The Key of Lost Things Read online

  A large shape steps into the light, casting a shadow over me. My vision blurs as I struggle to make out the silhouette—a massive, hulking figure with a hunched back and tree-trunk arms. The suit’s fabric hardens again as I realize what it is—a gorilla, twice my height and probably ten times my weight. I doubt there’s anything that even Sev’s suit could do to protect me against that.

  I start to back away, but as my eyes adjust, I notice a much smaller something cradled in its arms. No . . . not something.

  Someone.

  My sister gives me her smuggest grin. “About time you got here. We’ve been waiting forever.”

  25

  A Walk Down Museum Lane

  My sister, Cassia Marie Kuhn, Most Likely to Take Up Gorilla Riding as a Hobby.

  “Umm . . . ,” I say, struggling to comprehend the ridiculousness of the sight before me. “You’ve got . . . It’s a . . .”

  “My brother, so eloquent.” She gives me a wink as the gorilla lowers her to be eye level with me. “I’m calling her Gogo,” Cass says. “You know, like my old gogo. Gogo the Goracious Gorilla.”

  When we were little, Cass called her wheelchair her “gogo” because it allowed her to “go all the places.” This gorilla . . . it’s the gorilla statue Sana said went missing. It’s an icon.

  “Goracious?” I ask. “Is that even a word?”

  “It is if I say so.”

  Gogo leans over to sniff at my hair, then pats my head with her huge sausage-fingers, rattling my brain with each pat.

  “It’s an awfully cute name for such a vicious-looking thing,” I say, wincing, “but . . . it kind of suits you, Cass.”

  Cass beams. “I’ve still got my chair for places where gorillas aren’t quite up to dress code, but here in the Museum I like to ride in style.”

  In the Museum. I made it. My brow furrows. After everything that’s happened, we’re talking about gorilla statues like nothing’s wrong? “Why did you leave like that?” I say. “You abandoned the Hotel. Oma. Us.”

  She leans back into Gogo’s biceps and crosses her arms. “Well, someone had to go looking for Nico.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “All in good time, boy-o,” Bee says, stepping out from behind the spotlight to join her. “We’ve got things to discuss.”

  • • •

  A twinge of anxiety floods through me when we enter the foyer of Nico’s Museum, with its checkerboard tile and twisting staircases.

  When Stripe owned this place, it was kept in pristine condition. But this version of the Museum is anything but clean. Only a few months have passed since we evicted Mr. Stripe, and yet the Museum looks as if it’s been decaying for thirty or forty years. Bits of lumber and sacks of garbage lay strewn about the floor, with soda cans and empty chip bags scattered in between. Even the angel icon that watches over the foyer is draped with cheap, twinkly holiday lights. Deep cracks run along the walls, through the peeling wallpaper, and twisting up the stairs.

  And instead of Stripe’s docents and suits standing guard, there are kids—a lot of them—all dressed in the same vest and trousers that Bee wears. They pause as we enter.

  Cass spreads her arms in a grand gesture as Gogo turns her to face the crowd. “Cam, meet the Hoppers.”

  Some of the kids take off their flat caps in greeting. Others scowl as if I’m wearing a shirt that insults their mothers. Oh, well. I didn’t come here expecting a warm welcome. I came for Cass, and if I can swing it . . . Nico.

  “Shoo,” Bee says, and the Hoppers scatter.

  “So, where is he?” I say.

  Cass twists her lips. “That’s . . . complicated.”

  Can’t anything be simple? “What do you mean? We don’t have time for complicated. I need to talk some sense into him, and then I need to get you back to the Hotel.”

  Bee steps up onto a platform suspended by a series of pulleys. “Best if we show you.”

  • • •

  The lift takes us to an upstairs hall lined with the Curator’s “exhibits”—keepsakes from his many conquests. A plaque next to an old Spanish-looking outfit reads DE VACA—DID WHAT HE WAS TOLD—TOO BAD WE LOST THE CITY, AND THE MAN. A red flag with a white circle and a strange, blocky design is inscribed with ALMOST HAD IT. A case full of Civil War relics declares, SHOULD HAVE HAD MORE FRIENDS IN THE NORTH.

