Say the Word(114)

Standing in the shadows, so still I’d missed him in my initial scan of the hall, was a well-dressed, diminutive man in a tuxedo. He stepped fully forward into the light, and bowed — yes, bowed — slightly at the waist.

“Mr. Covington,” he greeted, turning his head from Sebastian to me. “Mademoiselle.”

“Hello,” I stammered nervously. Bash pressed his hip firmly against mine in a warning gesture that told me I’d already broken one of his rules by speaking and that he was in no way pleased by it. I cringed internally — I knew I’d messed up. But I challenge anyone to remain calm and collected when a 5’2” butler wearing an ultra-sleek, near-invisible electronic earpiece like he’s in the CIA or something bows to you as if you’re the freaking Duchess of Cambridge.

“It’s our pleasure to receive you, sir. My name is Charles, one of the concierge’s at your service here.”

I looked at Bash, wondering if he’d called ahead to inform them of our visit, but his face showed nothing but surprise. I’m not sure which alternative was more disturbing — the idea that they’d known we were coming or the thought that they’d recognized Sebastian on sight as soon as we’d exited his car.

“It’s your first time here, correct?” Charles asked.

Bash nodded.

“Wonderful, sir.” Charles raised an open-palmed hand and gestured toward a set of doors on the left side of the atrium. “If you’ll follow me, I will gladly show you and your guest to the East Parlor. You are, of course, free to explore the first floor at your leisure, but I’ve found the parlor to be a preferred starting point for many of our newer members.”

I felt my brows shoot up on my forehead involuntarily and had to make a conscious effort to lower them back down to their normal heights. It seemed we hadn’t just crossed a threshold — we’d been transported into an entirely new world of impeccable manners, spotless clothing, and seamless servitude. A place where servants bowed and used titles, avoided eye contact and catered to your every wish.

I wanted instantly to leave.

Bash caught my eye as we crossed the room, following Charles to the parlor. He nodded slightly in reassurance, reaching up to squeeze my hand where it lay on his arm. Relax, he mouthed at me. Breathe.

I smiled weakly at him and turned my face forward.

When we reached the doors, Charles ushered us into a sedate room decorated entirely in green hues. The carpets were the deepest shade of emerald, the silk curtains and brocade couches stitched with fabrics of jade and cream. Even the wall tapestries and various gold-framed art pieces — one of which looked suspiciously like a Picasso — had been carefully selected to complement the room’s viridescent theme. Each detail — from the small reading lamps illuminating the space by each plush chair to the vast, ornamental bookcase that took up the entire far wall, filled with more tomes than one could read in a lifetime — had been carefully planned and meticulously looked after to create an environment fit for kings.

“The door to your right leads to the Billiard Room and connects through to the rest of the first floor chambers. On your left, you’ll find a small sitting room with light refreshments and desserts. Many of our members congregate there in the earlier evening hours, as we have a full dining service until eight o’clock.” Charles glanced at his watch. “You’ve just missed that, I’m afraid. Though there are fresh hors d’oeuvres served hourly until midnight.”

“And the upper floors?” Bash asked.

Charles’ composure didn’t falter, though the skin around his eyes tightened in the tiniest show of tension when he heard Bash’s question. “Ah, I’m afraid they’re undergoing some renovation. At present, they must remain out of bounds while you are exploring. I do hope you understand, sir.”

“Of course,” Bash agreed readily. I felt my heart rate begin to quicken.

“Should you need anything at all, please simply press the blue button on the panel by the door. Each room is equipped with a similar one,” Charles said, executing yet another perfect bow before backing out of the room and closing the doors behind him as he went.

“Think he’ll bring us a map if we ask real nice?” I whispered as the doors clicked closed. This place was huge — we’d never find what we were looking for in one night’s visit.

“Doubt it.” Bash grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the door on our right. “Let’s check this place out.”

We wound our way through room after room, each with its own color palette and distinct furnishing theme. We soon found that Labyrinth was not nearly as big as it appeared from the outside — there were perhaps ten rooms, forming a U-shaped ring around the atrium. The entry hall, with its vaulted ceiling, grand staircase, and grandiose atmosphere, took up a vast amount of space. Most of the sitting rooms we encountered were either entirely empty or nearly so. A few white-haired, male members were scattered amongst the plush chairs of a garish red-toned sitting room with mahogany-paneled walls — they were clustered by a stone fireplace, enveloped by a noxious cloud of cigar smoke as they puffed away, discussing some kind of business deal involving Iranian fossil fuels. When we entered, they nodded in greeting but their murmured conversation came to a swift halt and did not resume until we’d moved on to the adjacent room.

A similar group of female patrons was gathered on the lounges of a pale blue room, sipping tea and discussing the latest society scandals while bestowing disingenuous compliments on each other’s dresses and jewelry. They eyed my attire with hyper-critical stares as we passed through.