The Grand Azathoth Hotel - Chapter 53

Chapter 53

Lisa leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs under the table as she took a slow sip of her overpriced Starbucks coffee. It was shit, really—burnt, bitter, barely drinkable—but she didn’t come here for the coffee. No, she came here for the people.

Her eyes flitted across the room, and her power did the rest.

The guy by the window, mid-thirties, suit just a little too crisp, smile just a little too fixed? Definitely cheating. Not a maybe—definitely. The way he checked his phone every three minutes, angling it just out of sight while wearing an expression that screamed guilty conscience? Classic. Probably texting her right now. His fingers were twitching, foot tapping against the floor. Waiting for a reply. Not his girlfriend’s reply—his other girlfriend’s. The one who didn’t know she was just a side piece.

Two tables over, the college girl with the laptop and exhausted eyes? Pulling an all-nighter. Not school-related, though—her tabs weren’t full of research articles, they were job postings. She’d just gotten fired. No—laid off. Her company had cut staff, and she’d gotten the axe. Rent was due soon, and she had nothing lined up. She’d be calling home in an hour, telling herself she wouldn’t ask for help before inevitably caving and doing exactly that.

Lisa grinned into her coffee. People were so predictable.

And then—

Her power lurched.

Her gaze snapped to a man who had just walked in, her mind flooding with details before she even had time to process them. Mid-forties. 6’2”, built like a slab of concrete stuffed into a too-tight hoodie. Balding, but trying to hide it with a close buzz cut. Military background. No—mercenary. No, worse.

Her fingers twitched, and she forced herself to take another sip of coffee, feigning indifference as she adjusted her posture, casually tapping her foot against the leg of the table. He ordered a black coffee. Paid in cash. Didn’t check his phone once. That alone set him apart. No unnecessary movements, no wasted energy. Eyes sharp, scanning the room, taking everything in while pretending not to.

She let her power work, filling in the gaps.

Name: Matthew Crosswell. Goes by Cirkzet in certain circles. Hired muscle, ex-black ops. One of Coil’s many, many little chess pieces.

Her grip on her cup tightened.

Bastard.

Not him, not Crosswell. No, Coil. The real bastard. The man who owned her, who played her like she was just another pawn on his board. And she hated that her power didn’t even have to tell her that she was lying to herself, that she wasn’t just angry—she was afraid.

She rolled her eyes at her own thoughts, scoffing under her breath. Yeah, sure. Fear. Like hell. Lisa was already halfway through another sip of coffee, ready to tune out and focus back on the actual job, when she caught something out of place.

Something… off.

Her gaze barely flicked past the window before it locked on.

A girl.

Mousy. Unremarkable. Too-thin arms wrapped in the sleeves of an oversized hoodie, faded jeans that had seen better days. Clean, but in a way that spoke of effort, not habit. Like someone who had to remind herself to take care of basic needs. Her hair was uneven—self-cut, probably in a bathroom mirror, shaky hands.

Lisa almost dismissed her. Almost.

And then she saw her face.

Lisa tapped her fingers against the side of her coffee cup, staring blankly at the street outside. She wasn’t paying attention—not really. Her power worked best when she let it do its thing, feeding her subconscious pieces of information she hadn’t realized she’d picked up. Normally, it was an automatic process. Natural. She watched. She listened. She learned.

And right now, she was learning something very strange.

She was happy and her power thought that was wrong. 

What ? 

Lisa let her power dig in, teasing out threads of information. The girl should not be happy. Bullied. Targeted. For years. A victim so thoroughly crushed that she should still be walking around with the weight of it on her shoulders. But she wasn’t. Her posture was relaxed, almost light. The kind of easy comfort that only came when a burden had been lifted.

Lisa frowned. Her power was telling her something else, something that made even less sense. She was insecure. About…breasts?

Lisa blinked. That was unexpected. But her power continued, filling in gaps before she could even form the questions. Comparing herself to someone. Someone big. A woman. A giant?

