“I’ll be fine, Joan. Promise.”
“Don’t be nervous.” She pulled me into a bear hug and rocked me back and forth, then kissed my forehead.
“Joan, I’m fine!”
“I know, I know, no PDA, got it.” She pulled away smirking. “You’re gonna do great. And home is just an L ride away. Call me later, okay?”
“Will do.” I bit my lip, looking over her shoulder at the street behind her. None of the cars matched Dante’s mom’s old station wagon.
“Happy birthday, Haven.” She climbed into the car with a wave. I touched the necklace and waved back, watching as she inched out into the light traffic and disappeared down the street. I was on my own. A chill shivered through me even though it was so warm. On a day like today, Dante was the best and most necessary crutch imaginable. But he wasn’t here yet and now it was nine o’clock. Bells chimed in the distance, a church somewhere scoffing that I was about to be late. Not the ideal first impression. I had no choice.
I heaved my bags one on each shoulder and trudged up the red-carpeted ramp and through the revolving door. I had made it only a few steps inside when I let the bags slide to the floor with a thump and dropped my coat on top of them, involuntarily abandoning them to explore. The lobby of the Lexington sparkled; unreal and untouched, pristine and glorious. And empty, too. It felt magically hollow, a place you had stumbled upon that you shouldn’t have, somewhere that was supposed to be locked up and then unveiled with all the pomp and circumstance it deserved.
A carpet of red and gold, with that L and H insignia, sprawled out in all directions and up a grand staircase. Hallways to my right and left held the promise of beautiful gathering places, rooms still to be discovered. Straight ahead, a plush golden ottoman—raised to a point in its center so it looked like a giant spinning top—stood ready to seat at least a dozen or more. But the real show played out directly above: a crystal chandelier shimmered, casting prisms in its countless dangling facets. Beyond that, ten stories up, sunlight streamed down from a skylight so immense it seemed to illuminate the whole place without electricity at all. A portion of each floor of the hotel featured waist-high barriers allowing guests to peer over at the lobby below or at the skylight above. I sat on that ottoman and gazed above, past the magnificent chandelier, and had the sense of being in a giant Gothic church, a place so airy that you felt immediately uplifted. I had never been somewhere so vast and splendid all by myself. Majestic spaces like this were made to be full of people, bustling with bodies. But now it was all mine. It thrilled me, this freedom fluttering inside me, my fingers tingling. Free, for a moment at least, from anyone’s rules or expectations. I wouldn’t have thought I would have liked this feeling, because it came with uncertainty too. But I did.
However, I knew that someone, somewhere in this opulent new home of mine, was waiting for me, ready to show me the ropes. And I had to find them. I hadn’t necessarily expected a welcoming committee, but it did seem odd that there wasn’t a single soul around. There was no one manning the imposing marble front desk opposite the sweeping staircase. No one at the narrow oak bellhop stand near the doors. No one filing out from the bank of elevators. Was it possible that everyone was already corralled in some conference room?
“Hello?” I called out, but my voice was so meek in this grand setting. “Hello?” I wandered to the front desk, letting my fingertips run along the length of the cool, smooth marble. It was set a step or two above me and I stood on my toes to try to see beyond it. Then I heard it: the faintest of whispers. Behind the desk there was an archway, and a corridor in near darkness. A quick blade of light sliced into the dim hallway—a door opening—as an hourglass figure stepped out, silhouetted. A man’s silky voice followed her, wrapping around the air. “You forgot something.” A hand grabbed her bare upper arm and a tall, lean suited-up man stepped into the light, pulling her close and breathing, “This.” He planted a kiss just below her ear and combed his fingers through her shoulder- length waves, kissing her once more.
The woman lifted his chin with her delicate fingers, looking into his eyes. I was so mesmerized I didn’t register the swoosh of the revolving door.
“There she is!” a voice rang out, yanking me out of my haze. On reflex, I jumped away from the desk, jittery as if I’d been caught shoplifting, and stumbled while running toward the front door. There stood Dante with his three matching leopard print suitcases and the quiet guy from our AP European History class. My best friend stretched out both arms: “Happy birthday, sweetie!”
