Chapter Seven
“Name and appointment time,” requested the guard.
Alora pushed back the golden cowl of her new cloak, enough so the man might see her face. “Alora Pennigrim. No appointment this time, but here on business nonetheless.”
The guard’s umber eyes widened in recognition. “Right. Of course, Miss Pennigrim.”
It was a warm day again, though cloud-filled, and the guard’s paint didn’t run upon his face, his expression clear of heat-sick.
She was happy to see him fully restored.
“You know, I was quite taken aback by that man the other day. Do you remember? He fell near me.” The guard only watched her, wary, his posture stiff. “Are those darts—”
“Not at liberty to say, Miss Pennigrim,” he said, silencing her. Alora noticed his eyes stray to the trees, the walls and then the gate before settling back onto her. When Alora opened her mouth to say that of course, she understood, he hurried on, low, “But it didn’t kill him. That trespasser.”
Alora breathed out on a smile, exponentially relieved. Before the guard could move to allow her through, she said, “I brought something for you.”
“I’m forbidden from accepting, Miss.” His hand moved to rest on the lever.
“Oh, well you won’t be keeping it. I’ll fetch the bottle on my way out. It’s iced tea,” she added, holding it out. “Though after the length of that walk, I fear it’s more chilled than iced.”
With a dubious expression, the guard allowed her to place it into his free hand. “Thank you.”
“I brewed it on my terrace,” she added, smiling.
“I’ve never had a terrace,” murmured the guard, and his thumb stroked the bottle once, twice, before the lever turned down and the gate swung in. “Enjoy your visit, Miss Pennigrim.”
Alora hesitated, then walked in slowly, her lip caught between her teeth. Because she didn’t know what she’d done or what she’d said to cause the guard’s forlorn countenance and the defeated way he’d said her name.
Maybe he simply didn’t like iced tea.
At least no desperate strangers are galloping past me today, she noted with relief.
It allowed her more time to examine the immense topiaries as she passed by, which still left her with unpleasant sensations in her chest, but at least there were no giant rakes and unattached arms lurking in the shadows.
Nearly to the stairs, she paused in her next step; a topiary she hadn’t paid much attention to those three days prior now commandeered it.
The base appeared afire with green branches trimmed in mounting flames.
They circled around two figures, one standing rigid and unfazed while the other bent back, arms outstretched as in dance.
Or rapture. Alora found herself nearing when voices brought her abruptly away.
She swung toward Opulence Mansion to discover two people she’d never seen before, both clothed in gold and talking amongst themselves, oblivious to her.
Though not for long.
The man was tall and leanly built, his auburn hair swept artfully back from a high forehead.
Alora appeared to have caught his attention first as his blue eyes met hers and held for several heartbeats too long.
She dragged them away to the woman, younger than herself perhaps, with a clinging gown draped over her curves and loose waves of rose-red hair falling about her shoulders.
She puffed on a cigarillo, her face animated as she prattled to her companion.
She didn’t appear to notice a thing until Alora neared the first stair.
“Oh. Oh!” Rushing down the steps so quickly Alora worried she’d trip, the girl reached her in a swirl of smoke and cloves. “Who are you?”
“Alora Pennigrim,” she supplied, lowering her hood. She supposed she'd not needed it raised while within locked grounds. Her throat constricted on telling her business, but the girl had such an inviting countenance. “I’m new.”
“New!” the woman squeaked, drawing on the cigarillo once more before shoving the entire burning thing down her bodice. With a cry of alarm, Alora lunged forward, but found her hands pushed aside with a grin. “Your dress is decadent.”
Tendrils of smoke twined in delicate swirls from the golden girl’s gown yet, but still she seemed unbothered.
“Thank you,” Alora managed, as her manners required no thought.
She’d worn a lilac dress today, sleeveless to balance the heat of the cloak.
“Your dress is magnificent too. But it’s smoking. ”
“It’s fine enough, I suppose. But I do grow sick of gold.” Her eyes ravaged Alora’s dress hungrily. “I’m Lennox. This is William. We work out of Door Eighteen.”
Lennox’s eyes were green as a new leaf and creased at their corners as she awaited Alora’s reaction.
