Hotel Magnifique(50)

My hand flopped down, palm bloody. At the sight, I suddenly remembered how Zosa’s cut from the orange shard had miraculously healed. That vial of gold paste. That first morning here, I’d seen a jar of the same paste sitting on the bar top in the salon, hidden among the bell jars. If it were still there, I could grab it and run before anyone saw me. It would be risky; kitchen workers were forbidden to step foot inside the salon.

When Bel moaned again, I shot up. I had to at least try. “Don’t go anywhere,” I said. “And don’t yell at me afterward. You’re not allowed.”

He didn’t even open his eyes to look at me.



* * *





Salon d’Amusements was packed with diners sipping on rose-tinted alchemical concoctions. I barely paid them any attention. The sticky blood between my fingers kept me focused. The bar. Yrsa wasn’t behind it. Instead, Hellas was the barkeep on duty tonight.

His long silver hair was pulled into a knot. His uniform sleeves were rolled up while he mixed a drink. The golden paste sat behind him. I tugged on a vacant expression and walked to the bar.

He glanced up. “Are you lost, pet?”

“I—I’m looking for Yrsa.”

“Oh?” His lion eyes narrowed. “Why is a kitchen maid wearing a pink jacket over her frock?”

Not good. I’d forgotten to take it off. Spots of blood dotted my sleeves. Thinking fast, I held them up for him to see.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“It’s not my blood. There was an accident. Chef—” As if on cue, I whimpered. A guest turned.

Hellas shrugged. “Not my problem.”

He wouldn’t help a worker who was bleeding? I wanted to dig my fingernails in his silver hair and make him listen. I managed to keep my face blank until a voice rang out.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d forgotten.

Zosa stood onstage between the two other chanteuses. I’d caught hazy glimpses of her through glass, but I hadn’t seen her. Not like this. The two girls hummed while Zosa sang a song Maman would sing to wake us up so long ago.

All I wished to do was shut my eyes and disappear. When my sister finished her song, the trio began another.

“Shouldn’t you be meeting the Magnifique soon?” Hellas said.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“It’s confounding Bel would sink so low as to disappear with a kitchen maid.”

He knew I met Bel. My blood pulsed. He must have seen us together. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Something I recognized hid in his words. But when Zosa hit a high note, I lost my patience. “Let me take the gold paste to Chef.”

Hellas arched a silver brow. “And how does a kitchen maid know what this does?”

Damn it.

“If Chef wants it so badly, she can get it herself.”

“Please.”

“No.”

It was clear he wouldn’t give in, and arguing was only going to waste my time. Time Bel didn’t have. I gave Hellas a tight nod and left the salon in a daze, looking around. There had to be a way to get to the gold paste, something I could do to cause a commotion, a distraction, to get Hellas out of the way. Because he would never give the paste to me. It was clear he didn’t like me, though I couldn’t tell why. Even that day in the library—

The library. That giant bird. I rushed to the entrance. The room was near empty, the massive bird asleep.

I climbed the ladder. I tossed my jacket over its cage and heaved it off the high stand. The contraption weighed the same as a small child. Inside, the bird’s obsidian feathers ruffled. I stilled. Please don’t wake up, bird.

Carefully, I carried it along the edge of the lobby. When I reached the salon, I flung the cage door open and poked the bird awake. Liquid black eyes darted around while its claws clicked, scrabbling its way out. It was nearly the size of a dog.

It stretched its long neck and took off into the dining room, straight for a guest’s jeweled headpiece. It didn’t take long for the effect I wanted. Chairs toppled as guests screamed and ran out.

Hellas swung an upended chair. But the beast of a bird continued to peck at the woman’s head, while the clearly intoxicated man next to her giggled like a child, toasting his wine glass to the spectacle. Blue flames tipped toward the bird, away from the now-empty bar.

No one paid me any attention when I dipped behind it and grabbed the gold paste, slipping it down my pocket. When I glanced up, Zosa looked right at me.

I froze.

Seconds passed. She took a step in my direction. Her pink lips moved, like she was speaking my name, but she was too far away to hear clearly. My throat closed up at the thought that she still knew me somehow, that there was a chance I wasn’t forgotten like I’d assumed.

Zosa was too thin. Her dark eyes shone like drops of oil. A tear dripped down my cheek, and I couldn’t look away. It took everything inside me not to run to her.

Madame des Rêves appeared out of nowhere, an enormous lavender wig limp around her shoulders. She held that tarnished hand mirror—the same one from the ma?tre’s office. Fanning herself with it, she yanked on a tasseled rope to release the curtain, but two guests had wrapped themselves up in the velvet, hiding from the bird. The curtain wouldn’t close.