Page 41 of Alchemy of Secrets
I’m going to go change,” Adam said. “Feel free to snoop, or steal things from the minibar while I’m gone.”
Holland’s stomach growled as soon as Adam left the room.
She hated to turn down an opportunity to snoop, but all this running for her life had made her hungry.
She also found herself quite curious as to what sort of minibar a place like this possessed.
To her surprise, it was modest, the size of an old record player cabinet.
She was about to open it when she noticed a peculiar sort of button on the wall beside it.
The button was in the middle of a small golden frame, situated below the words Press for Champagne. Holland was of course about to press it, but then she noticed a notched dial beneath the frame. Her fingers tingled as she gave it a turn.
Press for Sidecar now appeared in the frame around the button. Clearly, the hotel was pushing this special. And yet, she felt just a little inkling of worry. So many of the other people in her life were not who they seemed.
She gave the notched dial one more turn.
Press for Popcorn now appeared. Her stomach growled again, and she pushed the button.
She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected to happen, but nothing resembling popcorn appeared.
She looked toward the elevator, wondering if someone from the hotel would deliver it.
Then she heard a popping sound coming from inside the cabinet.
She turned back and finally opened the minibar doors.
Holland didn’t notice if her fingers tingled, if there were sparks, or if the air around her changed for a second, but she did know this was magic. It wasn’t the simple magic of timeless things, or big rabbit-hole magic. It was something in between.
The cabinet smelled like butter and sugar and that first moment when you step into a theater.
Inside it was a small stage lined in red velvet curtains, and in between the curtains were three tall pink-and-white-striped boxes.
Holland watched in wonder as they filled, until the popcorn overflowed onto the candy bars positioned in front of the stage.
None of the candies were familiar. They all came in ultra-bright labels with shiny foil wrappers that said things like Taste a Ray of Sunshine and Bite into Nostalgia .
The popcorn appeared to come in three flavors: butter, caramel, and cheddar. Holland took the caramel box. Then she couldn’t help herself and grabbed one of the candy bars, too— The Best Memory You’ve Forgotten .
“What did you find in there?”
Holland spun around at the sound of Adam’s voice, spilling some of the caramel corn onto his perfect floors.
He looked like that old Lana Del Rey song come to life, dressed in blue jeans and a soft white shirt.
He must have taken a shower, because he smelled clean and botanical, and his golden hair was damp at the tips.
A drop of water fell onto his forehead as his eyes moved from the candy bar she held in one hand to the box of popcorn in the other.
He grinned, clearly entertained. “How did you get popcorn?”
“The button.” Holland motioned toward the wall, but now the words over the button were Press for Whiskey . “That’s strange.”
“It changes depending on who’s using it,” said Adam.
She was about to ask him to turn the dial, to see what else came up for him. But after stealing a handful of her popcorn, he started toward the elevator, and Holland didn’t want to stop him.
It was time to visit the Watch Man.
“Today is going to be a scorcher, friends. Most of Los Angeles is scheduled to hit triple digits by noon, making today the hottest Halloween in Southern California history. This should be good news to everyone who’s excited about wearing their slutty Halloween costumes.
I’m expecting to see lots of skin tonight.
But friends, please be careful. I don’t know what’s going around—maybe it’s just the heat—but in other record-breaking news—”
Adam switched the radio station to one playing music. Holland wondered if he thought the music might relax her. She’d wanted to find the Watch Man right away, but now that they had left the Regal, seconds were skipping over each other and rapidly turning into minutes.
The clock on the dash read 11:16. They’d already been driving for a half an hour. Noon was rapidly approaching, half the day was almost gone.
Adam put a hand on her leg. She was certain it was just to calm her, and to her surprise, it did.
She continued to feel as if she’d known him much longer than one day.
He had let her drive his car, since he wasn’t entirely sober.
He made a surprisingly good passenger, not commenting on her driving or worrying about the way she handled his fancy car, which made her suspect he owned more than one.
“Up here,” he said softly.
The Beverly Hills Hotel was one of the first hotels Holland and her friends had visited after hearing the Professor’s sidecar myth.
It was the type of place where the pink and green colors never faded, the neon never blinked, and if you spent an afternoon by the pool, it was easy to believe your life would always feel like the glossy cover of a magazine.
Holland had immediately known this was not a place where people made deals with the devil. This was where you took selfies by the glow ing Beverly Hills Hotel sign and pictures of your drinks, which she herself had done before (they were really too pretty not to).
After stepping out of the car and entering the lobby, she whispered to Adam, “I’m surprised the Watch Man lives here.”
“Why?” he asked.
“It just seems so alive.”
“That’s probably why he picked it. If your job was telling people when they’re going to die, wouldn’t you want to live somewhere full of life?”
Adam opened a large glass door that led outside to a maze of green foliage and petal-pink flowers. The sky above was cornflower blue and just as hot as the DJ on the radio had said. Within a few steps, Holland’s skin was glistening, and some of the plants looked as if they were… melting ?
She reached out and touched a shiny green leaf. It wasn’t made of plastic, but it left a shiny green stain on her fingers. “Look at this,” Holland said.
Adam wrinkled his forehead. “Maybe they used the wrong pesticide.”
“Is this hotel… magic?” she asked.
Adam shook his head. “There are a few other hotels like the Regal, but none of them are anywhere near Los Angeles. This is just ordinary we’ve-ruined-the-world stuff.”