Which Alora found she couldn’t give. She couldn’t remember what was behind Door Eighteen to save her life. She glanced from Lennox to William, who smiled at her with an easy intrigue, before giving up the game.
“Which one is that again?”
Lennox laughed. “I forgot already you’ve said you’re new here. The Room of Fire.” Then she plucked out the cigarillo from where it smoldered against her skin and sucked on its end. In a billow of smoke, she asked, “Which door are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
Lennox’s brow furrowed until William leaned in and whispered a short statement. Brightening once more, she reached out and hauled Alora in close. “You’re the new door?”
Alora didn’t think Opulence Mansion performers counted as off-limits in her agreement of confidentiality. She hoped they didn’t. “I’m not the new door. Only designing it.”
Lennox gasped. “You’re a designer. Goodness, that explains the look of you.
” She bit her lip over Alora’s shoes before stepping back.
“I’m sorry for exploding all over you. We rarely meet new faces outside of guests and those we aren’t allowed to interact with except during performances.
It isn’t the same.” Her cheeks sucked in against another draw from the cigarillo.
Finished, she made to hide it away in her gown again.
“Wait!” said Alora, shaken. “Won’t you burn?”
Lennox grinned, wrinkling her nose. “No. And neither will the gown catch.” Proving it true, she stretched out an arm, holding the burning end of the cigarillo to the sleeve.
When nothing happened, she stuck out her tongue, and Alora could only clap a hand against her cheek as Lennox effectively doused the cigarillo without incident.
“Are you impervious to fire too?” squeaked Alora, breathless, turning toward Lennox’s companion.
William regarded her with the same half-smile having never retreated from his handsome face. “I’m not. Though I heal very quickly.”
“But you don’t feel the pain of it?”
His smile grew wide. “I feel the pain.”
“We were just about to begin a practice routine.” Lennox stepped nearer, her voice lowering in confidence. “Would you like to watch?”
“Is that allowed? I don’t have my membership yet.”
“Master is said to be occupied until opening, and so long as we avoid Madam Feebledire, it will be a fine afternoon.”
Lennox smiled with every feature, and Alora found her own misgivings transforming to excitement upon seeing it. People from all over the region panted for even a drop of gossip over Opulence Mansion, and here she was, about to witness a private show! “I must do my work first, but it won’t be long.”
“Then it’s a date! See you soon, Alora.” Kissing her fingers, she waggled them at Alora before following William inside.
***
Alora’s satchel was much heavier than the previous day and it was because she’d brought along two lanterns. One of which she lit now, using it to guide her way down the deep darkness of the unused corridor.
Madam Feebledire, management, had let her in upon knocking, her demeanor just as unwelcoming as it’d been the first day.
Alora hoped the woman would find other things to occupy her time other than patrolling the hall because now that she’d met Lennox and William, she couldn’t hardly contain her curiosity over what the Room of Fire might entail.
Door Twenty-five flared beneath the lantern, the gold etching reflecting the light. Alora turned the knob and entered. The room was cool and empty save for a lamp on the floor. “So, there wasn’t a window in here,” she said to no one, turning a slow circle.
She’d not written any measurements down for a window, but for some reason had begun to question her memories of this place in her time away from it.
Now that she saw the lamp on the floor, she remembered lighting it prior.
How peculiar she couldn’t recall it until now; she wouldn’t have brought the second lantern if she had.
Alora pursed her lips before prowling around the room.
She paused to tack up a bit of wallpaper to the far wall and lay a sample of trim upon the floor.
While at home, she’d already determined all of what she wanted to do to the room—and had even begun selecting her choices—when the strange sense of memories seeping from her head had her second-guessing her recollection.
She pulled out her notepad and wrote:
NO window.
Has lamp.
When she put it away, she allowed her imagination its freedom; it was always easier to do in the space she wished to transform anyway.
She took the walls and papered them, trimmed every edge, and covered the floor.
Once that was done, she added the finishings.
The dim lamps and soft tapestries. The perfect chaise for one to lounge and dream of their most coveted desire.
She saw all this and smiled, taking care so as not to bring it all to life.
She might try her best to explain how she finished such a project in only three days’ time, but she would never be able to explain a fully formed and lounging person, especially one half-thought, a virtual shell. Her singular limitation.
Alora could never hope to replicate a soul.