Hotel Magnifique(78)

Her watery eyes brightened. “There’s Cheat’s Alley at the end of Rue d’Arles. Careful, though, the old alley is chock-full of frauds, but there’s some fluff shops dealing magic at the south end.” She hissed the word magic like someone would say demon or devil, and it bothered me in a way it never had before. “Shops should open up soon. You could try it. Might have seen a purple awning there. Might have been pink.”

Outside, the avenues teemed with people swarming in the direction of the hotel. Perspiration beaded my neck while the cage’s handle sliced into my palm. But the pain focused my mind. It kept me awake and carried my feet faster. When I thought I couldn’t go any farther, I turned a corner and found it.

Rue d’Arles, otherwise known as Cheat’s Alley, was a cobbled passage only three blocks from the famed Noir, but it felt like a world away. Women hunched against storefronts hawking false magic. They wore makeup like masks to detract from their weeping sores and jutting ribs.

“Read your palm for a pewter, child.” One crone waggled her painted eyebrows at my pockets. I tried not to cringe at her rotted gums.

“Want more kisses, love? I have just the charm to help.”

“Your fortune looks filled with scandal! Hear it for a copper.”

“Bottle a bit of your shadow to drink. Cures any illness!”

“Read your cards! The answers to your troubles are in your cards!”

Doubtful, I thought, especially since the cards looked to be nothing more than a tattered deck of playing cards that would make Hellas’s lip curl in disgust.

A cart stocked with glowing vials and tinctures that looked straight from the bar of Salon d’Amusements took up the end of the alley. I lifted a flask topped with dripping red wax and marked with a human heart. The word Amour was stamped in peeling silver foil.

A young woman peered up from her stool. Freckles dotted her pale cheeks. She tapped some glowing powder from an envelope into a glass jar between her knees. The liquid turned bright orange, identical to a concoction Yrsa once mixed.

“What potion are you searching for today, madame?”

“Nothing,” I said warily, and hurried past.

A small canal cut the street off at the end of the alley. I reached it and halted. A purple scalloped awning stretched before me, identical to the one I saw when I touched the painting.

Wiping a thick coating of dust from the window, I peered inside. A long counter ran across the back wall, obscured by shelves filled with mystical ephemera: vials, feathers, bowls, fossils, and iridescent crystals. Rusted hinges screeched as I pushed through the door.

Inside, stale air clung to my tongue. A display filled with dusty wooden toys leaned against a wall. SOUVENIRS MAGIQUES read a bronze sign. Curious, I lifted a few: a spyglass, a tiny hammer, a cigarette holder, a round disk carved with the zodiac.

I fished in my pocket and pulled out the cosmolabe. Carefully, I held it up to the disk. Identical, other than one was an artéfact, the other shoddy wood.

These crude toys were wooden versions of artéfacts I’d seen in the hotel. The woman from the painting had to be here somewhere, and she must still have her memories, otherwise she wouldn’t know to make these.

In the back, a register sat on a marble counter. Near it, a newspaper was flipped open to the jobs section, where an advertisement stood out in vibrant purple amid a sea of black and white.



A cup of tea rested near the paper, steam curling out. Still hot. My pulse hammered in my ears. “Anyone here?”

Iron creaked. I glanced up. A woman tugged on a pair of elbow-length silk opera gloves—a bit fancy for the establishment—as she descended a wrought-iron spiral staircase in the corner. It was her—the woman from the painting. She hadn’t aged a day.

“I’m closing up early,” she said as she grabbed two ratty hatboxes and threw them both on the counter. They flopped open in unison. Empty. “Can I help you?”

“I think I’m looking for you. You’re the woman from the painting in the map room.”

Her bright eyes studied me with new interest. Then she noticed the cosmolabe in my palm. “A Fabricant. I take it you drew a map from the painting?”

I nodded.

“I’m impressed. People tend to change with time. There’s a level of skill required to draw maps to them, yet here you are. You’re powerful.” She walked behind the counter and scrutinized my face. “But I am curious about one thing. How are both your eyes still in their sockets?”

I pictured the not-milk and shuddered. “I’ve only been a Fabricant for a few days.”

Zosa squawked. The woman glanced down at my sister and smiled. It was tinged with melancholy. In the painting, she didn’t smile, but I’d seen that smile before.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Céleste.” Her smile grew. “You’re a curious thing. I sell just the charm for that. Let me find it.”

She riffled through junk against the back wall.

“Ah, here we are.”

She placed a wooden toy in my palm, similar to the souvenirs on display. It was rough-hewn, ugly, and in the shape of a signet ring, the letter S carved crudely on the face. A twinkle lit her eyes.

“You know about the ring?”

“Of course. Once, I would have done anything for my brother, including finding that ring, but not anymore.”