Slowing the car to a crawl by the stables, John pulled up to an elegant stone and wrought-iron lamppost, suddenly rolling down his window. Leaning out, he pressed his dragon-ring to a small round indent in the stone pillar. There was a ripple of light, similar to what had passed through the jet earlier, and it swamped Layla with a wave of disorientation. She thought she might faint, so strong was her dysphoria – her vision blinding out to snow, her ears whining fiercely before her faculties flooded back.
Glancing out the tinted glass windows as her awareness returned, however, Layla suddenly caught her breath. The tourists were gone. The crowds meandering the enormous plaza on this early-autumn day had vanished. The French flags flying over the ancient structure had disappeared, along with all banners and signs announcing tourist points of interest. Beside the car, a massive wrought-iron fence now ran. Each black iron spoke was topped with a golden fleur-de-lis, the intricate pattern of leaves and vines that formed the fence wrought with the scarlet ‘R’ and the gilded crown. The towering fence had sprung up from nowhere and now surrounded the enormous plaza and the stables, set between stone lampposts that had not existed before. As Layla watched, an enormous gate wrought with the ‘R’ painted in scarlet and the crown done in gold parted, admitting the car directly in to the massive plaza.
Revving the engine, John moved forward at a crawl and Layla gaped as they pulled through – directly onto the plaza beside the Grand Stables. As they drove onto the cobblestones and continued toward the massive compound of the palace itself, Layla realized they were driving right up to the front entrance. Driving through the enormous main gates of the palace and into the Courtyard of Honor between the gargantuan wings of the Ministers North and South buildings, the enormous sprawl of the Palace of Versailles surrounded the car now. Continuing straight up through the gilded gates to the Royal Courtyard, they pulled through, parking right on the edge of the stone steps that led up onto the black and white checkered Marble Courtyard.
Layla gaped, taking it all in. She had walked these flagstones as a tourist years ago, but wherever she was now was entirely different than the destination she’d visited then. Now, men and women in elegant finery rode hunting-horses through the courtyard, chatting in groups as they passed. Other cars were arriving or departing around the courtyard, people in exquisite dresses and tuxedos stepping out. At every entrance of the Palace, men and women in crimson livery relieved butlers and chauffeurs of suitcases and steamer-trunks as they pulled Bentleys and Rolls-Royces and Teslas and Lamborghini’s up to every gabled entrance. From every building that surrounded the courtyard, luminous banners of cream silk edged in gold shone against the bright blue sky – the luscious cream field emblazoned with the stylized scarlet ‘R’ and surrounded by the golden crown.
“We’re here.” John spoke from the front seat, glancing to the rearview mirror as he put the car in park. Layla stared out the windows; she couldn’t even answer John she was so stunned. Where once coaches for royalty would have been permitted upon the flagstones, John was now parked – the entire area moving not with tourists but with the crème-de-la-crème of society.
Before her, at the deepest entrance to the palace below the gilded wrought-iron balconies, Layla saw enormous cream banners pouring down from the upper gallery, flanking three grand entryways. As John cut the engine, liveried guards in scarlet uniforms from the 1800’s poured out of the doors and formed a wide chevron to the entrance, standing at attention with pikes. The morning bustle continued at what Layla now realized was actually the Red Letter Hotel Paris. Layla caught her breath, seeing that each guard wore a rapier with a brace of daggers and stilettos. Armored to the teeth, they kept their eyes straight ahead as John stepped from the car and moved around to open Layla’s door, escorting her out by the hand like she was the Queen of all France.
As Layla stepped from the car, a woman with fiery copper hair emerged from the main doors, clad in a golden ballgown straight from 1950’s Hollywood. The woman looked like Elizabeth Taylor, her cheekbones high and striking, her eyes feline and astounding. Diamonds and rubies dripped from her, her left wrist ensconced in a solid ruby bracelet. Her hand was held aloft by a companion, tall and handsome with excellent shoulders and a ballet dancer’s lean-muscled body. Dressed in a sky-blue embroidered coat and waistcoat from the 17thcentury, the man’s trousers ended at the knee to white stockings and silver-buckled black shoes. Wearing a curled white wig and face powder, his lips were rouged in a tight rosebud – his demeanor elegant and intensely proper as he guided his lady toward Layla and John.
The woman’s demeanor roared as much as her companion’s pierced, though the both of them were effortlessly gracious. The man’s pale blue eyes roved every inch of Layla as they neared, those calculating icebergs missing nothing while the woman swept forward, stepping to John and giving him a French brush of lips to either cheek.
“John LeVeque!” She beamed, in the best Elizabeth Taylor alto Layla had ever heard. “You are sorely missed, dear boy! The Guard haven’t been the same without you.”
The woman made an expansive gesture at the line of fierce Guardsmen and women flanking the grand entrance and Layla blinked, glancing at John. His eyes darted to Layla and he coughed, apology in his eyes. “Madame Voulouer, good to see you again. But I’ve been busy lately. Working.”