  I saw some of this stuff before when Stripe was the Curator, but it’s been rearranged. Whole sections of carpet have been ripped up from the corners. Silver-and-red wallpaper hangs in torn sheets, with pictures spray-painted on the walls behind it in every color imaginable.

  This isn’t incidental rubble. This was vandalism.

  “Y’all did a number on this place,” I say.

  Bee snickers. “Nico encouraged us to take our anger out up here. Said the House deserved it, and wanted us to ‘put it in its place.’ ”

  Beating a House into submission . . . is that really a good way to make magics obey you?

  But there are more important issues to discuss.

  I stop and turn to face Cass. “How long have you been working with them?”

  She waggles her brow at me.

  I clench my teeth, annoyed that she could be so flippant. “You betrayed us. Betrayed the Hotel.”

  Cass rolls her eyes. “Oh good grief, you’re so dramatic. I’ve been searching for Nico ever since the cats came. He sent the four of clubs to me, and I knew he needed something. It was a message—same card he used in that magic trick the day I first met him.”

  The four of clubs. I knew that card was familiar. “But you said I shouldn’t go looking for him.”

  She levels an I can’t believe you’re that dumb glare at me. “I said you couldn’t go looking for him. Rahki was right about that—everyone would have known, and you would’ve gotten kicked out. That’s why I had to do it for you.”

  Cass searched for him so I wouldn’t have to. She was trying to help me. “You could have at least told me.”

  “If I had, you would have taken over and ruined our plan, just like you do everything else.”

  “I don’t ‘take over.’ ”

  “You kinda do. You’ve been all Mr. Important ever since Agapios slapped that cross-keys lapel pin on you. Besides, if you’d known what I was up to, you wouldn’t have taken care of the few pieces of the puzzle I needed you to, like the sliver.”

  “The sliver?”

  “Yeah,” Bee says. “You never ended up using the one I gave you, so she did.”

  “Wait, you took it?” I say, more than a little flustered. “You went through my stuff?”

  Cass gives me a sly smile. “I can always tell when you’re hiding something. I found the note and the sliver she gave you in China in your drawer and decided, why not? It brought me here, and Bee filled me in. Then all I had to do was change the date on your gala invites, get the others to plan our birthday party, and ta-da!”

  Bee laughs. “See, I told you. Natural Hopper.”

  “Why, thank you.” Gogo does an awkward curtsy for Cass before continuing down the hall.

  The weight of everything that’s happened presses in on me as we walk. All the ambassadors’ stolen items, Sev in the Apothecarium, the topiary attack . . . Cass and Bee act like this is all a big game.

  “Cass,” I say, “that stuff that happened in the garden—”

  “It was fun, yeah?” Bee says, and smiles at me over her shoulder. “Seeing all those rich folks’ faces when they lost their stuff? That was prime.”

  I frown. “I wouldn’t call what y’all did ‘fun.’ People were hurt.”

  Bee huffs. “Oh, come on. Getting slivered is a little painful, but you probably had those folks found and home safe in under an hour.”

  “No one’s talking to you,” I snap. “You stole things that weren’t yours to take, and slivering those ambassadors was about the least offensive thing y’all did. That thing with the topiaries . . . that’s unforgivable.”

  “Those a
nimal bushes?” Bee gives me a curious look. “We didn’t touch your topiaries.”

  “Tell that to Sev.”

  “Cam.” Gogo holds Cass out to grab my arm. “What do you mean? We didn’t do anything to Sev.”

  “Maybe not while you were there, but after you left, your friend here loosed a bunch of angry plants on him. The attack put me in the Apothecarium too. Sev’s still there healing, as far as I know.”

  They exchange a worried look. “Boy-o,” Bee says, “our operation ended when I took the key from the admiral lady. We don’t know anything about angry bushes.”

  I cast her a sidelong glance. “Sure, you don’t.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Cass says. “The shaping I used on those pins was pretty weak. Once we left the area, it would have failed—there’s no way anyone here could have influenced it, and especially not in a way that would hurt anyone.”

