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Authors: Andrew Domonkos
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the night.”
“Well you have come to the right place,” the little man said. He stared at Twig for a moment and Twig shifted awkwardly. Twig hoped the haircut and the lack of mustache was enough of a disguise.
“Your name?” The man asked, still grinning eagerly.
“Oh, uh yeah.” Twig dug in his wallet and put an ID down on the table.
The man took down the name in a small notebook. “Thank you mister Bell.”
“You know they got these things called computers right?” Twig said laughing as the man wrote.
“Not in the Alistair they don’t,” he said, obviously perturbed by the comment but retaining his professional tone. “The hotel has stayed exactly as it was when it was built in forty-four.
“So no HBO?” Twig asked.
“I’m afraid not,” the little man said with a shrug. “But I think you will find the atmosphere does not suffer from it. Will you be needing two beds or one?”
Twig blushed a bit and looked over at Zara. She was entranced by the gilded brass cage that protected the fireplace, where a black log was popping inside. Twig shook his head, “Um, two would be good.”
The man nodded. He looked over at a big wall of keys and plucked one of the sets from its hook. “Room 6B. Lovely. Top floor at the end. Very private.”
Twig coughed uncomfortably and took the keys from the man’s outstretched hand. “Cool. Thanks.”
“There is a drawing room down that hall, and a saloon down the street if that is more suited to your tastes. Just please, respect our other guests and keep the noise to a minimum. We have a stern policy against unruly behavior.”
Twig nodded again and went over to Zara, who was sitting in a big plush leather chair, watching the fire.
“We’re set.”
Zara seemed lost in the fire. “It doesn’t judge, does it.”
Twig looked puzzled. “What doesn’t judge?”
“Fire,” Zara said listlessly.
Twig looked back at the little man who was eyeing them curiously. Twig whispered into Zara’s ear.
“Maybe not, but this guy is judging like crazy over there. Can we go to the room now?”
Zara nodded, still gazing at the fire as she got up and followed Twig.
They walked up the stairs. Twig marveled at the brass lanterns affixed to the walls and the intricately carved grooves in the wooden rails that twisted like soft-serve ice cream.
Twig paused on the second floor and looked at Zara. “Are you okay? You’ve been pretty out of it lately.”
She gave him an annoyed look. “I’m fine. Just tired of running is all.”
“We’re not gonna run forever. We’re just regrouping is all. We can’t beat them without a good plan. Damon would love it if we charged in unprepared. We can’t play into their hands like that.”
“Maybe you’re afraid,” Zara said coldly, “but I’m not anymore. Maybe I should go back alone.” She shoved by Twig and marched up the stairs. Twig flung the keys up the stairs past her.
“I don’t need this,” Twig said. “Do what you want to do. What do I know anyway? I think I’ll go have a drink.”
“Of course,” Zara muttered as she picked up the keys. “Go get your courage from a bottle.”
“As opposed to getting it from a neck?” Twig retorted.
She looked back now, anger and sadness painted across her face. “Get your own room. I don’t think I want you around tonight.”
She walked away, leaving Twig looking up the stairs at a small chandelier with dangling crystals.
“Whatever,” he muttered, and stomped loudly down the stairs and back into the lobby. He got another set of keys from the shriveled munchkin and handed him another hundred. Twig looked down at his wolf shirt while he waited for the new set of keys, feeling quite
“Well you have come to the right place,” the little man said. He stared at Twig for a moment and Twig shifted awkwardly. Twig hoped the haircut and the lack of mustache was enough of a disguise.
“Your name?” The man asked, still grinning eagerly.
“Oh, uh yeah.” Twig dug in his wallet and put an ID down on the table.
The man took down the name in a small notebook. “Thank you mister Bell.”
“You know they got these things called computers right?” Twig said laughing as the man wrote.
“Not in the Alistair they don’t,” he said, obviously perturbed by the comment but retaining his professional tone. “The hotel has stayed exactly as it was when it was built in forty-four.
“So no HBO?” Twig asked.
“I’m afraid not,” the little man said with a shrug. “But I think you will find the atmosphere does not suffer from it. Will you be needing two beds or one?”
Twig blushed a bit and looked over at Zara. She was entranced by the gilded brass cage that protected the fireplace, where a black log was popping inside. Twig shook his head, “Um, two would be good.”
The man nodded. He looked over at a big wall of keys and plucked one of the sets from its hook. “Room 6B. Lovely. Top floor at the end. Very private.”
Twig coughed uncomfortably and took the keys from the man’s outstretched hand. “Cool. Thanks.”
“There is a drawing room down that hall, and a saloon down the street if that is more suited to your tastes. Just please, respect our other guests and keep the noise to a minimum. We have a stern policy against unruly behavior.”
Twig nodded again and went over to Zara, who was sitting in a big plush leather chair, watching the fire.
“We’re set.”
Zara seemed lost in the fire. “It doesn’t judge, does it.”
Twig looked puzzled. “What doesn’t judge?”
“Fire,” Zara said listlessly.
Twig looked back at the little man who was eyeing them curiously. Twig whispered into Zara’s ear.
“Maybe not, but this guy is judging like crazy over there. Can we go to the room now?”
Zara nodded, still gazing at the fire as she got up and followed Twig.
They walked up the stairs. Twig marveled at the brass lanterns affixed to the walls and the intricately carved grooves in the wooden rails that twisted like soft-serve ice cream.
Twig paused on the second floor and looked at Zara. “Are you okay? You’ve been pretty out of it lately.”
She gave him an annoyed look. “I’m fine. Just tired of running is all.”
“We’re not gonna run forever. We’re just regrouping is all. We can’t beat them without a good plan. Damon would love it if we charged in unprepared. We can’t play into their hands like that.”
“Maybe you’re afraid,” Zara said coldly, “but I’m not anymore. Maybe I should go back alone.” She shoved by Twig and marched up the stairs. Twig flung the keys up the stairs past her.
“I don’t need this,” Twig said. “Do what you want to do. What do I know anyway? I think I’ll go have a drink.”
“Of course,” Zara muttered as she picked up the keys. “Go get your courage from a bottle.”
“As opposed to getting it from a neck?” Twig retorted.
She looked back now, anger and sadness painted across her face. “Get your own room. I don’t think I want you around tonight.”
She walked away, leaving Twig looking up the stairs at a small chandelier with dangling crystals.
“Whatever,” he muttered, and stomped loudly down the stairs and back into the lobby. He got another set of keys from the shriveled munchkin and handed him another hundred. Twig looked down at his wolf shirt while he waited for the new set of keys, feeling quite
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