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Chapter Two: Daisy Chain - Part One
Daisy Flower: (Bellis Perennis) For over 4,000 years, this common, sunny perennial has been a faithfully favored flower. Used and praised for its healing properties, doctors have soaked bandages in its extract to bind severe wounds and steeped its crushed petals in wine to cure mania.
This flower’s name literally means “day’s eye,” as they open at dawn when the day is just beginning. Because of this, they have come to symbolize childhood innocence, purity, and new beginnings. They can also mean loyalty in love, steadfast trustworthiness, and patience.
Rowan
“Leander?” Rowan asked again as he peeked around yet another bookshelf. Where had the dark-haired boy gone? “Leander?”
He frowned at the silence, his arms starting to ache under the tall stack of books’ weight. Figuring he had enough books to last him a good long while, Rowan turned to leave. “Well, thank you,” he called out over his shoulder, “for all your—”
He stopped when he saw Lenten, wrecked and wretched, in the library doorway. “What are you doing in here?” Lenten barked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “And why isn’t the door locked?”
Rowan, taken aback, shrugged. “I was just getting some books.”
Lenten took three long, fast steps to him, grabbed him by the elbow, and yanked Rowan and his books out into the hallway. Reaching into his wrinkled jacket, he dug into his pocket for The Elysium skeleton key.
Cursing soundly when he couldn’t find it, the manager rounded on the boy and hissed, “Did you unlock this door?”
“No.” Rowan shook his head, still thrown by how angry the man seemed to be. “No, it was like that when I got here. Why?”
“The door is supposed to lock,” Lenten said under his breath, twisting the knob to crack open the door only to shut it again. “Why isn’t it locking?”
Again, he opened the door a sliver more than before, then slammed it shut. He let out a satisfied breath when they both heard the quick click of the door’s bolt sliding into place. “No one’s supposed to be in there at this time.”
“There’s someone else in there,” Rowan told the man, though Lenten was clearly talking more to himself than to him.
Lenten’s already pained eyes looked more anguished at that. He fumbled for the knob again, but the door was locked tight. He cursed again. “Who is it?” He dug for the key with shaky fingers. “Calla?” He turned the pocket inside out. Nothing. Rowan could practically read the curse resounding through the man’s mind. “Olive?” he asked, only to stop suddenly at her name as if a terrifying thought had just occurred to him.
Too fast for Rowan to catch, Lenten grabbed him by his shirt collar and shoved him up against the wall, making the boy drop the stack of books he was holding onto his foot. He was barely able to so much as flinch before the man’s angry fists lifted him up, thrusting his shoulders and back into the hard, white wall. “Is Olive inside?”
Rowan was too stunned to speak. Choking on his shock, he sputtered incoherently.
“Is she?” he asked again, his voice creaking with hysterics.
“No,” Rowan answered. “No, it’s Leander. He’s inside.”
“Leander?” Lenten released his grip, dropping Rowan back on his feet, as if all the panic and the strength had gone out of him. “Oh,” he said with relief. He leaned his head against the wall for a moment before turning to leave.
“Wait,” Rowan said, confused. “I thought you said no one was supposed to be in there. Leander’s in there,” he repeated. “Is he going to be okay?”
The way the man had been talking and acting, he made it seem as if the room was dangerous. Or that something in the room was. “Shouldn’t we get him out of there?”
Lenten relaxed, shaking his head. “No,” the man answered easily, almost distractedly, “no, believe me, Leander isn’t in there anymore.”
Rowan arched his eyebrow.
What did that mean?
But before he could ask, Lenten turned, checked the locked door once more, and left.
Rowan, beyond confused, lowered himself to his knees to gather the scattered books on the floor, wondering what in the hell was happening in this godforsaken hotel.
He looked up at the locked door.
Scooting closer, he reached out and turned the knob.
It jerked stiffly, locked in place.
Leaning closer, he knocked on the door. “Leander?” he called. “Are you there?”
He waited.
No answer.
Maybe the mumbling boy had left while Rowan wasn’t looking. Maybe that was why he couldn’t find him again.
With a shrug, he gathered his books off the floor, hefting them into his arms and off his now throbbing foot, and hoped that—wherever Leander had gone off to—that he was all right.
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