The Hotel Between
Page 26
“She’s your mom. Besides, the Greenhouse belongs to the Hotel. Always did. Let’s just hope the groundskeepers can remove Stripe’s corruption.” He digs in his pocket and places his trick coin in my hand as well. “And you keep this.”
“I-I can’t. You’ll forget.”
“We’re blood-brothers. Everything we have.” He pats my shoulder. “Keep it safe.”
I run my fingers over the smiley face carved into the etching. Nico might have lied to me, but deep down, he did all that to help us.
“The truth is told at the thresholds,” Dad says.
Cass looks up. “Oma used to say that.”
I nod. I never knew what it meant before, but I think I’m starting to. It means we learn who people really are when things change. The last two weeks have been all about change. I’ve changed, and a lot of it is thanks to Nico.
Cass and Dad say goodbye, and Dad rolls Cass down the path away from the Vesima tree.
“Will I see you again?” I ask.
“My home is your home,” Nico says. “We may be on different paths, but I’ll be here. You’ll just have to find me.”
I give him a hug. “I’ll miss you.”
He hugs me back. “You too, brother. Now go. Find your destination.”
• • •
That evening, the Old Man summons me to the Concierge Retreat.
“Come,” Agapios calls when I knock on the underwater door to his dusty-plains office. He’s seated in one of two leather chairs next to the wood-burning stove. He motions for me to sit in the other.
The retreat is quiet except for the crackling fire. He’s going to give me the beef now, I’m sure. No matter how things turned out, it was still my fault. It’s time for me to leave the Hotel for good.
Instead, he says, “Thank you.”
I fold my hands and watch the fire, not wanting to look at him.
“You did much good today,” he says. “Helped many people.”
“I only fixed what my dad and I screwed up in the first place. If we hadn’t been so dumb—”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “The Hotel is full of those who’ve made mistakes.” His voice is soft. Encouraging. “If it kept a record of wrongs, there would be no one left to walk its halls.”
“What about Mom?” I ask. “Will she—I mean, will the tree be okay? Can it be healed? Can she . . . ?”
Agapios purses his lips. “Time will tell. Your mother bound herself completely to the Hotel. She is in its walls, rooting the doors together. She and the Vesima are one and the same. They cannot be separated. But yes, I believe we can remove Stripe’s corruption.”
I watch the flickering flames and breathe in a little smoke.
“I have a proposition for you,” the Old Man says after a moment. “My offer to train you as my successor was genuine. In your short time with us, I saw much of your mother in you.”
“I’m not my mom.” The past few days pretty much proved that.
“Of course not. But neither are you your father. My proposition is not for Melissa, or Reinhart. It is for you, and you alone. The Hotel called you, and so you came. You see the dangers of the world, and seek to protect others from them. And when crisis comes—which it always does—you set aside your fears to face it.” He settles back in his chair. “I have spoken with your Oma, and she agrees. You have much to learn, but I believe in time you could flourish as Concierge of The Hotel Between.”
“You want to bring me back? Even after what I did?”
“Especially after what you did.” The firelight dances on his sharp cheekbones. “You feel the responsibility of the world on your shoulders already. Why not embrace it as a gift? Focus beyond yourself and your sister, and help this greater world that’s so much in need?”
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
“The appropriate response is none at all. Consider it. The Hotel can sustain Cassia’s health, to a point, and your Oma’s skills as a teacher would greatly benefit our young staff. Your father will need time to heal, as well. Regardless, there will always be a place here for you and your family.”
A place for Oma and Cass. People to take care of them, and magic to keep them with me. And Mom . . .
“Thank you, sir. I’ll think about it.”
Though I already know what my answer will be.
• • •
I work in a magic hotel with doors that lead all over the world. An hour ago, I bought pretzels and schnitzel in Frankfurt, Germany. Before that, I led a lovey-dovey rich couple to Buñol, Spain, for a festival where everyone throws tomatoes at one another. And this afternoon I’ll have a family picnic with my sister and Dad and Oma, drinking orange juice in the shade of a giant tree.
But right now I have to deal with the disaster in room 2078.
“I just came back from dinner and there they were,” a guest with pouty lips and eyes as big as saucers tells me. Her neck drips with pearls, earrings sparkling against her dark complexion. “Where could they have come from?”
She’s talking about the cats. Lots and lots of cats. They’re everywhere. On the king-size bed. Drinking from the sparkling fixtures in the bathroom sink. Climbing the complimentary bathrobes in the closet like pirates swinging from the rigging.
When I took this job months ago, no one said anything about animal control.
“I don’t know ma’am,” I say.
But that’s not entirely true. One of the cats perches on the ornate windowsill, licking itself and stretching to bite the playing card stuck to the back of its collar. They’ve all got one. Those cards tell me exactly who sent these felines to terrorize the guests of The Hotel Between.
I haven’t seen Nico since the Greenhouse. No one has. The only way I know he’s okay is these pranks he keeps playing on the Hotel.
“We’ll have your room cleaned up as soon as possible,” I tell the guest in my best Concierge voice as some of the cats engage in a hissing match on her bed. I shut the door, but not before a screaming seven of clubs escapes down the hall. “Maybe you’d like to take advantage of our spa services in the meantime?”
