Hotel Magnifique(89)

“I’m taking my sister’s place.”

I couldn’t believe it. After everything, he would help me again.

“I’m sorry, Jani. He overheard Frigga and me speaking then he simply took her keys and followed me.”

The Botaniste met my eyes. There was something there that wasn’t before—a little glint that wasn’t cruel or hate-filled. But this was Hellas. “You helped me escape. You said your debt was paid. Why are you helping us now?”

He gave me a bored shrug. “I’m sick of the guests trampling my cards.”

Clearly a lie. There had to be more to it. But I didn’t push.

Hellas wasn’t Frigga. He didn’t have command over the birds, but he had an aviary key. And the minutes were ticking away.

A pair of dark eyes peeked out from under the sheet laid over the laundry cart. Zosa was tucked beside a maid’s frock. I could still picture the shape of her real face. I remembered her as clear as day—always too small—but as a bird, she looked more helpless than I’d ever seen her. But she’s not, I kept reminding myself. I would lose her if I didn’t trust that she could help us now.

Part of me felt the urge to tuck her under my chin until it was all over. Instead, I bent so my nose was level with her head. As simply as I could, I whispered what I needed her to do. When I finished, she nudged my nose with the tip of her beak.

“Do you really understand me?” I asked, hoping she might answer.

She nudged me again. My clammy hands stuck to her feathers as I ruffled her neck. I winced when I brushed the scar tissue and mangled bone at the tip of one wing. She had proven she could fly, but it was still difficult to trust she could do the rest.

“Enough of this.” Béatrice pulled the maid’s frock from beside Zosa and shoved me inside a small storage closet. “Hurry and put it on. And don’t you dare wrinkle that red dress. I plan to ask Thalia to change it to a color that will suit me better. For the price I paid, I’m going to wear it day and night when this is all over.”

I grinned. “So your suminaire’s name is Thalia?”

She rolled her eyes and shut the door.

After I was changed, I wiped the gold dust from my neck. Then I took off the wig. With nothing to hold it back, my dark curls spilled down my shoulders.

“What did you do with the dress?” Béatrice asked when I stepped out.

“I folded it neatly and stuffed it in a mop bucket. You can get it later.”

“I don’t know why I’m agreeing to this.”

“You’re agreeing because we have a chance.”

One corner of her mouth lifted. That tiny gesture tugged at my heart. The hopeful feeling lasted until she held up the last piece of my outfit: an ivory satin eye patch we’d quickly commissioned at Atelier Merveille. I bent as she tied it over one of my eyes.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“Not at all,” she said with a half-hearted smile. She then shoved her tin of gears down my pocket. “That’s half of them. Lose a single gear and I’ll send Chef to braid your hair.”

I threw my arms around her in a tight hug.

“Remember to wait ten minutes then meet me in the back of the kitchens,” she said.

I nodded, and she kissed my cheek and left.

Only Hellas left.

My palms were slick as I approached him. “Why are you helping me again? And don’t tell me it’s because you’re sick of your cards getting trampled.”

“You were right,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“I tried to tell myself we were safe from Alastair because Frigga and I were useful. But the truth is, I hate him. I hate how he collects suminaires. He promises me he’ll turn them all back one day. He uses it as an excuse, and now . . . now I can barely stand myself.” His fingers curled into fists. “But I continued hiding those birds for him so Frigga and I wouldn’t be next. For too long I’ve kept my head down and gone along with it because a part of me grew used to living with the fear, and I didn’t think I could do anything to change it.” He fixed his attention on me. “Then I realized a kitchen maid was braver than me, and frankly, it pissed me off.”

My mouth hung open while he took Zosa’s cart and wheeled it in the direction of the aviary.

After he was out of sight, I steadied myself against the wall as Alastair’s face swam in my mind, his ink running across my flesh, pouring up my nostrils, choking me, until all I knew was purple and then nothing.

Taking a deep breath, I forced away the image. There wasn’t time for fear. A steely determination rooted inside me. If I wanted to see my sister again, I had to move.





The kitchens were too busy for anyone to notice a maid wandering through. I adjusted my eye patch as I came around the corner by the deep freeze and halted at the sight of Béatrice standing beside Madame des Rêves.

She must be performing tonight, because she wore a foot-tall chartreuse wig embellished with gemstones. Her pale dress dripped over her like a glass of poured champagne.

“Béatrice told me you were recently demoted,” Des Rêves said when she saw me. A smile slipped up her lips at the sight of my eye patch.

“I was,” I said, and inched away from her. I still wore Maman’s necklace, which meant the silver talon probably wouldn’t do anything, but her long nails would, along with her commanding voice if she suspected anything was amiss.