Yrsa set her teacup down and pulled a tiny vial of gold paste from her pocket. She uncapped it and scraped up the smallest bit. In one swift movement, she removed the shard and smeared gold into my sister’s cut.
Zosa wiped her palm down her skirt, then lifted it to her face. “It’s healed.”
I inspected it. The cut was zipped up. Not even a scar.
Yrsa waved the orange shard at Bel. “Did you break a marvelous orange?” I’d never heard of a marvelous orange, but the look on Yrsa’s face meant it was significant.
Bel shrugged. “Knocked it with my elbow when I carried the little one in.” He cut me a look that said to keep my mouth shut. He was lying for me.
“Sorry if I made him break your orange, madame,” Zosa added, clearly joining the charade to save my neck. I would have hugged her if Yrsa wasn’t watching.
“Don’t worry about it. It happens from time to time,” Bel said, then turned to Yrsa. “Will you show these two downstairs? As you know, I have someone expecting me.” He pointed to me. “And if that one tries to throw something at you, don’t worry—she has appalling aim.”
I could only glare at the back of his head as he stalked off.
“Good luck reporting to Bel. That boy doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” Yrsa picked up her teacup. “Now follow me.”
She led us around the aviary. The glass went up forever, passing candlelit balconies. Around us, more orange trees grew from the marble. Haunting music filled my ears, but there were no musicians.
“It’s all magic,” Zosa whispered.
I nodded, breathless. With each step, the grimy film of my life in Durc seemed to drip away.
We barely blinked as Yrsa steered us down a staircase to an underground service hall lit by candles in slim sconces. The flames grew, turning mauve and casting the hall in dreamy pink. They stretched toward us as we passed. When one got close to my hair, Zosa batted it away.
“They’re harmless and always curious of new staff. They’ll stop soon enough,” Yrsa said. “Here we are.”
A door drifted open. The room behind it was tiny and perfect—it was like peering inside a dollhouse. Nothing was crooked or peeling or lived in. I was afraid to touch anything for fear I might corrupt it with my calluses.
Zosa rushed inside and flopped on a bed arranged with pillows. One bounced up and hovered an inch in the air, as if actually stuffed with spun clouds. The Bézier girls would squeal at the sight, but they weren’t here. We were.
Yrsa turned to leave.
“Wait.” She stopped. “Are we truly Elsewhere?” I asked. I knew her answer, but I needed to hear her say it out loud, that magic had taken me far from Durc, and one step closer to home.
Her hands curled around her teacup. It was filled to the brim with milk that miraculously swirled on its own.
“Welcome to Hotel Magnifique,” she said with a smile, then sauntered off down the pink-tinged hall.
That night, I didn’t dream of magic but simpler times in Aligney: afternoons scaling the village wall, fresh pain de campagne filling our bread box, Maman’s fingers flipping through music workbooks on our sun-drenched kitchen table.
The dreams clung to the edges of my mind as I woke the next morning to Zosa’s breath tickling my ear.
“You look worse than a rumpled troll,” she said.
“Go away, goblin.”
“Pixie-toed witch.”
“I haven’t a clue what that is.” I cracked an eye and caught Zosa’s grin. Slowly, I sat up. Zosa’s old dress had been replaced with a white blouse tucked into a starched black skirt. “Where did you get those?”
“I found them in the wardrobe. They fit perfectly. Can you believe it?” She clasped her hands together and looked toward the ceiling. “Many thanks, oh divine goddess of the hotel.”
“How do you think it works?” The wardrobe certainly looked normal. Zosa’s sack sat on the floor. I was surprised she hadn’t already decorated the room with Maman’s things. Above the sack hung a maid’s black frock. From the length, I could tell it was never meant for Zosa.
I would work as a maid.
I pictured my pretty sister singing to rounds of applause while I hovered in the shadows, a mop in my hand. But you’re here together, I reminded myself as a wave of useless jealousy swept through me.
The dress was well made, at least. I ran my fingers over the white lace collar—silkier than anything I’d ever owned; I felt unworthy touching it.
“You look like you’ve been given a crown of diamonds.” Zosa laughed and looked up once again. “Whoever is doing this, I gladly thank them.” She then plucked a tarte aux pommes from a platter on the dressing table.