The Lost Heir (Book I)- The Violet City

Purple Hearts

Isabella sat in the lobby lounge of the hotel with her journal she'd named Musetta, for some reason. They were all named that, and she'd written in one since she was about nine-years-old. It helped her deal with things sometimes. Things like the fact that she woke up that morning with her skin hot and tingling. It wasn't normal, and she couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with the dream she'd had.

In the dream, Isabella been in the middle of a forest clearing with Pythian holding her hand. All of a sudden, enormous green flames burst from the ground and went as high as the trees. Pythian ripped his hand away from her, jumped through the flames and disappeared, then she woke up, skin hot. She wrote this down, then looked around the lobby—the real world.

Despite the memory of the dream, Isabella was thankful that no one seemed to be invading her senses at the moment. Several customers sat at their tables, eating their meals quietly. Isabella's thoughts shifted to the droves of people that would fill the hotel as the holidays continued to near. People whom she didn't know and didn't miss. There were people that she did miss, though. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be showing up with the masses. That was, until New Year's Eve. Lana promised she'd be back in time for their show.

She spooned split-pea-and-bacon soup into her mouth as she began scribbling again.

So, I had a crazy dream, and a crazy day, and things are crazy here, which leads me to one important truth: I hate Lana. Why? Because she's out of town. As USUAL. I need her. She knows the last two weeks of December suck up and down and all around, and this year, I may not be having as many freak outs—yet, but a lot of weirdness is going on around me, and I need her to help me figure it all out. Or at least, to make me feel better. You know that best friends have this crazy way of making you laugh even when you want to cry. But she isn't here!

"WEIRDO!"

Pythian?

Isabella slapped her journal shut and clumsily knocked over her entire bowl of green soup.

"I'll get it, sweetie," said her favorite waitress, a pale, dark-haired woman named Elyse, as she rushed off to get a mop and whatever else she needed to clean the mess.

Isabella looked up to see what the commotion was all about. However, a colorful figure stood in front of the table, blocking her view.

"FREAK!"

The voice ate up the ridges of her spine. She heard Rolf anxiously chastising whomever it was to, "Stop running, please!" Then, "Young man, please leave the young lady alone."

Poor Rolf. Sometimes she wondered if he liked being the concierge.

Isabella moved her head left to look around a woman who was blocking her view. "Excuse me, ma'am."

Unfortunately, the woman stepped left instead of right, making it even harder for her to see. The lady was obviously interested in what was going on, too. Another cry arose. Curiosity pumped at Isabella's temples. Standing up, she lurched forward to get a better view of what was happening and caught a quick glimpse of a girl running out of sight as a shadowy figure loomed behind her. A scream vibrated into her ears as the girl she had seen only briefly cried out. She knew that girl. Her voice was unmistakable. Johnna Johnson had lived with her mother at the hotel for years. She was one of those snobby rich girls who would probably be a better heiress to the hotel than Isabella ever could be, but Isabella would never actually admit that out loud.

This time Isabella was going to take her grandmother's advice and let her intuition keep her out of it. Why should she help Johnna Johnson, of all people? Maybe she was in danger. Isabella closed her eyes and took in a deep breath in an attempt to connect with Johnna. She sighed in relief as joviality and frustration beat across the room and into her heart. This was no emergency. Just kids horsing around. But if that was Johnna, Isabella had to know who was chasing her.