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They stood in silence for a minute, then two. Then three…
“Your clock’s wrong,” said Logan nonchalantly. He nodded at the big old timepiece mounted high behind the front desk. “It says one-eighteen.”
Fran cleared her throat. “It’s broken,” she explained. “Been stuck on one-eighteen since the day I started working here.”
Logan put up one finger and started to say something sarcastic but Kara threw him a dirty look. Wisely he let it slide.
It turned out that ‘on his way’ meant almost ten minutes. Kara spent that time sizing up the old hotel, and ignoring her unwanted companion. The architecture in the lobby was old, made older by worn finishes and threadbare textiles. The gold leaf had rubbed away on many of the lower finials. Silently she wondered how magnificent the place might’ve looked in its heyday.
“Check that out,” said Logan. “A glass elevator.”
Standing proudly at the other side of the lobby, a brass-framed elevator was set with large vertical panes of glass. It looked like it could even be original to the building. Either way, it was ancient.
Back at the front desk, Fran had returned to the same catatonic state Kara had found her in. Her thick-rimmed glasses had slid down to the tip of her nose. Her chin rested on her chest.
“I would’ve thought all the Frans were extinct by now,” Logan mumbled. He leaned in confidentially. “You know, like the Ethels and the Mildreds. And the—”
Kara poked him. “Don’t be an asshole, Logan.”
It was kind of funny though. Even Kara had to admit that. And Logan always had a way of making her—
“Hello!”
A heavyset man approached them from the opposite side of the lobby. He had tired eyes and sleep lines still criss-crossing his face. “Travis Radcliffe,” he said as he shook Logan’s hand. He reached for Kara’s next. “Welcome to the Averoigne.”
“Thanks,” said Kara. “I was hoping—”
“I know why you’re here,” the man spoke quickly, “which is why I wanted to greet you both personally. Away from the guests.” He looked around.
“Away from the—”
“At this hour I know that seems silly,” he said. “But we should talk more, in the morning. In my office, of course.” His face opened up in a bone-cracking yawn. “Until then…”
Mr. Radcliffe turned to Fran, who handed him a long bronze key. Attached to it was a blue plastic disc with the numbers 207. He held it out, between them.
“The key to your room,” the man said. “Your things have already been brought up. And if you—”
“The key to our room?” Kara snarled.
Mr. Radcliffe went suddenly silent. It was the first time she’d seen him with his mouth closed.
“We require two rooms,” Kara stated evenly. Her voice was low and tense. As an afterthought, she forced herself to add: “Please.”
“I— I’m sorry,” said Radcliffe. “The storm has us overbooked. We’re at full capacity right now, both floors.”
Kara fumed. Logan squinted back at the owner for a moment, before pointing upward. “Then give us two rooms on the third floor.”
“Sorry, can’t do that either.”
“And why not?” Kara asked.
“We don’t rent rooms on the third floor.”
They stared back at the round-faced owner. Radcliffe’s expression had gone suddenly serious. He shook the key, which he still held out at arm’s length. “For obvious reasons,” he shrugged.
Grumbling, Kara swiped the key from him. The owner looked relieved.
“Alright,” she grunted. “Tomorrow. Your office. First thing in the morning.”
