The crowd erupted in applause until shouts drew everyone’s attention.
A young man stood across the lobby. His silver hair reached down his back and leaves painted on his cheekbones glittered against the deep gold color of his skin. Around him, red flowers grew up from white squares on the marble.
“Do it again, Botaniste,” said a guest in accented Verdanniere.
The Botaniste. The title Béatrice had mentioned. She’d said only Alastair and Hellas, the Botaniste, were allowed inside the Aviary. She didn’t seem to like Hellas. This suminaire.
Hellas shuffled a deck of cards and held up a jack of spades. He tossed it forward. It landed on the ground and grew into a white vine covered by black spade-shaped flowers, matching the card’s suit.
An older guest stepped on a flower and it shriveled back to a card. “It just crumbles to nothing. The suminaire’s magic is weak!” he shouted.
The crowd gasped. Hellas smiled and snatched the guest’s fedora.
“Give it back.” The guest flailed, but I supposed it served him right for being so rude.
Instead of returning the hat, Hellas pushed a playing card inside and tossed it up. When the fedora hit the ground, the marble parted. Roots coiled around the guest’s feet, growing into a white paper tree. The guest howled. Thankfully, bark grew over his mouth and bloomed with blossoms the exact hue of the fedora’s sapphire feather.
“Never doubt a suminaire of Hotel Magnifique, else you’ll find yourself losing things besides mere hats,” Hellas said without any hint of humor. I decided right then that I would never cross him.
The crowd clapped then began backing up, making room around the lacquered door.
“The Magnifique should be here any minute,” said a guest. “I heard he’s the most powerful suminaire here, besides the ma?tre.”
A stage had been wheeled in front of the door. Oil lamps were lowered on pulleys, brightening the entrance. Alastair stepped out alongside Madame des Rêves.
She had changed into an outrageous gown decorated with peacock feathers. Her wig was no longer periwinkle but pure white and twice as tall. She still wore the silver bird’s talon at her bust, but her fingers were wrapped around a delicate oval hand mirror.
She fanned herself with it until Alastair plucked it away and carefully pushed it down his jacket pocket, as if it were precious to him.
Madame des Rêves cleared her throat and the entire lobby darkened. “Esteemed travelers! Please welcome the suminaire whose glorious magic moves us each night.” Des Rêves raised her arms. “The Magnifique!”
Lights flickered. The Magnifique stepped onstage wearing white gloves and a cape. I’d pictured a gentleman with a waxed mustache, but this was only a brown-eyed young man with a key dangling from a chain, a key I’d touched.
The Magnifique was Bel.
Last night, he locked the door. I didn’t realize he was the suminaire responsible for moving the hotel. Bel had said powerful suminaires were practically immortal.
He’d meant himself.
No wonder he seemed surprised when I’d called him despicable in the salon. No one would dare speak so candidly with a powerful suminaire. I buried my face in my hands. I’d fought with him, spit on him. I’d even threatened him with an old kitchen knife.
Reaching behind the orange tree, Bel pulled out the same book he’d paged through last night. The spine cracked as he flipped through it.
“Two minutes to midnight,” whispered a guest. She held an itinerary where one filled-in destination glimmered purple.
Guests knew where the hotel would appear, but this was more thrilling than any speck of ink. To think, we were all about to blink through the world in a century-old building, and I could barely see.
I elbowed my way forward until I could tell that the book was a strange atlas filled with cobbled-together maps, some on smaller pages, some scribbled on newsprint.
Bel stopped at a large map and dragged his hand down it with a reverence similar to how I’d treat Bézier’s atlases. Then he pushed his key inside the door’s lock, turning it clockwise. A second passed, then another.
“Here we are,” Des Rêves said. She elbowed Bel out of the way and opened the door. Outside wasn’t a beach but an expansive city, glittering and vast. Tiny snowflakes fell through the air. My lips parted.
Alastair and Des Rêves bowed to deafening applause.
Bel stood behind them and gazed outside with the same enthusiasm I witnessed on the guests’ faces. Once you’ve seen one destination, you’ve seen them all, he had said. Clearly that wasn’t the truth.