“I—I was on my way downstairs.” I pointed toward the service stairwell.
A pair of hulking men stood on either side of it. Identical twins. They mirrored each other’s movements as if they shared one mind. Bald heads pivoted in synch to scan the crowd. In place of one eye, they each had a line of flesh sewn shut with black thread that stood out against their pasty white skin.
They blinked in unison. I jerked.
“Who are they?” I asked the server.
“Sido and Sazerat. They’re suminaires who report to the ma?tre. I’d find another stairwell if I were you,” he said, and dashed off before I could ask where that stairwell might be. Damn it.
A guest’s jacket lay forgotten on a chair. That would do nicely. I tossed it over my shoulders to mask my uniform. The crowd began shifting. Quickly, I ducked into an alcove to wait out the soirée. Once all the guests headed to their rooms, I should be able to sneak downstairs unnoticed.
As I pressed myself out of sight, I spotted a small wall plaque hidden in a shadow. Most of the letters were rubbed off, but three words were still visible: artéfact guide you.
The words were Verdanniere, except I’d never heard the word artéfact before. It could be a very old directional sign.
The lobby fell silent. I looked up to see Alastair stepping out—rather dramatically—from behind a star-spattered curtain near the door.
“Greetings, travelers,” he shouted. “Welcome to Hotel Magnifique, where the whole world awaits!”
Everyone cheered.
“As you cross continents and seas, we will do our best to pique your curiosities, to fill your mind with wonder, and to deliver infinite happiness that will live on in your heart long after your stay is forgotten. Now, let the show commence. We depart for Elsewhere at the stroke of midnight!”
Lights dimmed and a circle of guests formed nearby. It was too dark to see if the twins still guarded the service stairs. Too dark for them to see me. Swallowing down nerves, I slinked toward the circle.
A woman with beautiful brown skin and glittering lips stood motionless in the center, sheathed in navy velvet. She held a purple flower bud to her nose. Her unyielding posture reminded me of the Durc street performers who powdered themselves bronze, pretending to be statues.
A man beside me squeezed a card.
“May I?” I asked.
He passed it over. Silver embossing ran across the front: Le Spectacle de Minuit. The Midnight Show. The back of the card read like a program.
The Illusioniste will begin with a flutter of smoke, followed by the Botaniste with a feat of paper.
For those needing a refreshment, Madame des Rêves and her chanteuses
will perform on stage in Salon d’Amusements.
But hurry back, mesdames et messieurs, hurry back.
For at the stroke of midnight, the Magnifique will take us Elsewhere.
My fingertip hovered over the word chanteuses. Zosa was probably performing in the salon, but I’d be a fool to try to go there now.
I scanned the rest of the card. All the other titles must be of suminaires, which meant the woman with the flower bud was the Illusioniste. Except she wasn’t doing much.
I looked up and gaped.
Eight versions of the woman now stood smelling the unopened flower. Then they moved in unison, touching index fingers to the petals. Guests cried out when the buds bloomed into wings.
Moths, butterflies, and bees began pouring from their open palms, forming clouds that covered the ceiling. The women clapped their hands and the clouds changed color. Mauve. Peach. Blood-red. Silver. Indigo. Guests looked stunned at the spectacle. But the show had only just begun.
The lights flickered and the women vanished.
“Look!” someone shouted.
High above, the eight women descended from the clouds on an enormous chandelier in the shape of a ship. Their gowns were replaced with corsets and pantaloons dripping with silver netting. They began to speak in unison.
“I am the Illusioniste hired to astonish you. In my last trick, I’ll become a tempest on the ocean blue. Revel in my underwater merriment. For after checkout, you will forget all of it.”
They clapped their hands and the lobby filled with blue light. A salty breeze rolled through. A nearby guest squealed as bubbles fluttered out of her nostrils. Another guest’s skirts billowed as if underwater.
My own skirts swirled up, exposing my calves. I tugged them down. When I looked up, the chandelier was gone, the lobby returned to normal.
The eight women now stood on the floor. I blinked and the women changed to one. She bent to take a bow, and a man wearing hotel livery came up.