The Elysium Estate - Part One

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Chapter Two: The Elysium Estate - Part One

Olive Tree: (Olea Europaea) This small, subtropical, evergreen tree is resilient to decay and will sprout a new trunk from the roots of a dead tree. Known for its incredible beauty, it often represents the good and constancy of charity, love, and peace. The wood, the oil, and the olive fruit are often used in mystical rituals to promote overall positivity.

Olive

Olive Lenten dunked the washcloth into the ginger sweet water and squeezed. Careful not to drip on her new, crisp, perfectly white nurse’s costume, she patted the cloth on the sleeping man’s arm, just like Mei had said to do.

“Be gentle though,” Mei had told her, “like with Poppy.”

So she did, just like she would with her little bird and its itsy-bitsy broken wing. Tiny pats and soft sweeps over the awful cuts on the poor man’s arms and legs and face.

He was pretty, she thought as she cocked her head at him, even with the scratches. She reached out to touch his red hair that was as soft as Poppy’s feathers. It wasn’t red like hers or her uncle’s hair. Theirs was actually orange—not really red—like Chia, the large tabby who lay fat on the carpet in the sun next to the big windows in the lobby. The man’s hair was bright, bright red like the gleaming, waxy skin of an apple and, when she leaned in to smell it, it reminded her of cinnamon and nutmeg.

She giggled as she ran the very tip of her finger lightly down the bridge of his cute, pointed nose. He had spots—no, not spots; freckles, that’s what Mei had called them—freckles all over. There were probably a gazillion of them like crumbled bits of cookie floating in the creamy milkiness of his skin and Olive could have spent all day just counting them all.

A squeak escaped her lips as the man groaned, swinging his arm out and almost catching her hand before she jerked it back.

Oh my gosh, he was waking up.

He was waking up!

“Mei!” Olive squealed as she grabbed her doll Daisy and rushed from the room. “Mei! Uncle Lark! Flax! Come quick!”

She tore down the hallway, running right into her uncle’s waiting arms. She looked up into his familiar blue eyes, made bigger and brighter by the slightly smudged wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

“Uncle Lark,” Olive wheezed excitedly as she hugged the doll decked out in a matching white nurse’s dress tight in her arms, “it’s the man. The man in Suite 113 is awake! Uncle Lark, he’s—”

“Shh, I heard, Olive,” her uncle said as he laid a hand on her back. “Could you please get Mei in the courtyard and tell her to meet me in Suite 113? Quietly, yes?”

Olive nodded silently before running down the hallway toward the gardens.

“Olive,” she heard her uncle scold her, “we don’t run in the hallways. You know that.”

She slowed instantly to a clipped walk as she scurried toward Mei, her white Mary Janes clicking down the twisted marble stairs. Once out of her uncle’s hearing, she let out a little whoop as she jumped the very last steps, swinging Daisy around in her arms.

They hardly ever got guests here at the Elysium Hotel. It had been so long since anyone came to stay. Not since Leander and that was months ago. And now there were two in less than two weeks.

First, Calla and now Rowan.

She found Mei in the gardens, sipping tea and coffee with Calla and Mrs. Kinofuji. “Mei! Mei, Uncle Lark says you have to go to Suite 113. The man there, he’s awake!”

“Yes, I heard, little one,” Mei said with a laugh as she twisted her long black hair back into a bun, sticking two chopsticks in to keep it in place. “Okay, let’s go then. We mustn’t keep our guest waiting.” She turned to the other two women. “I’m very sorry, I have to go.”

“No worries,” Calla said as she flipped her shoulder-length brown hair and took another gulp of her whipped-cream-covered drink.

Olive loved the way Calla talked. It wasn’t soft, sweet, and comforting like Mei or Mrs. Kinofuji. In fact, it was lazy and drawling and completely effortless. Like the words just bubbled up and out her mouth—which was probably why everything she said always sounded like a question. She said it was because she was from Oz. But when Olive asked if Calla knew Glinda or Toto, she’d just laughed and ruffled her hair.

“Go see to that poor young man,” Mrs. Kinofuji said with a slight wave. “So unfortunate how he came to us,” the smiling, old woman murmured with a shake of her silvered head as she sipped her tea. “So much blood.”

“Yeah,” Calla said as she licked a bit of whipped cream from her pink-painted lips, “makes you wonder if there’ll be scars.” She looked thoughtful for a second as she set down her oversized mug. “Can we get scars anymore?”

“Come,” Mei said as she shooed the little girl and her doll out of the gardens. Mei grabbed her hand and headed toward the kitchen. “We should bring our new guest lunch, don’t you think?”

