Hotel Magnifique(60)

The magic from the compass tickled, cool and sharp, while both the pendulum and divining rod’s magic hummed against my skin, warming it.

Alastair’s mouth turned down. He dragged my fingers over the three artéfacts again and again. When nothing more seemed to happen, his nostrils flared. He threw my hand away with such force, my knuckles smacked the wall.

Wary, I took a step back. Despite the shock numbing my emotions, I couldn’t tamp down my curiosity. “W—what are they?”

“Not for you, it would seem. I haven’t found a suminaire who can get a good feel for any of these.” He flicked the compass’s jade needle. “Yrsa tries to use the compass. But she can’t make it work properly. The result is unpredictable at best.”

I’d seen the compass before. Yrsa held it up to me during the interview in Durc. Its needle had spun and spun. That must be what he meant by unpredictable. Maybe it was supposed to point to potential candidates, people with talent like Zosa.

Alastair returned the three artéfacts to the curio next to where that tarnished hand mirror sat propped against the corner. He didn’t touch the mirror. Instead, he took out all the other artéfacts, one after another, until his desk was littered with them. Then he turned his attention to me, and a chill crept down my back.

“When each new suminaire takes a job, they choose one artéfact they’ll use during their time here. A suminaire can either touch an artéfact and get a feel for it, or they can’t. Other artéfacts might tug on your magic, begging you to use them, but you’ll connect with one better than any others. Summoning magic through that artéfact will become second nature.”

His words sounded rehearsed, like he’d given this speech a thousand times before.

He motioned to the table of artéfacts. “There’s an old theory that a suminaire’s ability to get a feel for certain artéfacts is determined by how much power they have, along with their soul’s desire.”

“Soul’s desire?” The same words were written inside the cover of that society handbook. I’d nearly forgotten about those words.

Alastair nodded. “The desire could be hidden so deep, you may not realize it. But it’s there, nonetheless.”

I scanned the table. “What if I can’t get a feel for any?”

“The more power you have, the more artéfacts you’ll be able to use to some degree, but all suminaires can get a feel for one or two,” he said with a smile that didn’t look the least bit genuine. “Unfortunately, many here aren’t useful in running the hotel.”

Goose bumps rose on my arms. “What happens if I can only use one of the weaker ones? Would you turn me into a bird?” I said before I could stop myself.

“We all must do our part to keep magic safe.” He parroted the same line I’d heard the last time I was here. “Enough talk. Let’s see what it is you desire.”

He took my hand. I winced as he forced my fingers apart. Very slowly, he ran them over the menagerie of oddities: a raven’s beak, a pentacle, a carved amethyst hand, a single butterfly wing in a stoppered bottle, a lapis spike, a tiny golden porcupine, a curl of brass leaves, an engraved bone, an ivory spider, a garnet the size of my palm, an ebony coin, then vials of various things: buttons, metals, and tinctures.

Each artéfact’s magic felt unique. Some magic I could barely make out, while some seemed to char my flesh. Hot, then cool, then velvet soft. The magic I felt from a small stone tangled in my fingers, earthy and ancient, and made my saliva taste like mushrooms. Pins and needles raced under my skin. A few artéfacts rattled as my hand swept over them, but Alastair didn’t let me lift a single one.

“Interesting,” he said when my fingers touched a topaz box studded with tiny silver teardrops, like the box itself was crying. When he released me, I didn’t move my hand. I didn’t want to.

I felt a pull like a string of spider silk had woven through my blood and tied around my heart, tethering it to whatever was in that box. The box trembled, and might have opened on its own for all I knew, because I blinked and the lid was flipped. Inside sat a circular metal gadget. It looked like another compass.

Tarnished bronze encircled a deep disk, rimmed with the zodiac, that was set with flat plates decorated with moons and constellations.

“The cosmolabe,” Alastair said, pleased. “It foretold crops, taxes, the rising and falling of tides.” He pointed out two protruding circles. “Altitude and azimuth. They represent the celestial sphere. This little device allowed explorers to read the skies and discover lands. A map of the stars in your palm. Some still use them, but they’re considered antiquated.”

“A cosmolabe.” The word felt new to me. The little device was so intricately wrought, it could be mistaken for jewelry. It looked familiar. I’d seen it before, but I couldn’t place where. Le monde entier was engraved in tiny letters across the top, the same words etched into the hotel’s lacquered door. The whole world.

I ran a thumb over its delicate mechanics and it shivered against my skin. It felt like a wish and a curse, and my fingers itched to do something. But I didn’t know what, or if I even wanted it.

It was still difficult to believe that after all this time, I had real magic inside me, dangerous magic that could crack spines and burst hearts.