The Grand Azathoth Hotel - Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Ddraig was basking in his own magnificence, as was proper. The Hotel’s energy seeped into his bones, richer than any hoard he’d ever claimed, warming him from the inside out. He’d devoured entire armies in his prime, burned landscapes to ash, and yet nothing compared to the luxurious indulgence of a bottomless cup of James’ coffee and the ambient power swirling in this place.

He sighed contentedly, stretched out on his chair near the entrance, flexing his claws. If Albion could see him now, the smug bastard would seethe. Maybe he should find him one day, slap the arrogance right off his stupid face, just for the fun of it. But not today. Today was about relaxation.

Then he heard the footsteps.

Heavy, measured, carrying weight beyond the physical. He cracked an eye open, expecting another unfortunate guest fumbling their way into the Hotel. Instead, he saw her.

Little Arty.

Except she wasn’t little anymore.

The Artemis that stepped into the Hotel had undergone a transformation—evolved, as all things touched by this place tended to do. She was magnificent, a goddess fully realized, draped in divine radiance and something even more intoxicating—power. She was taller, her frame a perfect balance of strength and femininity, her curves sculpted into something that could make even a dragon pause. Her waist was narrow, her hips flared just right, and her chest—well. Ddraig was a dragon, not blind.

Her skin was the color of moonlight on untouched snow, glowing with an ethereal softness that made her seem untouchable. Silver hair cascaded in waves down her back, shimmering with unnatural light, and her lips—full, faintly parted—seemed made for whispered prayers and soft, secret words. And those eyes. Twin crescents of burning silver, alight with something dangerous, something unfathomable.

And yet, for all that divinity, all that raw presence, she was… shy.

Ddraig blinked.

Oh, and she was carrying a dragon corpse over her shoulder.

An enormous dragon corpse, its scales dull, its body mangled, the lifeless bulk of it slung over her shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

Ddraig had many questions.

“Oh, Greg,” she said, her voice softer than he expected.

He grumbled. “Not my name.”

She shifted, hesitated, then murmured something so quiet even his ears didn’t catch it.

“Huh?” He tilted his head. “What was that?”

She inhaled sharply, cheeks burning, then practically shouted—

“I’MHERETOTHANKJAMESFORSAVINGMESOIBROUGHTHIMLUNCHAND—”

She cut herself off, visibly mortified.

Ddraig stared at her. Then at the dragon. Then back at her.

“…I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him eat something?”

Her shoulders drooped.

Ddraig swore internally. He was an apex predator, not an unfeeling monster. He scrambled to fix it.

“But! But I’m sure he’ll love it! Great gift! Thoughtful! Very godly! Please, enter!”

She brightened immediately, and as she passed, Ddraig—entirely on instinct—let his gaze drift down. And, well. The moon had blessed her backside, too.

Maybe he would follow and see what James thought of this. A little break wouldn’t hurt.

As they stepped into the lobby, his amusement only grew. Because standing at the reception desk, arms crossed, staring daggers at Artemis, was Robin.

And Robin did not look happy.

“Yes?” Robin’s voice was cool, her lips barely curving. “It is?”

Ddraig raised an eyebrow. Ohhh, that was cold. Even he felt that.

Artemis lifted her chin. “It is a present for Unc—for James, Robin. And I will give it to him.”

If Robin had been cold before, Artemis’ tone was sub-zero.

Ddraig blinked.

Huh.

Robin’s smile didn’t falter. “Then you can leave it here. I’ll make sure the Manager receives it.”

“No.” Artemis took a deliberate step forward. “I will give it to him myself.”

The air crackled.

Oh, this was about to get good.

Ddraig’s instincts flared as the pressure in the room shifted, space warping just slightly at the edges. He wasn’t the type to get nervous—he was the Red Dragon Emperor, after all—but when reality itself started having second thoughts about staying in one piece, even he had to pay attention.

