“But don’t you see? You wouldn’t be that. Those people only wanted something shallow and that’s what happens.” They meant nothing to her, I could tell. “Their souls are ripe for the taking because there is little they truly care about.” She leaned in, her voice getting hypnotic, wooing. “You’re
marked
for greater things, Haven. You’re a greater prize, and you would reap a greater reward. You would achieve all you wanted and fast. You would be more beautiful than you would ever imagine, more confident, the kind of person women want to be and men want to be with. And you would have success, instant success, without breaking your back to achieve it, without having to compete and worry if you’ll end up on top—”
“See, I’m sort of used to working for things and I like the way it feels.”
“That’s a problem that is easily overcome, I assure you.”
“And what are the terms specifically?”
“Well, you get everything you wish, in record time. For you, perhaps, that means flying through undergrad at the top of your class, going to a fine medical school, getting placed at the most prestigious hospital, and then of course emotional and physical matters involved with looking and feeling like your ideal. We would draw up a contract with the particulars—”
“And then at some point I start taking lives and souls,” I said, cutting her off.
“We call it recruiting. And in return for what we’ve given you, you provide us with new recruits.”
“So I could, for instance, cure cancer but then I would take more lives than I would save. That’s how this general equation is always going to come out, right?”
“I don’t know why you’re focusing on the negative.”
“I don’t understand what’s in it for me.”
“You would command such power. You’ve never felt true power before. You would find this intoxicating. Because of your pedigree you would be so much
more
than the rest of the Outfit.”
“Thank you, but—”
She put up her hand, stopping me. “When you say no, I don’t know that you fully understand. You will either join me or we will be at cross-purposes with each other—which is something I cannot tolerate.” A look blazed in her eyes, a flash that made me shudder. She rose up from her chair gracefully, and yet kicking it back several feet with her sharp heel. I jumped and scrambled to my feet. She walked to the front of the desk to face me. Her voice dropped a register and was so deliberate and smooth I felt ill.
“I’m going to do you a favor,” she said finally. “I’m going to not accept an answer right now. I’m going to give you twenty-four hours to come to your senses. Tell me yes then or you won’t live to tell anything ever again.”
I said nothing. I just left, as fast as I could.
32. We’ll Always Have Metamorfosi
That evening when Lance went to the prop house, I stayed behind anxiously awaiting his return. When he finally showed up outside the gallery door, reporting that all had gone well, together we went to the ballroom at the scheduled time to monitor the great switching of the cows. The hubbub didn’t escape the notice of Beckett and a few of the Outfit, who happened to be lingering in the room, finishing up their work.
“What’s this about?” he barked at us as two burly men wheeled one cow in and the other away.
“A last-minute change,” Lance said.
“The prom committee decided they wanted a spotted cow,” I added. “One became available, so we wanted to give them exactly what they requested.”
“Just do it fast.”
Lance and I nodded to him as he and the others left the room. I looked at the spotted cow being set into place and tried to imagine how Dante had curled himself up to fit in there. It hurt me just to look at it, but it was necessary.
Alone in the ballroom at last, Lance and I shut off all the lights, opened the panel, and helped a crumpled Dante as he crept out.
“I’m like a friggin’ contortionist after that!” he sighed in a whisper.
We wished him good luck and closed the doors behind him.
At 3:30 in the morning, as the hotel slept, we crossed our fingers and enacted the final step in our plan. I waited behind in my room as Lance went to the ballroom to retrieve the room service cart from the back prep kitchen. With any luck Dante would be tucked under the tablecloth on the cart’s bottom shelf. Lance would wheel him down the elevator, past the front desk, to the deserted kitchen of Capone. There Dante would have twenty minutes to complete his work before finding his way back into the cart, where I would be ready to wheel him downstairs.
I checked my watch and put the gourmet sandwiches I’d found in the Capone fridge onto the cart—if anyone asked, Lance and I were simply enjoying a late-night snack. Dante came running from the direction of Alcatraz, carrying a canvas tote bag full of supplies, and dove under the tablecloth. I pushed with all my strength and wheeled him to his old room.
