Hotel Magnifique(29)

“Yet Jani wasn’t caught.”

“Thanks to me.” Her eyes were bright with anger. “Take the rest of the night off. Tomorrow you’re scrubbing toilets,” she hissed in my direction, and stormed away.

Silently, Bel led me inside the small room. My teeth began to chatter. Bel rifled through a closet by the door. “Here.” He handed me an old maid’s frock that looked two sizes too big then turned to face the opposite wall.

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Freeze to death if you want.” He shrugged. “One less thing for me to worry about the next two weeks.”

I faced the door. “Don’t you dare turn around,” I said, and struggled to undo the wet buttons at my back. My hands shook from cold. “Damn it.”

“Hold still.” I gasped when strong fingers pinched the material at my nape. I squirmed, but Bel held me in place. “This isn’t anything I haven’t seen before.”

“So you often help remove the dresses of frightened, helpless women?”

He snorted. “Daily.”

Quickly, he undid all the buttons down my back. I spun around. “Face the wall,” I ordered, and kept an eye on him as I peeled the wet dress off until it was a sopping puddle on the floor.

He started to turn.

“Not done!” I shouted, fumbling with the new frock. He huffed and turned anyway, hopefully only catching a glimpse of my bare legs before the black material fell into place. My hands still shook, but the rest of me was blessedly warm.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

I rolled my eyes and looked around the room. There was no bed. “Is this your room?”

“No. Did you want to see my room?”

“I . . . No,” I stammered. He managed a laugh. “I hate you.”

“Right now, likewise.” He gestured around the tiny space. “This is the map room.”

Against one wall, a shelf was stuffed with dusty objects. A painting of a woman hung above a cold hearth. Delicate strokes created the woman’s piercing eyes, light skin, and sharp nose. Her low neckline showcased a bronze pendant.

I knew her face. It was the same woman I’d seen repeated in tiny plaster intaglios in that magic hall where I’d run into Alastair. As I stared at the portrait, the floral wallpaper the woman stood against bloomed. Black petals bulged from the canvas. One tumbled to the ground.

The gilded frame looked expensive and the portrait was masterfully done. She must be someone very important. Or very rich. “Who is she?”

“I don’t know.”

Nodding, I fixed my eyes on a round table, painted with flowers from around the world. I traced my thumb around the purple petals of an Aligney blood poppy. There were papers scattered across the surface. One had a quick drawing of a signet ring. The giant atlas Bel used when he moved the hotel sat in the center, opened to a hand-drawn map labeled with delicate penmanship.

“Every map in that whole atlas was drawn by a single suminaire,” he said, noticing where my gaze had landed.

“The woman in the portrait?”

“Perhaps.”

He removed his jacket. His damp shirt stuck to his chest, outlining the panes of his muscles, and my skin tightened.

I swallowed and took a step back. “You look lovely,” I said dryly.

“So do you.” He gestured to one of my soggy locks. “You can’t wander into escape games.”

“I didn’t wander in,” I said. “I—” Thinking back to what had happened, the conversation I’d had with Red, everything I’d experienced in the past two days came crashing forward. “I’ve had strange conversations with a few maids. Then in the game, the suminaire didn’t remember her home, but the guests do, and so do I. The only difference I can think of is that guest contract I signed. You didn’t tell me everything the contracts do, did you?”

“I was planning to.”

I crossed my arms. “Well, you can start now.”

Instead of answering, Bel pulled a ball of linen from his pocket and carefully unwrapped it to reveal an old pair of dice etched with moons.

I shot him an incredulous look. When he ignored me, I was tempted to grab the dice and throw them at his head. Before I could do it, he plopped them in my palm. Magic hummed softly against my skin, different than Bel’s key. Cool and silkier.

Somehow, mercifully, the magic calmed me. I exhaled and rolled the dice. They felt similar to Red’s thimble. “Are they . . . an artéfact?” I asked, testing the word on my tongue.

“How do you know that?”

I told him how Red had accidentally said the word, then about that plaque in the lobby. “I’ve seen other suminaires using magical objects like these.” I stroked the dice. “How do they work?”

“Artéfacts aren’t magical themselves. They’re reservoirs for magic. Every suminaire is given one the moment they come inside. They pull magic from our blood and transmute it into a single spell before it can hurt anyone.”

“But I thought the hotel is enchanted to keep magic safe.” It was the reason everyone felt comfortable coming here.

“The hotel has nothing to do with it.” He touched the chain that held his key. “I don’t need an artéfact with me at all times, but it would be dangerous to go more than a few days without one, or without using my magic in more basic ways.”