“Of course.”
“Oh . . . well . . . If you go any further, you’ll regret it.”
“I’m sure I will.” He flicked his wooden finger. At the tiniest snick, a blade shot out. A switchblade.
He lunged at me. The kitchen knife clattered to the floor as he pinned me against the door, his face inches from mine. I felt his exhale against my bare skin. If someone walked in and saw us like this, they would get the wrong idea.
I flushed at the thought and struggled against him, but he held firm. With his switchblade at my throat, Bel bent and sniffed the air next to my neck. His nose wrinkled. “Isn’t there soap in Durc?”
I reared back and spat on his face. He wiped his chin on his shoulder. The city clock chimed the half hour. Eleven thirty.
“Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”
He swore, his blade clicking closed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Doubt it.”
“Look. I’m taking your friend through the lobby door by midnight. She signed a contract. Deal with it.”
I saw it then around the corners of his eyes, recognized it from my own face in the mirror; he was desperate. I knew from experience that desperate folk made foolish decisions.
“There are countless rooms here. You’ll never find her in time. Give me a job as well and I’ll take you straight to the owner of that hat.”
He kicked the kitchen knife away and stepped toward me until my shoulders hit the wall. “You don’t understand. It’s nearly midnight.”
Midnight was spoken with reverence: the hour the hotel left.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he added.
I believed him. He didn’t want to hurt me. But the look in his eyes told me he was willing to.
“Will you be punished if you don’t bring her back?” I asked. There had to be a reason he was risking returning by midnight to find Zosa.
“I won’t be punished. But don’t you think it would be rude to deny the girl her job?”
Unbelievable. “After warning me away, how can you possibly care about whether my sister gets a chance to work?”
“Your sister?” he said. “And I don’t care about her.”
“If that’s true, then give me a job, too.”
“No.”
“Then leave us alone.”
A low growl escaped Bel’s throat. “Enough. I have to find her, which means you have to move.” He snaked an arm around my back, the other around my neck, his thumb catching Maman’s necklace until it was on the verge of snapping.
I clawed at him. My fingers tugged something hard at his collarbone. It jolted me, and I clutched my wrist.
A thin chain holding a key had snuck out from under his jacket. I’d never touched magic, but there wasn’t any other explanation for what I felt. I didn’t understand, though—everyone knew magic ran through a suminaire’s blood, not objects. He must be somehow enchanting the key.
“Are you a suminaire?” I asked.
Bel’s mouth curved into a wicked smile, and my stomach dropped. He shoved the key under his shirt then glanced at my hand still wrapped around my wrist.
“Give me a job,” I said again. Thankfully, the words came out sounding braver than I felt.
This time, an odd expression crossed his face, as if he were actually considering it. “Are you often this irritatingly persistent?”
“For you, always.” Feeling emboldened, I flashed my teeth. “Will you take me?”
“It’s not that simple. I don’t carry ink and no one gets inside without first signing a contract or holding an invitation.”
My eyes grew. “What if I could get myself inside?”
“How would you manage that?”
“With an invitation.”
He released me. “Produce an invitation and I’ll eat that ruffled atrocity of a hat.”
“Then get a fork and give me five minutes.”
“You have one minute.”
I raced up the stairs to Bézier’s third-floor sitting room. I ripped her framed invitation from above the mantel. Smashing the glass, I fished the paper out. I rushed down to the kitchen and waved it in Bel’s face, breathless. “Will this work?”
He took it from me. “How old is this thing?”
“Will it work?”
“I’ve never seen anyone try to use an invitation this old before.” He handed it back. “Now where is this sister of yours? We should have left ten minutes ago.”
My blood pulsed. “You’ll give me a job?”