Once safely inside, Dante climbed out.
“Mission accomplished,” he said. I gave him a hug and Lance patted him on the shoulder.
“Did you see anyone?” I asked. “Etan? Or anyone in the kitchen?”
“Negative,” Dante said, proud of himself. “I timed it totally right. That’s when Etan takes whatever meetings he goes to and does his daily harvests.”
“Scavenging for ingredients in hell and whatnot,” Lance added.
“Exactly. So, it was all clear. The other folks won’t roll back in until maybe five. I replaced all the jars of their poison mixture—which is like salt and pepper to them; it goes on everything—with the antidote. Then I sprinkled it into everything that was already made—all sorts of dough, drink mixers, you name it.”
“Nice work, man,” Lance said.
“Thanks.” His eyes canvassed the old room. “But it’s pretty friggin’ weird to be back here. And let me tell you, that cow was not comfy. My back is, like, killing me.” He started unbuttoning his chef’s coat.
“Well, you were cooped up for an awfully long time,” I soothed.
He stretched and squirmed while Lance set out a little feast of the food I’d pilfered from the bar’s pantry in the tunnels earlier in the night.
“You’re probably starving,” Lance said, gnawing at a piece of pita bread and handing another to Dante.
“Thanks. Hey, Hav, I have kind of a medical question.”
“The doctor is in.”
“Do scars, like, get worse ever?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Like, remember all those ones I’ve had forever from falling when I was a kid?”
“Sure.”
He turned around and flipped up his T-shirt, exposing his bare back. “It’s totally nuts, but they, like, disappeared, almost all of them, except for that one on my arm and these two.” Sure enough, his back, which had once been riddled with shallow scars from crashing down on rocks and branches when he tumbled out of that tree so long ago, was nearly smooth. This was a kid who used to wear T-shirts when we went to the beach at Lake Michigan. Now he just had a pair of deep marks on his shoulder blades, identical to Lance’s and mine. He was one of us. I looked at Lance now. He stopped chewing.
“Wow, I guess there’s some more stuff you might need to know.”
It was impossible to preserve any sense of normal after the day we had had, but it almost felt that way as we sat on the floor, snacking on our stolen goods and filling Dante in on any of those pertinent bits of information we might have left out the first time around. And then we plotted, each of us bringing something to the table. The goal was to prevent the sale of as many souls as possible, off the Outfit, and, of course, remain alive ourselves. Dante had already gotten his antidote into the kitchen and he had more at the ready to administer at the event itself, if necessary. Lance, the budding architect, had his maps, painstakingly detailed, of our passageways and tunnels and the quickest routes for each of us to take from one location to the next throughout the course of the night. He had contingency plans and a host of exit strategies for each possible room and situation, along with a detailed outline of what needed to be accomplished tomorrow night and in what order. I had blind faith and a couple of sharp knives.
And so we sat, planning as the early morning hours wore on, creating an interlocking harmony out of our three trajectories. It struck me that, subject matter aside, this is what it might have been like these past several months if this internship had turned out to be the experience we had expected: Dante, Lance, and me sitting around on a Friday night, sharing some snacks and talking. That would have been really nice.
When we finally felt as prepared as any of us could, we adjourned our meeting. It was after five in the morning and we all knew that we had to sleep. But none of us quite welcomed the thought of having to close our eyes and potentially invite in the demons that had attacked me the night before. So we took turns. Two of us at a time drifted off while one stayed up on guard. We stayed in Lance and Dante’s room, as I had no interest in being alone in mine. The hours passed without interruption.
Saturday was eerily quiet in that calm-before-the-storm sort of way. We saw no traces of Aurelia or Lucian but spotted some familiar faces from school checking into the hotel in the afternoon. Lance’s mom swung by dropping off his rental tux, and Dante’s tux too, all crammed in the same garment bag (we didn’t want Ruthie stopping by the hotel, just in case anyone happened to be watching). I wished I had had a legitimate reason to see Joan. I called her but feared I couldn’t stay on very long without her wondering what was with me. I stood outside on the sidewalk with my cell phone pressed to my ear. I remembered the day she dropped me off at this very spot. I had had no idea what I was in for back then and yet I had still been nervous. I could laugh at that now.
