Pt. 087 — Day 9 Night 2/2

Van collected the glasses from the table, then stopped halfway to the bar. “My feet hurt.”

Evelyn glanced at the clock. They had stayed up considerably later than she usually permitted herself before an important morning. The music had reached another song she remembered, though she had spent most of it listening to Van.

She began to unfold her legs from beneath herself. “You make an excellent argument for going to bed.”

“Fiona and Claire ran me ragged this morning.” He set the glasses down. “And I don't think the dancing helped.”

“You did not dance in heels.”

He turned toward her. “Fair point. You win.”

“I should hope so.”

She stood, taking a moment to settle her weight before crossing toward the bedroom. Van followed. The doorway was in the same place as her private space back in their own world. As she crossed the threshold she saw the differences immediately. Most striking was the bed that occupied considerably more space than the one at headquarters. She could have held a small planning meeting on it without anyone having to surrender a pillow.

The bathroom door stood open. Beyond it were pale stone, a broad walk-in shower, and a tub large enough to make arguments about the difference between tub and pool.

Van surveyed the bed. “The suite always does this.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Mine is somewhat more modest.”

“Only somewhat?”

“I am considerably wealthy, Van.” She allowed a spare smile. “I try not to be gauche about it, but I do occasionally indulge myself.”

He gave her a helpless look. “Sorry, your highness. You can shower first. I'll find you something to sleep in.”

Evelyn opened the wardrobe designated for guests. Inside was an exact copy of her wardrobe in her room, which contained familiar clothing selected from her possessions back home.

“I can lend you a shirt,” he offered. “And some shorts. They're clean. Most of the girls have used my stuff. But at the time they usually didn’t have their own wardrobe unlocked yet.”

“That is thoughtful, but I prefer my own things.” She selected pale-blue sleepwear and lifted a light robe from its hanger. An old memory came with his offer: a borrowed shirt, sleeves rolled twice, the owner laughing at how much better she wore it. She smoothed the robe over her arm. Her own clothes would do for tonight.

Van opened his dresser, then glanced toward a smaller drawer beside the bed. “There's also that.”

She followed his gaze.

“The guest drawer,” he explained. “Usually where the trouble starts.”

Evelyn set her clothes on the bed and walked straight to it. Van made a small, surprised sound at the lack of hesitation. She opened the drawer with her back to him.

Silk, lace, beautifully finished seams. She lifted the edge of one garment between two fingers and examined the stitching. Whoever had assembled the collection understood quality, and had made several rather accurate judgments about her taste.

She returned it to its place and closed the drawer.

“Well?” Van asked. The worry in his voice made the question thin and brittle. “It’s not a collar is it?”

Evelyn turned. “Whoever stocks it has expensive and exquisite taste.” She raised an eyebrow at him in curiosity. “There was no collar, though your concern does beg the question.” She let him struggle for a moment with that before continuing, “But I won’t pry.”

He let out a worried breath and his eyes moved from her to the drawer. “I wouldn't really be able to tell. Not that I ever dig in there, I mean.”

“I understand, both the quality of their options and your hesitance to be thought of as fascinated with intimate wear.”

She picked up her sleepwear. He began another sentence, abandoned it, and watched her reach the bathroom.

“I shall try not to use all the hot water.”

“I don't think this place can run out.”

“How reassuring.” She said just before closing the door.

Inside, she found the shower controls were familiar. Evelyn selected her usual temperature and stepped beneath the water. She worked the last pins from her hair, collected them on a little shelf, and let the damp lengths fall down her back.

Outside, Van opened his dresser and took out a shirt. He added shorts, set both on the bed, and looked toward the guest drawer.

Expensive and exquisite taste. That could mean almost anything, although experience had given him a fairly strong idea of the category. He walked over to it. The handle was cool beneath his fingertips.

He was curious. How could he not be? She hadn't asked him not to. But she'd stood with her back to him for a reason, and he couldn't quite persuade himself that waiting until she was in the shower made curiosity less intrusive. He took his hand away and returned to the bed.

In the bathroom, Evelyn felt the small surge of anticipation subside. His restless curiosity settled into something more rueful, and she smiled while rinsing the last of the shampoo from her hair.

