“No. Did you want to see my room?”
“I . . . No,” I stammered. He managed a laugh. “I hate you.”
“Right now, likewise.” He gestured around the tiny space. “This is the map room.”
Against one wall, a shelf was stuffed with dusty objects. A painting of a woman hung above a cold hearth. Delicate strokes created the woman’s piercing eyes, light skin, and sharp nose. Her low neckline showcased a bronze pendant.
I knew her face. It was the same woman I’d seen repeated in tiny plaster intaglios in that magic hall where I’d run into Alastair. As I stared at the portrait, the floral wallpaper the woman stood against bloomed. Black petals bulged from the canvas. One tumbled to the ground.
The gilded frame looked expensive and the portrait was masterfully done. She must be someone very important. Or very rich. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Nodding, I fixed my eyes on a round table, painted with flowers from around the world. I traced my thumb around the purple petals of an Aligney blood poppy. There were papers scattered across the surface. One had a quick drawing of a signet ring. The giant atlas Bel used when he moved the hotel sat in the center, opened to a hand-drawn map labeled with delicate penmanship.
“Every map in that whole atlas was drawn by a single suminaire,” he said, noticing where my gaze had landed.
“The woman in the portrait?”
“Perhaps.”
He removed his jacket. His damp shirt stuck to his chest, outlining the panes of his muscles, and my skin tightened.
I swallowed and took a step back. “You look lovely,” I said dryly.
“So do you.” He gestured to one of my soggy locks. “You can’t wander into escape games.”
“I didn’t wander in,” I said. “I—” Thinking back to what had happened, the conversation I’d had with Red, everything I’d experienced in the past two days came crashing forward. “I’ve had strange conversations with a few maids. Then in the game, the suminaire didn’t remember her home, but the guests do, and so do I. The only difference I can think of is that guest contract I signed. You didn’t tell me everything the contracts do, did you?”
“I was planning to.”
I crossed my arms. “Well, you can start now.”
Instead of answering, Bel pulled a ball of linen from his pocket and carefully unwrapped it to reveal an old pair of dice etched with moons.
I shot him an incredulous look. When he ignored me, I was tempted to grab the dice and throw them at his head. Before I could do it, he plopped them in my palm. Magic hummed softly against my skin, different than Bel’s key. Cool and silkier.
Somehow, mercifully, the magic calmed me. I exhaled and rolled the dice. They felt similar to Red’s thimble. “Are they . . . an artéfact?” I asked, testing the word on my tongue.
“How do you know that?”
I told him how Red had accidentally said the word, then about that plaque in the lobby. “I’ve seen other suminaires using magical objects like these.” I stroked the dice. “How do they work?”
“Artéfacts aren’t magical themselves. They’re reservoirs for magic. Every suminaire is given one the moment they come inside. They pull magic from our blood and transmute it into a single spell before it can hurt anyone.”
“But I thought the hotel is enchanted to keep magic safe.” It was the reason everyone felt comfortable coming here.
“The hotel has nothing to do with it.” He touched the chain that held his key. “I don’t need an artéfact with me at all times, but it would be dangerous to go more than a few days without one, or without using my magic in more basic ways.”
Everything I knew about suminaires must be false. “What basic ways?”
“Healing is one. Outside of the hotel, some suminaires keep their magic from flaring up by healing themselves over and over.” He shrugged. “But I’ve never tried it because I’ve always had an artéfact close by.”
I couldn’t believe it. All that hatred and fear of magic. This whole time, artéfacts could have put everyone in the world at ease and no one knew they existed. “Wouldn’t it be better if Alastair spread the word about them? If people realized—”
“Not an option, unfortunately.” He plucked the dice from my hand. Then, in one swift movement, he took my wrist and flipped me around. I struggled. “For god’s sake. I’m not going to murder you.”