like a middle-aged Vampira hurried over and punched a few buttons on Morticia’s computer. Behind her, a machine spit out a white plastic card. She handed the key across the counter with a blood-red smile. “Here you go, Mrs. Jones. Sorry about that.”

The old woman harrumphed and turned, her rheumy gaze landing on the Honeybuns for the first time. She missed the floor with her cane and tumbled forward. Clovis caught her handily. “Oops.” Setting her upright again he smiled. “There. Is that better?”

The old woman dropped her new key from suddenly nerveless fingers. Heathcliffe bent to pick it up and handed it back to her. “Do you need help getting to your room, ma’am?”

Behind the counter groans ensued.

The old woman’s wrinkled face creased in a wide smile. “Why yes, young man, I believe I do.”

Heathcliffe took her arm and they headed toward the elevators, chatting easily as they ambled slowly away.

“I need a dang cane.” Vampira grumbled.

Percy smiled at her. “Honeybun. You should have eight rooms for us. One should be under the name Brita Muldane.”

The clerk smiled. “Eight?”

“Yeah, we asked specifically for rooms on the haunted floor.” Godric grinned.

Percy shook his head, disgusted.

The witch frowned. “Are you sure about that? We don’t usually rent those rooms out.”

Alf snorted. “What’s the point of staying at a haunted hotel on Halloween if you’re not gonna commune with the spirits.” He gave his brothers a wry smile, obviously a non-believer.

The pretty black woman with the Honeybun party grinned. “I brought my sketch pad. I’m gonna try to sketch a few ghosts while I’m here.”

The small, brown-haired beauty beside her snickered. “Hopefully nude ones.”

Alastair pulled her under his shoulder and kissed her on the forehead. Feminine sighs filled the lobby. “Only fully dressed ghosts for you, Angie. You’re an engaged woman.”

“Of course! I was just giving Pleasance an assist. She has standards to uphold in her work.”

Pleasance lifted her knuckles toward Angie and they tapped. “I got your back too, sugar.”

Alf reached back and tweaked Pleasance under the chin. “I don’t think ghosts come in nude models, Pleasance.”

“Don’t they have to float around in whatever condition and clothing they died in?” Clovis asked.

“Actually that’s a common misconception. Ghosts tend to present based on their personalities. They can pretty much do whatever they want with just a thought.”

All Honeybun eyes swung to the pretty, softly-rounded woman standing beside Edric. He lifted a hand toward her. “Ladies and gents, this is Bella Rawnie. She’ll be our tour guide while we’re at El Diablo.”

“Hey Bella,” Pleasance waved.

“Hi Bella.” Angie shook her hand. “I’m Angie and this is Pleasance and...”

“Fabiana!!! O-M-G, I’m such a fan!” Bella grabbed Fabby’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically.

Warwicke groaned. “Here we go again.”

Fabiana grinned at the pretty tour guide. “Nice to meet you, Bella.”

“I can’t believe you’re here. I was there! At the 500 this year...”

Alastair stepped between them. “Uhhh, we aren’t allowed to talk about that race, Bella.”

She glanced at Warwicke, “Oh, of course. Sorry.”

Edric chuckled. “No worries. It’s just that, whenever we talk about that 500 one of them is very smug and the other one is decidedly prickly. We’ve learned it’s just easier to pretend the race never happened.”

Warwicke and Fabiana shared a grin. “Besides,” Warwicke added, “We have lots of races ahead of us to look forward to, right Fabulous?”

Fabiana shook her head, biting her bottom lip on a grin. “I’m getting better every day, Honeybun. Be careful what you wish for.”

Heathcliffe returned a few minutes later, just as Percy turned away from the registration desk with a handful of keys. The youngest Honeybun looked excited. “I stopped by the third floor on my way back. It’s really cool!” He had a sparkle in his dark blue eyes which probably didn’t bode well for the members of the group who were less than thrilled about spending time in haunted hotel rooms.

Percy handed out the keys.

“Enjoy your stay, ” Morticia winked at Godric. “If you need anything...anything at all...”

Godric grinned. “You’ll be the first person we call.” When Vampira and the witch made a small sound of disappointment he winked at them. “All of you.”

Edric turned to Bella. “I’ll see you later?”

She grinned. “I’ll be here.”

He lifted her soft hand to his lips and placed a kiss on it. “Later then.”

###

BELLA’S SMILE FADED as she watched him walk away, enjoying the view. She figured he was about six foot three, with longish, blond hair that just touched his ears in soft, unruly curls. Although he looked lean to the point of skinny under his loose clothing, she’d seen the play of muscles under the soft fabrics he seemed to prefer and knew he was anything but skinny. His face was a little on the long side, with a neatly trimmed beard. His mouth was wide and sensual and his eyes an intense, serious gray. Bella sighed. Just her luck he’d be gorgeous and incredibly sweet. That wasn’t at all what she’d planned on.

“Bella, girl, you’ve struck the mother lode.”

She sighed, nodding. “Yeah. It sure appears that way doesn’t it?” Darn her luck.

###

THE ELEVATOR DOORS slid open with a whir and a shadowy figure slid deeper into the shadows. The group that scrambled off the elevator was boisterous and happy, obviously excited about the adventure of spending a night in a haunted hotel.

The women grimaced happily as their bright gazes took in the dust and copious spider webs, casting their disapproving looks toward the scarred dresser and threadbare armchairs directly across from the elevator.

Looking up, one of them squealed as she realized their forms didn’t reflect in the large mirror hanging there. “We’re vampires!” They squealed happily.

The figure grimaced. Their joie de vivre was like acid in its insubstantial gut. The Feast of the Dead was no place for frivolity. Their very presence, with their bright eyes and smiles, was anathema to the dead souls haunting that hotel.

The figure determined, at that moment, to erase the smiles from their hated faces. It was his responsibility, as keeper of the dead, to remove all traces of life from that hallowed space, at a special time of death.