Robin’s aura curled outward, unseen to most, but Ddraig felt it—the Hotel responded to her, dark spirals of void flickering in and out around her like she was breathing in something deeper than space. Artemis, in contrast, burned like a silver sun, light spilling from her skin in soft waves of divinity, her glow practically hissing where it clashed against Robin’s presence. Seemed she had one of James' special, last tile she came here. She was a lot more powerful than last time. 

A fight between the two of them would be bad.

A fight between the two of them inside the Hotel?

He popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth and took a slow step back, already preparing his escape route. If things went sideways, he wasn’t sticking around to see which flavor of eldritch apocalypse won.

Then—

“Oh?” A voice, dry and almost bored, cut through the tension like a knife through wet paper. “Little girls are fighting?”

Robin and Artemis snapped their heads toward the voice, irritation burning in their eyes—until they saw who had spoken.

Then they went completely, absolutely still. Ddraig had to respect them for not screaming.

Death strolled in like she had all the time in the world, hands casually tucked into the pockets of her ripped jeans. She was chewing gum. Chewing gum. The embodiment of all that was final, the one even gods feared, and she looked like she had just come from a concert. But despite the mundane appearance, the air carried that weight, that quiet certainty that came with knowing she could erase everyone in the room with less effort than it took to blink. Her dark eyes flicked lazily between Artemis, Robin, and the massive dragon carcass slung over Artemis’ shoulder. She tilted her head, inspecting it like she was trying to figure out if it would fit in her fridge.

“Huh,” she mused, tapping a finger against her lip. “Not sure that’ll please him.” A smirk curled her lips. “Or—maybe, because you’re his little niece—” she dragged out the words, watching Artemis’ eye twitch “—he’ll find it cute.”

Ddraig had been doing so well at keeping his mouth shut.

But the Oooooooooh that slipped out?

That, he couldn’t stop.

Three sets of eyes snapped to him immediately.

And oh fuck.

Robin’s glare was sharp enough to flay skin from bone. Artemis’ glow pulsed with the distinct threat of violence. But Death? Death looked at him. Not angrily. Not even with disappointment. Just a look.

And it hurt.

Physically.

His scales burned.

He gulped.

“Says, Mister Greg,” a voice chimed in.

Ddraig turned—probably too fast, if he was honest—and oh fuck again.

A new girl stood there, head tilted slightly in curiosity.

A very attractive new girl.

His very draconic brain immediately took in the essentials: wide hips, tiny waist, perfect chest, long silver hair flowing like strands of moonlight, lips just plump enough to distract a man. And that maid outfit—pristine black-and-white, hugging every right place, the little apron tied with a bow that just begged to be undone—

Wait.

No heartbeat. No scent of sweat. No breath.

His eyes snapped to hers.

White. Empty. No irises. No pupils. Just void.

Not human.

She blinked—not slowly, not naturally, but like someone had toggled an on-off switch.

She continued, in a perfectly even tone, “Are they behaving like this because they want to engage in sexual relationships with the Manager?”

Ddraig choked.

“I read about this,” she said, nodding sagely. “In the Book of Miss Yog-Shoggoth.”

The room stopped breathing.

“And can you explain?” she continued, completely unbothered. “I did not fully comprehend the section that described the method in which they would lick his—”

Ddraig slapped a hand over her mouth so fast he nearly dislocated his shoulder.

Robin made a sound like a dying kettle. Artemis covered her face with both hands, glowing in sheer mortification.

Death just popped her gum.

Ddraig was not paid enough for this.

He did the only logical thing.

He bolted.

Leaving behind three very mortified eldritch beings and one very confused cosmic EndbringMaid.

— — —

Robin was pissed.

Not just irritated, not just frustrated—truly pissed.

The Artemis and Death debacle had been infuriating. She had spent ten years learning how to navigate the eldritch insanity of the Hotel, how to handle cosmic horrors with a calm smile, how to keep things running smoothly. And yet, at the first sign of whatever the hell that was, she had lost her cool. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

And what had that been, anyway? Jealousy? Was she actually jealous over James? The idea made her stomach turn. He was her boss, her friend. But when Artemis had called him “Uncle,” when Death had made that little joke—her hands had clenched. Her voice had gone cold. Like she was some petulant child instead of the calm, professional Assistant to the Manager.

