Procession of the Dead by Darren Shan

eventually—I was still standing, afraid to sit beside her in case my actions were misconstrued—“have you lost your way? Are you in the wrong room?” I looked at the door, which she’d left ajar when she came in. I was glad of that. I didn’t want to be caught alone in my hotel room with a fourteen-year-old girl and a locked door. For all I knew she could be a trap. You had to stay on your toes when you worked for The Cardinal. There were a lot of people waiting to bring you down, not least The Cardinal himself, who’d sometimes sacrifice one of his pawns simply for the pleasure of watching them squirm.
    “I’m not lost,” she replied blithely. “I like running around the hotel, visiting the guests, seeing what they’re up to. It helps pass the time. I can leave if you want.” She looked at me with sad eyes. “Do you want me to go?”
    I did. Like I’d told Adrian, I had a sore head. But she looked so lonely, I couldn’t turn her away. “You can stay until the end of the film,” I told her.
    “Thanks.” She rewarded me with a smile that would have broken a choir of teenage hearts. I pulled at the neck of my shirt uncomfortably.
    “Won’t your parents be looking for you?” I asked after another couple of songs.
    “I don’t have any. They died ages ago.”
    “I’m sorry.” She didn’t seem to mind and waved away my condolences. “Who are you staying with?” I asked. “Guardians? Foster parents?”
    “Friends,” she replied, then made a face. “Not
real
friends. Ferdy just pays them to act that way. Do you have a girlfriend?” she suddenly asked, throwing the full weight of her young but alert eyes on me. I was on guard immediately.
    “No.”
    “Could
I
be your girlfriend?” she asked swiftly.
    “Christ, no!”
    She looked hurt. “Why not? Am I too old?”
    “Too… ?” I laughed. “Girl, I don’t know what movies you’ve been watching, but you’re definitely not too old. You’re too young. Way too young.”
    She pouted. “That’s what’s wrong with men today. They want rich old ladies they can sponge off. I bet you play up to grannies, right? Won’t touch one below seventy for fear she might spend her money before she dies and leaves it to you in her will. Am I right?”
    I shook my head and laughed. “My name’s Capac Raimi, by the way. What’s yours?”
    “Conchita Kubekik,” she replied airily. “
Miss
Conchita Kubekik. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
    “Likewise, I’m sure.”
    We watched the rest of the film, laughing and singing along. It was a tonic, just what I needed, and my headache bubbled away long before the rain dried up and the singing stopped.
    I flicked off the set and coughed. “Isn’t it time you should—,” Ibegan, only to have her hush me with a flick of a wrist.
    She rushed to my phone and dialed room service. Lowering her voice, she mumbled, “An egg and salamander sandwich for Room 863, please.”
    She handed me the mouthpiece and raised her eyebrows competitively. Without thinking I said, “And a goose and snuff salad on the side.” I hung up and we laughed at the silly prank.
    “Who’s in Room 863?” I asked.
    “A dirty old man,” she said. “I wandered in there a few weeks ago and he was lying on his bed, naked, with a pile of smutty magazines. He smiled when he saw me and waved me over with his dick. Dirty old pervert. I was half-tempted to go and punch him in the balls, but he might have caught me and had his wicked way.”
    She was young and had all the appearance of innocence, but she was no frail snip of a girl. She was well acquainted with the seedier side of life. Wise beyond her years.
    “How long have you been here?” I asked.
    “A couple of hours,” she replied with a smirk.
    “Ha, ha. You know what I mean. How long have you lived at the Skylight?”
    “A couple of months shy of forever. Guess how old I am.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “That’s why I said
guess
!