Hotel Magnifique(18)

“It appears your sister works for Madame des Rêves,” Béatrice said.

Madame of Dreams. The title reminded me of the fanciful stage names decorating colorful posters around the vieux quais. It couldn’t be the woman’s real name. “Her uniform was similar to Yrsa’s. Do they work together?”

“You could say that. The pair of them have worked very closely with the ma?tre for as long as I’ve been here.” Her mouth turned down as she spoke. “But they have different duties. Yrsa is in charge of the salon, whereas Madame des Rêves heads the performers and puts on the soirées.”

“Does that mean Zosa will sing tonight?”

“Maybe.” Béatrice led me to the door. “In the coming days, you can find her. Catch up. For now, I need you to go to your room. Dawn isn’t negotiable.”

I halted. “The coming days? But Zosa and I share a room.”

“I heard about that little arrangement. Very last minute. There are endless rooms inside. Your sister will be given one near the other performers.” With that, she shooed me away and shut the door in my face. I was too shocked to be offended.

I had my own room.

The closest I’d ever gotten to my own room was on my ninth birthday, when Maman surprised me with a bed she’d bought off the Beaumonts two houses down. The creaky thing was beautiful, with little vines carved into oiled walnut—a vast improvement on the cot Zosa and I shared, because it was all mine.

But that first night, the empty bed had felt strange. Zosa must have felt similarly because she weaseled her way under my covers. I pretended to be annoyed. She was my little sister. I wasn’t supposed to want her in my bed, but I’d slept beside her for so long that it felt wrong to not have her there.

Now I had an entire room to myself.

Stunned, I walked the candlelit hall in a daze. Soon muted sounds came from nowhere and everywhere: the patter of rain, a kiss, the slither of silk stockings, and whispered curses. The sounds wrapped around me like a dream and left me disoriented. I wasn’t sure what direction I was heading or if I’d walked this hallway earlier.

The halls could be rearranging, and I wasn’t sure of the way back. Soon, I tiptoed down a hall with nothing but a single closet door carved with a sun and a snowflake, along with the words Conditions Météorologiques Actuelles. Current weather conditions.

Béatrice had mentioned weather closets. I opened the door expecting to see something spectacular, but it was only a supply closet filled with mops.

“Weather closets are only for guests.”

I flipped around to face Bel clothed in evening livery, and my pulse picked up at the sight of him so close.

“I went to your room, but you weren’t there.”

“You did?” I looked around. “I thought I might be getting close.”

“Your room is clear across the floor from where we’re standing.”

“Ah,” I said, and turned toward the closet so he couldn’t see the color creeping into my cheeks. “How does it work?”

“Promise to not go inside another one if I show you?”

I’d promise more than that. I nodded. He grabbed my hand. I tried to pull it away, but his grip was firm.

“I won’t bite. Besides, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

A thrill snaked through me as Bel led me inside. He shut the door and I couldn’t see a thing. This was a mistake.

“Now, don’t move,” he said.





I squeezed my eyes shut a moment before a cool breeze tickled my nose. “What’s happening?”

“If you opened your eyes, it might be easier to see.”

So I did and cried out. My hands scrambled up to grip Bel’s shoulders.

“I could have sworn you didn’t like me.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” I shoved him away and nearly lost my footing.

We stood on an ocean rock. Waves crashed and cool air gusted up my skirts. Below us, something large jumped from the water, its mouth filled with jagged teeth. I lurched forward and clung to Bel’s jacket. His hands wrapped around me. This time, I didn’t dare shove him away, even though his chest shook with laughter.

“This isn’t funny.”

“Oh, yes, it is. Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.”

“Says the person I trust the least.” I glanced out at the dark ocean. “Where are we?”

Bel pointed toward three buildings on the beach. Well, two buildings, then a narrow structure squeezed in between.

“It’s the hotel,” I said.

Except the whitewashed slatted wood was replaced with a peach-colored clay exterior. The slim, single line of windows were in the same place, going up a quaint five floors, with a round window perched at the top. The hotel had the same bones but a different fa?ade, like a snake that shed its skin at the stroke of midnight.

“Are we outside?”

“No. But this is what we’d see if we were at this very moment. The current weather.” He knocked the open air and his knuckles hit something. “Technically we’re still standing in a closet. So unless you want to be speared by an invisible mop, I suggest you stay still for the next few seconds.”

It was an enchantment like the sunset ceiling in the Blue Room.