Excerpt from Hotel Magnifique by Emily J. Taylor, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

She answered with a smile that I felt in the tips of my toes.

One of the older girls shoved a lock of greasy blonde hair behind her pink ear. "That advertisement is a tease. It would be a miracle if any of us got a job."

I straightened. "That's not true."

She shrugged as she turned away. "Do what you want. I wouldn't waste my time."

"Think she's right?" Zosa asked, her delicate mouth turning down.

"Absolutely not," I said, perhaps too quickly. When Zosa's frown deepened, I cursed silently and dragged my thumb along our mother's old necklace.

The worthless chain was Verdanniere gold, rigid as steel. Maman always joked my spine was made of the stuff. I often fumbled for it when I needed her guidance with Zosa. Not that she ever gave it; dead mothers weren't any good for guidance.

"The hotel wouldn't run an advertisement if no one had a chance. Tomorrow, we'll show them what we've got. When they discover how brilliant we both are, we can kiss this place goodbye for good."

The thought felt like a bright coal smoldering in my chest.

My fingers trembled as I straightened one of Zosa's dark curls like Maman would do. "Let's show the advertisement to Bézier. She'll know more about the hotel than anyone here."

Zosa nodded, eyes gleaming. I plucked the jobs section from her fingers and took off. Girls raced behind me up two flights of stairs to my favorite room, the third-floor sitting room that used to house sailors before Bézier bought the building. It was stuffed with shelves of antiquated ocean charts and atlases for far-off places I'd often page through.

Bézier sat before her fire, stockinged feet propped on a window ledge. Outside, rain battered the port of Durc, turning the city I hated into a wet blur.

Her mouth pinched when we all streamed in. "What is it now?"

I handed her the page of newsprint. Purple ink caught the firelight and Bézier's pale face slackened.

"Is something wrong?" asked a girl behind me.

Bézier glanced above the hearth to the decade-old sheet of parchment sheathed behind glass: her invitation. In the low light, the purple ink shone with the same iridescence as the advertisement. "Hotel Magnifique is returning, I see."

Another door opened and a few stragglers squeezed in, jostling for a look.

"I've heard the guests sip on liquid gold from champagne flutes for breakfast," said a girl in back. More girls chimed in with their own rumors.

"They say the pillows don't have feathers, they're all stuffed with spun clouds—"

"Heard each night, you cross the world thrice over—"

"And all their fancy doormen are princes from some far-off land—"

"Bet they give fancy kisses, too." A girl with beige skin and ruddy cheeks made a vulgar gesture with her tongue. Thankfully Zosa didn't notice. Instead, a grin split her face.

Shame there was no way to know if the rumors were true; guests signed away all memory of their stay upon checkout. Besides luggage, the only thing guests returned with was a feeling of devastating happiness. Bézier once admitted to icing her jaw from all the smiling.

Curious, I glanced at Bézier. Her eyes had grown misty, as if the hotel returning somehow sparked a memory. I opened my mouth to ask about it until Zosa slipped in front of me. "Did you ever see the maître?"

The maître d'hôtel was the proprietor and as famous as the hotel itself.

Bézier nodded, smug. "The hotel came once when I was a young, pretty thing. The maître had the brightest smile I'd ever seen. Positively gleamed greeting the crowds. He plucked a flower from the air and tossed it to me." She pretended to catch a tiny bloom. "The thing smelled like blueberry pie then dissolved to nothing in my fingers. Over a decade went by before the hotel came again, and when it did, the maître looked exactly the same."

Excerpted from Hotel Magnifique by Emily J. Taylor. Copyright © 2022 by Emily J. Taylor. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.