Hotel Magnifique(62)

“What’s the list for?”

Alastair gestured to the top shelf in his curio where the compass, divining rod, and pendulum sat by themselves. “Those three artéfacts are catalogued to point in the direction of magic. The compass is said to lead you across a city and straight to an artéfact or anyone with magic in minutes.”

That was why Yrsa used the compass during the interviews. She was looking for suminaires. But it must not work for her. It didn’t point to anything when she held it toward me.

“Powerful suminaires have tried to use each of those three artéfacts to no avail,” Alastair went on.

“But can’t you use them?” I asked. He was the most powerful suminaire here.

“Just because you’re powerful doesn’t mean you can use every artéfact. I can use more than most, but for some reason, I could never get a feel for those three. Nor the cosmolabe.” He seemed bothered by that. “But there’s one artéfact that interests me above all others.”

He pointed to a line item halfway down the catalogue page. A golden signet ring.

There was no location listed. The ring’s ability was only described with four small, faded words: Bestows and erases magic.

Alastair tapped the entry. “That signet ring is lost somewhere in the world and I need to find it. Even though you can’t use one of my artéfacts that could lead me directly to it, the cosmolabe could prove useful in the search.”

His pale eyes looked me over and I had an urge to run from the room.

This was why he’d sprinted the length of the lobby. Now I’d be forced to help because I was a suminaire—his suminaire to be used in whatever way he wished, his tool.

The thought made me ill, but what worried me more were those four little words: Bestows and erases magic.

I doubted Alastair wanted to erase any of his magic. It seemed more likely that he wanted to bestow himself with more. But he already had more magic than any other suminaire in world. “Why do you need the ring?”

“For a good cause,” he said smoothly. I didn’t believe him for a second. “The amount of magic in a suminaire’s blood determines how well they heal and how long they live. Powerful suminaires rarely succumb to mortal wounds or age.” I thought of Bel’s knife wound. Even though it took hours to heal, along with the paste to seal it, he didn’t die on the street. “If that signet ring bestows magic, it could also gift the benefits of magic.”

“You think the ring could heal?”

“More than just heal. I think it could save people, gift years to someone’s life. We could help everyone,” he said.

There was no possible way he cared enough about anyone to want to help them.

Then a realization struck that nearly knocked me over: I never got sick. This whole time, I thought luck was playing tricks on me, but it was the magic in my blood that kept me well. And would continue to keep me well, possibly for many years longer than a normal life span. If that ring did as that catalogue entry said, Zosa could have magic, too. She could live a long life at my side.

But even if Alastair managed to extend someone’s life, they would still be magical, still dangerous. There were only a finite number of artéfacts left in the world. If they were all used up, I could only imagine what would happen.

No, Alastair didn’t want to start creating suminaires from scratch. It would go against everything he preached about keeping magic safe. There had to be another reason he wanted the ring.

Bel’s theories came to mind. Greed could be driving Alastair. He just admitted he couldn’t use the three magic-finding artéfacts, but it was obvious he wanted to. If he had the ring, he could gift magic to himself. Powerful suminaires could get a feel for more artéfacts. With an endless stream of magic, Alastair had the potential to use any artéfact he wanted, do whatever he wanted. The thought turned my stomach.

His office door opened and Des Rêves poked her wigged head inside. “Are you almost finished with her?” she asked. Alastair walked over and whispered in her ear. She nodded then hurried away.

“Time to go,” he said, and stepped to his desk. He opened the third drawer down on the right and placed the infinite ledger inside. Then he shut the drawer and touched his finger to it, murmuring a command. A lock clicked shut. The ledger was locked away with magic.

I committed the drawer to memory.

Alastair pushed the wolf-capped inkwell down his pocket and held out an arm. “Follow me, Jani Lafayette. You’ll begin the search for the ring tonight.”





Alastair led me deep into the first floor through a hall filled with a thousand paper globes, lit like lanterns, that stretched to infinity, then through a series of smaller rooms, each with its own history.

Gesturing to a settee, he spoke of the famed poet, Antoine-Martin, who would lounge there for hours surrounded by his entourage while he penned odes to everything from pastries to bespectacled women. He told me about the marmalade heiress, Colette La Rive, who once entered a soirée with lit candlewicks sparking across her shoulders for effect, only to leave early when her earlobes caught fire. He spoke of dignitaries, musicians, and queens who had graced these halls. Then he spoke of more dignitaries, musicians, and queens who would soon kiss his feet for a chance to experience magic. Not once did he mention his staff.