Hotel Magnifique(11)

“We both know that’s a lie,” Bel said, his eyes never leaving her teacup.

“Because of you I had to send the gathering guests to bed early. Surprise, surprise. You’re in a shitstorm of trouble.”

“I retrieved your hire, didn’t I?” Bel turned to Zosa, but it was me who caught Yrsa’s eye.

“What’s that one doing here?”

“I’m allowed to give out a contract every now and then under certain circumstances. Her sister refused to come without her,” he said. Not exactly the truth, but I wasn’t about to argue. “Don’t worry. She’ll be my responsibility. Besides, housekeeping needs the extra help.”

“You’re willing to take her on?” Yrsa sounded surprised and somewhat amused. “Very well. She can stay, but if she does something sublimely asinine, don’t come running to me.”

“She’ll behave,” Bel said, looking directly at me. A warning.

I thought of the two-week trial run and my stomach flipped. Luck got me here. Not merit.

Images poured through my mind—faces of workers plucked from the highest pedigrees. They’d all sense I was an impostor by tomorrow evening.

Stop it. You can do this, I told myself. No way I’d let anyone send me back now, especially Bel. He was probably already counting the ways I might mess up.

Zosa bounded over, skidding to a halt a foot away. She lifted an orange shard Bel had missed and yelped. The jagged piece bit into her palm. Blood dripped down her arm.

Yrsa set her teacup down and pulled a tiny vial of gold paste from her pocket. She uncapped it and scraped up the smallest bit. In one swift movement, she removed the shard and smeared gold into my sister’s cut.

Zosa wiped her palm down her skirt, then lifted it to her face. “It’s healed.”

I inspected it. The cut was zipped up. Not even a scar.

Yrsa waved the orange shard at Bel. “Did you break a marvelous orange?” I’d never heard of a marvelous orange, but the look on Yrsa’s face meant it was significant.

Bel shrugged. “Knocked it with my elbow when I carried the little one in.” He cut me a look that said to keep my mouth shut. He was lying for me.

“Sorry if I made him break your orange, madame,” Zosa added, clearly joining the charade to save my neck. I would have hugged her if Yrsa wasn’t watching.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens from time to time,” Bel said, then turned to Yrsa. “Will you show these two downstairs? As you know, I have someone expecting me.” He pointed to me. “And if that one tries to throw something at you, don’t worry—she has appalling aim.”

I could only glare at the back of his head as he stalked off.

“Good luck reporting to Bel. That boy doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” Yrsa picked up her teacup. “Now follow me.”

She led us around the aviary. The glass went up forever, passing candlelit balconies. Around us, more orange trees grew from the marble. Haunting music filled my ears, but there were no musicians.

“It’s all magic,” Zosa whispered.

I nodded, breathless. With each step, the grimy film of my life in Durc seemed to drip away.

We barely blinked as Yrsa steered us down a staircase to an underground service hall lit by candles in slim sconces. The flames grew, turning mauve and casting the hall in dreamy pink. They stretched toward us as we passed. When one got close to my hair, Zosa batted it away.

“They’re harmless and always curious of new staff. They’ll stop soon enough,” Yrsa said. “Here we are.”

A door drifted open. The room behind it was tiny and perfect—it was like peering inside a dollhouse. Nothing was crooked or peeling or lived in. I was afraid to touch anything for fear I might corrupt it with my calluses.

Zosa rushed inside and flopped on a bed arranged with pillows. One bounced up and hovered an inch in the air, as if actually stuffed with spun clouds. The Bézier girls would squeal at the sight, but they weren’t here. We were.

Yrsa turned to leave.

“Wait.” She stopped. “Are we truly Elsewhere?” I asked. I knew her answer, but I needed to hear her say it out loud, that magic had taken me far from Durc, and one step closer to home.

Her hands curled around her teacup. It was filled to the brim with milk that miraculously swirled on its own.

“Welcome to Hotel Magnifique,” she said with a smile, then sauntered off down the pink-tinged hall.





That night, I didn’t dream of magic but simpler times in Aligney: afternoons scaling the village wall, fresh pain de campagne filling our bread box, Maman’s fingers flipping through music workbooks on our sun-drenched kitchen table.

The dreams clung to the edges of my mind as I woke the next morning to Zosa’s breath tickling my ear.

“You look worse than a rumpled troll,” she said.

“Go away, goblin.”

“Pixie-toed witch.”

“I haven’t a clue what that is.” I cracked an eye and caught Zosa’s grin. Slowly, I sat up. Zosa’s old dress had been replaced with a white blouse tucked into a starched black skirt. “Where did you get those?”

“I found them in the wardrobe. They fit perfectly. Can you believe it?” She clasped her hands together and looked toward the ceiling. “Many thanks, oh divine goddess of the hotel.”