Hotel Magnifique(12)

“How do you think it works?” The wardrobe certainly looked normal. Zosa’s sack sat on the floor. I was surprised she hadn’t already decorated the room with Maman’s things. Above the sack hung a maid’s black frock. From the length, I could tell it was never meant for Zosa.

I would work as a maid.

I pictured my pretty sister singing to rounds of applause while I hovered in the shadows, a mop in my hand. But you’re here together, I reminded myself as a wave of useless jealousy swept through me.

The dress was well made, at least. I ran my fingers over the white lace collar—silkier than anything I’d ever owned; I felt unworthy touching it.

“You look like you’ve been given a crown of diamonds.” Zosa laughed and looked up once again. “Whoever is doing this, I gladly thank them.” She then plucked a tarte aux pommes from a platter on the dressing table.

“Don’t tell me a goddess dropped that off.”

“They just appeared. Try a bite. They smell like destiny.”

“Destiny doesn’t have a smell.”

“It does so, and a taste, too.” She took a bite and moaned. “See for yourself.”

I grabbed the pastry and took one bite, then another. Before I knew it, I was licking buttery crumbs from my fingers. Zosa smirked, but I ignored her and dusted off my old skirts. The fabric crunched like a stale wafer.

Zosa pointed to a slim door. “Washroom’s there. Please change. I don’t want your destiny anywhere near my pastries.”

She was right. I nearly wept at the sight of a porcelain tub set with pastel soaps. After I scrubbed my skin raw, I changed into the black dress and spun, feeling fancier than I ever had. Tucking Maman’s gold necklace beneath the constricting lace neck, I stepped out.

Zosa whistled. “Who knew you actually had a shape under all those lumpy frocks?”

“You shut up.”

She snorted.

We both turned when a thick ivory card slid under our door. I inspected it. Gold letters printed across the front read:

    Staff orientation begins at noon in the Blue Room



Last night rushed back. Bel had promised to find me before orientation, explain why he’d acted strange at the sight of my contract. A clock hung above the bed. Already well after ten.

Bel could have forgotten his promise. But knowing him, he’d already written me off as a lost cause. The thought that there was something wrong with my contract made me uneasy, and I didn’t want to wait for answers. I pushed my feet into the new boots beside the wardrobe and sighed at the perfect fit.

Zosa looked up. “Where are you going?”

“For a stroll.” I pinched her nose. “I need to find Bel.”

“Can I come?”

“It’s your first day working. What if you’re kept up late? You should rest.” Plus, I doubted Bel would tell me anything with a pint-size gossip nipping at my heels. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But Jani—”

I cut her off with a single look. She groaned and flung herself on the bed. Pillows tumbled off and came to rest a hand’s width above the floor. I fought the urge to peek inside one. Later, I promised myself and reached for the door handle.

“Don’t look at the candles,” Zosa blurted.

I walked over and swept a curl behind her ear. “There’s nothing to worry about. This is the only place in the world where magic is safe, after all.”



* * *





After leaving the room, I took a service stairwell up, hoping it led to the lobby. But after I’d climbed it for five minutes, it strangely reversed direction and began taking me down.

Finally, I popped out in a candlelit second-floor hall strung with sleek umbrellas, each raining from the inside.

I plunged my fingers under one and wet wind dampened my cheeks. Walking quickly, I dipped my fingers under each umbrella I passed. Some rained tropical storms, others fierce gales. An aquamarine umbrella smelled like the summer showers from my childhood.

Beside it, a gloomy blue umbrella gusted with sea spray. I touched its waxed rib and immediately regretted it. It felt like I was rocking on open ocean. My stomach roiled. I was going to be sick.

A hand jerked me backward.

I spun to face a petite maid with light skin and rosy cheeks. She was near my age with blonde ringlets framing her pointed chin. We wore the same uniform except a steel butterfly perched on her shoulder.

“You shouldn’t touch the umbrellas,” she scolded.

I wiped perspiration from my brow. “Apparently.”

Behind her were five more maids, each perfectly coiffed. I inhaled through my nose praying I wouldn’t be sick all over their shining work boots. Thankfully, the wave of nausea subsided.

“Funny umbrellas, no? They only appeared yesterday.”

“They did?”

“The halls change out constantly,” the maid said, then perused my face. “I’m guessing you must be Jani. You’re cleaner than I was expecting.”

My eyes narrowed. “And who are you?”

“Béatrice,” she said. “The head of housekeeping and your new boss.”

But she hardly looked old enough to be anyone’s boss. Bel’s words came back, the trial run. If this truly were my boss, touching the umbrella would probably count against me.