He frowns momentarily, then the smile is back. “I’m so sorry, sir, I hadn’t realized you weren’t the original Mister Carter, though the family resemblance is uncanny. As part of the contract, anyone who holds the key and is a member of Robert Carter’s family is allowed entrance to the suite. Do you need me to show you to your room?”

“I think I could use a guide,” I say.

“Well then, follow me, sir.” He snaps around like a soldier on parade and steps into one of the elevators. I follow closely, not quite sure what to make of all this.

“Can you refresh my memory?” I say. “You said something about a ‘contribution to the hotel.’ What was that, exactly?”

“Blood, sir,” the bellboy says, his smile freakishly wide. “Gallons and gallons of it. That was the deal. And with that much blood, you’ve kept the Ambassador going for decades no matter what happens to the world outside.”

The bellhop is clearly no Echo, and he’s sure as hell not acting like any ghost I’ve seen on this side.

“Do you speak for the hotel?” I say.

He looks over his shoulder at me, and I figure it out just before he tells me, “Sir, I am the hotel.”

Holy shit. None of these people are ghosts. Not individually. They’re all part of a larger, much more powerful one: the ghost of the Ambassador Hotel itself. The Ambassador wasn’t just a building, wasn’t just masonry, glass, and wood. It was the people who slept there, worked there. It was Bobby Kennedy’s assassination and the Rat Pack’s performances.

This Ambassador isn’t just an imprint on the psychic landscape. It’s the soul of the hotel itself.

The elevators ride smoothly and in moments we’re up on the fourth floor. He points to the far end of the hallway. “There you go, sir. I’m sure you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.”

“I’m sure I will,” I say and hand him a five spot as a tip. He graciously tips his hat and disappears like the Cheshire Cat, only it’s his hat that lingers instead of his grin.

The hallway is empty and I half expect to see two little axe-murdered girls asking me to play with them forever and ever. Which actually happens more often than you might think.

The door at the end of the hall is different from the others. I can tell those are ghost manifestations. They look very real, but there’s an odd sort of plasticity to them. Like they were cast in one piece, doorknobs, wood grain, the works.