I lick the tip of my pen to infuse it with my binding and scribble a note telling the spa staff to give the woman in room 2078 the royal treatment, before starting down the hall.
“Wait,” she calls after me. “You’re just leaving?”
“Apologies, ma’am, but I have five more guests experiencing the same issue.”
“What about my room? Can’t you just fix it? With your magic or whatever?”
She points to the coin hanging from my neck. Not Dad’s coin. It’s Nico’s trick coin. I had Sev put a hole in it so I could keep it with me as a memento. After so many years with Dad’s coin, it felt weird to have nothing there.
“Magic can’t fix everything,” I say. “Some things we just have to accept.” I give her a bow. “Have a good evening.”
As I head for the Elevator Bank, I can’t help but chuckle. Pranks aside, at least I know Nico’s still out there. He’s bound to me, another member of my family. The Museum doors may be closed off and hidden away, but that doesn’t matter. If Nico taught me nothing else, it’s that there are magics in the world; you just have to know where to look.
And when I finally find him, I’m totally going to wring his neck.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (THE GUEST LIST)
It takes a full hotel’s worth of people to bring a book like this to print, and the writing doesn’t happen in the space between doors. It happens where the people are—in lobbies and hallways and guest rooms—and the people there deserve a hearty thanks. To friends like David and Jamie Ake, Jason Stevenson, Gerardo Delgadillo, Daryl Miller, Lindsay Cummings, Caleb and Josh Slinkard, Tyler Hiott, John Paine, Crystal Summers, and Josh Torres—thanks for not letting me be a hermit. To writing friends like Dani Baxter, Diana Beebe, Mervyn Dejecacion, Alexis Lantgen, Sarah Mensinga, Brad McLelland, Jared Pope, Kristin Reynolds, and Holly Rylander—thanks for your coaching and encouragement. To my Pitch Wars c
heerleaders and the Electric Eighteens—thanks for being my tribe. And specifically to Julie Artz, Cindy Baldwin, Eric Bell, Heather Murphy Capps, Jenny and Alex Chou, Amanda Rawson Hill, Kat Hinkel, Michael Mammay, Leigh Mar, Anissa Maxwell, Heidi Stallman, Emily Ungar—you were in the delivery room when this baby was born, and told me it was a pretty baby. I needed to hear that.
Endless gratitude to my previous agent, Erin Young, for giving me the keys to this car, and to Jim McCarthy, for stepping in and taking the wheel.
Thanks to my editor, Krista Vitola, for choosing to take this journey with me. You’re an amazing navigator. Catherine Laudone, for keeping us running. Chloë Foglia, for giving the Hotel such a beautiful sheen, and Katrina Groover, for checking the locks so diligently. Lisa Moraleda, Anna Jarzab, Sam Metzger, Deane Norton, Emily Hutton, Diego Rodriguez, Anthony Parisi, Anne Zafian, and anyone I missed on the publishing team—thanks for opening all the doors. And to my publisher, Justin Chanda, for welcoming me into this House.
To Petur Antonsson, whose incredible artistry created a window into this world of doors. Because of you, many more will choose to enter.
To Mary Virginia Meeks and her middle-school beta readers: Yasmine Aditya, Juliana Cimo, Reagan Craft, Zachary Dunker, Gunnar Gfeller, Maximus Liando, Ella McManus, Delaney Mann, Simran Mondol, Ashley Nickolyn, Joshua Rule, Kristine Soriano, Jacob Stein, Viha Vishwanathan, Addie Whightsil, Yeji Yang, and Shannon Zimerman. Readers like you give me hope.
Lastly and mostly, to my family. Mom and Dad, you showed me a bigger world. Brandi, you’re the best sister ever (and you like books—big plus). Mama and Papa, you showed me who I want to become. Kendrick, you’re everything I could ask for in a son. I’m proud of you. God, you know all I have to say. And to Shelly: you’re the story of my life, the Best One, my favorite. Without you this wouldn’t exist, and for that you deserve cookies.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sean Easley started writing in third grade because he was looking for adventure. He’s worked with kids and teens for well over a decade, listening to their stories, and somehow ended up with a master’s degree in education along the way. Now he’s a full-time writer living with his wife and son in Texas, where he stubbornly refuses to wear cowboy boots. Visit him at seaneasley.com and on Twitter and Instagram @AuthorEasley
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Sean Easley
Jacket illustrations copyright © 2018 by Petur Antonsson
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Jacket design by Chloë Foglia
Interior design by Hilary Zarycky
Jacket design by Chloë Foglia
Jacket illustrations copyright © 2018 by Petur Antonsson
Author photo by Michelle Easley
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Easley, Sean, author.
Title: The Hotel Between / Sean Easley.
Description: First edition. | New York : Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, [2018] | Summary: Twelve-year-old Cameron discovers a magical hotel through which, with the help of new friend Nico, he hopes to find his long-lost father and help for his twin sister Cass’s spina bifida.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017043726| ISBN 9781534416970 (hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781534416994 (eBook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Hotels, motels, etc.—Fiction. | Brothers and sisters—Fiction. | Twins—Fiction. | Missing persons—Fiction. | Spina bifida—Fiction. | People with disabilities—Fiction. | Magic—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.E247 Hot 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017043726