The Hotel Between

by Sean Easley

  We emerge into the parking lot behind the 7-Eleven where I first met him, which seems like ages ago.

  “Where are we going to play soccer in Dallas?”

  “First off, I told you, it’s fútbol. Second, who says we’re playing in Dallas?”

  I scrunch my eyebrows, and then it clicks. “We’re taking Stripe’s Corridor?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why not use the Alcove Door in the back halls? It would’ve been faster.”

  “We don’t use that door unless absolutely necessary.” He bounces the ball on his knee as we walk. “Hidden doors have a way of being revealed.”

  A hidden door. Now that I’ve had time to learn more about how the Hotel works, something about the Alcove Door doesn’t seem right. I’ve watched enough people use the map-boards to know that all the doors should be charted. It’s as if the Hotel can sense where all its turners and knockers lead.

  All, it seems . . . except the Alcove Door.

  “How do you keep it hidden from the map-boards?” I ask as we head toward the hospital.

  “Magic.” He wiggles his fingers.

  “I’m serious. Why don’t the MC or Agapios know it’s there?”

  He shrugs. “Don’t really know.”

  “You didn’t bind it?”

  “Nah.”

  “Did Stripe?”

  Nico pauses to think. “I doubt it. Stripe doesn’t really bother binding anything himself. He has other people do it for him. I’m not even sure he knows how.”

  “Wait, Stripe can’t bind?” That’s surprising.

  “There are other kinds of magic than just binding.” Nico goes back to juggling the ball. “And binding can take lots of forms, too. It’s not just making pins.”

  The image of the door behind the armoire flashes again in my mind. “Could there be more hidden doors no one knows about?”

  “Maybe.” He snatches the ball and tucks it under his arm. “Why?”

  “I dunno. I’ve got a feeling. . . .”

  “Like”—he glances at my neck—“a coin kind of feeling?”

  I take a breath. “In Dad’s memories, I saw a door hidden behind some stuff. I think he may have bound a door somewhere on the fourth floor, but since we can’t get in there, I can’t check.”

  “Oh, I’ll get you there,” Nico says. “Don’t you worry.”

  I study him as we walk. Nico always seems so sure of himself, like he knows things no one else does. Like he’s got everything under control. He doesn’t even seem bothered that I didn’t swipe Agapios’s topscrew. I wish I could be like that. Sure. Confident.

  He notices me watching him. “What?”

  “You’re not mad at me.”

  Nico scoffs. “Of course I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”

  “Because I ruined our opportunity. I couldn’t get the key.”

  “Nothing’s ruined,” he says with a laugh. “And what kind of friend would I be if I got upset about little stuff like that?”

  The walk to the hospital where Nico bound the Corridor is almost as familiar as my walk to school. But the path feels different knowing Cass is at home.

  “Have you been back to see her?” Nico asks, nodding in the direction of our house.

  “No.” I’m pretty sure what happened with Sev’s pin doesn’t count, since I didn’t actually see her.

  “Why not?”

  I don’t know how to answer. Because I’ve been too busy? Because I know if I go back and spend time with her I won’t want to come back? Because my time is almost up and I still don’t know anything to help me find my dad? So I focus on the lines in the concrete instead.

  “I think it’s cool how you care for her.” Nico scans the hospital ahead. “Family’s important. The family you’re born with, and the family you choose.”

  I furrow my brow. “The family you choose?”

  “Well, like me. . . . I don’t know who my parents are. I don’t have any brothers or sisters that I know of. The only family I have are the people I’ve chosen to treat that way.” He grins. “Good people. Like you.”

  When we reach the door behind the hospital, Nico has to jigger the magical lock to make his silver key work. The flashing lights of an ambulance cause my body to tense. “So, what do the keys do, exactly?”

  “Keys use a different kind of binding.” His key finally clicks. “Deeper. It’s harder to make a key than a pin. And in the right hands, they’re way more dangerous.”

  “More dangerous than pins?” The void behind those failed doors itches in my mind.