“Of course!” The gilded woman rounded on Layla, her knowing tiger-gold eyes the most astounding thing Layla had ever seen. “You didn’t tell our new hire that you were one of us before that tall, mean Adrian Rhakvir stole you away. Tsk, tsk!”
“Madame Etienne Voulouer,” John spoke again, turning to Layla as he blushed to all hell in his lovely chocolate complexion, “may I introduce Ms. Layla Price, your new Concierge hire.”
“Ah!Cherie!” Madame Voulouer swept forward, taking up both of Layla’s hands and kissing them. “You are a delight! Turn around, turn around, child! Let us see you!”
Blushing nearly as much as John, Layla obliged, turning slowly so the Madame – clearly high-up in the Hotel’s management – could get a good look. Oohing and ahhing, the Madame clapped when Layla was done. Layla heard others clapping and she glanced around, seeing elegant people watching with approving smiles, including a group of twenty people on horseback. Though she had clearly made a good impression from the finery Adrian had bought her, the Madame’s piercing, handsome companion stood at a distance with his icy blue eyes – his rouged lips as hard-set as the Madame’s were smiling.
“Well, John, she’s just lovely!” The Madame exclaimed, reaching out and cupping Layla’s cheek with a warm smile. “You give Adrian our compliments for finding this one. The Twilight Realm never produced such treasures!”
Layla’s brows furrowed at the strange phrase, trying to process what was happening here. Though the sprawling Palace of Versailles was clearly being used as a hotel wherever she was now, this wasn’t the palace that Layla knew. And many of these people, as she looked at them more closely, did not seem entirely human. Watching the Madame, Layla saw her irises were golden like tiger-eyes, her eye-shadow not makeup but truly the markings of a tiger, astounding. Layla glanced at one of the groups nearby, startling to find they had light-blue feathers cascading up their cheekbones along elegant ridge-lines, their pulled-back hair actually long cascades of feathers like a rooster’s tail. Dressed in draping robes of sheer, shimmering fabric, their bodies underneath were sleek with pale blue down.
They were not human, not by a long shot – even though they seemed like it from afar.
Secrets felt shoved through Layla’s body suddenly, as she gazed around in a slow kind of shock. Adrian had told her nothing of this; neither had John. Wherever they were, it wasn’t precisely in the human world anymore, though there were plenty of people in the courtyard that appeared normal. As she gazed above, the sky seemed bluer, the gold on every wrought-iron railing more piercingly colorful than in the normal world. Everything felt super-saturated, from the opulence of the woman before her, to the colors in the Palace, to the brisk wind that riffled through the air. Exquisite scents were carried to Layla’s nostrils, from every direction. It swamped her and she swayed, steadied by John’s strong hand at her back.
“John…” Layla murmured as the Madame stepped away to have a quick conversation with a Scandinavian-looking Guardswoman at the end of the chevron. “Whatis going on here?”
“Easy,” he murmured at her side. “Many things are going to shock you. Try to breathe.”
“Where the hell are we?” Layla hissed, her eyes darting to the Guards and seeing that some of them too, were not entirely human. One’s skin was scaled in golden-green, small ridges extending from his cheekbones and temples like the feathered people.
“The Red Letter Hotel serves the most elite clientele on earth,” John murmured back, low. “And many of those are not precisely human. The Twilight Realm is adjacent to the human world, but isn’t in it.”
“We’re not in our world anymore?” Layla blinked up at John in shock, a strange, sliding sensation pouring through her as if she were suddenly slipping sideways on slick ice. John steadied her with a warm hand to her back, but he wasn’t able to say more as the Madame suddenly whisked back from her conversation with the Guardswoman.
“Well! Everything is arranged, Layla Price,” the Madame beamed with a flowing prattle, stepping in to give Layla’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Your rooms are ready and we’ll help you get settled in soon. I do hope you’ll enjoy working here, and if there is anything you need, sweet girl, you have only to ask! Though you’ll be working, we have services night and day—”
“Come, Etienne,” the man in blue suddenly interrupted her prattle, snapping his fingers hard and brisk. “Enough introductions. Our meeting awaits and we will be late.”
“But of course, Reginald! How I forget myself.” With a tender smile, the Madame flowed back to her companion’s side, and he took up her hand. The man’s pale blue gaze returned to Layla, fierce and uncompromising. As he stared at her, Layla felt the weight of centuries – as if the man was actually as old as his out-of-date couture. Cold icebergs flowed in those depths, and Layla had a sensation like a brisk northern wind slipping around her, giving her a shiver in the bright morning.
“New hire,” he spoke abruptly, though his voice was melodious. “This way please.”
They turned, flowing back in through the main doors. Layla was about to turn and rip John a new one for not readying her for this, but he was already moving to the trunk, unlocking it as two Guards stepped out briskly to receive Layla’s bags. Taking up her luggage and new bags, they turned toward the palace ingress, waiting with an eyeball on Layla as John stepped back to her.
“What the hell is going on?” Layla growled at him as he neared.
“Follow the Madame and her Head Courtier,” he spoke low with humor in his eyes, though they were also level. “You’ll go through a Hotel entrance interview first, then they’ll let you settle in to your room. Breathe. You’re going to be fine.”
