McGrave's Hotel by Steve Bryant

walked, everyone could hear the clattering of bones on bones.
    James had the feeling he had seen this dark specter before, a long time ago now, before James had come to McGrave’s. Lately, everything in James’s life before McGrave’s seemed a long time ago.
    “Who—” he dared.
    “It’s Death,” whispered Dr. Otto. “Death himself. The Big Sleep. The Grim Reaper. He rarely makes such a public appearance. I’m afraid we’re in for it.”
    They watched, fascinated, as Death made his way across the floor to sign in with a shaken Mr. Nash. The bones clicked against each other like castanets.
    The revolving door spun again, and a new figure emerged. He was a small but fit Chinese gentleman, immaculately attired in a brown suit topped off with derby hat with a little feather in its hatband. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, and he reminded James of the famous movie detective Charlie Chan. He had intense eyes and seemed to be surveying the room with great care.
    Something small floated in the air across the lobby floor, possibly, James thought, one of the flies that had escaped from Chef Anatole’s kitchen. The Chinese gentlemen watched it as a hawk might watch a mouse, then suddenly reached out and snatched it between his thumb and forefinger. He examined it closely, then allowed it to drop to the floor.
    “It’s the bodyguard,” said Dr. Otto.
    “The bodyguard?” James wondered aloud. “Why would Death need a bodyguard?”
    “It isn’t for him. It’s for her .”
    The door spun again, and James’s life turned upside down.
    The little girl who walked through the door and did this to him appeared to be about James’s age. Eleven, he decided, judging from her height and poise. His overwhelming impression was that she was the most magnificent object he had ever beheld.
    She wore a long navy blue coat with a red scarf around her neck, and she carried a small valise. Her eyes above a small upturned nose were dark and mysterious, accented by the razor sharp edge of the bangs across her brow. The hair itself, short and curly on the sides, carried midnight shades of panther and raven. By contrast her face, an adorable sum of its features, was pale as milk: this was a girl who knew more of the moon than of the sun.
    James’s notion that he didn’t like girls crumbled. He realized suddenly that he had always liked girls, but never quite so much as this one.
    “It’s the daughter,” Dr. Otto whispered. “Death’s daughter.”
    This preposterous information caused James’s mind to reel with questions. How could Death possibly have a daughter? What were they doing here? Was someone really going to die?
    The girl set the valise on the marble lobby floor and looked about, confused. She didn’t seem to know what to do next or where to go. Eventually her eyes fell upon James with a look he interpreted as clearly one of disapproval. Bellhops were usually taller, after all. Nevertheless, she was apparently in need of assistance.
    “Boy!” she said. “Fetch my bag.”
    Startled at being addressed, James jumped to his feet. The shock of being spoken to required a dramatic response. Although he could not put his emotions into words, for the emotions were wholly unfamiliar to him, he had fallen violently in love with this girl and could not bear the prospect of being employed as her servant or of her addressing him as a child. He had never felt so insignificant.
    “Sorry, miss,” he said crisply. “I’m off duty. Ask one of the others.”
    He gestured toward the other five bellhops who, visibly terrified themselves, couldn’t take their eyes off Death.
    James spun about on one foot and stalked toward the elevators. He would go to his room and begin packing his things. He would resign this very night.
    “Boy!” she called after him.
    But James refused to turn around, and the flood of his new feelings frightened him. He had no idea where they would lead.

Chapter Eight

     
    Screams in the