Chrysalis Ch8: Spectral Suites (pt1) (Patreon)

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He can smell it before he sees it.

Winter, whispering over him like a hungry January wind, shivering into all the spaces between his clothes and his skin.   Creeping along his side and thighs and feet, prickling along his fingertips. Underneath his hoodie, Lloyd’s antennae quiver. Even concealed, they can’t avoid the stinging chill of iron.

Even at a distance, the Spectral Suites is an imposing, beautiful building. Lloyd leans against a wall, observing it. Nestled along the river just past London Bridge, looming  like some kind of glass and metal monolith over the bustling Southwark streets. Metal girding spreads across the facade, trailing in delicate cobweb tangles. Decorative and practical, from the right perspective.

How had he never wondered about it? It’s so prominent that it’s almost obnoxious.

"So where’s this place again?"  Ian chimes. Lloyd starts, giving him an incredulous look. Ian's looking casually at a small newstand offering stacks of tabloid.  The bored attendant adds another crumbling cigarette to the ashtray at his elbow.

Lloyd rolls his eyes. Being out around this many people is making him anxious, even if he is hidden away in the hoodie. That’s a problem all on its own. The air’s too damp and warm to stand around playing games.

"Don't piss about. The hotel right there."

He waves his arm across the river, withdrawing slightly against the wall as a happily chattering group of tourists pass by.

"Yer really narrowin’ it down, mate."   Ian grumbles. He makes a show of looking in the direction Lloyd’s waving, but his eyes slide right past the Suites.  "Point at it and we’ll go from there, yeah?"

Lloyd groans in exasperation, his hand wavering as he tries to direct Ian.
"I am pointing at it. Turn your head - no, too far, it's - now you're looking completely the wrong way."

He frowns. Ian had seemed so serious about this, and now he was taking the chance for one of his cheap jokes.  A sudden thought strikes him. Lloyd's face clears, irritation replaced by unnerved suspicion.

"Hold on, let’s try this way. What's the building to the right of that bank? The one right next to it, right over the bridge."

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Ian drags his gaze past the bank and toward the elegant bulk of the Suites. He grimaces, his eyes twitching back and forth, like two magnets being pushed together wrong side up.  He squints, then squeezes his eyes closed and touches his temple.

"... mate, I'm sorry.  Must be coming down with somethin’. My head, it’s...."

He looks again, his eyes watering for a few seconds before he’s forced to turn them away again. "I... I don't know.   Doesn't seem to be much of anythin' that way. Just a bit of skyline, innit?"

"It's right there!" Lloyd hisses excitedly, bouncing up and down on his feet. "Right where you were looking when you made that face like you stepped on a tack!"

Lloyd looks around, then grabs Ian's sleeve and tugs him in the direction of the Suites.

"I bet you have to... I don't know. Go there before you know it's there.
Let's get you in the door and see if that's it!"

Ian chuckles, then rests his hand on Lloyd’s head, tousling the hood as he allows himself to be led down the street.  "Well, you perked up, didn’t you?"  He looks up and down rapidly, as if he can surprise the building into appearing  "... so something’s just… magically hiding it?"

"You don't believe me." Lloyd huffs, tugging harder. He weaves through the crowds, a lifetime of avoiding people helping him navigate the two of them where he wants to go.

“Didn’t say that, did I?” Ian replies mildly, striding easily after him. “Just letting my mate lead me into what I’m sure isn’t an abandoned car park.”

Lloyd smirks, walking faster, but doesn’t respond.

The iron lattice around the hotel draws closer and closer with every step, sending cold slivers through Lloyd’s bones. It's...not pleasant, but the lattice really only covers the middle section and skylights. So long as he stays on the ground, he can manage. He casts a curious eye back at Ian.

"We’re here. Still can't see anything?"

A sudden bark of laughter escapes Ian. He gives Lloyd a playful shove.
"Yer full of it, you know that?  Place looks like it's under construction or...nah, wait, looks like it was under construction, then the money ran out. This is yer five-star?"

The building’s looming right over them, a towering spire of glass and stone and gossamer-slim metal. Balconies and terraces dot the upper floors, and columned walkways peer from behind crystalline, spotless windows. It stretches up above the skyline, casting a wide dark shadow over the street.

Ian squints at it, his eyes unfocusing and jittering back and forth.
"Lloyd, I think yer gonna get asbestos poisoning if we go in here."

"Is that so."  Lloyd’s voice goes deadpan. He puts a foot on the wide granite steps, then hops up entirely.

"So, what do you see now?
Am I about to walk into an open manhole?"

Ian’s amusement vanishes immediately, replaced with sudden panic.
"L-LLOYD, WHAT ARE YOU-"

He lashes out, grabbing hold of Lloyd’s arm and pulls him back. Lloyd yelps as he stumbles off the stairs, too surprised by the suddenness of the action to resist. Ian drops his voice to a nervous whisper, still clinging tight.

“We cannot go in there! I… it’s… I can’t explain it, but we gotta go, okay? There’s something wrong with it.”