When she emerged, he was sitting with his clean clothes folded beside him.

“Your turn.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He stood and gathered the clothes. She moved aside to let him past, catching a trace of his answering smile before he closed the door.

Evelyn sat at the edge of the bed and opened the small collection of skin-care products she had found with her clothes. There was satisfaction in the familiar order of it: something ordinary to do with her hands after an evening that had repeatedly made ordinary things surprising.

She was working lotion into her lower leg when Van returned in a T-shirt and loose sleep shorts, his hair still damp.

He stopped just inside the doorway. “Ready?”

She gave a brief shake of her head. “Sit in the chair by the window.”

He looked toward it, then at the lotion in her hand. “What are we doing?”

Her movements were brief as she directed him to the chair. “Something about the tension you have been carrying all week.”

He crossed to the chair, but remained standing beside it. “Evelyn, I’m not sure….”

She gave him a direct look. “You are practically vibrating. You’ve had a physically demanding day after an emotionally trying week. And tomorrow you will be faced with a challenge and transformation. I intend to help.”

“I know all of that”, he held up both hands. “I just mean you don't owe me anything.”

She put the bottle down and met his eyes. “Stop refusing things because you don’t think you deserve them. I am certain about this. If you refuse because you don’t want me to touch you, that is your choice. But don’t refuse because you don’t think you deserve it. That is disrespectful of my discernment.”

He rubbed one hand over the back of the chair. She waited.

“All right,” he said, and sat down with rather more weight than necessary. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good with all of this.”

“I noticed,” she answered with wry amusement.

Evelyn gathered the lotion and a folded towel. She lowered herself onto the rug in front of him and spread the towel across her lap. When she reached to adjust his position, Van sat straighter, one hand gripping the chair arm.

“I didn't expect this.”

“I gathered. Move a little closer.”

He slid forward in the chair. She guided him until he was resting comfortably, then warmed a little lotion between her palms. “You can tell me what works and what doesn’t. Communication is key.”

He nodded too quickly. Her first touch was light, and she waited for him to stop holding himself rigid before increasing the pressure. He followed the movement of her hands for a few seconds, then looked up at her.

She could see the hesitation in his eyes. “Have you never done this for yourself?”

“Sometimes. After a long shift. Or if I was really tense.” His fingers loosened from the chair arm. “Nothing weird. I just didn't think you would do it for me.”

“I was young once, Van. I even had lovers.” She smiled at his expression. “This sort of attention was not particularly unusual. One of them was very fond of it.”

“Right.” He laughed, still uncertain what to do with his hands. She continued until he settled them on his knees.

“I took a class,” she added as she wrapped both hands around the base. Her fingers applied silken pressure as she worked the lotion into his skin.

“They give classes on this?” His question was interrupted in the middle when she reached a sensitive bundle of nerves causing his voice to crack.

“They do,” she affirmed. “I was young. I wanted to be good at it.”

That answer seemed to surprise him more than the first. His smile eased, and he settled farther into the chair. A chime sounded above them. His head started to turn.

“Don't look.” She commanded “Look at me, or close your eyes. You can read it afterward. The object of the exercise is to let you stop thinking for a few minutes.”

Van considered her, then leaned his head back against the chair and shut his eyes.

Evelyn returned to her work. At first his pulse was jumping between languid ease and thundering response. Gradually though, the tension beneath her hands gave way. His shoulders lowered, and the breaths that had begun as careful attempts to cooperate became deeper and slower.

She let him have the quiet of the moment.

---

Cassie eased the door open and peered into Room Four. The bed was empty. So was the chair.

She stepped inside and closed the door as quietly as she had opened it. Her shoes sounded too loud on the floor. She took them off, carried them a few steps, and was deciding whether she could get through the rest of the night without speaking when she reached the far side of the bed.

Fiona sat on the floor. Her arms were braced across her knees, her forehead lowered toward them. Cassie made a startled noise before she could stop herself.

Fiona lifted her head. Her eyes were red. She had wiped her face badly enough that the evidence remained along one cheek, and the look she gave Cassie dared her to mention it.

“Oh, Fiona.”

Cassie took a step toward her. Her hand had already started to lift when she remembered the balcony: Fiona striking the railing in her haste to get away. She stopped.

