Page 16 of Crossroads Magic
“And your employer clearly gave you time off despite the short notice. That’s excellent,” Marcus replied, heading up the stairs.
I didn’t reply.
Ghaliya cleared her throat, embarrassed. She was too young to be able to keep a straight face.
Marcus looked over his shoulder, then clutched the banister and looked at me properly. “You werefired?” he breathed, then glanced over my shoulder for eavesdroppers.
I paused two steps down from him and shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of time off lately. This was just the last straw.” And I was lying through my teeth. I hadn’t asked for time off in over six months. I’d taken every shitty shift they’d assigned me. I’d even taken the double shifts on Sundays so Ashwin Osis didn’t have to bring in Clarence, the other cook, for four short hours.
But I didn’t want to talk about getting fired. Not now. It wasn’t just the bad taste it left in my mouth. When I’d had to tell Ghaliya what had happened, my heart had not just palpitated, I had been able to feel it squeezing. It hadhurt.
I didn’t want to feel that again. I didn’t want to be as scared as I had been, feeling that pain. And I didn’t want to pick up the mental load of which being fired was just the top of the heap.
Flying here had felt as though I was leaving all those issues behind, just for a little while. And here in the North Country, everything was so different, there were no reminders of any of it. Except for conversational landmines like this one.
So I lied and shrugged.
Benedict Marcus didn’t look convinced, or even shocked by my blasé response. He considered me for a moment. His black eyes seemed to reach into me.
“Is my grandmother really here…in the hotel, still?” Ghaliya asked.
I almost jumped. Almost.
Benedict Marcus gave Ghaliya an easy smile, full of warmth. “Haigton Crossing isn’t big enough for a morgue. Or even a police station.”
“There’s need for a police station?” I asked sharply.
He turned that warm, honeyed smile on me. “Let me take you to see your mother. Then we can talk.”
Becausethatdidn’t worry me at all.
I glanced at Ghaliya. She was chewing her bottom lip. She looked at me and I could see the concern in her gaze. She hadn’t liked his answer, either.
We silently followed Benedict Marcus up the stairs. They turned at the back of the building and moved up to the second floor. The landing at the top was wide and pleasant. A runner stretched along the six-foot-wide passages, which arrowed down the middle of each side. A round rug filled up the landing. White doors with numbers lined the corridors, and two doors faced the stairs.
“This is also a guest hotel?” I asked, surprised. “Mom never said…” I halted. There was a lot Mom had never said. She’d never talked about the hotel, only that it paid enough profit to keep her whole and relatively happy. She had spoken of friends, but never a doctor called Benedict Marcus who lived right across the street.
“A guest hotel, a bar, and a dining room,” Benedict said.
“There are enough people in the town to support an establishment like this?” I looked once more up and down the two corridors. There were no windows along the corridors to shed light, although each corridor ended with a window. The window to the right would have been one of those I had stared at a short while ago, from out in the parking lot. Small wall lights illuminated the deep shadows along the corridors that the windows didn’t reach.
“The Crossing gets a lot of through-traffic in the milder months,” Benedict replied. “Up here, this way,” he added, pointing toward another flight of steps. This flight was narrower, and didn’t turn at the top. Instead, a closed door sealed off the stairs, bearing a sign I could read from the foot of the stairs.
Private.
We moved up the stairs. They had a runner on them, too, which muffled our steps, and I was suddenly glad that we weren’t making a lot of noise and drawing attention to ourselves. Although who would care, I couldn’t say.
The door at the top was not locked. Benedict twisted the old-fashioned round handle and pushed the door open. Dim light showed beyond. Windows, but north-facing, so the late afternoon sunlight was already fading.
The room was utterly charming. Ghaliya drew in a deep breath, smiling, as she turned on one foot, staring at the place.
It was located at the back of the inn, right under the steep roof, so the ceiling sloped down to just above the mullioned windows. There were four windows along the length of the narrow room, none of them with curtains. Through them, I could see the roofs of perhaps seven houses, then the tops of trees. So many trees that between them was nothing but blank light. A strip of sky showed at the top of the windows.
At first glance, the room seemed to be stuffed full of furniture, but it was a deception created by the narrow length of it. On either side of the doorway we stood in were a pair of red velvet wing chairs. The velvet was old and worn, with deep tucks and pleats on the back of the chairs creating diamond patterns in the thick pile. The chairs weren’t bright red, but a deeper ruby that the fading daylight made glow.
On the wall beneath the windows was a long row of small tables, low bureaus, and a high, old-fashioned kitchenette. Between the two center windows, opposite the door, was a black, cast-iron stove, oblong, old, and massive.
And on every horizontal surface was…stuff. Kitsch, it would be called in the city. Here, it was simply the belongings of someone leading a busy and interesting life. There were photos in frames, books standing on end and held upright with vases holding flowers that were now wilting, pots holding what I thought might be herbs, and more books stacked to make bookends. There were even more pots of growing things, adding a dark green hue to the room, which seemed to be glowing with orange light.
