by Sean Easley
Oma says that on the night Dad left us with her, he was scared. He told her that Mom was gone, and that they’d be coming for him too and she needed to keep us safe. And then we never saw him or Mom again. I’ve always wondered what they could have done to cause people to come after them. Who—or what—was he running from? Are they the reason he never came back? And if Mom’s “gone,” what happened to her?
I stop at a photo of Mom and Dad at a fancy party. Dad wears a suit and a prickly mustache, and Mom’s dressed in a silky, cherry blossom dress. In the background, I spy the pair of gilded doors engraved with that same tree symbol.
Nico’s coin is proof—I can feel it. Proof Dad’s still alive. Proof that someone’s keeping him from us.
Proof that Dad’s out there, waiting for me to find him.
2
The Dallas Door
Oma comes home a couple of hours later, pretending nothing’s the matter. But when she says she needs to talk to Cass before bed, I know exactly what’s wrong.
Another surgery.
“To bed,” Oma tells me, waving me away like she’s swatting a housefly.
I grumble and head to my room. Oma never talks about Cass’s condition in front of me anymore, except to say that the coin around Cass’s neck can only protect her from evil spirits, and not from her health problems. Apparently I make things out to be worse than they are, or something. Even so, Oma still only talks about it with Cass when she has to.
Cass was born with spina bifida. It’s a weird condition that does lots of things and some people who have it never show signs, but Cass isn’t one of those. The real issue is the complications. Hers could be a lot worse given the type she has, but it’s bad enough that she’ll never be able to walk and still needs tons more surgeries to keep her healthy.
Friends at school tell me it’s weird to worry about my sister the way I do, but they don’t know what it’s like. She’s always in danger. If we aren’t careful, aren’t ready, everything could change. I don’t want to think about that, but I have to. Every moment matters.
It doesn’t take long before I drift off to sleep, dreaming of that enormous tree again.
The monstrous trunk rises before me, as big around as our house. Roots twist and curl beneath my feet. Leaves rustle under a blinding sun.
Open doors hang from the branches like fruit. There’s something odd about these doors, and it’s not that doors don’t normally grow from trees. That part seems strangely normal. It’s that when I look through them, I don’t see the tree, or the leaves, or even the sky. Each door reflects a different scene from around the world. I see snow-capped mountains. Shimmering oceans. City streets. Windows into other places.
A door at the base of the trunk cracks open, spilling amber light across the gnarled roots. A hand reaches through the sliver of light, curling a finger to invite me inside.
The sky darkens, the breeze whispering . . .
Come
• • •
A noise in the house wakes me.
I grip Dad’s coin around my neck and roll over to stare at the picture of Mom and Dad on my bedside table. There has to be a way to find Dad. Everything’s been so hard lately. If only he were here to help. Oma’s always tired, and she keeps leaving unpaid bills on the table. And then there’s Cass. If I could get Dad back, he could help us. He could be there to make sure nothing bad happens. To guide me on how best to help her. He could . . .
Knock, knock.
I sit up. That’s strange. Sounded like it came from outside my window.
Knock-knock-knock.
I slide out of bed and slowly draw the curtain.
A face pops up on the other side of the glass, and I stifle a yelp. “Nico?”
“Hey buddy,” the slick-haired boy says in a slightly muffled voice. “Let me in. Hace frío.”
I unlatch the lock, and Nico climbs through like he’s done this two thousand times before. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans instead of the coattails and satin lapels of his uniform. Four horizontal loops of fabric have been stitched into the shirt where a pocket would normally be—same as his suit.
“I thought Texas was supposed to be warm,” he says, rubbing his arms. “It’s stinking cold out there.”
I shut the window and lock the latches to keep out the various WWTDs that lurk in the night. Then again, I just let in a stranger, so I don’t know why I’m worried about what’s outside. “What are you doing here?”
He grins. “Just being friendly.”
Sounds suspicious. “You don’t even know me. How’d you find my house?”