Fiona's gaze dropped to the unfinished movement. “Don't worry,” she said. “I'm going.”

“What?”

Fiona got up, pulling the hem of her hoodie straight. “You don't have to be afraid of me. I'll find somewhere else for the night.”

Cassie set her shoes down and moved in front of the door. “No.” Then in confusion, “What? I’m not scared.”

“Move.”

“You know what happens if you sleep somewhere else.”

“I know,” she growled.

“Short Leash wasn't funny, Fiona. And that's if they decide to be nice about it. What if they decide it's an elimination thing?”

Fiona reached past her for the handle. Cassie planted herself against the door. “I'm serious.”

Fiona gave her a challenging look. “So am I.”

The closeness made Cassie want to retreat. Fiona was bigger, furious, and trying very hard to look as though nothing could hurt her. Cassie folded her arms to keep her hands from doing anything foolish.

“Fine,” she said. “But if you leave, I’m going with you.”

Fiona's hand fell from the door. “Don't do that.” Fiona's voice rose. “I don't love you, Cassie. You can stop with the grand romantic gestures. They're not going to change anything.”

Cassie's face burned. “I heard you the first time! I'm not trying to make you love me. I'm trying to stop my friend from getting herself punished because being in the same room as me is apparently unbearable.”

Fiona turned away, pressing the heel of one hand against her forehead. “This has happened before. I knew something was happening. Between us. I should have killed it before it got this far.”

Cassie stared at her. Fiona kept going, words tripping over one another now that she had started. “I knew. Don't think I didn't. All the stupid jokes, and the touching, and I let it happen anyway. Now you're miserable, and that's my fault.”

“Why should you have killed it? Why aren't you allowed to have something good happen with someone?” Cassie's voice rose again. “You fight every man who gets near you, and apparently you run from girls. What is anyone supposed to do?”

“Just leave it alone.” The anger in her voice was shadowed by an older hurt.

“You don't get to just decide you're beyond help and then make everybody watch you -”

“Because you're normal!” Fiona snapped. “You can do this. You can have people, and it doesn't turn into something fucking awful. I'm a freak. You don't understand what that means.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped Cassie. “You think I'm normal?”

Fiona's expression closed, but Cassie was too angry to stop. “I have always been different. I wasn't ashamed of it before I got here, and I'm not starting now. I told you that this afternoon. I don't wear a ‘I’m bisexual’ club pin everywhere I go. That's all.” She pressed her hands against her own upper arms. “And I can take a rejection. I can be embarrassed and get over it. But you made me feel gross about myself.”

Fiona flinched. “That's the problem.”

Cassie opened her mouth, but Fiona cut across her. “That is exactly the problem. You feel like that because of me, and now you're standing here trying to act like I'm not the thing that caused it.”

“Because of what you said to me,” she corrected. “Not because I liked you.”

Fiona shook her head so hard a loose strand of hair caught against her wet cheek. She pulled at one sleeve, dragging it over her knuckles, and Cassie stopped before the next angry demand could leave her mouth.

“I won't touch you,” she said. “I won't ask again. But I don't want you getting hurt because you think you have to disappear.”

Fiona looked toward the bed. “Fine. I'll stay. But we're done talking about it.”

“Fiona-”

She tore her gaze away from the shorter girl. “I said I'm done.”

She crossed the room, lifted the covers, and climbed in still fully dressed. She rolled toward the outer edge and dragged the bedding up over one shoulder.

Cassie stepped away from the door.

After a while she collected her shoes and put them beside the wardrobe. She took her nightclothes into the bathroom and changed there, giving Fiona the space and the running tap for a few minutes to compose herself.

When she returned, Fiona hadn't moved.

Cassie sat on her side of the bed. “I'm turning the lamp off.”

No answer.

She reached for the switch. In the dark she could hear Fiona breathing, too evenly and deliberately to be asleep.

Cassie lay down with her hands tucked beneath her pillow. There was plenty of space between them.

---

Evelyn straightened, still on her knees. “You may look now.”

Van opened his eyes. The notification still hovered above the chair.

EVELYN CROSS GAINED 4 VP

Foot Massage +2 VP

First Time Bonus x2

He read it, then let out a long breath and looked down at Evelyn. One foot still rested in her lap. The other had been returned to the rug. He flexed it, testing the unfamiliar ease of movement.

