Page 4 of Fangs for the Memories
And by monsters, I mean the living legends which revealed themselves to humanity, creeping from the shadows to show they were never myths or legends, not at all. Werewolves, vampires, ogres, demons, dragons, and many more, all appeared overnight. Then they quietly went back to doing, well, whatever it was they were doing before they told humans they were around.
Humans, of course, have to fill in the gaps. Or monetize them. A whole industry has grown up around the monsters, whether that be monster remedies, monster dating sites, or monster businesses. For Mark, his obsession was vampires, and given Hungary’s connections to the eponymous Count Dracula way back in history, even if the castle old Vlad the Impaler wassaid to inhabit is now across the border in Romania, it was the place he decided he wanted to visit.
The chance of any self respecting vampire, or any monster, wanting to show himself to my ex seemed highly unlikely, but then who was I to argue?
I watch the lights of the city from the tinted windows of the limo. We pass Soviet-era tower blocks before slipping easily through traffic into the centre of the city itself, the architecture changing considerably. Beautiful art deco buildings sit alongside stately Victorian ones on wide boulevards. Trams whisk along rails as the limo negotiates the maze of streets until we reach the Danube, gliding through a set of huge stone pillars onto a thick set bridge with ornate ironwork rising high above us. At the far end, the limo turns a sharp left, swings around in a tight circle, and stops outside a vast grey building which proclaims itself to be the Hotel Géllert.
My driver grunts.
“We’re here?” I ask before remembering my manners. “Köszönöm.” I mangle out a thank you in Hungarian.
I really should have had less champagne on the flight. I feel like the hangover is already starting.
My driver levers himself out of the limo and opens the door for me. Unsurprisingly, he grunts by way of suggesting I exit the vehicle.
I leave the safety of the leather seats and the warmth of the car and stare up at the hotel.
“I will bring your bags,” he says in heavily accented English. “Go inside, is cold.”
As he speaks an icy breeze blows up from the river, and I immediately wish I’d brought a better coat than the light mac I’m wearing.
Not that I have access to anything else. We’d agreed to spend the week before the wedding apart…now I know why, soeverything I have, is what’s in my cases. No access to anything else.
I huff out a breath which is too much alcohol and not enough air, pull my coat tighter around me, and hurry to the imposing dark wood revolving doors. A uniformed doorman smiles at me and ushers me through into a circular, double height, marble-floored reception, ringed with columns and an ornate fountain-planter-sculpture of a cherub in the centre. It is unbelievably hot after the chill of outside.
I make my way over to the reception desk and hand over my passport.
“Ah, Miss Spencer.” The young male receptionist peers at my photo and back at me.
“There’s only going to be me checking in,” I say quickly. “My…partner couldn’t make the trip. Work, you know.”
Having gone from someone who has always done her best to tell the truth, Mark has turned me into a pathological liar.
As well as a jilted bride in my early thirties.
I steel myself for the receptionist to say something about my lack of a husband, but instead he taps something into his computer, then looks up at me with a smile, which has an awful lot of really quite sharp teeth.
“Your stay is all paid for, Miss Spencer, and it is a shame Mr. Clark will not be joining us. I presume you will want me to cancel the activities planned?”
“Oh no!” I exclaim as his fingers hover over the keyboard. “Don’t cancel them,” I simper at the young man. “Mr. Clark didn’t want me to miss out, even while he continues his horizontal…I mean business…activities. I definitely want to doallthe activities planned.”
The man blinks at me.
I stare back at him.
“As you wish, Miss Spencer. You’re in the Maximilian Schnell suite, on the top floor. The elevator is around the corner.” He slides a large key attached to an even larger wooden keyring across the desk.
I spot my cases have somehow appeared next to me. There is no way the massive chauffeur could have been and gone so quickly and quietly.
And yet, here they are.
“Do you do room service?” I ask.
“We do. You’ll find a menu in your room. We offer a twenty-four-hour service.”
I probably have just enough money to settle the final bill. The holiday, including full board, has already been paid for, but otherwise all I have is an envelope with a few Forint in it which my bridesmaids gave me. I mean, it makes me a millionaire because the Hungarian currency has notes in the tens of thousands, but at the same time, I have a couple of hundred pounds in my personal bank account to last me until I don’t know when and no access at all to my business account.
“Köszönöm.” I thank him with my terrible Hungarian, and the young man smiles with all his teeth again.