Nico digs in his pocket and pulls out a coin, which he flips in the air and snags just as quickly. “Magic.” He wiggles his fingers around the shiny disc. It looks exactly like the one he snuck into my pocket, smiley face and all.
“How—” I start, and then I pull out my Dad-box and shuffle through the pictures. I left the coin right here. It’s gone.
“It’s the same coin, buddy. My coin.”
“H-How’d you get it back?”
He smirks. “You know what they say about magicians.”
Oh, he’s good.
Nico flops onto my bed next to the photos. “I’m pretty skilled at finding people. You were an easy mark.”
“Finding people?” My eyes dart to the picture on my bedside table.
“It’s part of working at the Hotel,” he says, lying back on my pillow. “We find all sorts of people, places, things. It’s what makes a good concierge.” He says the word “concierge” with awe, like it means something special.
“Are you the concierge?”
Nico laughs. “Not yet. But one day . . . one day I’ll be master of my own House.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. Master of a house? What does that even mean?
He rolls the coin over his fingers, staring at me like he wants something but he’s not sure how to ask. “You never told me your name.”
“Cameron.” I gather up the pictures and stuff them back in the Dad-box. “Everyone calls me Cam though.”
He sits up to shake my hand. “Nico. Pleasure to meet you. So”—he squints his eyes—“I’ve got a question for you.”
“Okay?” I’ve got questions for him, too.
“Why were you hanging around the Dallas Door this afternoon?”
“Dallas Door?”
“Yeah.” He waits, as if I’m supposed to know what he’s talking about.
“Uhh . . . it’s on my way home from school. First time I’ve seen any businesses in our new strip mall so I stopped.”
“Uh-huh.” His eyes remain narrowed. “And when was the last time you were in the Hotel?”
“That place on the other side of the door? Never.”
“Never?”
I shake my head. “Now for my questions,” I say. “What is that place?”
“Magic.” He leans back on my pillow and flips his coin. “You sure you’ve never been to the Hotel? Not even in your dreams?”
Okay, this is getting annoying. “I don’t believe in magic and of course I haven’t. I don’t even know what it—” but I stop myself. All those dreams I’ve had lately of the tree and the places beyond the doors . . . they are just dreams, aren’t they?
“I knew it. You have been to the Hotel. How else would you get a coin?” He points to my necklace.
I unclasp it and rub my thumb over the smooth surface of Dad’s coin. “It’s my dad’s. He gave it to me when I was little.”
Nico laughs. “Your dad must’ve stolen it, then.”
“My dad didn’t steal anything,” I snap.
Nico holds his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, whoa. I didn’t mean—”
“My dad’s gone,” I say in a cold whisper. “Someone stole him.”
“Oh.” Nico lowers his gaze.
Uh-oh. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve never told anyone at school about what happened to Dad. I always figured that if he was on the run from someone, and he left us
with Oma to keep us safe, then it’s best we stay under the radar.
“Sorry, I mean, that’s not what I—”
“No, it makes sense, actually,” Nico says.
I flinch. “How does it make sense?”
He grits his teeth. “I didn’t mean to say that. Forget it.”
“No, tell me.” I lean in. “What do you mean?”
Nico scoots away. “I-I can’t.”
“Why not?” I ask, letting my irritation show. This kid better not be pulling my leg.
“Because the secrets of the Hotel are not mine to give,” he says, seriously. “You don’t know how privileged you are to have gotten just a peek. Most don’t even see the doors. And no one gets to keep their coin when they leave.”
I shoot him a skeptical look. “You’ve got one.”
“Of course I do. I’m staff. I can come and go, but I’ve always got to end up back there. Or at least, the coin has to.”
My fingers rub the disc harder, as if squeezing it can press the truth out of him. This night is getting weirder by the minute.
“Well, I mean, you do have a coin. . . . I guess that entitles you to something.” He draws his lips into a thin line. “You won’t tell anybody, will you?”
