Page 11 of The Retreat

“I hope this meal is suitable.” He places the tray on the small circular table next to the bookcase and removes the cloches. “All guests have the same lunches and dinners, with strict dietary guidelines followed, and according to the food intolerance questionnaire you filled out online.”

That explains the lack of choice. Curious, I glance at my dinner, relieved when I spy what looks like lasagna and salad, and a minuscule chocolate mousse for dessert.

“I’ll get your bottled water,” he says, and even his walk as he lopes toward the door is familiar.

When he re-enters the room and places two bottles beside my bed, he says, “Apologies for not introducing myself. I’m Spencer.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I say, and he manages a small smile along with a nod. “You’ve worked here a long time, Cora said.”

“Yes. Over forty years.”

“Wow. You must really love your job.”

“Some places are hard to leave,” he murmurs, his cryptic comment accompanied by a stare I have no hope of interpreting. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to your dinner?”

“Thanks, I’ll be fine.” I point at the book on my bedside table. “Though I’d love to chat to you sometime over the next week. I’m a librarian back in Manhattan and I’m slightly obsessed with all things mythological, so the history of Arcania fascinates me, especially the Viking angle.”

He freezes, like I’ve said something inexplicably bad, but before I can ask what’s wrong he gives an odd little bow and vanishes out the door like a ghost.

I shake my head and flick the lock on the door. It stands to reason a person who’s been in the same job for that long in a place like this might be a tad eccentric, but there’s something oddly familiar about Spencer I can’t put my finger on.

Just what I need, another mystery to solve while I’m here.

Chapter8

Cora

THEN

After Harlan leaves the room,I slip off my shoes and socks and crawl under the covers of my princess bed. There’s no other word for it, perched on a pedestal and draped in all that satin and velvet. I’m filthy and should have a shower first, but I’m bone-deep tired and can barely muster the strength to toss the throw pillows off the bed and pull back the heavy duvet before sliding under the covers.

A distinct smell of lavender warring with rose emanates from the sheets and I burrow my face into the pillow, finding the fragrance oddly comforting. I fall asleep instantly and when I next open my eyes, light is streaming through the drapes I could’ve sworn were closed yesterday.

I use my pinkies to remove the grit from the corners of my eyes, stretch, and roll onto my side to find a note propped on the bedside table. I stiffen and sit bolt upright.

Someone’s been in my room while I slept.

My eyes dart to where I dropped my duffel yesterday and I sigh in relief when I see it hasn’t moved. But that doesn’t mean someone hasn’t rifled it.

I slide out of bed to check and nearly fall flat on my face, forgetting the stupid raised platform the bed is perched on. Glancing at the time on a mini-grandfather clock on a dresser, I’m shocked to see it’s eleven a.m., meaning I’ve slept for sixteen hours straight.

After a quick look through my duffel reassures me nothing has been taken, I pick up the note. The paper is cool and thick between my fingers. I unfold it, impressed by the bold cursive script.

Dear Cora,

Welcome to Arcania. We asked a staff member to leave you a breakfast tray and this note for whenever you wake.

Harlan mentioned you’re seeking work, and as it happens, we have a job vacancy.

Magnus and I look forward to meeting you.

Warm regards,

Helga Medville.

* * *

While I don’t appreciatesome random dude entering my room while I’ve been sleeping, it’s nice for Harlan’s mom to welcome me like this. Besides, I’m starving and my stomach rumbles as my gaze sweeps the room searching for the breakfast tray. It’s perched on a tiny round table in the corner that I hadn’t noticed last night, a plate covered in one of those silver domes I’ve seen on cooking shows on TV. There’s a glass of orange juice, a tiny white jug, and a tub of yogurt arranged around the plate, and my stomach rumbles again.

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