“Are you getting excited? You’ll be beautiful in that dress. Take pictures!” Joan urged.
“Thanks, yeah, I will.”
“Just a few weeks and you’ll be back here for the summer, can you believe it?”
“I know.” But I couldn’t believe it. I could hope, but I couldn’t quite believe.
“The girls at the hospital are so excited. It’s just not the same without you. We need you there to keep us young!”
“I try.”
“Well, honey, have a wonderful time tonight and I want to hear all about it tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Say hi to Dante. I’m so glad he’s better, and that Lance.”
“I will . . . I love you, Joan. Thank you for, you know, for everything, all the time.” It sounded so feeble, but what more could I say without getting her nervous? I could feel the beads of sweat springing up along my forehead. It had to be in the eighties.
“Haven, honey, don’t be worried about this silly dance. I know it’s not your thing, but you’re going to have fun. Maybe it’ll surprise you.”
“Thanks.”
“I love you, dear.”
“Love you too.”
“Talk tomorrow.”
I hoped so.
Lance and Dante were picking me up at seven. Two pseudo-semi dates to the prom? Add that to the ever-expanding list of things I never would have thought might have happened back when I moved into this hotel. At five minutes to seven, I sat on my bed in that dress, my heels on, my new hair and makeup—minimal, but still—done, and I stared down that book. I had managed to put off looking at it all day, as though remaining in a state of blissful ignorance could save my life. But I had a responsibility to myself to read it now. I had reached the end, just a page or two left to be written upon. It couldn’t have much still to tell me. Sure enough, today’s date was marked, and this:
Forget about dates and times and whatever you have been told may happen today and begin acting in a manner commensurate with who you are and who you want to be. You have all the tools to make it through today. Just be smart, be strong, and don‘t lose faith in yourself.
You are more equal in strength to these creatures than you have realized. Own that feeling. Command it. Command them. You will need every ounce of your power to attempt to defeat them. Regardless of the final outcome, I can guarantee that the bloodshed and destruction will be far greater if you don‘t fight to your full capacity. Rise up, winged one—it‘s time.
It continued to give me mixed messages, this thing. It must just be a nice way of not wanting to tell me I’m definitely going to die today. Or else it was a not-so-nice way of telling me I have nothing to lose, so live the day with that in mind.
Three quick knocks rattled the door, just in time to save me from thinking too much.
I opened up and Dante stood there, a black fedora atop his freshly shorn head.
“Happy Prom,” he said, pretending to be excited.
“Here’s hoping it is,” I said kissing him on the cheek.
He held out a piece of hotel stationery he had origami’d into a flower. “And you don’t even have to water it,” he added with a smirk. I had to chuckle.
“Thank you, you’re too kind.” I set it down on the night table, in the spot once occupied by Lucian’s flower that had refused to die. “This reminds me. I have something for you too.”
“You do? Aw shucks.” Dante tossed himself onto the bed.
I dug into my dresser and took out the small plastic bag from the vintage store in Belmont. “Is Lance standing us up?”
“That guy is
still
getting ready.”
“Really?”
“In his defense, I kind of hogged the mirror.”
“Not surprised. Well, in the meantime.” I handed the bag to him. “This is the finishing touch for your ensemble.”
He pulled out the belt with the flames. He laughed.
“I love it! I’m putting it on right now!” He stood up.
“Just a little something to remember our time here. We’ll always have Metamorfosi.”
“You said it, sister.” He unlooped his belt, the one with his name in sparkles that I wore our first night there. “By the way, um, hello, you look totally gorgeous, Hav. Spin around or something.” I did, very embarrassed. His got serious for a moment. “A daring choice,” he said, noting the significance of my wearing this particular style. “I’m proud of you.”