Her grip tightened on the ceramic cup she was cleaning. The porcelain let out the softest, most pitiful crack.

Oops.

Robin exhaled slowly, loosening her grip before she shattered another one. She needed to calm down. And then—ding. The bell. Customers.

She sighed. Perfect. Exactly what she didn’t want to deal with right now. But it was her job, and Ziz still couldn’t make coffee without turning the beans into something alive, so she had no choice but to fake it. She plastered on a polite, neutral smile as two teenage girls strolled inside, trying way too hard to look casual. Robin saw them—really saw them.

They were young, pretty, well-dressed. But their souls were stained. Deep, sticky, ugly stains that clung to them like filth. They tried to pretend—to play the role of innocent high schoolers, all smiles and false warmth—but their true nature bled through in the way they scanned the café, in the tightness around their eyes, in the way their words wanted to slither.

Not customers, Robin noted absently. The Hotel would have recognized them if they had anything interesting to offer. But they didn’t. Just empty, cruel little things. The redhead, Emma, stepped forward first, all affected sweetness.

 “Hi~” she said, dragging the word out just a little too long. “We were wondering if you could help us?”

Robin arched an eyebrow. “Help with what?”

The other one—Maddison—fidgeted, glancing at Emma before mumbling, “We’re looking for a friend. She came here last night and never came home. She's…huh…called Sophia”

Robin’s fingers twitched against the counter. They were bad liars. Not in the usual way, where their words faltered or they hesitated. No, these two believed their own bullshit. But Robin saw them. She let out a slow breath through her nose. “Sorry. Haven’t seen anyone like that.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Not really.

The girl they were looking for—Sophia, Robin assumed—had walked in. But she hadn’t walked out. The Hotel had taken one look at her and deemed her… unworthy. And so she had taken care of her. 

Emma’s mouth twisted, but she forced her fake little smile back into place. “Oh. Well. That’s too bad.”

They didn’t leave. Robin didn’t offer them coffee.

The air between them stretched, heavy and unspoken.

And then—they pushed their luck.

“You know,” Emma said lightly, leaning an elbow on the counter, “I think it’s really nice of you to be so welcoming to people. Like, you even gave Taylor coffee.”

Robin’s expression didn’t change, but her pulse spiked.

“Taylor?” she echoed, tilting her head.

Maddison nodded, playing at looking oh-so-concerned. “Yeah, you know, Taylor Hebert? She’s, uh… she’s kind of a troublemaker. A delinquent, really.”

Robin blinked. Slowly.

Emma sighed dramatically, flipping her hair. “I mean, you don’t have to take our word for it, but she’s bad news. You shouldn’t waste your time on her.”

There it was.

Robin had come into this conversation already pissed. She had been trying to be professional, trying to stay detached, trying not to let Artemis and Death and all that other nonsense get under her skin. But these two?

They were the perfect outlet.

She smiled.

A slow, practiced, not-quite-friendly smile.

“Oh, is that so?” she murmured.

Both girls hesitated. Something in the atmosphere shifted.

Robin leaned forward, just a fraction, resting her hands lightly on the counter. “I see. And what makes you think I’d care?”

Emma blinked, thrown off for half a second. Then, recovering, she let out a breathy little laugh. “Oh, we just thought you should know! Since you seem so nice. Taylor just—she takes advantage of people like you.”

Robin laughed.

A soft, sharp thing.

“Oh, sweethearts,” she said, voice like silk laced with knives. “I think you’re confused.”

She smiled. A bit too wide.

Emma gulped.

"So let me set you straight".

As Emma began to cry for reasons she couldn’t quite understand, Robin added, “Don’t worry, I’m not a monster. It’ll only last a month… or until you truly repent and feel genuine remorse. Whichever comes first.”