Page 54 of King of the Cage

A fitting name for a creepy old hotel on the Upper East Side where there had been a string of suspicious deaths a few years ago, and then no headlines since. I dug into the history of the hotel.

It had faced controversies when it had first opened for its wild and debauched events. It looked like nothing had really changed. There was also an old exposé in the ‘70s from a journalist who claimed to have sneaked into a satanic ritual in the hotel’s basement. It got attention for a few weeks and then dropped off. Interestingly, the journalist was killed in a car accident a few months later. The hotel won some awards for their Gothic-inspired design but never really courted attention.The latest crushing blow to their reputation was a string of suicides a few years ago.

Business had never really picked up again after the incidents with women jumping off balconies on the fifteenth floor. It got a reputation as a suicide hotel, haunted, people whispered. Nobody wanted to stay there, and yet the place was still in business.

Interesting. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out where they were getting their money from.

The Enclave. I supposed now that the hotel was quiet and free of normal guests, the secret society could have free run of the place, and whatever they wanted to do there, from swinger parties to whatever ended up with female branding.

I sat back and tapped my lip, considering my options. Tonight, there was a meeting of these depraved heathens, and I knew where. On one hand, that was a great lead. I’d get to see the other members of this society and the people responsible for Z Juice. Maybe I’d find Alice or other branded victims.

On the other… it was clearly dangerous as hell. Catching my brother up on the situation would take too damn long, and besides, he was out of town. If I went in there, I’d have to go alone. That wasn’t smart, not even a little bit.

Call Bran.

Right. Therewassomeone out there who wanted to find out about The Enclave just as much as me. Unfortunately, he was committed to keeping me out of it.

My phone vibrated on the desk, and the message that came through instantly chilled my blood. It appeared that the decision about tonight’s event had been taken out of my hands.

It was a picture of Sol, taken like a selfie. She was hugged into a tall man’s side, blowing a kiss at the camera. Aldo had his arm around her, those blank eyes staring into the camera. Now, they weren’t as blank. Now, they held a hint of amused victory.

I managed to talk Sol into coming to the party of the year after all. She’s waiting for you. Come alone, or not at all. Arrive within fifteen minutes… or not at all.

What the fuck?I immediately dialed Sol. The phone rang and rang without an answer. I’d put her in a taxi to send her home to the Moroni compound. How had Aldo managed to intervene? I was at my laptop and hacking into the security camera along her route in seconds. I followed the taxi all the way to her neighborhood. When Sol’s taxi drew up, Aldo was waiting, having arrived seconds before in a black, chauffeur-driven ride. He was waiting with blood-red roses and a winning smile. That fucker had outplayed me. I’d underestimated how far he’d go to get Sol to the party. No, not Sol. He wantedmeat the party. He knew about Enrico, and he was pissed. He wanted to hurt someone, take revenge, have a hostage, whatever… and it was me. I swapped my heels for boots and ran out the door. I didn’t have time to waste.

Fear for Sol clawed up my throat. She could be given Z Juice at any moment. It might have already happened.

Now, Aldo was forcing me to rush into a pit of vipers, and there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t have time to ask anyone for help. I didn’t have time to make it safer. They had Sol. I had to go.

I caught a taxi outside my building and paused in the act of getting in. Twisting my head this way and that, I sought the shadow that had been following me for the last few days. I spied Declan a block over. He hailed a cab.

Follow me,I tried to communicate with my eyes.This time, and this time only, please fucking follow me.

My eyes held Dec’s, and then I got into the cab.

“Tartarus Hotel, as fast as you can.”

It lookedlike the spooky reputation of the hotel extended to more than the building itself. The entire block felt empty and dark. The streetlights weren’t working, and there seemed to be a ring of construction in the surrounding buildings that made the place feel deserted.

The cab left me outside the hotel. Lights burning in the windows were the only illumination in sight, which was odd indeed for New York City at night. The only thing different from the painting at the gallery earlier was the absence of faces in the windows. The stone façade was choked by ivy, and jagged gargoyles crouched along the eaves. I didn’t want to go in there. The instinct to turn around and leave was strong, but I ignored it. Sol was inside somewhere. I was going in.

I approached the entrance. It was a discreet awning, a gold plaque set into the stone beside the impressive doors. It readThe Tartarusin ornate writing, and right below was an intricate round design. The logo of The Enclave. They were barely even hiding it. It stank of either false confidence, or worse, the true confidence of those who knew they’d never answer for their crimes.

As soon as I stepped inside, I was met with a wall of security.

Men in strange black surcoats stopped me, channeling a medieval vibe for their uniforms. Strangest of all, all three wore masks. Bone-white with soulless black eyeholes staring at me.

“Are you invited?” one asked solemnly.

“I—” I scrambled for an answer, before an obvious fact occurred to me. I slid one of the invitations from earlier from my jacket pocket and passed it over.

Security stared at it, passed a blue light across it, and then nodded. He pointed me to an X-ray machine set along one wall. What the hell?

Thank fuck I hadn’t brought any of my knives for tonight, figuring I might get searched entering the gallery earlier.

Next, I was sent down the hall to a cloakroom. I took off my coat and handed it to the row of attendants and was handed something back. I stared, perplexed, at the bundle of fabric in my hands. It was a rich crimson color. A lacy venetian eye mask sat on top of the bundle.

“Are you serious?” I asked the attendant, also in a cloak and mask.

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