“Did you see what your little bird just did?” She pointed to a sludge of white dripping down the side of the blue wig. “I’ll have to pay for it now.”
I would have laughed had an idea not shot across my mind. That night in Salon d’Amusements the guests ran screaming, scared away by the library bird. There were hundreds more birds inside the aviary. I might be able to get all the guests out. Frigga had deftly commanded the birds in her room, and she had an aviary key. I would need her help. Along with Zosa’s.
Béatrice tugged a length of ivory silk from under my heel. “You’re standing on a dress.”
I barely heard her, because a plan took root in my mind—a long shot at best, but it was there. “I figured it out.”
As the words tumbled from my mouth, Béatrice grew quiet. After I was finished, her eyes moved down the length of me. She wrinkled her nose. “You expect to waltz into the hotel looking like that?”
Not exactly. Someone would spot me from across the lobby. I needed a disguise.
With every shred of dignity I could muster, I swallowed twice and said, “How quickly can you give me a makeover?”
The sun was high as I stood outside the hotel by myself, feeling rather exposed.
Béatrice had stuffed me into a vibrant ruby number with a tightly corseted waist and extravagant bustle. It spilled behind me in a tiered waterfall of crimson chiffon. I begged for her to choose a paler color. Something demure. Not so ostentatious. She didn’t listen, just tutted and slapped my hand away and told me this was the color of the season. If I were to be believed as a lady from Champilliers invited to stay at Hotel Magnifique, I would need to dress the part.
A white wig powdered with gold dust cascaded down my neck and back, tickling my ears. My fingers itched to reach up and tug the thing off, to loosen the corset and scrape the layers of powder and rouge from my face. I felt like a trussed swine walking to its own spit.
At the top of the steps, a doorman pulled open the black-lacquered door and studied me.
“Oh, I can’t believe I’m here!” I squealed, and waved the purchase receipt from Atelier Merveille, then fanned myself with it furiously so the doorman couldn’t tell it wasn’t an invitation. If he suspected a signed staff contract had allowed me entrance, everything would be over.
It seemed to work because he tipped his hat and said, “Welcome to Elsewhere.”
A porter appeared. “Bags, mademoiselle?”
“My valet will deliver them to the door shortly,” I said in Verdanniere, trying to mask my southern accent.
My stomach lurched. Alastair greeted a guest across the lobby. On the outside, he looked youthful, happy even. No sign of rippled skin or bruising on his fist from punching the moon window. That meant the aviary had probably acquired another dull bird.
Alastair’s eyes caught mine for a second before darting away. He didn’t seem to recognize me. In fact, none of the staff paid me any attention. I slipped to the back of the lobby, dipping into an alcove behind the grand stairs. A pewter clock ticked next to my ear. One o’clock.
I glanced down at an extremely low settee. I didn’t know how one went about sitting in a corset and bustle. I bent down then immediately hopped up at the sharp stab of boning between my ribs. A group of maids walked by, watching me flail.
If I survive today, I’ll burn this dress, I thought. No, that wasn’t right. If I survived today, I would gladly wear this dress again. I would gladly wear a thousand dresses just like it, or three-foot wigs, or stuck-on moles. So long as they were my choice.
“There you are. Oh, I thought something had happened.” Béatrice rushed over and straightened the ruffles on my skirts as if she were a member of Entourage de Beauté. She gave my fingers a tug. “Keep smiling, chérie, and follow me.”
We moved to a narrow hall where a laundry cart sat against a wall. Béatrice stopped me before we reached it. “I have to warn you the plans have been altered.”
“What do you mean altered?” I looked around for a nest of hair. “Where’s Frigga?”
“In her room. Do you think I’d let my sister partake in your ridiculous plan?” Hellas’s silver locks were pulled into a bun, sharpening the angles of his deep golden face.
I shuffled backward, my whole body tensing at the sight of him.
“He was there before I had a chance to speak with Frigga,” Béatrice explained. “He’s not going to stop us.”
That was a small measure of relief at least. But Hellas would never let us inside the aviary. We needed Frigga’s help with the birds. I couldn’t send Zosa in alone.