Although Joshua’s attractive, he’s also kind of slimy. “Not interested,” I reply, making him laugh. He shrugs and tells me it’s my loss.
Music continues to play from an unseen radio, and I turn to check out the others on the roof. I recognize a few of them from around the hotel, but it’s hard to tell who they are now that they’re out of uniform. The door to the stairwell opens and two men walk onto the roof. They immediately stand out—long hair, black T-shirts. Neither talks as they move past the staff and pause at the ledge. The taller of the men removes a pack of cigarettes and shakes two out. The men smoke, chatting as they look over the grounds of the Ruby. I can’t quite place what’s different about them, but when I turn around, Lourdes is staring at me. She pulls her brows together like she’s confused. I look back to the men, but they’ve already gone inside.
“Do you know the story of the Ruby?” Lourdes asks in a hushed voice. Pink rises high on her cheeks, excitement making her eyes flash mischievously. The other staff members lean in like this is their favorite part. “They say this place is haunted,” Lourdes says.
“That’s what I heard,” I say, intrigued by the eager looks of the others. I’ve never been a fan of scary stories—life is scary enough—but in a hotel this old there has to be some fascinating history. “What happened here?” I ask.
The housekeeper beams and the others get comfortable. I’d think it odd, but without cell reception or Wi-Fi for distraction, listening to campfire tales might actually be kind of fun. “The Hotel Ruby was built in 1936,” Lourdes starts, smiling at the others. “It was a playground for the rich and famous. A stationary Titanic. And just as tragic.”
The group laughs, but I glance back over my shoulder, feeling more unsettled by the second. Where did those smoking men go? How did they disappear so quickly?
“This place was a legend,” Lourdes says. “When it was built, it was said to have the most majestic ballroom in the West. People flocked from all over: senators, actresses, tycoons. Elias’s family”—she smiles at his name—“was among the stockholders who pulled together to build the hotel in the first place. In fact, they were being honored in the ballroom the night of the fire.”
“Fire,” I repeat. “Did they die?”
“Yes. During the first anniversary party the ballroom caught fire,” Lourdes says. “Sixty-seven guests in all. No one would open the doors for fear the entire hotel would burn down. So they locked them in.”
The crowd quiets around us on the roof, and a sense of melancholy thickens the air. I swear, it’s like I feel the Ruby itself sigh. “That’s awful,” I say, a little breathlessly. Chills crawl up my arms, and I dart my gaze around at the group. They’re transfixed, waiting for Lourdes to finish the story.
“The owners quickly rebuilt—same details, almost like it never happened. The building was sold, and then sold again. There is one constant, though: the party. In honor of those who perished, the Hotel Ruby holds a party every night in that ballroom. Guests come from all over the world to spend an evening with the ghosts there.” Lourdes whispers the last part and then laughs when she sees that she’s actually freaking me out. “It’s why Kenneth makes sure everything is perfect,” she says, shaking her head. “Otherwise he’ll be out on his ass.”
“The Ruby is a tourist trap,” Joshua calls. “Certain guests are required to attend the parties, to keep up appearances. Mingle and mix for the time of their lives. At the Ruby”—he smiles bitterly—“where you can stay tonight. Or stay forever.”
I didn’t get an invite to the party, even though both Daniel and my father did. I don’t mention it, though. It’s embarrassing. Am I not important enough? Was Daniel right—did I piss someone off? “So do you think this place is really haunted?” I ask.
Joshua opens up the cooler and pulls out another bottle, twisting off the top and then handing it to Lourdes. She thanks him before answering me. “Nearly seventy people were burned alive in the ballroom that night, Audrey. I’d imagine some were pretty traumatized. But don’t worry”—she takes a sip—“they’re just ghosts.”
“House rules,” Tanya sings out. Again they respond and then toast. I look at Lourdes and she smiles around the lip of her bottle.
“No talk of work in the off-hours,” she explains. “No talk of Kenneth, no talk of our lives outside of the Ruby. Those are our house rules. It makes the job bearable.” She reaches into the cooler and pulls me out a drink. Normally, I wouldn’t have a second one, but I’m having fun. I like the house rules. I don’t want to talk—think—about my life before or after the Ruby.