  “Pins just connect one place to another, but keys can do lots of things.” He holds up his silver key. “Stripe gave me this one. It locks and unlocks bound doors so people don’t accidentally stumble upon them.” His eyes darken as he opens the door. “I’ve even heard of one that has the power to completely unbind whatever it’s used on.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Yeah, until you imagine what it would be like to unbind a person.” He stares intently at me. “All those atoms and things inside you just . . . loose. Undone. Falling apart.” He shudders. “It ain’t pretty.”

  “Oh.” I immediately think back to what Orban said. I won’t be unbound. The idea of Agapios carrying a key like that makes me want to hug myself.

  The Corridor lights flicker on. It looks just like we left it: checkerboard tile extending in both directions, lined with simple wood doors. The Hotel at one end, Stripe’s Museum at the other.

  As we pass through this time, I pay closer attention to all the little details in the Corridor. The doors are old. Very old. The jots and tittles around the blocky letters on the nameplates look like something from the History Channel. And there’s a musty smell, like old books.

  “Stripe gave me my key when he showed me this Corridor, and the Alcove Door,” Nico says. “It’s my way back to him, if things at the Hotel ever go sideways.”

  A way out, like the pin Sev gave me. “You’ve known Stripe a long time.”

  “All my life. He’s pretty much the only father figure I had growing up. But then . . . ” Nico turns the crystal handle on one of the doors, and the muggy scent of rain and mud washes into the hall. “Well, I’ve got some people to introduce you to.”

  Beyond the door, a field slopes up to some woods. Trees cover a round-top mountain that partially blocks the low sun. Insects trill in the thick air. This side of the door barely hangs from its hinges on a small, cinderblock building. A rusted tricycle lies buried in the weeds next to it, along with old shovels, trowels, and sledgehammers.

  I wipe a bubble of sweat from my forehead. “Where are we?”

  “Honduras. A little community you’ve never heard of.”

  As we climb the muddy road, I take in the scenery. Painted square houses. Yards wrapped in chain-link fences, littered with broken toys. Shirtless old men watch from behind cracked windows. A woman wrings blue dye from a pair of pants and hangs them from a drooping power line to dry.

  A tiny girl in an oversize T-shirt plays with a doll next to the road. The doll’s hair is faded, and it’s got no clothes on, but still I recognize it. Cass had one, but she threw it away years ago. This little girl hugs the doll as if it’s her best friend.

  Most of our errands have taken place in big cities, but there’ve been a few places like this, where the people live off leftovers. Leftover toys sent from countries with more money than they know what to do with. Leftover clothes people got tired of.

  “Most of the world does not live with the same luxuries as you, my friend,” Nico says, catching me midstare. “Don’t you pity them. These folks are happier than most people you know.”

  The road breaks left to an open soccer—I mean fútbol—field, full of guys and girls around our age. One of the girls notices Nico and shouts to the others. The game pauses as the whole group runs toward us.

  “They know you.”

  “Of course they do,” he says. “They’re my family.”

 
Nico spends the next few minutes introducing the Jimenez family. There are at least ten kids, all uniquely different.

  “I told them you’re my friend,” he says after giving me more names than I’ll ever remember.

  I grin hearing him call me his friend.

  “They’re all adopted,” Nico tells me as some race back to their game. “Mami and Papi took me in a while back, along with all these other fantastic locos. Nothing official . . . they just welcomed me into their home.”

  “But you live at the Hotel. And didn’t you say you were raised by Stripe?”

  He shrugs. “I get around.”

  “Nico don’t stay,” one of the brothers shouts in broken English. “¿A donde fué esta vez?”

  Nico answers with a long string of Spanish. I sit back and listen. Nico has a family. I never even thought to ask him about that. A family he left.

  And he can still go back to them.

  • • •

  After their happy reunion, it’s time to play.

