The Quimby Hotel

━ 08: Dead On Arrival

The door to Father's office eased open in total silence, courtesy of well-oiled hinges. Each step Cairo took was measured and careful, a far cry from his usual recklessness. Nothing was to be disturbed. He held his breath, fearing that even the slightest of sounds might alert someone to his unwarranted presence here—an irrational fear but persistent nonetheless.

The lamp glowed to life with a soft, almost inaudible click. With agonizing caution, he disturbed books on shelves and papers on the desk in smooth, precise movements. Each passing second was just a little closer to getting caught, here in the office without permission in his nightclothes while everyone else was asleep. He wished he had more knowledge than the vague idea that something Unlawful was somewhere it shouldn't be. An Unlawful could potentially be anything. Cairo was largely unfamiliar with the letter of the law as it had never applied to him in great measure; after all, he'd been only a child for most of his stay here at the hotel. He knew only the basics of the code. Keep the community quiet and don't interfere with non-mage society. Quirks which are abused may be removed by any means necessary. His eye. Above all else, do not kill a member of your own kind.

His father knew intimately what it meant to toe the line. Segregation might have faded, but it was far from absent in public life, so he was on rocky ground allowing individuals without magic—ordinary humans—into his hotel. Because they came willingly, the Court allowed it. But it attracted the attention of some who found it distasteful, and that was where the Quimby Hotel's aversion to human law enforcement came in. Local and state police were always looking for reasons to put Richard and Hattie out of business, jumping on the opportunity when anything wasn't up to proper regulation. Cairo's mother ran regular security inspections in a dictator-like fashion.

Cairo swept aside a stack of financial records, biting down on his tongue. When he'd left they were facing turmoil, having been unjustly targeted for a leaking ceiling. Four business days and we'll be back with a closure notice, he recalled the smug inspector saying. For a pipe leak. It cost a terrible sum to pay for the services of the sorcerer who'd fixed it, eliminating all evidence that there had ever been an issue in the first place and fixing up the plumbing throughout the whole hotel for good measure. He remembered very well the stressed arguing of his parents in the office, heated shouting muffled only marginally by its walls as he and Rome listened nervously in the hall. Then the oven had blown out. Frantic digging through the register to gather up the cash. More money, all dwindling down the drain in torrents of green.

All the same, he'd packed a bag, taken up his helmet. Walked out those double doors. Didn't look back.

Vienna's face in that crucial moment when she'd realized what she'd done still haunted him.

Cairo pulled out a drawer, searching under the lamplight for a compartment. It was highly likely he'd find such a thing. All old desks like this one usually had hidden drawers within the drawers. Pushing aside pens and binders full of spreadsheets, he felt around aimlessly for anything abnormal along the drawer's interior. Not that one. Nor the next drawer. Or the next. But the fourth, as he crouched on the carpet and scrabbled for purchase in the wooden backing, had something that gave him pause. A latch. He flicked downward, and a small chamber popped out. Hardly large enough to hold anything important, surely... unless, perhaps, that thing was an artifact, like an amulet or a key.

Instead he was met with a small, rolled sheet of paper.

The seal had clearly been peeled off and haphazardly stuck on again with a bit of glue, so it was easy to pry it from the paper and unravel the string, unfurling the letter which was no bigger than both his palms. Cairo pressed it onto the desk to squint at it in the light.

To Mr. Richard Quimby,

We can only hope this letter reaches you in time. They have found us, and running will not keep them at bay forever. Each time we pick up our things and leave the house to move to a new city, we watch Andrew further shrink into himself. He no longer has any friends, not even at school, because each time we begin to settle him in we must run again... He should not have to understand what we are, at his age, but despite all our best efforts, he has no choice.