Hotel Magnifique(32)

“Hoping for something more isn’t silly,” he said quietly. “What happened next?”

“I bought ferry tickets. After we arrived, I used the last of our money for the room at Bézier’s. The following afternoon, I dressed Zosa up and took her to audition at the venue on that crumpled flyer. She was only nine.”

Bel watched me, an inscrutable look on his face. “Let me guess. She didn’t land the job.”

“She didn’t sing. The venue manager took one look at her all dolled up and laughed. I wanted nothing more than to return to Aligney afterward, but I’d spent all we had to get us to Durc. We were stuck.”

His expression softened. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

I bristled. I didn’t want his pity. I dropped my gaze to the open atlas, filled with far-off places. I thought I might see some of them before returning home, until a moment ago, when I learned I wasn’t allowed outside.

“If something happens to my sister before we leave this place . . .” Guilt planted a foothold inside me. “Where is she?”

“Probably in her room. If she was hired as a performer, it’s doubtful she’ll work again until the next soirée.”

That wasn’t right. “But Des Rêves told me herself Zosa would work for her nightly.”

“Nightly?”

“She’s one of Des Rêve’s chanteuses.”

Bel stiffened. Something about his posture made me wary.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. I didn’t believe him. Something was wrong, I was sure of it. Bel’s eyes flicked to a wall clock. “It’s after seven. Madame Des Rêves will be onstage in the salon. I’ll speak with her later and ask after Zosa. You and I can talk in the morning. Now please get to your room.” His eyes bore into mine. Those eyes weren’t about to take no for an answer.

“Fine,” I lied.

If there was something wrong, it would be my fault for not checking on Zosa. I’d speak with Des Rêves right now.

Bel let me pass. When the door shut, I took off. I raced downstairs and across the lobby, only slowing at the sound of singing. The salon was packed. No sign of Yrsa or the twins, so I crept inside. A man plucked a towering harp. Guests lounged, sipping glowing aperitifs, eyes glued to the stage where a trio of girls performed.

The first girl had brown skin, luminous against a pink chiffon gown tipped with marabou. The second girl was curvy with beige skin and blonde hair that curtained against a dusty blue gown sewn with iridescent feathers. Zosa was girl number three.

She wore a low-cut silk concoction disappearing into a skirt of feathers the exact shade of molten gold.

I shoved forward until she opened her mouth and sang. My feet stopped. With each word, her voice strengthened. I thought of the apple crate and the flour jar, then the venue manager who had laughed at her.

He wouldn’t be laughing now.

Zosa hit a high note and all the guests in Salon d’Amusements gasped. Tears pricked my eyes. My sister was better than Maman. Better, I imagined, than that woman from the crumpled flyer. The guests probably assumed she was a suminaire, because her voice felt like magic.

The velvet curtains behind the chanteuses parted. Madame des Rêves stepped out in a sheath of ruffles matching her sapphire wig. The only part of her that wasn’t blue was her pale skin, and that silver talon resting in her cleavage. I’d forgotten about the talon. An artéfact, I assumed.

“This is the best part,” cooed a guest.

On the last note, Des Rêves touched the talon to Zosa’s collarbone. The crowd went wild. In the span of a blink, Zosa folded, her dress scrunching up as she transformed into a tiny golden bird.

“Zosa!” I jostled forward, but there were too many guests. My mind screamed to get to her, but I was trapped in the center of the crowd.

A gilded cage appeared from nowhere, and I clutched my throat. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. Des Rêves transformed the other two girls and placed them each inside the cage.

“Zosa!”

The curtains fell.

My arms slackened into dead weights. Everything had been so sudden that I wondered if Zosa knew what was happening. No, she couldn’t know, because she’d never agree to this. But she didn’t have to, I realized, with a sinking horror. The other workers performed their jobs with utter complacency, and Zosa was probably just like them now.

This was my doing; I’d brought her the newspaper, took us to interview. This place was supposed to be my shortcut out of Durc, and I was supposed to be the older sister who did something right for once, who took us home, kept us together. I squeezed my fist and could practically feel my sister’s small, sweaty hand slipping from mine.

Black shadows crawled along the walls, swallowing the light. Everything Bel had told me—all the warnings, the staff contracts, Alastair’s behavior—tore through my mind. I’d thought we were safe inside, so I let Zosa out of my sight. That had been my biggest mistake. I had to get to her.

Shoving past exiting guests, I climbed the stage and parted the velvet. No cage. Not a single feather. Nothing there.





“The stage is off-limits.”

Madame des Rêves stood at a side door, perspiration smearing her crème de rose.

“My sister, the singer in the gold dress, where is she?”