Page 1 of Of Monsters Of Kings

Chapter One

A simple thing, really, how I came to know of monsters.

People were monsters.

I wiggled free a clump of hair, soap, and dead skin from the clogged shower drain. There had to be any number of bodily sheddings caught in the slimy mass. Humans were disgusting creatures, really; our habits, the workings of our insides, who we were… the vices we kept buried.

“Ugly through and through.” I smiled and tossed the congealed mass of miscellaneous into a bucket along with the plunger.

Towels changed.

Dishes washed.

Surfaces wiped.

Once the floor was gleaming, I grabbed the checklist from the cleaning cart outside, then walked through the studio, ticking off tasks to ensure I’d completed everything to perfection. I’d worked at the only hotel in Vitale for three months, and a promotion and pay rise were so close, I could almost feel them. Soon, this job would pay the entirety of our bills, and I wouldn’t need to pawn our belongings to make up the difference.

In six months, I’d run this place.

Despite completing my tasks to perfection, the room itself had parted ways with that potential long ago. Stale smoke saturated the furniture. Floral wallpaper was torn on corners and cracked around fittings. I’d never seen wallpaper before starting here, so the cracked and torn stuff still seemed luxurious. In the apartment rooms, the wallpaper was even pristine, holding its rich burgundies and warm beiges. I preferred studios like this, worn and ripped from stories absorbed. Stale smoke trumped the conventional lemon-spray scent of the highest-rate apartments any day. Those apartments held the same grime as this studio, but only one wore theirs for all to see.

Straightening a wrinkle on the yellowed lace valance, I then vacuumed and mopped.

After a third check of the list, I forced myself to push the creaking cleaning cart forward past room twelve—where a guest had hung a Do Not Disturb sign—to room thirteen.

From the top.

A violent hiss jolted the air.

“Goodness.” I pressed a hand against my chest, feeling the rapid thumps of my heart.

Ssssssssss came the hiss again.

Mornings tended to be quiet, with guests still asleep, checked out, or already exploring Vitale.

I peered over the metal balustrade of the first level and scanned the cobbled courtyard below.

A man, if that was what he could be called, lurked outside the dusty, glass door of reception. The guy must’ve eaten a wilder ox when young, for he’d taken on some ox traits, but the enormity of his canvas didn’t distract from his conventional beauty. What a shame—though many friends I used to have would find him extremely handsome.

Ox rattled a can of spray paint. Clink, clink, clink. Another violent hiss disturbed the quiet as he finished spraying a giant red X on the reception door.

My brows shot up. How brazen. Frank’s forehead veins would bulge over that one.

“Keep your head down, Patch,” I chided. Graffiti, ox men, and bulging veins were none of my business. All I needed was a job with the right hours and pay. This job, in other words.

Back to work.

I slipped a master key from my lanyard and knocked on the door of room thirteen. “Housekeeping!” I waited, then knocked again, then waited some more.

When no reply came, I pushed inside. More violent hissing erupted from the direction of reception, and that was none of my business. I wouldn’t look.

I looked.

Ox stepped back from his painting, and I read the word he’d sprayed above the X in angry capitals.

CLOSED

My heart thumped a smidgen faster despite the ridiculousness of the statement. He, a stranger—albeit a tall, conventionally beautiful one, couldn’t spray a word on someone else’s door to declare them closed. This was the only hotel in Vitale, and in this day and age, that meant something.

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