A mysterious figure in black robes appeared in each mural, with a hood shadowing their face. Each figure was painted a little differently; Rui wondered if it was supposed to be the same individual. In one panel, the figure was seated on the edge of a precipice, looking down on people crawling over nails and sharp objects. The figure held a stick or a wand in its skeletal hand and a small cluster of spheres floated in front of it, giving a bizarre impression that they were blowing soap bubbles as the hordes of humans below suffered.
“Magic,” Yiran whispered.
Rui could feel his awe. She watched as he breathed in, like he was trying to inhale the grand hall and all its beautiful monstrosities into his own body.
He was right.
A layer of magic surrounded this hotel. Not the kind Exorcists wielded, but the other kind. The ceiling shimmered briefly, the paintings comingalive for a split second before going still again.
Zizi’s grandmother had to be a powerful mage.
Remember that this mortal houses the soul of a god—it will not be anyone ordinary.
The sound of heels on marble echoed above them.
An elegant lady was descending the grand circular staircase. The soft silk of her turquoise qipao swished as she walked to them, and her graying hair was coiffed into a bun, the ends tucked neatly and hair-sprayed to death. There was a timelessness to her, suggesting she was either not that old or perhaps older than the world itself. With her pinched expression and cold manner, she reminded Rui of the Academy’s discipline master, the one who never let anyone get away with anything.
“Madam Meng.” The concierge lowered her head and stood behind her.
Rui smiled politely.
Yiran gave Madam Meng a full-on bow.
Madam Meng was unimpressed by either of them.
Zizi waved weakly from the chaise.
Madam Meng’s expression softened, but when she fixed her eyes on Rui, it frosted again.
“So, you’re the girl,” she said pityingly, like Rui was a stray dog she couldn’t shake off.
Rui kept her smile, but her stomach curdled. She definitely wasn’t feelinga connectionwith this woman.
“This isRui,” Zizi said sharply.
“And I’m Yiran,” the other boy piped up. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Madam Meng pursed her burgundy-stained lips. “I suppose I should thank the both of you for retrieving my good-for-nothing grandson and bringing him back here.”
The strand of tiny pearls hanging from her glasses clicked as she lowered her chin and peered at Zizi. “Hmm... looks like it’s not the usual migraine this time.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.” Zizi showed her his hands.
Her expression changed. “Come,” she said with urgency, “you must take your medicine.”
Not wanting to let Zizi out of her sight, Rui said, “I’ll go with you.”
Madam Meng’s eyebrows shot up, but Zizi took Rui’s hand and didn’t let go. Rui felt her fingers winding around his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“She’s coming with me,” Zizi said firmly.
“What about me?” Yiran asked.
“You?” Madam Meng said. “You will wait here and keep your voice down. My guests are not to be disturbed. Song Wei will have something to say about you being here—yes, I know exactly whoyouare.”
“I’m only here because Zizi showed up at my house out of the blue,” Yiran grumbled.
Ignoring him, Madam Meng gestured Zizi toward an alcove at the end of the hall.