“I had no idea you were that good at massage. I'm serious. My legs feel different. I didn't even know how much I was holding in them.”

Evelyn wiped the remaining lotion from her hands with the towel. She had expected him to be pleased with the result. His astonishment was an additional pleasure, and she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

“Don't get used to it. The world would turn upside down if it became known that Oracle gives out foot rubs in exchange for karaoke.”

Van laughed. “Your secret's safe with me.”

She motioned with her chin to the floating screen as it disappeared. “Unfortunately, our witnesses are extensive.”

He looked at the fading light again. The smile stayed, though his hand paused on the chair arm. “Breakfast is going to be interesting.”

“I imagine so.”

“All the looks. Cassie's going to have questions.”

Evelyn folded the towel. “The screen says precisely what happened. I’m not ashamed of it.”

He met her gaze, then nodded. “All right.”

Van stood and offered his hand. She accepted it. The contact brought that familiar, disproportionate warmth into her palm, and she used his support to rise without lingering over it.

He turned toward the bed, but turned at a soft sound. Evelyn sat in the chair he had vacated.

“Van,” her voice had a playfully sharp note. “It is extremely poor form to leave one's partner without reciprocating.”

For a second he stood with the towel in his hand. Then she extended a bare foot and dispensed a little lotion onto it.

“My heels,” she reminded him. “We discussed them.”

His smile returned slowly. “We did.”

She glanced at the rug. Van knelt. “I should warn you, I've never had classes.”

“Someone else doing it is generally an improvement. Doing it oneself never quite scratches the itch.”

He spread the towel over his knee, took her foot, and hesitated over where to put his thumbs. Evelyn opened her mouth to guide him just as he made his first uncertain attempt.

Her fingers closed around the chair arm. She could feel each adjustment of his hands with a clarity that made the lamp, the windows, and the distant city difficult to attend to. His pressure was uneven, and one thumb slipped. She should have corrected both things immediately.

“Too much?” he asked.

“No.” She relaxed her grip on the chair. “A little less pressure there. Yes. That.”

He followed the correction. Evelyn let her head rest against the upholstery, listening to the faint rub of the towel as he adjusted it beneath her heel. She had intended to spend a few minutes amusing herself with his embarrassment. Now she was trying to remember the useful advice from a class she had taken years ago, while hoping he would continue without requiring much of it.

“I really didn't expect the night to end like this,” he said.

She opened her eyes. “What did you expect?”

“I thought we'd get in here and the Suite would summon a mariachi band. Or throw pies at me. I don't know. It usually has a plan, and the plan usually involves me wishing I could leave.”

Her laugh came a little late. He looked up, pleased with himself.

“Would the pies have been aimed at me as well?” Her usual even tone was threaded with lighter notes as his fingers worked from heel to toe, sliding over the soft skin with ease.

“I'd have at least tried to negotiate,” he reassured her.

“How gallant.”

He shifted to her other foot, carefully settling it onto the towel. Evelyn closed her eyes again. She could hear him talking about the music selection, his voice easy now that he had something to do with his hands. She followed the beginning of the sentence, then lost it while he worked his thumbs across her arch. The sensation lingered after the movement had passed, distracting her from a question she had apparently been expected to answer.

“I'm sorry,” she said distractedly. “What was that?”

He stopped, and her eyes opened immediately. “You needn't stop.”

A little color rose into his face. Evelyn held his gaze, suddenly aware of how quickly she had said it. He looked down again and resumed, slower this time.

“The music,” she prompted.

“Right. I said I was glad it had songs you liked.”

“It did. I'd forgotten how much I liked some of them.”

“I could tell.”

She smiled and left him to continue. His hands were warmer now, the lotion spread thin, and the awkwardness of his first attempts had given way to a steady care she found harder to interrupt. The feeling of his hands, large and firm against her comparatively small feet, was sending bolts of pleasure up her spine. A familiar warmth was pooling in her core and she realized she was close to a mistake. She let herself have just a bit longer before straightening and drawing her foot gently back.

“That will do.”

Van released her at once and offered the towel. “Was that all right?”

