The Never War by D.J. MacHale Page B

definitely being worked on. The walls were bare and there were painting tarps spread out all over the place. As Gunny led us down the corridor he explained, “This was the first floor they finished when the hotel was new, so it’s the first they’re going to modernize.”
    Modernize. What a joke. They were trying to make this floor look like 1937. Not exactly “modern” by my standards. We reached the end of the corridor and turned left into another long corridor. Gunny walked up to room 615 and used a key to open it up.
    â€œWelcome home, gentlemen,” he said.
    The room was huge. Actually, it was a couple of rooms. I think they call this a suite. I could imagine that when the work was finished, this was going to be a pretty fancy place. But right now, while they were doing the renovation, it was being used as a storage area for chairs and sofas.
    â€œYou sure this is okay, Gunny?” I asked.
    â€œAbsolutely,” he answered with confidence. “It breaks about eighteen different hotel rules, but I’ve been here long enough to pull the right strings. Just don’t go ordering room service.”
    There were a bunch of sofas lined up in a column along one wall. They were up on their arms and reached almost to the ceiling. All we had to do was bring two down and we’d have a comfortable place to sleep. There were big cushy chairs, along with a bunch of stacked tables. There was only one thing missing.
    â€œWhere’s the TV?” I asked.
    Gunny gave me a curious look. “The what?”
    Duh. TV wasn’t invented yet. “Never mind,” I said, feeling like an idiot. “How about a radio?”
    â€œI’m sure there’s one around here someplace,” answered Gunny. “Are you two hungry?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” I answered.
    â€œI could go for a kooloo fish and some sniggers,” said Spader.
    Gunny gave him the same curious look he gave me when I asked about the TV. “I’ll see what I can find,” he said. “You two make yourselves at home. I’m going to get you some clothes. Is there anything else you might need?”
    â€œSomething to write on,” I said. “We’ve got to keep up with our journals.”
    â€œRight,” answered Gunny. “I’ll be back.”
    Gunny ambled out of the room, leaving Spader and me alone. I walked to the far side of the room, where fancy doors led to a balcony. I opened them and stepped outside. It was close to sunset. From our sixth-floor landing, I got a pretty good view south and west, where the sun was headed down.
    â€œIs this where you grew up?” asked Spader. He was standing right behind me. I hadn’t heard him coming.
    â€œNo, about thirty miles from here,” I answered. “And more than half a century in the future. How weird is that?”
    It really was. This was home, but not really. I had an idea that maybe I should try to find my grandparents. They were around in 1937. But then I remembered that my family had disappeared. Did that mean our whole family history disappeared along with them? I had to stop thinking about it. It was making me homesick.
    â€œIt’s a scary-do,” Spader said while gazing out at the city. “I’ve never seen anything so busy.”
    â€œYou’ll get used to it,” I assured him.
    â€œI suppose so,” Spader added. “But I’m thinking about Saint Dane. There’s a lot of natty-do that monster could get into in a big city like this. How are we going to find him?”
    Good question. Saint Dane loose in New York City was a scary thought. “Something tells me he’ll find us,” I said. “I’m going to take a shower.”
    The bathroom was almost as big as the living room. This was definitely a suite for hotshot guests. The whole room was covered with white tiles. The bathtub was huge and stood on feet. There was a giant silver showerhead that