“Tell anybody what? I want to know what you meant about my dad.”
His face lights up in a birthday-boy grin. “It’s better if I show you.”
• • •
Normally there’s no way I’d follow some strange, slick-haired kid out into the night in my pajamas. Lots of entries on the Worst Ways to Die list start with following strangers into the night. But tonight’s different. The tree, the coins . . . everything’s telling me I need to go with him, even though my stomach’s shriveling like a raisin. This may be my only chance.
I keep one hand in my pocket to hold on to the photo of my parents as we weave through the streets toward what Nico calls the “Dallas Door.” I’m trying not to think about the possibility that Nico’s one of the greedy spirits from Oma’s stories. But he couldn’t be. He’s a kid, like me. The spirits in Oma’s tales take kids.
Besides, those stories aren’t real. And I’m pretty sure a spirit wouldn’t ramble like this guy does. Nico talks, a lot. Like, a lot a lot. So much that I barely have to say anything, which is fine by me. He tells me about the busy streets of Paris at night, and the aurora borealis above Reykjavik, Iceland, and how much bigger the sky is there. He asks where all the horses are, and what’s the point of Dallas without horses, and says the “Old Man” should have opened a door to Orlando instead.
I can’t keep track of what he’s saying. Still, as weird as he is, listening to him makes me feel at ease. He’s a little like how I always imagined Dad—a world traveler telling stories of his adventures, reminiscing about the best dishes he ate in the forests of Lebanon and the mountains of Peru.
But Nico can’t have been to all those places. He’s too young. Something’s off about him; I just can’t figure out what. It’s like he’s trying to sell me on something, but I have no idea what I’m buying.
We round the corner of the shopping center and the shimmering script of The Hotel Between comes into view.
“It’s so small.” I picture the chandelier on the other side, the warm light, the second and third and fourth stories. “A whole hotel couldn’t possibly fit here.”
“Exactly.”
“Where is it, then?”
“Right here. And everywhere.” Nico pulls out a brass skeleton key and inserts it into the door.
But he doesn’t poke the key into a keyhole, like he should. Instead, he shoves the key right into the middle of the door. Shimmering foam expands from the glass around the key, glittering with copper-tinted smoke. I can’t believe my eyes.
My mouth falls open as he turns the key in the rippling glow and opens the door. Warm light poofs out like a cloud of hot air from an oven. The familiar smell of blueberries and woodsy smoke and spices wrap around me like a blanket.
Nico taps the threshold. “The Hotel Between. A very old establishment with doors that open all over the world.”
“You’re joking with me. This has to be a trick,” I say.
“Not everything in life is so black and white, Cam,” Nico replies. “Sometimes you need to take a risk.”
I step up to feel the heat rolling through the door, but Nico presses a hand to my chest to hold me back.
“To pass through always costs something,” he says.
“But . . . ” I touch my dad’s coin. “I thought this meant I could go inside.”
Nico shakes his head. “That doesn’t mean you should. The Hotel isn’t a place you enter lightly, you know. It’s dangerous.”
My arms prickle at the word. “It’s a hotel.”
“The Hotel Between is more than just a place to stay. It’s got an agenda—a mission—and you do not want to get caught up in that.”
I lean in and breathe the warm, blueberry air, taking in the bubbling fountain in front of the grand staircase. The chandelier above is bigger than I remember, brighter, with its long, flowing chains of sparkling crystals. I’m really seeing all of this.
“It’s . . . wonderful,” I say.
Nico clasps his fingers behind his back. “This is the North American Lobby. Lobbies are typically the first thing our guests see.”
A girl with dozens of tiny braids in her hair shuffles papers behind a counter on the far wall. People in colorful shorts and sunglasses meander through the velvety curtains on one side and climb the curling staircase to the upper level.
“When you cross the threshold of The Hotel Between, you pass from one place on the globe to another.” Nico waves his hand over the glass door front. “This side is Dallas.” Then he runs his hand over the dark wood inside. “And this is the Hotel.”