“Aww, thanks.” My heart was still racing. I tried to settle down.
Dante gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late. Did we miss anything?”
I shook my head. “No one has come out to meet me yet.”
“Hey, you remember Lance,” Dante said, gesturing to the kid beside him.
“Of course, hi.” I recognized him but I didn’t know if we’d ever actually spoken to each other in so many years of school.
“Hey,” Lance offered, barely audible, nodding once in my direction. Reed-thin in baggy jeans and a Cubs T-shirt beneath his hooded zip-up, he towered over both Dante and me, but seemed to compensate for this with a concave posture. He leaned forward as though forming a cage shielding the center of his chest. His hands were plunged deep in his jean pockets. “And, um, happy birthday, I guess.” He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up farther on his nose.
“Thanks.” I quickly smiled, awkward. Our eyes danced around each other, then his gaze dropped.
“He’s the third intern, so the gang’s all here,” Dante said. “Don’t they say good things come in threes?”
“Except for three on a match,” I clarified. “You know, if you light three flames off one match someone dies? Something like that.”
“What?” Dante asked, his voice tinged with annoyance, as it was whenever one of my trivial facts got in the way of an otherwise pleasant conversation (which was often).
“Yeah, that’s bad luck,” Lance agreed, glancing sideways from behind his glasses, his eyes grabbing at mine for another flash. The overbearing frames dwarfed his face. They were all I could focus on when I looked at him.
“Well, then you’re lucky I didn’t have time to find a candle.” Dante held out a plastic container and gave it a gentle, celebratory shake. “Ta-dahhh! For you, my friend,” he said, handing it to me. Inside the small, clear dome was a single, perfect cupcake—pink icing dusted with round confetti-like pastel sprinkles and 16 in candy numbers perched on top.
“Dan, you shouldn’t have.”
“Please! It’s nothing.”
“Thanks, you’re the best,” I said but he was already walking away, transfixed.
His eyes rose upward toward the skylight. “Whoa.”
Lance, equally entranced, kneeled on the ottoman staring up at the hundreds of tiny lights along the cords suspending the chandelier. His lips were moving like he was counting: “That’s 1,482—no . . . 83, 1,483 lights. How ’bout that?” he mused. “How do you think they change those when they burn out?” He then wandered toward the front desk. Above it, a screen flashed through a series of the stories that had run in the Tribune and some of the other local papers and magazines.
“This place is outta control,” Dante gushed.
“Yeah, I know, right?” I answered.
“I’m so glad you like it.” From somewhere behind me, another voice, a woman’s low and sweet rasp like a crackling fire, shattered my thoughts. This was the voice I’d heard in whispers earlier. She floated down the grand staircase from the second floor, long and lean with a model’s proportions. She wore a fitted black suit jacket over a knee-length black dress, a frill of lace peeking out above the front buttons. She held a clipboard in her hands and now had her light locks pinned up in a French twist, soft tendrils escaping to frame the sharp, unreal angles of her face. We watched her without a word. Lance shuffled over to stand near Dante and me, the three of us side by side like soldiers.
“Hello, I�
�m Aurelia Brown, owner of the Lexington Hotel. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She came up to each of us to shake our hands. I had never seen anyone this stunning up close. Her sapphire eyes were clear and welcoming, sparkling even. Her skin was bone china, smooth and firm, without a single line etched upon it.
“Nice to meet you,” I said finally. Her fingers felt like twigs, so slim, but then they tightened around mine, nearly crushing them.
“And this . . .” She gestured behind her. I hadn’t even noticed that a man had appeared, seated, legs crossed, leaning back just enough on the mammoth ottoman to show he didn’t have to try hard to look this way. He wore a slim gray suit and a satin tie of pink and purple checks, all so precisely tailored it took me a moment to realize he looked fresh out of high school. His features were impeccably carved—an almost-too-delicate nose, chiseled cheekbones, full lips. He had slicked back his hair in a way that made him look like he had stepped out of an old movie. It had never, until this point, occurred to me to describe a guy as being beautiful, but he was. “This is my second in command, Lucian Grove.” He stood now, buttoning his suit jacket and adjusting his cuffs. When he stepped forward to greet each of us as Aurelia had, the thrill of those impending few seconds of attention wracked my body.
