Hotel Magnifique(61)

Alastair wetted his lips. The gesture made me recoil. “Had I suspected you were a Fabricant, I would have brought you here ages ago.”

A Fabricant.

He walked to his desk. Behind it, a large map I failed to notice the last time covered the entire wall. It was peppered with hundreds of misshapen swaths of land. I’d never seen such a detailed map. It had to be of the whole world. The entire surface was scribbled with purple ink. Notes. A few places were circled and many were crossed out.

I searched for Verdanne, desperate to see the dot of Aligney, to know it was still out there. But I couldn’t find it. I didn’t know where in the world I was, or where I’d be tomorrow. It probably didn’t matter. Going home now seemed impossible.

Tears tumbled down my cheeks, but I didn’t bother wiping them away.

Alastair lifted the wolf-capped inkwell from his breast pocket. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a blank contract. I scanned the page. A staff contract this time.

“There are a number of enchantments in place that will cause unpleasant repercussions should you fail to sign a new contract soon. Considering I voided your previous one minutes before you broke the oranges, I’ll have to insist,” he said. “I know it’s difficult, Jani. But it’s for the best.”

I straightened at my real name. But of course Alastair wouldn’t call me Mol anymore; a voided contract meant my memories from before would have returned, and he knew it.

My old contract was an amended guest contract, but the one before me was the same contract Bel had signed, Zosa, the rest of the staff. I doubted I’d be spared again.

The reality of the situation struck me. I’d never faced death, but this had to feel close. It was as if I stood before a guillotine that would slice me away from the person I was before the hotel.

I pictured a lesser version of myself standing beside me with a face as dull as the birds’ feathers in the aviary. No stubbornness in the set of her mouth. No glitter to her gaze. She looked soulless, a phantom of a girl with dark hair and dead eyes. My muscles tensed. I couldn’t stand to picture her. I certainly didn’t want to become her.

But Zosa is here. You’ll still remember your sister, I reminded myself. That thought was the only thing that kept me together as Alastair twisted the wolf’s head and popped it off.

A sweet scent wafted out that curdled my insides. He snatched my hand and stabbed a pen nib into my thumb.

I sucked in a breath from the pain.

It didn’t stop him from squeezing my blood into the inkwell. He then dipped the pen and folded my fingers around it. “Go on. It’s late and I haven’t got all night.” When I still didn’t make a move, he leaned forward. “I can always call Yrsa.”

Alastair gave me no choice.

An image of Margot in her café rushed to my mind. I tried to imagine what it might be like if I’d remained in Durc, like she’d remained in Champilliers for so many years. Waking up every morning with whole pieces of myself missing. Gone forever. I braced myself, preparing for a breath-stealing emptiness that I imagined would chew me up from the inside out.

My eyes burned and the thick line next to that vile little X turned blurry. I squeezed the pen and signed.

As the nib left the page, I churned through memories from Aligney. Maman’s voice. Her hands pushing back my hair, nails jabbing my spine when I slouched. Zosa’s hoard of candies spilling on the floor. Scrambling to pick them up before Maman scolded her. Running my fingers through the lime-green feather grass that clumped along the village walls.

Then later. Snapping winds. A rocking ferry beneath my feet. The vieux quais sprawling out before me, and believing anything was possible in Durc.

A moment passed.

The memories nearly slapped me in the face, and the breath whooshed from my lungs.

I still remembered Durc, the smell of the port, the tannery, and Bézier’s. Aligney, and my mother. Nothing was missing.

I felt an untimely laugh bubble up, so I bit down on the inside of my cheek. Alastair couldn’t suspect anything.

He lifted the freshly signed contract, opened his infinite ledger, and pushed the creamy sheet inside. Then he removed his jacket and dipped into a closet behind his desk, leaving me alone.

The ledger sat before me.

A buzzing started in my ears. My contract was in there. The others’. Zosa’s.

My fingers stretched toward the ledger.

A door clicked. I plunged my hands in my lap the same moment Alastair popped out from the closet. He strode across the room and lifted the ledger.

If I knew where the contracts were kept, I could come back for them. Put the ledger away, I willed, but he didn’t. He opened it. The pages flipped and flipped. After more than a minute of flipping, he stopped on a page close to the front. Holding the book wide, he pulled out a single sheet of parchment and handed it to me. It wasn’t a contract.

Société des Suminaires was printed across the top of ancient letterhead. I scanned the page. A catalogue of artéfacts ran down the side. Next to a description of each artéfact’s appearance was an explanation of how the artéfact worked, along with its location.

A list of artéfacts.

A century-old list, if it had belonged to the society. This must be the list of artéfacts Bel had spoken about. The original ink was black, but a number of locations were crossed off with crisp purple, replaced with “H. M.” The hotel.