As nice as it seems, it almost reminds me of the Gingerbread House in Hansel and Gretel. Everything in me screams to get away, even as the warm light beckons me inside. I should listen to the uneasiness in my stomach. I don’t do risk.
Nico pushes us back out and closes the door. The colors of the hotel are sucked away into the night, leaving the strip mall looking even bleaker and dirtier.
“That’s pretty much it.” He leans against the wall and gives his coin a flip. “You’ve seen magic. How do you feel?”
I don’t mean to say it out loud, but I’ve wanted to ask the question ever since Nico’s comment earlier. “Could you find him?”
Nico snatches his coin out of the air. “Who? Your dad?”
I hesitate. I can’t believe I’m going to trust an absolute stranger with my secrets. That I’m going to trust magic, of all things. But Nico said this is what he does: finds people. And he’s the only lead I’ve ever had.
“He’s been missing since my sister and I were babies,” I tell him. “Oma worries about him, and we—”
Nico pulls a picture from his jacket pocket. “This him?” It’s the photo of Dad and Mom all dressed up at a fancy party. The one I brought with me.
I feel for the picture in my pocket, but it’s not there.
“How did you . . . ?” I glare at him. He swiped it from me, like a common thief.
“Just practicing.” He smiles. “But why would you want to find him? If he left you—”
“He didn’t leave,” I say, snatching the photo back. “I told you, he was taken. Someone was after him, and I think whoever took him . . . killed my mom, too.”
Nico shakes his head. “Trail’s too cold. The magic has to have something to go on. If no one’s heard from him your whole life . . . ” He glances once again to the coin at my neck. “Then again, if I had his coin—”
“No.” I can’t give Dad’s coin away. It’s the only connection I have to him.
He shrugs. “Then there’s nothing I can do.”
I grip the necklace tighter. This is such a bad idea. Or maybe it’s all just one long, bad dream.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Nico says. “You keep my coin.”
He flips the disc to me. “Call it collateral. Meanwhile I’ll take your Dad’s, and the picture, and bring it back once I’ve figured out whether I can help. What do you say?”
This isn’t what I expected. Nico’s coin is the same as mine, so maybe it offers the same protections—if they offer any kind of protection in the first place. If he was some sort of greedy spirit, he wouldn’t offer the same thing in return, would he?
“I don’t know. . . .”
Nico winks, and places a hand on the Dallas Door. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
A sick feeling grows from within the pit of my stomach. This coin is the most important thing I own.
“Don’t worry,” Nico says. “It’s a touch.”
“A touch?”
“Hotel lingo. It means ‘don’t be a baby, it’s no big deal.’ ” He reaches out a hand. “You’ll get your coin back, safe and sound. I promise.”
I can’t believe I’m considering this. I saw on TV once that there are brain parasites that can mess with your mind and cause you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. WWTD number 637. I feel fine, but maybe my brain’s already deteriorating.
“Okay.” I untie the necklace and hand it to him. I feel naked out here in the dark without it. “Bring it back, all right?”
“Hopefully, I’ll bring him back, yeah?” He turns his key in the door. “See you soon, Mr. Cam.”
“Wait.”
Nico stops, key sparkling in the magic keyhole.
I swallow the cottony dryness in my throat. “Do you really think you can find him?”
He opens the door and smiles. “I’m Nico. For the right price, I can do anything.”
3
Tricks in the Cards
The tree looms over me. Honey-colored light spills from the open door in the trunk. I don’t want to go in there. It feels like something bad is waiting for me on the other side. But at the same time, I do want to. I have to know.
One of the rustling leaves breaks loose and drifts downward, letting me pluck it from the air. Only it’s not a leaf. It’s a playing card. The four of hearts. On the back of the card are the words “Find Your Destination.” The phrase makes me happy, like I’ve been invited to an exclusive party.