Holland noticed a few more melting plants on the way to the Watch Man’s bungalow.
Stems were bending like rubber, and more than one flower dripped bright drops of pink onto the brick pathway.
Holland was aware she wasn’t very familiar with the magical world yet, but whatever was happening here seemed like magic.
She wondered if Adam was lying to her, or if he simply was unbothered.
He was starting to sober up, but he continued to move through the world with a careless grace, as if nothing could ever touch him.
Holland, on the other hand, felt more anxious with every step.
She wondered if somehow the world around her was reflecting her anxiety.
She swore she saw steam rising off the bricks that led to Bungalow 22. The building was painted one of the Beverly Hills Hotel’s signature shades of pink and was shaded by a lush collection of tropical plants.
Adam knocked on the door. “I hope this is the right one.”
A second later, an older gentleman answered. He wore a long brocade smoking jacket and a curious expression. “Are the two of you lost?”
“I hope not,” Adam said. “We’re here to see the Watch Man.”
The curiosity fled from his expression, and so did the kindness in his eyes. “I’m afraid he doesn’t welcome unsolicited guests.”
“Tell him Mason Bishop’s younger brother is here.”
The older man’s face went a little gray.
“It’s all right. Let them in, my love,” said a voice behind him.
“Seems it’s your lucky day.” He put on an imitation of a smile and slowly opened the door.
Holland had never been inside one of these bungalows, but she knew several of them were inspired by the hotel’s more famous guests. Number 1 was Marilyn Monroe’s, number 5 was Elizabeth Taylor’s, and this one was clearly Frank Sinatra’s.
It was a mid-century modern masterpiece, complete with an elegant black grand piano, a vintage record player spinning out the song “Witchcraft,” and tall pillars and golden walls.
Holland wasn’t certain what the pillars and golden walls had to do with Mr. Sinatra, but they added even more flair to the already impressive space.
“I feel as if the pillars are a little much,” Adam murmured.
“I don’t know,” Holland said. “I think they’re kind of fun.
” She also didn’t think it was a good idea to insult the home of a man who told people when they were going to die.
But Adam didn’t seem to be of the same mind.
He looked disturbed by the number of houseplants—Holland had to admit, the living room felt a bit like a jungle.
Scattered across it were more living houseplants than you’d expect inside a hotel, and at least twenty-five rotary phones.
Another gentleman, the same age as the man who’d opened the door, was talking on one of the phones.
“I suggest you take more walks with your partner, make time to watch the sunset, and stop eating those poison cookies. Good day.” He set the phone down carefully before slowly approaching Adam and Holland.
He appraised Adam with slitted eyes, which only seemed to amuse Adam. But the man smiled widely when he saw Holland. “I was hoping I’d have the pleasure to meet you some day. And I’m flattered you’d pay me a visit on a day with such limited time.” He took her hand and shook it between both of his.
This must have been the Watch Man. But his voice didn’t sound like the one Holland had heard on the phone. She distinctly remembered that voice having a mid-Atlantic accent, but this one sounded very typical Californian. Slow, easy, relaxed. “What happened to your accent?”
He smiled wider. “It’s purely affected. I found it helps with the calls. The accent also gives me a separation between work and life.”
“So being the Watch Man is your job?”
He wobbled his head. “It’s a complicated story. I’d be happy to tell it to you. Believe it or not, Ernest and I don’t get too many visitors. But with your limited time, Miss St. James, I’m supposing you’re here for a different tale.”
Holland actually had no idea what she was supposed to be there for, but she felt a once-familiar rush, that pitter-patter of excitement she used to feel on one of her father’s treasure hunts, the burst of joy that came with chasing a clue and discovering she was right.
Her father’s hint to find the Watch Man had seemed rather obvious, but she still felt a swell of satisfaction to have it seemingly confirmed by him.
The Watch Man guided Holland and Adam toward a private patio at the back of the bungalow.
It was larger than most backyards in California, with a wooden fence covered in tropical flowers, a stone fireplace, and two seating areas with iron-green tables and bright white cushioned chairs.
Holland couldn’t see a fountain, but she could hear the gentle sound of water as the Watch Man directed them to sit in the love seat opposite him. “Let’s have some tea.”
On the table between them were three teapots: a black one with a purple flower, a white one with pale orange flowers, and a teal one with a pink flower that matched the hotel’s colors.
“You were expecting us,” Holland said.
The Watch Man smiled knowingly. Then he turned his head toward Adam, who had just picked up the white teapot.
“Oh no, Mr. Bishop, that’s for Miss St. James.
I gave you the black tea.” The Watch Man genteelly leaned across the table to pour Adam a cup of tea.
And it was truly black. Dark as ink and piping hot. “Trust me, young man, you’ll enjoy it.”
The Watch Man kept his keen gaze on Adam until, finally, Adam brought the cup to his lips. He blew away the steam and took a long intentional sip, clearly not wanting to offend the man who tells people when they will die.
“It’s delicious.” Adam said it as if he didn’t truly mean it, but the Watch Man smiled all the same before turning to Holland.
It was her turn now. She poured herself a cup, took a cautious sip, which was actually quite refreshing, and she said as much.
“You’re very kind.” The Watch Man poured himself a cup. “Now, let’s move on to the reason I assume you came here. Let’s talk about your father.”