“Quite all right.” She set both feet on the rug and smoothed the towel between her hands. He was waiting for her verdict with the same open interest he had shown when she'd come down from the stage. “Thank you, Van.”

His smile made her return it. “You're welcome.”

They put away the lotion and turned down the bed. Evelyn hung her robe over a chair while Van dimmed the lights. They got in on opposite sides, with a broad stretch of cool linen between them.

Evelyn settled her head against the pillow. “I must find the Hotel's supplier. This is better than the one in my building.”

Van rolled onto his back. “I wondered how it would compare.”

The city glowed beyond the glass. Without the music, the room was quiet enough that she could hear him shift, then settle.

After a while he said, “Thank you for tonight.”

Evelyn turned her head. He was looking across at her, his face faintly lit by the city beyond the windows.

“We made rather a good night of it between us,” she said. “I haven't laughed that much in years.”

“Even with my singing?”

“Your singing contributed considerably.”

He laughed, then settled farther beneath the covers. For a while she listened to him getting comfortable: a pillow turned over, a hand brushing the sheet flat, one last shift before he found a position that suited him.

“Get some sleep, Van. I'll see you in the morning.”

He glanced at her. “Tomorrow's going to be something.”

“Yes. Whatever it is, we shall face it together.”

His expression eased. “I'd like that.”

Evelyn reached for the lamp on her side and switched it off.

![]

---

Katherine returned to Room Two with three minutes left.

Naomi sat against the headboard, her dressing gown loosely arranged around her. One knee was uncovered where the fabric had fallen aside. Her phone lay face down beside her. She sat straighter when Katherine came in.

Katherine closed the door, removed her shoes, and dropped them beneath the chair. “Nothing.”

Naomi's hand stopped halfway toward her phone. “I'm sorry.”

“I finally tried treating viewpoint as an opinion. Statements. Editorials. Anything in this place that might have a particularly excellent assessment of the world.” Katherine tugged her shirt free of her waistband. “It has opinions. It has an extraordinary number of opinions. None of them came with an envelope.”

Naomi drew her legs toward the edge of the bed. “Three minutes is still three minutes.”

Katherine glanced at the clock. She could get down the hall, perhaps as far as the stairs, before the deadline. There was no part of the building she could reach that she hadn't already searched under at least two different theories. She sat on the chair and rested her hands on her knees. The clock's minute changed while she tried to find one more place worth checking. Naomi waited without repeating the suggestion.

She stood again and tugged the shirt over her head. It caught at one wrist before coming free. She threw it toward the chair, where it landed on one arm and slid to the floor.

“Unless it comes through the door and introduces itself, I have failed.”

Naomi waited until Katherine looked at her. “Do you think the punishment will be like Short Leash?”

Katherine unfastened her belt. “That would require her to repeat herself.”

Naomi didn't smile. “Yeah, she doesn’t seem the type for that.”

Katherine pulled the belt loose and let it fall with the shirt. “I have tried physical access, observation, security logic, architectural logic, information systems, and every interpretation of that damned clue I could invent. If the Hotel can rearrange a building while I'm inside it, the search is whatever it decides the search is.”

“You think it moved?”

“I think I have been assuming rules because without them the exercise is ridiculous.”

She stepped out of her trousers and tossed them after the shirt. The clock changed to midnight as she reached for her robe. Beside the vanity, a shadow fell across the wall.

Verena stood between the mirror and the wardrobe.

“Good evening, ladies. The allotted search period has concluded.”

Katherine put on the robe and tied its sash. “Where was it?”

“Your first dossier enjoyed an excellent viewpoint.”

“I remember the clue, Verena.” She let out a disgusted grunt. “Cut the theatrics.”

“You made several exceptional attempts. Your patience in the service corridors was particularly impressive.”

Katherine folded her arms. “I would prefer the location to an assessment of my patience.”

Verena turned to the vanity. She slid one hand behind the freestanding mirror, tilted it forward, and peeled something from its backing. The hissing rip of tearing tape was unmistakable. She brought out a manila envelope.

Katherine's arms came uncrossed.

Naomi took a step toward the vanity. “It was here?”

Verena nodded. “Throughout the search period.”