  Gogo huffs in agreement. Cass is many things, but she’s not a liar. In fact, she’s just about the worst liar I’ve ever met.

  “Well, if it wasn’t you, maybe it was Nico?”

  “Doubtful,” Bee says as we reach the door at the end of the hall.

  “You don’t know what he’s capable of,” I say.

  She rests her hand on the doorknob. “How about I show you what he’s not capable of?” she says, and opens the door. “Welcome to Stripe’s gallery, or what’s left of it.”

  The room we enter is grand and stately, with vaulted ceilings and a polished floor. Every inch of wall space is covered with murals, shelves full of leather-bound journals, and every war-related item I can imagine.

  But it’s the odd, viny mass on the far wall that grabs my attention. The wall is completely engulfed in dense foliage that’s grown together into a solid, thick shell.

  I step forward and run my fingers down the shell, feeling the tough but pliable bark underneath. Dried tufts of what must have been blossoms—greenish ones, like those from the Nightvine—hang in withered clusters at the edges, as fragile as tissue paper. There are other flowers too. Dark, like the ones that came from the arches in the garden. It’s as if they’ve all been cut off from their source and have died, like the topiaries did when we plugged the pergolas.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “We’re not sure,” Bee says. “A couple of months ago Nico and I were supposed to meet here to plan our next few aid operations, but when I got here, he was gone and that thing was here instead. That, and the note I gave you in China.”

  The one where he said that the Hotel’s days were numbered.

  Wait a minute. . . . “Aid operations?”

  She cocks her head condescendingly. “The Hoppers ain’t just thieves, you know. We’re like . . . Merry Men. Robin Hood or whatever. We take from people who hoard their fancy jewels and flash their cash, and give it to others who need a little boost to get started.”

  “Like those ladies I saw you with back there?” I ask.

  “We bought those supplies with all the stuff we took from the Hotel job.” She holds her head high. “Our mission is every bit as honorable as that fancy Hotel of yours.”

  “Not really.” But at least it’s not the attitude of a true enemy. “So . . . you aren’t trying to bring the Hotel down?”

  Her expression sours. “Of course not. We’ve got nowhere to put kids when we run across them, which is why I led your maids to those babies in China. You do things your way; we do things ours.”

  I focus back on the strange wall, gripping Mom’s key in hopes that it’ll reveal something. But the key is cold. No way through, at least from this side, and I left the Ledger back at the Hotel, so I can’t ask it for help.

  Then the realization hits me. “You stole the admiral’s key in order to find him.”

  “That was my idea,” Cass says, and Gogo grunts in affirmation. “We’d been searching for Nico for a while, and when I heard you ask Djhut about the Key of Lost Things, I thought it might help.”

  “And?”

  She lowers her head in defeat. “We never had the chance to use it.”

  “Why not?”

  Bee hoists her hands to her hips. “My question exactly.”

  Cass looks everywhere but at me, twisting her fist up in her hair like she does when she’s caught doing something she’s not supposed to.

  “Cass . . . ?”

  “I lost it, okay! I don’t know what happened. One minute it was in my pocket, and the next . . .” Gogo makes a poof sound.

  “Maybe it just didn’t like you stealing it.”

  “Isn’t that lovely,” Bee snarks. “Stolen goods that don’t like to be stolen. Puts us right back where we started.”

  “Not exactly,” I say, thinking. Admiral Dare didn’t appear concerned about the key—in fact, she seemed to expect it to be lost, and to come back to her on its own. Wild magics do what they want. For all I know, it has returned to her already.

  Of course, that doesn’t help us find Nico.

  I pick one of the withered blossoms loose from the vine wall. There was a binding here at one point. We might not have the admiral’s key, but maybe we don’t need it. I found Cass after all, and now that I understand the way the icons’ magic works, and the Nightvine’s connection to lost things . . .

  Something is still bugging me, though. Nico appeared to me in the Hotel. He showed up before the garden attack, and he was there in the Arkade, and in the Shaft with the malfunctioning elevator. If Bee’s right, all those things happened after he disappeared. And the Nico in the mirror didn’t seem like someone who was looking for help.

