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The front desk wasn’t far to the left. Kara crossed the polished oak floor, past plush seating areas made up of furniture long past its prime. At least the place was warm. A tremendous stone fireplace spanned the middle of the opposite wall. Even now, at this crazy hour, it roared with flames.

“Excuse me,” she said.

The woman at the desk was startled out of what might’ve been sleep. Her silver hair didn’t just have a bluish tinge to it — Kara saw actual blue. She looked unfortunately like she could’ve been built with the hotel.

“Can I help—”

“Kara LoPresti,” she told the woman. “I’m expected by the owner.”

The woman, ‘Fran’ according to her name-tag, turned open a comically giant ledger. Kara almost expected her to blow a layer of dust off of it before perusing it with one venerable finger.

“Ah, yes. I have you here, with…” she looked around. “With—”

“Logan Rhodes,” she said begrudgingly.

“Yes, that’s it.”

Almost on cue, Logan appeared behind her. Kara shifted over to give him a wide berth.

‘Fran’ pressed a button at one end of the desk. Nothing happened. “The owner’s on his way,” she announced mechanically.

They stood in silence for a minute, then two. Then three…

“Your clock’s wrong,” said Logan nonchalantly. He nodded at the big old timepiece mounted high behind the front desk. “It says one-eighteen.”

Fran cleared her throat. “It’s broken,” she explained. “Been stuck on one-eighteen since the day I started working here.”

Logan put up one finger and started to say something sarcastic but Kara threw him a dirty look. Wisely he let it slide.

It turned out that ‘on his way’ meant almost ten minutes. Kara spent that time sizing up the old hotel, and ignoring her unwanted companion. The architecture in the lobby was old, made older by worn finishes and threadbare textiles. The gold leaf had rubbed away on many of the lower finials. Silently she wondered how magnificent the place might’ve looked in its heyday.

“Check that out,” said Logan. “A glass elevator.”

Standing proudly at the other side of the lobby, a brass-framed elevator was set with large vertical panes of glass. It looked like it could even be original to the building. Either way, it was ancient.

Back at the front desk, Fran had returned to the same catatonic state Kara had found her in. Her thick-rimmed glasses had slid down to the tip of her nose. Her chin rested on her chest.

“I would’ve thought all the Frans were extinct by now,” Logan mumbled. He leaned in confidentially. “You know, like the Ethels and the Mildreds. And the—”

Kara poked him. “Don’t be an asshole, Logan.”

It was kind of funny though. Even Kara had to admit that. And Logan always had a way of making her—

“Hello!”

A heavyset man approached them from the opposite side of the lobby. He had tired eyes and sleep lines still criss-crossing his face. “Travis Radcliffe,” he said as he shook Logan’s hand. He reached for Kara’s next. “Welcome to the Averoigne.”

“Thanks,” said Kara. “I was hoping—”

“I know why you’re here,” the man spoke quickly, “which is why I wanted to greet you both personally. Away from the guests.” He looked around.

“Away from the—”

“At this hour I know that seems silly,” he said. “But we should talk more, in the morning. In my office, of course.” His face opened up in a bone-cracking yawn. “Until then…”

Mr. Radcliffe turned to Fran, who handed him a long bronze key. Attached to it was a blue plastic disc with the numbers 207. He held it out, between them.

“The key to your room,” the man said. “Your things have already been brought up. And if you—”