Another crystal tap. "One hundred and forty square feet."
"You've put me in a closet."
"The Foxglove Room has a window."
"I'm here with my partner. Does the Foxglove Room look like it can accommodate him?"
The receptionist glances at me again. The smile fractures. Just a hairline crack, barely visible, but I catch it. Her gaze travels from my shoulders to the ceiling clearance to the narrow hallway behind her. She is performing structural calculations.
"I'm sure you'll manage."
"I'd like a different room."
"Unfortunately, we're fully committed for the wedding weekend. The Foxglove Room is your only option."
"Then I want to speak with your manager."
"I am the evening manager."
"The morning manager, then."
"She'll be in at seven. I can leave a note."
Magnolia's cheeks flush deep crimson. She grips the brass key until the teeth dig into her palm. Her breathing goes shallow. Three rapid inhales, each shorter than the last.
Panic response. I've seen it on the battlefield. The body prepares to fight or flee. She is doing neither. She is standing at a silverwood desk in a plum dress, being boxed into a corner by an Elf with a customer service smile and a crystal keyboard, and her body doesn't know what to do with the adrenaline.
I step forward. Place my hand flat on the small of her back.
Her breathing hitches. Holds. Resets.
"We'll take the room."
Magnolia whips her head up. "Dash."
"We'll take the room." I pick up the key from her hand and close it in my fist. The brass is warm from her grip. "Third floor, east wing, end of the hall."
The receptionist nods once, her smile resealed and airtight. "Elevators are to your left. Enjoy your stay."
Magnolia's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
I steer her away from the desk with steady pressure against her spine. We cross the lobby. The fourteen watchers have multiplied to twenty-two. I count them without turning my head.
"That room is going to be as tiny as a coffin," Magnolia hisses through a locked smile.
"I've slept in coffins."
"That's not reassuring."
"It wasn't meant to be."
The elevator is a cage of wrought silver vines designed for Elven proportions. I fold myself into the space sideways.
The doors close. The cage lurches upward.
"My sister did this."
I keep my eyes on the floor indicator. One. Two.