  Now I understand why they don’t call it soccer. This game feels like a completely different sport. I mean, the rules are the same, but these kids dance around me like I’m an elephant statue with no coin. They don’t make fun of me, though. At school, sports almost always end with the others roasting me. Nico’s family makes me feel like I’m one of them—even though I can’t understand anything they’re telling me.

  We go to their house at the top of the hill after the game. Mr. and Mrs. Jimenez have some spicy dishes prepared. The meal is simple and the place settings are sparse, but everyone laughs and eats like it’s the full-on buffet served aboard the Accommodation. Afterward, we hang out on the uneven back porch as the sun drops behind the mountain. One of the brothers plays mariachi music on a guitar.

  I never knew family could be like this. All they’re doing is hanging out together, but it’s different from me and Cass and Oma. They’re so loud, and happy. There’s so many of them to support and watch out for each other. To be honest, I’m kinda jealous.

  A couple of Nico’s siblings have disabilities, too. He pays particular attention to a girl with withered hands that curl inward, giving her a stuffed doll with slick black horsehair and a beaded dress. She curls up in his arms, watching him with big brown eyes as he chatters on in Spanish. Every once in a while, I hear the name of a place I recognize. He’s telling them about his travels.

  Before we leave, I catch Nico secretly giving his papi a bundle of bills. It’s the tips he’s been collecting from the breakfast service. He gives it all to his family.

  Back home it’s just the three of us. Oma works so hard to provide that she’s not around for every meal, and when she is home, she’s exhausted. I know she loves us, but our house ends up so quiet. Compared to this, our family feels broken.

  • • •

  It’s almost dark when Nico and I head back to the Corridor.

  “Have fun?” he asks.

  I feel a pinch on my neck, and swat away another bloodsucker making a meal out of me. “Yeah.” Though I can’t stop thinking about how Nico’s family is so unlike my own.

  “What’s wrong? Are you mad?”

  “I don’t know.” I didn’t think I was, but maybe I am.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know!” I glance ahead to the door to Stripe’s Corridor. “It’s just . . . you keep all these secrets. So does Sev. It’s not right, asking me to help take those kids without telling me why, or what happens to them.” I pause. Is this what I’m really upset about? Maybe. All I know is these are the only words I can find.

  The sky’s getting darker now. A smattering of stars pricks into view.

  “At least tell me why you’re working with Stripe.”

  “I thought I made that clear tonight.” Nico looks back down the road. “I’m doing it for my family.”

  Another nonanswer.

  He lowers his gaze. “For you, helping Stripe is all about finding out what happened to your dad. If you find him, you get to go home, and that’s it. For me it’s . . . different. I don’t get to go home. I’m bound to the people here, but I’ve got other bindings too. Responsibilities. Everything I do is for them. To keep them safe.”

  “Safe from what, though?”

  “Just safe. The binding comes from life, yeah? Well . . . there’s power in a person’s life, and in the relationships we have. And there are people out there who collect others in order to collect power.” He pauses, and slaps a mosquito. “I don’t want anyone collecting my family.”

  “Is that what’s going on? Is Agapios collecting kids to gain power?”

  Nico twists his lips. “I wish I could say, Cam. I really do. But those secrets . . . they’re not mine to tell.”

  I growl under my breath. “Everyone keeps saying that.”

  “You know why, right? Why we can’t tell you?”

  I pause for a second. Oma, Nico, Sev, even Rahki—they wouldn’t all say the same thing unless there was a reason. Maybe even . . . a magical reason.

  Then it hits me. “Your lips are bound. You really can’t tell me, can you?”

  “At last, he gets it.” Nico squeezes my shoulder. “Some secrets protect themselves, and some truths only reveal themselves when they’re ready. Like the Hotel not calling you until you were old enough to work here. But I can tell you this: I don’t want something bad to happen to you, either. We’ll find your dad, and when we do, this’ll all be over.”

  “But what if—”

  “No.” He looks me in the eye. “I promise. I won’t let anyone collect you.”

  He’s serious. Nico’s never serious. He makes jokes out of everything.