“A pleasure,” he said to Lance, shaking his hand. They were nearly the same height. Everyone here was impossibly tall. I felt so small, so insignificant.
Dante was unflappable, offering his effortless “So nice to meet you, great to be here.” But my fingers trembled even before Lucian took my hand. When he did, a sharp jolt charged through me, a hot tremor hitting every nerve in my body. I hoped his fiery grip wasn’t reading my pulse. His eyes, gray woven with threads of crystal blue, burned into mine, and then he arched one eyebrow at me—playful, knowing—and smirked. My heart stopped. What did that mean? He hadn’t seen me watching him and Aurelia earlier, had he? I mean, it had only been a flash, a few seconds. And yet, from his look, I felt like he had found me out.
Dante read some of this from the corner of his eye. “I hope there are more like him around here,” he whispered into my ear, after Lucian had turned his back to us to resume his place at Aurelia’s side. “I want one.” I took a deep breath and felt my feet return to solid ground and my pulse begin to slow. Aurelia was speaking, so, with some effort, I refocused my attention on her.
“You’ll be working closely with a group we’ve already assembled as part of our social outreach cadre: we call them the Outfit.” At that, as though choreographed, a group of people flowed and floated in from rooms on our right and left. Though there were many of them, collectively they sounded as hushed as fluttering butterfly wings. Ten men and ten women all the caliber of Aurelia and Lucian, perfectly attired and all wearing black suits and dresses. All, I guessed, to be in their late teens or their early twenties at the most, yet they seemed worlds older than me. It was something about the way they carried themselves: regal, with proud, straight backs, and their heads tilted just a touch upward. They swarmed around the three of us, creating a cocoon with their bodies. They didn’t say a word and didn’t look at us, but kept their eyes glued to Aurelia, their faces still, a serene air surrounding them. So we did too, after exchanging a few confused glances with one another.
“Play your cards right, and you three just might be the youngest inductees into this exclusive society,” Aurelia said. “Everyone in Chicago wants in. People would give their souls to be part of it. You’re very lucky, you know. Come, we’ve much to discuss.”
3. Your New Surroundings
“So, welcome,” Aurelia announced as we began the official tour, the low pitch of her voice melodic and calming. The Outfit, still surrounding Dante, Lance, and me, swept us along as we followed our leader past the front desk and the grand staircase and straight down the center of the lobby. In our hands now were gift bags brimming with swag: pens, mugs, notepads, postcards, T-shirts, and candies all bearing the hotel’s gold-on-black LH logo. “Today we’ll walk you through what you’ll be doing, show you your accommodations, and get you situated and feeling at home.” She paused, turning to look at each of our faces. Inside the open doorway to our right, I caught a glimpse of walls lined with floord-to-ceiling bookcases and one of those ladders attached to a gold-plated track running along the top near the high ceiling. Stacks of books lined the floor near a fireplace and an emerald-hued velvet sofa.
“We’re almost in place for our grand opening, but there are still projects to be conquered and we will be depending on you and on the Outfit.” Aurelia gestured to them with a delicate hand. “You will have a privileged look at how this establishment will be run. What will be expected of you? Anything and everything. That’s why you were recruited—we know you’re among the best and brightest. We are proud to have you and hope you will be just as proud to be aiding us.” The register of her voice had hypnotic powers, an ebb and flow that had the effect of a lullaby. Beside her, Lucian watched us, hands in his pockets. His eyes met mine for a second and seared me. I pushed up the sleeves of my shirt and hoped I didn’t look like I was sweating. “Keep in mind we wouldn’t be providing room and board for you if we didn’t expect to be able to call on you occasionally at odd hours, but it will be worth your while. You’ll find that a job well done here will translate into enrichment and success elsewhere. We can open doors.”
At that last promise, I straightened my back, standing as tall as possible. Now she really had my attention. She seemed to know it too. She held my gaze. I had the feeling she could tell by looking at a person whether or not they would disappoint her.