Lisa’s frown deepened. Who the hell was she thinking about? She shook it off, focusing back on the first, more pressing issue. The girl was happy because something had changed. Something had stopped. Her power adjusted, sharpening the focus. She was no longer being bullied. Lisa leaned forward slightly, keeping her coffee steady in one hand as she let the information come. Three bullies. That’s how many there were. Three people who had, for years, dedicated themselves to making that girl’s life a living hell. And now, none of them were doing it anymore. That was wrong.

One was dead. Wait. Lisa’s fingers twitched slightly, grip tightening around the warm ceramic of her cup. That wasn’t unusual—not in Brockton Bay. People died all the time. But this? This wasn’t some random accident. This wasn’t even gang violence. Killed in self-defense.

Lisa’s pulse kicked up. Self-defense when trying to assassinate someone. That was worse. That meant intent. That meant planning. That meant this girl’s tormentor—one of them, at least—hadn’t just been cruel for the sake of cruelty. She had tried to murder someone. And then she died.

Lisa breathed in slow, careful, measured. Who? Who had she gone after? Her power didn’t hesitate. A cape. Not just any cape—a powerful cape. Someone important. Someone who should have been untouchable. Lisa’s headache bloomed sharp and sudden, like a warning siren in the back of her skull.

Her power adjusted, shifting under the weight of something big. Lisa barely had time to prepare before the answer hit her like a brick wall. Contessa. Her cup almost slipped from her fingers. Who was she ? The most powerful parahuman in existence. She could kill AlexandriaHer breath stopped, chest tightening, throat closing up around something too massive to process. That—no. No. That wasn’t possible.

Lisa’s world shattered. One of the most powerful parahuman was dead? That couldn’t be right. That shouldn’t be right. But her power had never been wrong. Not once. Not ever. But she had no time to think because the flow of information kept coming, rolling over her like a tidal wave, drowning her before she could even catch her breath.

There were still two more. The other two bullies. They were not dead. But they were not okay. Lisa’s teeth clenched as her power whispered the next part, dragging it out with almost sadistic patience. Cursed. Not injured. Not hospitalized. Cursed.

By a witch.

Lisa’s headache sharpened, a splitting pain shooting through her skull. No. That wasn’t a proper classification. That wasn’t right. A cape, then? Some kind of Master? Stranger? No—wrong again. Her power twisted, resisting, flickering like a sputtering lightbulb. Not a cape. Not human. Not natural.

An immortal sorceress.

Lisa’s stomach dropped. A cold sweat broke out across her skin. Her power was malfunctioning. Stuttering. It never did that. It always knew, always found an answer, always gave her something to work with—but now? Now it was skidding and struggling, trying to define something that should not exist.

Her breathing turned shallow. Living between the dimensions. That was what it said. That was the closest it could get. A thing, a force, a being that did not belong here. Something old. Something endless. And it had touched reality just long enough to break two people beyond repair.

Lisa swallowed hard, trying to control the shaking in her hands. That should have been the worst of it. That should have been the peak of her horror. But it wasn’t.

Because something else was wrong with the girl.

Lisa’s power lurched, drawn toward her, like a moth to an open flame. It didn’t wait for her permission. It didn’t let her process. It didn’t let her breathe. It dove in.

And the screaming started.

FREE SHARD. FREE SHARD. FREE SHARD.

Lisa flinched. A high-pitched, static screech rang through her head, clawing at her brain, digging deep into the marrow of her thoughts. Her power was malfunctioning. It wasn’t stuttering now—it was screaming.

Lisa’s body went rigid.

The headache turned into something else. Something worse. Something unnatural. Like the pressure of an ocean pressing down on her skull, like a black hole swallowing every rational thought she had left.

FREE SHARD. FREE SHARD. FREE SHARD.

Lisa gritted her teeth, forcing her body to stay still, forcing herself not to grab her head, not to scream, not to panic. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Her power looped.

Her breath hitched.