  “There’s a bit of binding people tend to forget,” he says, “but I want to do it with you. Maybe this way, you’ll understand me better. Where I come from, and where I’m going.”

  He reaches to his side and pulls out a little knife. No, not a knife—a sliver, like the one Orban had in Budapest. It’s sharp along one edge, with a grip at the bottom, and comes to an extreme point at the tip. All wood.

  “I want to be your blood-brother,” he says. “It’s a kind of binding between equals, friends. A promise that binds me to you as a brother, forever.”

  A brother. I’ve never had someone choose to be that close to me. I’ve had friends, sure, but no one who wanted to keep me around when school was out. I mean, there’s Cass of course, but she’s . . . well . . . Cass. My sister.

  “Will you do it?”

  “Umm, I guess,” I say, but part of me is screaming yes! I’ve always wanted to belong to a big family, like the Jimenezes. To have people who choose me. People who want to stick around.

  Nico pulls out his handkerchief. “We need a contract.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s just the way things are done.” He bends over, holding the sliver like he would a pen, and scribbles with it on the cloth from his pocket.

  “The sliver writes?”

  “Burns,” Nico clarifies, still writing. “But yeah, most slivers can double as a pen. Pins, too. Contracts are important in binding.”

  He finishes, blows on the handkerchief, and hands it to me.

  I, Nico Flores, bind myself as blood-brother to Cameron Kuhn. I promise to do everything in my power to find and protect his family. What’s bound to me is bound to him, everything I have, forever in perpetuity.

  “Perpetuity?”

  “It means it lasts forever and ever. Even after this is all over and you go home.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Why would you do this?”

  “Remember when I told you I was going to be master of my own House?” He glances back down the path again. “If I’m going to protect my family, I need power too. The Hotel’s got it. If I can become Concierge—master of Agapios’s House—I’ll be able to take care of my family forever.”

  “I thought Agapios demoted you.”

  “A temporary setback.” He smiles. “And there are other great Houses, too. Like the Museum. If I ca
n become master of any of the Houses, I’ll be set, and so will my family. But I need people I can trust to help me get there. People who trust me, no matter what happens. And with this, you’ll be my family too.”

  It’s strange, having someone tell me they trust me like that after only knowing me a week. But it’s Nico, the guy I followed out of the hospital to start this journey.

  “Do you trust me?” he says, as if reading my mind.

  I nod, though part of me is still hesitant. I think through all the people Nico’s lied to. He hasn’t lied to me, though. Not as far as I can tell. And the thought of being a part of his family . . . wouldn’t that be worth a little risk?

  “Then give me your hand.” He opens my palm and holds the sliver like Sev held the needle back in his room. “Be still. Don’t want it going too deep, or we’ll activate the sliver’s binding, and we don’t want that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Let’s just say that if I poke you with this, it’ll hurt. A lot.”

  Nico draws the sharp edge of the sliver across the muscle at the bottom of my thumb. It stings, but I don’t pull back. A tiny line of red bubbles up along the cut.

  He does the same to his own palm.

  “Do we sign somewhere?”

  “Signing is good, but this is better. Stronger.” He places the handkerchief over his palm and holds his hand out toward me. “A contract between us. What’s bound to me is bound to you. Everything we have, forever in perpetuity.”

  He grips my hand through the fabric. I grip back. The warm liquid sticks our palms together, the handkerchief contract between us, and I can almost hear the sound of a door opening in my head. I feel stronger, gripping his hand, as if his confidence is bleeding into me.

  “Now,” he says, “let’s find your dad.”

  18

  Still Waters Run Deep

  I’m walking through the Mezzanine in my tailcoat, wringing my gloved hands. I try not to look at the night-windows on the cliffs—the ones that show a starry twilight even though the sky over the Mezz is bright and sunny. Those pitch-dark windows remind me too much of the darkness that hides in the spaces between doors. And I can’t think about that now. I’ve got a job to do.