Page 81 of The White Octopus Hotel
“It sounds like the party has started,” Max said. He touched her arm gently and Eve thought of that day seventeen years ago in the steam baths. She would have given almost anything to have him touch her like that again, or at least to hold on to the memory of those moments when she checked out. It seemed so cruel to have to forget them entirely. “We tried,” Max said. “Perhaps, after all, it’s a game that can’t be won.”
“Perhaps.” But Eve was tired of the game—tired of the mysteries, and the clocks, even tired of the octopuses. In the pit of her stomach, though, she felt a treacherous flicker of relief at the idea that she wouldn’t be able to complete the scavenger hunt, that she would not have to ask for a prize that would kill the man she loved.
“You told me something happens at the party,” Max went on. “Something that makes the hotel close its doors. Perhaps the last octopus is there?”
Eve nodded. She would have to go to the party, of course, would have to see it through to the end. They returned to their rooms to get changed. Tonight, the wardrobe in Eve’s bedroom produced a beautiful floor-length gown that shimmered with thousands of hand-woven beads forming geometric art deco patterns in rose gold and black. A long crystal necklace in the shape of a snake accompanied it, along with a beaded clutch and elbow-length lace gloves. Eve scooped up the octopus sculpture to tuck into the bag, then went down to meet Max outside the ballroom. He wore a black tuxedo, and she felt a flash of déjà vu when she looked at him.
“Do you think we might have done this already?” she asked. “Been to this party and worn these same clothes? Danced to the same songs?”
“Time doesn’t work properly in this place,” Max said, “so anything is possible.”
Maybe, after all, they would never escape the maze. Perhaps they were destined to just go around and around the hotel in a loop that didn’t end. And there was something comforting about the thought—of hiding here forever, of being with Max forever, never going forwards or backwards, of not having to make an impossible choice. They could hear music and laughter and the pop of champagne corks from beyond the glass art deco doors. Max offered Eve his arm and she took it, feeling the warmth of his body through his sleeve and wishing that she could hold on for just a short while longer.
They stepped into the party together.
Chapter 50
The ballroom was bright with candles and glittering lights and jazz. All around them, people were dancing, and laughing, and sipping champagne from crystal coupes. Astonishingly beautiful sugar creatures graced silver platters, along with rows and rows of white chocolate octopuses.
As soon as they entered the room, Anna appeared beside them, wearing a silk dress in champagne gold, trimmed with ivory pearls.
“Welcome to the party,” she said. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology for earlier. Tristan pointed out to me that you never told me what the paintings looked like. The ones you saw in the basement?”
As soon as Eve started to describe them, Anna relaxed. “Those weren’t Nikolas Roth’s work,” she said. “Those were paintings done by our guests. My parents used to encourage people to make art when they stayed here. They found that it could help—especially those people who found it difficult to put their suffering into words.”
Eve thought of the dark, disturbed paintings she’d seen, and they made more sense now that she knew they were various people’s attempts to capture their own suffering. She knew from experience that there was a relief in being able to do so.
“But why would it matter if we saw your father’s paintings anyway?” she asked. “And why did you burn the music boxes? And pretend we’d never met before?”
“Excuse me, there’s someone trying to get my attention—” Anna began to walk away, but Eve reached out to grip her arm.
“If you think we’re going to change places at the end of all this, then you owe me some answers.”
Anna frowned. “Change places?”
Eve took a step closer. “I know,” she said. “I know what you want. You’re hoping that when the night ends, you’ll walk out of this hotel and I won’t. Don’t try to deny it.”
Anna met her gaze. “I don’thopethat’s going to happen,” she said simply, almost kindly. “I know.”
“Smile for the camera!”
There was the bright flash and pop of a camera going off and Eve felt that flood of déjà vu once more.
“I’ll answer your questions,” Anna replied. “I promise you that. But sometimes, you know, answers just lead to more questions. Sometimes the questions never end. Please be so good as to wait until the party is over. It’s my last one as hostess, after all.”
It was only after she’d walked away that Eve recalled that Anna wasn’t supposed to know that this was the last party or her last night as hostess. Not unless the reason the hotel finally closed was because of something Anna herself was going to do and had perhaps been planning all along….
“Drink?” Max said.
They went to the champagne bar. Eve accepted a sparkling coupe from the barman and the glass was cold, so cold, through her lace glove, the bubbles as small and bright and beautiful as diamonds.
“Did you ever find out what it was all for?” a man beside them asked.
“What’s that?” Max asked.
“You know. All of this.” The man gave a wave to encompass the room. “The hotel. The performance. Why did Anna hire us? Was it a practice run for something?”
“Anna hired you?” Eve said. “To do what?”