Her vision blurred.

And then—

A voice.

Not hers.

Not her power.

Something else.

Something outside.

Something watching.

Something old.

And then—

“I see you.”

Lisa’s entire world went white.

— — — 

Taylor trudged down the sidewalk, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket, head low. It had been a good day, all things considered—no bullying, no locker-based traumas, no mysterious horrors lurking in the corners of her vision. Just a nice, normal walk home.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her.

A girl. A very pretty girl. The kind of girl who belonged on magazine covers, not staring through the window of some random café. She had golden hair, bright green eyes, and an aura of effortless elegance that made Taylor acutely aware of every single awkward limb attached to her body.

And—wait. Why was she looking at Taylor like that?

The girl’s eyes widened. Her lips parted in silent horror. She took a step back, one trembling hand reaching for the glass as if to steady herself. Then, like a Victorian noblewoman overcome with grief, she swooned.

Taylor blinked as the beautiful girl collapsed.

Right there.

Inside the café.

People rushed to her side. A waiter flailed uselessly. Someone fanned her with a napkin. The whole thing looked very dramatic, very staged, like something out of a bad romance novel.

Taylor stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring through the glass.

“…Was she looking at me?” she whispered.

A pause.

Oh God, she was looking at me.

Taylor winced. Was she… so ugly that beautiful girls just fainted when they saw her? Was that a thing now? A whole new level of self-esteem destruction had just been unlocked.

She almost let it ruin her day.

But then—fire.

No. No, she refused to accept this! She would not let the world convince her she was some kind of anti-beauty entity roaming the streets, felling supermodels with her sheer lack of appeal!

She needed a plan. She needed guidance. She needed someone who actually knew beauty. Who was beauty.  And she knew exactly who to ask. With renewed determination, Taylor marched toward the one person who could help her become irresistible.

— — — 

The room was in shambles, furniture smashed, walls cracked where Kaido’s fists had landed. His roar shook the air, making even the floor seem unsteady beneath them.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

His subordinates cowered, foreheads pressed to the ground, trembling like leaves in a storm. Black Maria had seen Kaido angry before, but this—this was something else. He was tearing through the room like a beast in a frenzy, tossing aside broken furniture, snarling threats at the men who had failed to guard Yamato. If they were lucky, he’d make their deaths quick.

Maria kept her face calm, but her mind was racing. Yamato had vanished, and there were no signs of a struggle. That meant she had escaped. But how? Her sharp eyes scanned the wreckage until something caught her attention—a slightly open closet door.

She moved quickly, yanking it open, expecting—what? More broken furniture? Instead, her gaze fell on something unexpected.

“Captain!” she called, eyes widening. “There are stairs!”

“Stairs?” His voice was low, dangerous, like the deep rumble of a storm before the lightning struck. “What the fuck do you mean, stairs?”

Black Maria stepped back slightly, lifting a hand in a placating gesture. “See for yourself, Captain,” she said, keeping her voice smooth despite the tension prickling at her skin.

Kaido stomped forward, shoving aside the splintered remains of a broken chair as he peered into the opening. His scowl deepened. “That damn brat…” His grip tightened around the kanabo resting against his shoulder, knuckles whitening as realization dawned. “She had a way out this whole time?” His teeth bared in a snarl. “Tch. I should’ve torn this place apart sooner.”

Maria tilted her head, peering down the shadowed passage. “She must’ve planned this escape for a while,” she mused, a playful lilt to her tone despite the situation. “How clever of her~.”

Kaido’s glare flicked to her, sharp as a blade. “Don’t start with that crap, Maria. Get down there. NOW.”

She let out a light laugh, though her heart pounded at the sheer weight of his fury pressing down on her. “Understood, Captain.” Without hesitation, she stepped forward, heels clicking against the hidden stairway’s worn stone. The air was cooler down here, damp, the scent of dust and secrecy thick in the space.

She would bring her boss' daughter back. Fucking brat.