Katherine reached past Verena and tilted the mirror herself. Two short pieces of clear tape remained on the back. The gap was wide enough for a hand. No secret compartment. No mechanism to solve. She could have checked it while waiting for Naomi to finish brushing her teeth.

She let the mirror settle back into place. “I slept here with it every night.”

“Nearly every night,” Verena said.

The correction passed without acknowledgement. Katherine stared at the envelope. She remembered leaving this room with lock picks, returning with sore muscles, standing at this very vanity to remove the evidence of an unsuccessful search from her face.

Naomi's voice was quiet. “An excellent viewpoint.”

Katherine looked at the glass. Her familiar dark-haired working face looked back. “A mirror,” she said. “Childish wordplay is beneath you.”

“You have had sufficient exposure to the Harem Hotel system to know that childish methods are quite comfortably within its repertoire.”

The spy scoffed at the defense. “What excellent view does the back of a mirror have?”

“The mirror sees you every day, Ms. Wren.” Verena’s tone made it clear she considered the answer self-evident.

Katherine looked from the glass to the envelope held at Verena's waist, then back at her reflection. She had stood here adjusting hair, testing expressions, checking whether an appearance was doing its job. A mirror gave her information she could act on. She had never thought of its looking at her as a privilege.

“That is a remarkably elaborate way to flatter someone you are about to punish.”

Verena waved away the complaint. “Your opinion of the view did not alter the hiding place.”

Katherine's fingers rested against the vanity edge. “So I should have stopped behaving like a spy.”

“No. This search was designed for you. On an ordinary mission, you would begin with the space you were expected to inhabit. Here, you spent your time anticipating what the Hotel might do.”

“I checked the room when we arrived.” Her frustration made her words sharp edged.

She nodded. “That was before you were given your transformation. You did not search the room after you were assigned the search objective.”

Katherine looked at the tape. She had been in captivity less than a day when the first dossier appeared. By then she was trying to account for transportation across realities, a room that could manufacture possessions, and a woman who could silence Cassie with a gesture. Each failure afterward had persuaded her to make the next theory more elaborate.

“I would ordinarily avoid being kidnapped by an extra-dimensional sex cult,” she said.

Verena left her a few seconds before answering. “You were not asked to defeat the Hotel. You were asked to retrieve something that would help your fellow contestants. Your skills were sufficient because the task was designed specifically for you.”

Katherine let go of the vanity. The envelope looked thin. She could have slid it beneath a shirt, carried it to breakfast, opened it with everyone at the table.

Naomi moved closer. “Can she read it now?”

Verena's hand closed more fully around the envelope. “No. Retrieval within the allotted period was the condition.”

Katherine lifted her head. “So you won’t show it to them?”

“The advantage was yours to obtain and share.”

“They weren't responsible for my search.”

“They would have benefited from its success. They will now enter the Challenge without that benefit.”

Katherine took a breath, slow enough that Naomi heard it. She held out her hand.

“I am not asking you to mark it as a success. Keep the punishment. Let us use the information.”

Verena regarded the offered hand. “The opportunity has expired, Ms. Wren.”

Katherine lowered it.

For the first time since appearing, Verena glanced toward the clock. “Your temporary punishment transformation will begin at the next vote and remain active through the following Challenge. Its terms will be presented when it is applied. For tonight, you should rest.”

Katherine had several replies. Naomi stood beside her, close enough that the loose sleeve of her dressing gown brushed the edge of the vanity.

“Good night,” Verena said, disappearing with the envelope.

Katherine kept looking at the place where it had been. Naomi bent to collect the shirt, folding it over the chair back. When she reached for the trousers, Katherine picked them up herself.

“You don't have to do that,” she said.

“I know.” Naomi moved the chair closer to the vanity and sat down. “I'm going to stay up a little longer.”

Katherine laid the trousers across the wardrobe shelf. The belt lay at her feet; she picked it up and set it beside them, taking her time over a buckle that ordinarily needed no attention.

“I will tell the others at breakfast.”

Naomi nodded. “All right.”

Katherine returned to the vanity. She tilted the mirror forward, peeled off the two remaining pieces of tape, and rolled them between her fingers. Naomi stayed in the chair while Katherine dropped the tape into the wastebasket.

When she let the mirror stand upright, she had to meet her own eyes.