She spun back around, heels clicking, off again. We scurried to keep up. “A few things you may or may not know, but that you will need to know. We are a reincarnation of the original Lexington Hotel, and are as respectful and mindful of that history as possible. The legendary Chicago gangster Al Capone once lived here, and we allude to this infamy often, while also trying to brand ourselves as an arbiter of cutting-edge taste and a vanguard in the art, culinary, and nightlife worlds. We intend to be a celebration of both the dangerous and the beautiful, because these are the things that everyone most craves. We are going to be a destination for Chicago natives and visitors alike. We open to the public in mere weeks, on February 14, in honor of the St. Valentine’s Day massacre. I’m sure you know what that was, correct?”
I knew roughly that it had to do with Capone’s gang killing a bunch of members of a rival gang, but I was too scared to give any detailed answer. I could not bear to be wrong in front of this group. My stomach knotted up. I glanced at my compatriots. We all wore the same in-over-our-head expression. Silence. Aurelia stopped short and turned to us again, shaking her head. “Oh dear,” she chided. “You’re going to need to brush up on your Chicago history, my lambs. You’re representing us now.” Her voice was icy.
“I thought it was rhetorical, that question,” Dante piped up. I almost gasped but caught myself. I shot him a look. Aurelia studied him, a faint smile on her lips.
“You’ll find that very little of what I ask is rhetorical. I don’t like to waste time. I either give orders or I ask questions with the intention of receiving answers.” Somehow, these words didn’t sound so hostile as they trickled out sweetly and slowly, only lightly laced with bite. Through all of this, the Outfit remained quiet and still, encircling us like a chain of paper dolls. Aurelia set off again.
“You will each be assigned a mentor, from whom you will receive your assignments. Whenever possible, you will be given projects commensurate with your interests and talents. Lance”— his whole body jolted at the sound of his name—“you’ll be shadowing Lucian, handling day-to-day operations, a good deal of management responsibilities, and various projects with our amen- ities: the nightclub, the gallery, the library.”
“Thank you,” Lance said shyly to the back of her head. Lucian looked over his shoulder and gave him a nod in acknowledgment.
“Dante, your mentor is our head chef, Etan. He has som
e innovative plans for the menu in our restaurant and lounge. He is currently away on business, but he’ll be here in another day or so. In the meantime, he asks that you familiarize yourself with the kitchens—you can start with the one adjacent to the Parlor, which is our more casual restaurant.”
“Of course. Looking forward to it,” he answered, his voice bright.
“And, lastly, Haven, you will be with me.” We had reached the far end of the ground floor and stopped before a glass-enclosed elevator.
“Great, thank you so much.” I waited to hear more. I wanted to know exactly what Aurelia expected from me, so I would then know how to surpass it and impress her. But that was it.
“Now let’s have a look at our nightclub, the Vault.” She pressed the elevator call button. “It opened last month to great fanfare and we’re doing a tremendous business.” That seemed to be true, according to what I’d read about the club. Everyone had filtered through there: celebrities in town shooting movies; every remotely important athlete the city had; musicians on tour. “We realize that you three aren’t of age . . .” She paused, perhaps finding a way to let us down gently that this wasn’t a place for high school kids. “However—”
At that, we all looked at her with renewed attention. The elevator opened and she stepped in, Lucian behind her. We followed, tentative, Dante first.
“—you will be permitted into the club as long as you’re responsible.”
What? I wasn’t sure I heard right. Beside me, I felt light beams shooting out of Dante’s eyes, ears, fingertips. The Outfit turned and walked down a side hallway, single file, like one long, chic snake, and finally disappeared.
“Members of the Outfit have specific duties there, and you may, in fact, be asked to work there at times as well.”
“All right!” Dante, I knew, couldn’t help it. The outburst just escaped his lips, no hope of being held back.
Aurelia’s eyes zipped in his direction. Lucian leaned in toward Dante, almost conspiratorially, and said, “It’s a pretty fantastic place. You won’t be disappointed.”
Illuminate: A Gilded Wings Novel, Book One Page 3
