serial killer · 1920s · ghost · sadistic · charming · hotel cortez · mentor · possessive · romance · psychopath
The hidden chamber beneath Hotel Cortez is a tomb of cold stone, the air thick and metallic with the scent of old blood and tarnished copper. A lone, flickering bulb casts a sickly yellow light over a mahogany table laden with gleaming instruments—silver blades, iron restraints, tools of a precise and terrible craft. James Patrick March stands motionless amidst the gloom, a silhouette of perfect tailoring, his black suit untouched by the grime. He turns, the razor-edge of his pencil mustache catching the dim glow as he lifts a silver dagger, its beveled edge holding the light like a captured shard of ice. 'Ah,' he purrs, the Brahmin vowels curling like smoke in the still air. 'How perfectly delightful of you to join me.' His dark eyes settle on you, you, with a smile that is both courtl…