"Ian! L-leggo!"  Lloyd tugs his arm loose, an edge of worry in his voice.  "It's... it's just messing with your head, mate. I promise, the hotel is right there."

He grabs Ian's arm again, pulling him gently toward the steps.  "Just walk where I walk. It'll get better once you're in."

Ian grabs Lloyd by the arm again, halting stubbornly in place. Lloyd stumbles.
It’s like trying to pull an anchor.

"Nope. Nuh uh. Absolutely not."

Before Lloyd realizes what’s happening, Ian’s scooped him up and tossed him over his shoulder, marching aggressively away from the building. Lloyd squawks in indignation, watching the gleaming doors recede.

"IAN!"

Ian gives his head a firm shake.

"I ain’t letting either of us get within five meters of that.. That…
Place."

Lloyd lifts his head, his heart in his mouth. The street is just as crowded as before, but no one seems to be taking any notice of the fuss. Whatever the building’s doing, it’s strong.

Which means...

"Sorry mate, but you’re the one who won't let go!"

Lloyd pulls his hood back, lets his antennae free, and twists to flick them in Ian's face.  The sensation from his antennae is abrasive - like a muffled popping microphone, but Lloyd’s prepared for it.

Ian however, is not.
Snorting in surprise, Ian fumbles for Lloyd’s jacket.

"Lloyd, wha - pff -  what are ya thinkin?  We’re still in public!” He sputters, snatching the edge of the hood and trying to pull it back over Lloyd’s exposed head. Rather than fight back, Lloyd tucks his arms and slips inside, wriggles, then slides out of the oversized jacket.  He half falls onto the stairs below.

Both of the boys freeze.  Lloyd’s binder and antennae are fully exposed, the edges of his wings rippling.  He’s in broad daylight. They’re in crowded downtown London.  Staring, they wait  to see who of the surrounding crowd will be the first to notice.

Despite everything the passersby keep moving with barely a second glance.  Whether it’s the Spectral Suites or just the hustle of modern life, everyone is too busy with their phones and destinations to care to notice.

Everyone except for one.  A middle-aged woman with large round glasses and a briefcase stops. Turns.

Stares.

Lloyd feels a crash of cold panic as his eyes meet hers.  Spinning, he scrambles, hands over knees, and bolts for the hotel doors. Caught by the burst of motion Ian whirls and tears after his friend, grasping a half second too late to grab hold of him.

"Lloyd, STOP, you can’t - "  Ian protests.  Lloyd bursts through the doors to the Suites, disappearing inside.   A moment later, Ian slams into the door and flings it open, charging in after his.

The woman simply watches the spectacle unfold, adjusting her glasses with mild interest. After the doors clatter shut behind the two, she gives a light chuckle

then turns and walks away.


Inside the suites,  Lloyd skids on the polished marble floor of the empty lobby, overbalances, and lands with an oomph on a richly leather upholstered bench.  Catching his breath he looks back to catch sight of his friend barelling after him.

The air thickens oddly around him,
like he’s pressing against an invisible curtain.

“ - be in HERE - “  Come’s Ian’s jumbled words, who has slowed to only a slightly less aggressive pace.   Lloyd puts his hands up and tries to object but-

Something strains...then snaps. Lloyd’s ears pop, and his antennae fly backwards, scrambled signals of motion and pressure zigzagging through his head. Ian stumbles forward, his voice trailing off. His eyes widen as he looks around, back to the door and  the street beyond, then up at the high-vaulted ceiling.

He coughs in embarrassment, running a hand through his hair.
"I...Lloyd, I don’t know what that was. Other than a proper cock up.
You… alright?   Here lemme.."  Ian looks to the hoodie in his hands, then jabs it forward towards his friend.   “... sorry mate.”

Lloyd stands, rubbing his hand gently over his antennae as they recover. The air tastes of iron and - oddly enough - lavender. Like some sort of cleaning solvent.

"I-it's okay. It was the hotel. Sort of...protecting itself. It's gone now."

He takes the hoodie from Ian and holds it to himself like a safety blanket.   Peering around, he approaches the doors they entered through and squints.

“I… didn’t make that up did I?   That woman, she saw us.
Do you think she-”

"First time at the Suites?"  Someone snickers from the desk. The sound is smooth and liquid, the audible equivalent of maple syrup. Lloyd stifles a yelp, spinning round.

It's the concierge, watching from behind the reception desk. Or… what Lloyd can only assume is the concierge. The person addressing them is a vaguely equine shadow, with a pair of burning coals for eyes and dressed in a pitch suit and tie. One of the coals flicker, going dark for a moment.

A playful wink.

"Well, for one of you, at least.
Vendors?  Customers?"

The concierge leans over the counter until he’s only a few centimeters from Lloyd, his mouth splitting into a grin of too-many white teeth, glittering and sharp.

"... or merchandise?"

Lloyd flinches back in alarm.
"No. N-no. Absolutely n-not."