Olive nodded her head as she quickened her steps to keep up with the woman’s long strides as they hurried through the hotel. “Is Flax in the kitchen?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Mei said.

Olive liked Flax. He was funny and he talked nice—like Roy Rogers or The Singing Cowboy from TV. And he always smelled like pancakes or chocolate or spaghetti sauce. All sorts of yummy things. And he always helped her sneak treats.

“Flax?” she called as they entered the sparkling black and white kitchen with all its tall, shining countertop and fancy appliances. Olive let go of Mei’s hand and began to hop-scotch across the checkered floor toward the tall man stirring something scrumptious on the stove.

He turned toward her, his black eyes twinkling mischievously as he winked at her. “Hey there, darlin’,” he said, his voice twanging sweetly, “I got somethin’ for ya’.” He dunked a spoon into the saucepan and knelt down to the little girl. “My Mama’s stovetop fudge.” He looked up at Mei as Olive took the chocolatey spoon. “It’s not really, my Mama’s recipe. It came from a delightful young woman who worked in my Mama’s kitchen and was obliging enough to share all her secrets, but it sounds much nicer that way, don’t you think?” he said with that funny smile he reserved just for Mei. And Calla. And Juniper in Suite 315. And Marigold in Suite 216. And Jonquil in Suite 421.

Mei smiled indulgently at Flax as she made her way among the cabinets and shelves, grabbing her things. “We came to get some of my special tea for the new guest in Suite 113. He’s awake now.”

“Is that right?” Flax mused, turning again to Olive. “Well, that’s cause for a celebration, isn’t it, petunia? A feast, hmm? With a big ole baked ham surrounded by apples and caramelized onions. And sweet potatoes with brown sugar.”

“And apple pie?” Olive added hopefully, licking her lips as if she could taste the treat already.

“And warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream,” he said with a wink. “Now get,” he said as he playfully waved them both out of his kitchen, “this ain’t no place for the likes of you. Either pitch in or get out.”

Mei had to walk slowly down the long hallways, carrying the silver tray with the green tea, toast, and soup on it carefully, so Olive and Daisy skipped and danced around her on the way to Suite 113, whistling and humming as they went. When they knocked and opened the door, Uncle Lark was already there standing by the new guest who, while still in bed, was sitting up.

She’d been right. He was pretty. He had the most beautiful green eyes, the color of dewy morning grass that just begged for bare feet to trample through it.

“This is Mei Ying,” her uncle said as he helped her with the tray, “she’ll be taking care of you until you’re well.” She saw the man tip his head toward Mei before turning toward Olive and smiling slightly. “And this,” Uncle Lark said as he gathered her close, “is my niece. Say hello to Rowan Drury, Olive.”

“Hello, Rowan,” she said as she straightened her nurse’s cap and leaned against his bedside. “I helped heal your arms.”

“Er, thank you,” Rowan said as he nodded his head at her. He talked pretty too, she noticed before he turned back to her uncle, prettier than anyone else she’d ever met. He talked the way most people sang. “I’m sorry. I still don’t understand. How is it you know my name?”

“All of our guests’ names are in the guest book at the front desk;” Uncle Lark told him before adding with a wry smile, “the hotel keeps impeccable records.”

“But how did I get here?” the pretty man asked as he sipped the tea. “Ow,” he said as he blew on the drink to cool it down, almost dropping the cup. Half the steaming liquid sloshed over the side of the china before he set the cup down and shook his burnt hand furiously.

“Careful,” Mei warned as she checked his hand before wiping up the mess on the bedside table.

“One of our guest,” Uncle Lark continued, “was out for a walk around the hotel grounds and very fortunately stumbled upon you.”

“But how did I end up…” Rowan said before he trailed off. Olive cocked her head when she saw the man’s skin pale and his face go slack. “My family!” he choked out. He started to get up, only to be held down by her uncle. “I have to call my family. I have to see if they’re all right.”

Uncle Lark and Mei looked at each other worriedly. Her uncle sighed. He looked tired. “Olive, why don’t you and Daisy go see what Calla is up to right now?”

She nodded, clutched Daisy, and left, closing the door behind her. But instead of going to the courtyard again, she ran up the stairs to her room. After all, Uncle Lark didn’t really want her to go visit Calla, she knew. He just wanted her to leave. And, in truth, Olive really didn’t want to stay.

Rowan was going to get The Talk.

It happened with every guest.

Olive remembered when she’d gotten The Talk. She’d cried for days. Straight. She remembered that Uncle Lark had too. Mei had been the one to tell them, sat them down and tried the best she could to prepare them for the worst. They were guests of the Elysium Hotel now and had been for a very long time.

And, once you checked into the Elysium, you were there to stay.

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