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"Oh, Roland," the woman from the front desk, Sarah, sighed. "You signed a contract." "A what?" Roland exchanged a glance with Madeleine. "A contract." Sarah pulled out a piece of paper. Roland glanced at it and handed it over to Madeleine. "I've never seen this before." Madeleine looked it over: either it really was Roland's signature or it was so close a forgery that she, who'd been writing out bills from his checkbook for years, couldn't tell the difference. "It looks like you have." "But I haven't." "You haven't seen it before." The woman from the front desk had knocked on thier door a few minutes after they'd closed it behind them. Her eyes had flicked from side to side as she'd entered the room. "But then, the person you used to be made a deal with the Prince of--whatever he's calling himself now--and changed the past. You really don't remember?" Madeleine knew that look: the anniversary look. She laughed. "He doesn't remember. Really doesn't. But what does it mean?" "Are you sure you want to know?" Sarah asked. "Are you sure you want--forgive me--her to know?" "Of course," Roland said. It was the look of puzzlement--what kind of idiot keeps secret from his wife?--that sustained her later. --- "Yesterday," Sarah began, "or was it the day before? Two days ago. Roland came in here, alone, and signed a contract stating he'd work for Loon Sad Hotel for a year and a day. Until yesterday, he was a bellboy." She mimed pressing a button with her palm. "Today, he's been married to you, Magdalene--" "Madaleine," she corrected. "--for years. Management isn't happy. And if the owner finds out--when the owner finds out--well. Hell has already been paid. This will be worse." "What hell?" Roland asked. "Shh," Madeleine said. "Your other contract. You'd get Maddening here back--" "Madeleine." "--If you traded your first-born to the Prince." "What?" Madeleine stood up and started walking toward Sarah. The scent of violence was in her nose when Roland's expression caught her eye. That anniversary look again, the part where he remembered that he wasn't supposed to forget something-- "Wait," he said. "I remember." --- Roland told her the story of how he'd lost her; how he'd scraped the years away, not bothering to look for someone new; how he'd followed Mrs. Winters to the hotel; how he'd found the Prince; how he'd said "yes." "I'm sorry," he said. "The man I had been didn't really know you. He didn't know that you'd keep waking up in the middle of the night, crying over someone you'd never met. He didn't know anything. He hadn't stared at bad parents in the grocery store, appalled that anyone could take their miniature gods for granted. For years I've been trying not to lash out at them. He didn't know. I'm so sorry. He didn't know." Roland wept. Madeleine hadn't seen him cry since they'd buried the baby. She took his hand. "What are you going to do?" Sarah asked. Madeleine shook her head, and Sarah went away. (Please, Sarah thought, please don't let him remember too much. We needed him more than we knew...) --- Her throat was so tight with fear she couldn't speak. If any of this was possible--if any of it could possibly have happened, then they might be able to get their baby back. She tried to tell Roland, but nothing would come out. Exhausted, he fell asleep, still holding her hand. She left him a note--finally remembering that she could write--and wandered out into the hallways to think. Her feed led her to a bar, where the bartender made her a cup of hot, sharp tea that smelled pleasantly of wet leaves. "You got troubles?" the woman asked. "You think you got troubles? Sheesh." Madeleine snorted a sip of tea up her nose. "What?" "I'm not saying you don't. But imagine the kind of troubles this puts the boss in, lady." It must be true, Madeleine thought. Gossip really does travel faster than the speed of light. "He was only a bellboy." The bartender snapped, "He was staff. You don't know how hard it is to find staff." "What was so special about him?" Madeleine tried to keep the envy out of her voice. "He finds things. Didn't you know that? He can find...anything." "Excuse me," Madeleine said. (Maria shrugged off the abandoned bill and checked on the back room, giving a thumb's up to Dandi, who lost fives years of wrinkles at her grin.) --- "Roland! Roland, you have to get up." Madeleine knelt by his chair and shook his shoulder. "Roland. You have to find our baby. Roland. The baby's gone. You have to find him." "The baby!" Roland shot out of the chair. "Oh, God. What happened? Where is he?" "I don't know, Roland. You have to find him." Roland threw open the door and started running. "Andrew? Andrew! Can you hear daddy? Andrew! Say 'peekaboo,' Andrew." Roland's eyes were closed; he was running with his eyes shut. Madeleine picked up his shoes, stuffed the socks inside, and ran after him. --- When she finally caught up with him, he was beating his fists against the wall. "Andrew! Daddy's coming. I can hear you. Daddy's on his way. Just stay right there." Madeleine put her ear against the wall: a toddler laughed and patted the wall. "Oh, Roland." She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you." Roland jumped and looked at her. "Oh, baby. What are we going to do?" He put his arms around her. "You're going to sit down, drink a glass of water, and then we're going to try again, Roland," she said. He nodded against her shoulder, picked her up, and swung her in a circle. "I heard him!" "Me too. Where's the nearest place to get a drink?" "That way," he said. She delighted in it: he led her back to the bar without a single missed turn. "Hi, Marie," Roland said. She handed him a mere drip of something in a shot glass. "Good to see you, Rolo. A restorative. With H-two-Oh chaser." She passed him a glass of water, eyeballed Madeleine, and handed her a glass of gin and a bottle of olives. "You don't have time for a martini," she explained. "You know?" Roland asked. Maria nodded. "Drink." "Does the boss know?" "Dandi knows," Maria said. "But he's in a big meeting right now, can't talk to you." "Do you know why I can't reach my son?" Maria stared at him. "What?" "What my butt," Maria said. "You make a contract with the hotel, and then you break it. You think he's going to move walls for you?" Roland swore. "That's it? We never get our son back? End of story?" Maria shrugged. "Not my decision, bro." "I want to talk to him." "Phone's over there," Maria said. Madeleine waited. She didn't understand, but she didn't have to. That, if anything, was her talent. --- Suddenly Roland handed her the phone. "He wants to talk to you." She took it. "Hello. Madeleine speaking." "Remi here. This is going to be tricky, Madeleine. Nobody wants to lose Roland, and nobody wants him to lose you or your son. But this is a big risk for us. You know who we're going up against?" "Satan," Madeleine said. Roland winced. "Close enough. We're all just a group of bit players, character actors trying to put together an independent film on a shoestring budget--" "Get to the point." Roland winced again. "The point. The point. Not one of my strong points, pardon my weak pun. We need something to make it worth our while. To wit: we get you." "Me? Are you sure?" "Well, yes." "All right. But what is the devil going to get out of this?" "Hopefully," Remi's voice said, "he gets screwed."
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