The elevator dings softly as it reaches the correct floor, the doors sliding open to reveal a corridor lined with sumptuous carpeting and gilded sconces that cast a warm, inviting glow. Vic steps out, and I follow him down the hallway the same way I did McDougall through the Palace of Pentacles.
As we reach the door to the presidential suite, Vic slides the key card into the lock with a practiced flick of his wrist. The door opens with a softclick. The room is a stunning blend of opulence and comfort, with rich fabrics and plush furnishings that could be straight out of Towerfall. My heart skips with fear, anticipation, and desire. It’s a rush that makes me dizzy, and I flatten my palm against the doorframe to steady myself.
“Welcome to your humble kingdom, Queen Hannah.” Vic offers a mock bow, his grin widening.
“Thank you, Vic.” I sink into a dramatic curtsy Queen Lockhart of Pentacles would be impressed with and step into the suite.
“Would you like me to show you around? It’s over three thousand square feet with terraces, your own private bar, fitness space. Pretty much everything you need in a room.”
I shake my head, a genuine smile spreading across my face. “I think I’ve got it from here. But thank you for the grand entrance.” I take out a folded hundred and offer it to him.
“It’s my pleasure. Enjoy your night of grandeur.” He winks, his wrinkled cheeks pinkening. “And, remember, if you need anything or anyone to help you fill this palatial room, I’m only a call away.”
The door closes behind him, and I stand there for a moment, stunned, absorbing the sheer luxury around me. The luxury I bought and paid for myself. At least, if I were staying in this realm, I’d have to pay for it.
But this suite is just a means to an end. I’ve seen firsthand from working with companies whose CEOs have their own private jets that getting a room like this in a hotel like the Astoria comes with a whole list of perks that have nothing to do with the sheets’ high thread count.
I allow myself a moment to revel in the sheer indulgence of it all, spinning around in a little happy dance, the plush carpet like a cloud beneath my feet. I brush past the couch, dragging my hand along the velvet throw draped over the back. The fabric, the luxury, the grandeur of the room, everything sends my thoughts straight to my arrival in Towerfall, and I can’t help but wish that Kane would appear.
The Empress vibrates against my hip, bringing me back to the task at hand. After pulling the card from my pocket, I trace her intricate gold crown. Energy pulses through my fingertips as her serene gaze meets mine, urging me forward.
“Focus, Hannah,” I remind myself, slipping the tarot back into my jeans.
I do a final twirl as I head to the secretary’s desk set up in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretches out beneath me, twinkling like stars. I pick upthe phone and take a deep breath, savoring the moment before I press the Guest Services button.
Vic answers almost immediately, his voice as smooth and welcoming as McDougall’s. “Hello, Queen Hannah. I knew that wouldn’t be the last time we spoke. What can I do for you—send up a masseuse, get some champagne, book a table at Bar Mar?”
“I, uh, I need a makeover.”
“I adore a transformation moment. Let me bring up some salon information and take down your availability,” he responds, already tapping away at his keyboard.
“No, I mean, I need to become someone else.” The urgency in my voice is unmistakable.
“I completely understand, Hannah. In the eighties, I moonlighted as Ms. Candy Bush at the Pussycat Club. I can orchestrate a makeover.”
“This is sort of like that.” Biting my lip, I catch my reflection in the window, my face blending into the nightscape beyond. “I want to look completely different. Wig, contacts, the whole thing. And money’s no object. I’ll pay whatever I have to in order to get the best. You called me ‘Queen Hannah,’ and now I want to look the part.”
These are the perks I need—the perks that are doled out quickly and without question when you book the presidential suite and have money to spend.
“Why do I suddenly feel like an alliance with you will end with me in handcuffs—the bad kind?”
“What can I say?” I shrug, my reflection mimicking the motion. “I guess that’s the risk you take when dealing with someone wealthy, powerful, and fabulously unapologetic. Oh, and this is going to sound a bit strange, but I need a very fancy Renaissance-era dress. One fit for—”
“A queen,” Vic says, finishing my thought. “Give me forty-five minutes. An hour max.”
I hang up the phone, ending the call, and click it back on to dial in-room dining. Champagne is a great idea—the perfect send-off for my last night in Chicago.
Twenty-Nine
The doorbell rings, chiming through the anticipation and anxiety I’ve been dulling with champagne, chocolate lava cake, and crème brûlée. I throw back the last swig of champagne bubbling in the bottom of my glass and rush to open the door. A bevy of people—their arms loaded with bags, makeup kits, and various styling and lighting tools—fills the hall outside my suite.
Vic grins, his eyes wide like he’s just won a free car. “Thirty-seven minutes,” he croons. “Can’t bake a pie in that amount of time, but, girl, I’ve assembled a team Margot Robbie would drool over.”
They sweep inside, and it takes seconds before they start moving furniture to set up stations around the main living room, transforming the suite into a makeshift salon. The air buzzes with the sound of bags unzipping and the click of makeup cases opening while extra mirrors and lighting are set up to ensure perfection.
Vic approaches, wheeling a garment rack packedwith black bags. “I had a friend at Neiman’s choose some options, but there’s clearly one winner. I won’t even waste your time with the others.”
He unzips the first bag, revealing a ruby-red dress straight out of a Renaissance painting. I marvel at its plunging neckline and formfitting bodice stitched with elaborate gold embroidery and beadwork that extends down to the hips. The intricate gold details continue onto the full flowing skirt crafted from layers of tulle and satin. The fabric shimmers with each movement, as if woven with threads of pure sunlight.