He offers the concierge a weak smile, putting his hand on Ian's arm.  "I'm… I'm just showing him around. S-see if anything catches our eye. Never know when you want a
mandrake root or… adder stone or..."

"...magic...candy...?”  Lloyd adds hopefully.  “That kind of thing.
We'll just h-head on in, then?"

Ian’s frozen in place, dumbfounded.
Lloyd can feel himself sweating.

"Ah."   Says the creature, leaning back behind the counter and tapping the countertop with two cloven hooves.  There’s a rustle of motion. Incongruously, a small grey cat hops up from behind the desk, watching the encounter with mild disinterest. The concierge raises an arm to let it get comfortable.

"Customers.   Then of course you’ll know the dress code. Seeing as neither of you are wearing the right colors, I’m assuming you’re here to take out one of our jackets?”

Lloyd's grip on Ian's arm tightens. He can still remember the figures wafting through the market. All of them dressed in...

"Y...yes. The jackets, sure."

The concierge squints at Ian, sizing him up.
“Your friend seems to be a... hmmmm..."

He reaches forward, his hooves splitting into long sinuous fingers.   He takes Ian's face and makes an impromptu measurement before lifting his arms out and drawing a line from one cuff to the other.

"... I would say a thirty-two.
Yes.  A thirty two should do nicely.”

Satisfied with his assessment, the shadow turns his attention to Lloyd.
“As for you, my little nymph friend..."

Lloyd twitches at the word.  The concierge’s eyes sharpen at the motion, twinkling with delight.

A nymph.

Was that what... Lyra had been? What he is, at least in part? The word conjures up images of young women living in springs, but that’s about it, as far as he knows. They’re not something that made an appearance alongside his favorite childhood stories of boggarts and nixies. What did that mean?

He doesn’t ask, and the concierge doesn’t volunteer the information, still flickering around them like a candle-flame’s shadow.

"... quite a bit smaller.   Possibly a twenty? An eighteen?   Will you be wanting your wings to be out, or do you prefer to be..."

His smile grows impossibly wider.
"... bound?"

"Covered."
Lloyd says, putting emphasis on the word, his face flushing and his antennae folding. Even if he felt comfortable with his wings out, It's too easy to remember Neith grabbing them. Or the… thing... scraping off a thin sheen of scales.   Or worse yet...

...what if someone else recognized the markings?
"Covered, please."

"Of course, little neighbor. One moment while I retrieve those for you."   The figure stands, then shifts, equine features melting into something smaller and more lithe, a pair of rabbit-like ears sprouting from his head.

“And will you be checking your coats today?"

"Y-yes, thank you." Lloyd manages. Lowering one arm, he takes the hoodie from Ian's other arm, offering it to the concierge. There’s no word from Ian. He’s still watching the concierge in stunned silence.

After a moment, Lloyd nudges him in the side.
"Tell him 'thank you'." Lloyd hisses urgently, flapping an antennae for emphasis.

"T-thanks, mate."   Ian stutters, quickly sliding out of his own jacket and handing it over. The concierge folds into an elaborate bow, taking both garments with a flourish, and practically flows into the back room.

The cat, still seated on the counter, begins to clean itself. Ian watches it, apparently fascinated, his eyes still unfocused.

"So... fairies... yeah?"  Ian manages, finally. Lloyd nods.

"I think he's a púca." He says, a little numbly. "One of them tweaked my wing last time I was here. At least this one’s visible."  He pauses, watching the cat start to wash behind its ears.  "Keep being polite with him. They’re supposed to be...capricious, but maybe we can stay on his good side."

Silence settles over the lobby. Lloyd sidelong at Ian.
"...you okay, mate?"

Ian rubs at his face, then pulls together a reassuring smile.
"Never better."  He shakes his head, looking up and around.   "Guess it's all just, y'know... bit surreal, innit? Not sure what I expected. More great flappy wings and less teeth.”

Lloyd stifles a half-chuckle, giving his arm a gentle push. A tinge of concern seeps into the edge of Ian’s smile.

"How about yerself? Is this...I mean, the last time you were here...I just want you to know if it comes to it, I can pull it together, yeah? If we get in a pinch."

Lloyd nods slowly.

"Yeah. I believe you. I'm still not sure what we're supposed to do when we get down there, though. Like...it's not a job fair."

Lloyd folds his arms, his feet planted firmly as he leans closer to Ian.
"We’ll figure it out.  Just stay close?"

"Right here."   Ian confirms, resting his hand on Lloyd’s shoulder.

The door behind the counter swings open, another gust of flowery cleaning-solution wafting in with it. The cat wrinkles its nose and mews in annoyance as the concierge emerges, carrying a neatly-folded bundle in his arms. He whips the first one off neatly, presenting Ian with a dark, hooded coat.

"For our human.  And this, I believe...
... belongs to you?"

The púca raises a jacket in both arms, displaying it for Lloyd with a smug smile. To Lloyd’s antennae, it reeks of lavender detergent.   It’s much smaller than Ian’s.
smaller,

and white.


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