  I won’t know for sure until I find him. Yes, I gave my word to Rahki that I wouldn’t go searching for him, and yes, he’s probably Stripe’s agent that the admiral’s been looking for, but he’s missing, and the connection we share means I’m the only one who can track him down and uncover the truth. I’ll just have to face the consequences later.

  Whatever it takes, forever in perpetuity.

  “You going to help us, hotel-boy?”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “Let’s find him.”

  26

  The Land of Lost Things

  You’ll have to leave the gorilla,” I tell Cass. Again. For about the twentieth time.

  We’re back in the Museum foyer, and one of the Hoppers is rolling Cass’s wheelchair back from wherever it was stored. We’ll have to head back through the Hotel if we want to reach the Nightvine and see if it can lead us to Nico. Of course that means no gorillas.

  “But why?” she whines, running a hand through the hair on Gogo’s forearm.

  “The Maid Commander would have a fit if you rode that stolen monstrosity through the Hotel,” I tell her. “We’re supposed to be sneaking you in, not barging in with Miss Bam-Bam Gorilla Fists—”

  She huffs and pets Gogo on the head. “I’m sorry, girl, but Mr. Worrypants might actually be right”—she shoots me an irritated look—“for once.”

  Gogo rolls a pouty lip and lowers Cass into her chair. Cass slips her coin out of the slot on the gorilla’s arm, transforming the beast into stone with a sparkling wave of golden light.

  “You can be such a joy-suck sometimes,” Cass says as she switches her coin into the arm on her chair. There’s an almost greenish tint to the light as it flows from her wheels to her handlebars.

  “That’s my job,” I reply, puffing out my chest.

  “Only, it’s not,” she continues, and her face is serious. “You’re not responsible for always making sure everything is perfect and safe.”

  “But someone—”

  “I mean it, Cam. It was one thing to worry when I had surgeries all the time.” She raises her arms and spins in her binding-driven chair. “I can control my chair with my mind. We both work in the Hotel, equally. Alongside everyone else. We’re all just as important as you.”

  She’s right. I am always trying to take responsibility for everyone, especially her. It’s not even about her; I just hate feeling like I’m not in control. I’m
the one who’s afraid that everything’s going to fall apart if I don’t manage it all perfectly.

  So how do I stop doing that?

  One of the Museum doors leads us to the back of the 7-Eleven near Oma’s house, where I met Nico all those months ago. The Dallas Door lies across the parking lot, still as shiny and out-of-place as when I first discovered it. Bee stays behind, of course. Sneaking an actual Hopper into the Hotel would probably result in permanent expulsion.

  I pull out Mom’s key. No sense in knocking—that would only draw attention to Cass and me coming back, and we need to slip through as unnoticed as possible.

  “Does it seem extra quiet in here to you?” Cass asks as we enter the North American Lobby. The lobby is emptier than I’ve ever seen it. I half expect to see a tumbleweed roll by. “Where is everyone?”

  “The MC was livid after the garden party fiasco,” I tell her. “She put us on lockdown—no one in or out unless escorted by the Maid Service—and instituted a curfew. I’m sure it’s nothing.” Though, I’m not sure whether I’m saying that more to convince Cass or myself. “Let’s move.”

  Something else is bothering me too. Cass broke her contract when she used the sliver, but now she’s able to roll right in. And where are Rahki’s additional security measures?

  Cass stays a little ways ahead of me all the way back to the hall where I first lost Queenie, looking back every once in a while to make sure she’s heading in the right direction. When she reaches the veil, she runs her fingers along the stones that separate the Hotel from the Nightvine. “This is it?”

  I grip the cluster of blossoms and lift, revealing the path beyond.

  Cass gapes. “Okay, you’re definitely going to have to show me how to do that.”

  As I motion her through, I notice the shadow of vines stretching along the walls, curling through in long, crooked fingers. They look almost like the cracks in the hall leading to Stripe’s gallery. Strange. . . . They’re not headed away from the veil. They’re heading toward it.

  When Cass crosses the threshold, she lets out an audible gasp. “Cam, this is amazing.”

  “I know,” I say, swallowing my worry and scanning the road ahead.