Cupping the chain lovingly in her palm, she opened the engraved gold oval. Inside, her mother’s tired eyes smiled back at her from behind the scratched glass. A younger image of herself, skinny and gap-toothed, pressed against her.
God, she missed those hugs, that feeling of sanctuary only a mother’s embrace could deliver.
Even back then, her mother had been dying by degrees. Lungs slowly filling with chemical fog that would eventually steal her last breath. It was why Daisy couldn’t stay at the laundry for much longer.
I’m trying, Mum. I’m trying to make it better.
Bringing the locket to her lips, she pressed a soft kiss to the warm metal. She couldn’t lose it. Glancing at the driver’s rearview mirror, confirming his attention remained fixed on the road, she tucked it carefully into the small front pocket of her jeans, perfectly sized for secrets.
The inconsequential weight settled against her hip like a hidden heartbeat. Still with her.
After this was over, she would finally have some closure. Daisy longed to give her mother the burial she deserved. Something beautiful. Something permanent. A garden with a headstone. A place where pink blossoms might fall in spring.
Her mother’s ashes still sat in that plain box from the council’s crematorium, tucked on the mantle beside her secondhand books. No headstone. No proper resting place. Just a peeling sticker with a name and two dates that encompassed an entire life reduced to powder.
When the car crested a hill, Daisy’s breath caught. A building rose from the landscape, flanked in towers of white marble and glittering with glass against the darkening sky. Crystalline cathedrals pierced the clouds like something from Oz, only instead of emerald it was a city of ivory.
High above them, a sign announced the building’s name in letters that flowed and curved like the necks of swans, rendered in gold leaf—THE WHITE SWAN.
The car glided to a stop beneath a portico supported by columns carved to resemble bundled, blooming lilies. Daisy didn’t move. She felt like a creature from another world, some burrowing animal that had accidentally tunneled into a realm of light and impossible beauty.
A uniformed man opened her door and stood at attention, his livery as pristine and white as the building behind him. “Welcome to The White Swan. We’ve been expecting you.” His voice was cultured, neutral, neither warm nor cold.
She blinked at the usher, her manners escaping her.
“May I?” He held out a white-gloved hand.
Daisy glanced at the driver, who met her gaze in the rearview mirror. He gave a slight nod, silently instructing her to go.
With a swoop of nerves rushing from the pit of her belly, she let the usher guide her onto a pathway of white stone that glowed faintly in the diminishing light.
Two men appeared with a gold trolley. “Your belongings will be brought to your suite.”
“Oh, I can carry?—”
“No, no.” He ushered her toward the entrance before she could retrieve her lone bag. “We insist. The Steward will see that your personal belongings are delivered to your suite as soon as we complete the registry.”
“The Steward?”
“Our resident concierge.”
The air of the foyer was the freshest she’d ever breathed, softly perfumed by fresh flowers exploding from vases standing taller than most men. The hushed lobby stretched vast and white, its marble floors veined with pale gold and ceiling painted with soft, drifting clouds. Massive panels of etched glass depicting swans in various poses covered every wall. Soft music chimed delicately through the atmosphere like petals falling to a still pond.
At the reception area, another uniformed gentleman slid a white tablet across the marble countertop.
“Your name, please.”
“Dais—”
“No, no. You only need to type it. From here on, your anonymity is protected.”
“Oh.” She awkwardly entered her name.
“Room nineteen twenty-two.” The clerk set a key in the usher’s gloved hand.
1922?
That number was starting to follow her like a shadow.
