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Roland's child came to the Black tower. He looked up at the great expanse of the structure. He was too young to be any kind of judge of distance, but it seemed the base of the thing had to be a mile across -- more, even, and that really didn't seem that big when he looked up and saw it stretching up into the sky until it disappeared. And Black. So Black. "Hello, honey," Madeleine said. He turned, looking up at her, puzzled, but not surprised, then turned back to the tower. "Hi, Mommy." She gasped at that, a small thing that the boy didn't notice. "It's really big," he commented, neck craned back. She smiled at him in the way only a parent can when they are suddenly and wondrously confronted with the simple fact that they have brought an entirely new and different person into the world. "Yyyup." "What's it for?" "Oh," she said, taking his hand. "I guess you'll have to ask Remi about that, honey." She started for the tower's only entrance; a deceptively small and simple door. "He explained it to me, but I didn't understand most of it." "That's okay," the boy said, distracted, but trying to be reassuring in the way only a seven-year-old can. She smiled again, tears stinging her eyes, trying to get out. At the door, she stopped and pulled a sleep mask from her pocket; black, with "L'Dende Resort" embroidered on the face in a fancy cursive. "Put this on, little man." He looked at the mask, then at her. "What about you?" She shook her head. "I don't need one. Nothing in there will bother me." Remi had said so, anyway, and if it got her boy home... He nodded, intrigued by the idea of being blindfolded, which had never happened before. Mask firmly placed over her boy's eyes, his mother opened the door to the tower. Time coiled within the confines of the Black tower in all it's miserable glory. Madeleine just saw a bunch of stairs. She didn't understand, not truly, but she didn't have to. That, if anything, was her talent. Madeleine gave a nudge, and the boy began to climb. Roland wandered the halls of the Last Resort, invisible (once again) in his Bellboy uniform. He was searching, as Madeleine has asked, for a Miracle. In an abandoned wardrobe, he found a soft cloth bag that rattled oddly, and he smiled. "I don't have an Evan Winters in the register," Sarah said, never so much as glancing at the large book in front of her. "Might you have registered under another name?" The... man?... standing in the center of the lobby's rug glowered. His head lowered, and with it the two crystalline horns spiraling from his brow. The unicorn/dragon/et cetera at his side whuffed. The floor trembled. Graymalkin, one eyed tabby, sat in the center of the open Registry page and, pointedly, cleaned a paw. The man reconsidered. Face stony, he gave her another name, and the wind keened outside, scrabbling to get to him through the windows. Sarah nodded, making a note in the Registry (after coaxing the cat aside). "The Management does have an opening in their schedule later this evening," she commented, voice distant. "How is three a.m.?" "Fine." "In the meantime," she added, voice lightening, "we're having our weekly Wednesday Karaoke Night in --" She stopped. The man and his mount were both gone. "We will make amends, ere long," Rob Goodman said in his deep, reedy voice. Something in the inflection he put on the words made his assurance sound decidedly less than pleasant. He wore a black turtleneck and jeans and smoked a cigarette of aromatic tobacco rolled in a thin, dry cornhusk. "Have you found the boy?" The King asked. "If We cannot locate him, We are forfeit." Puck shook his head, looking annoyed. "He's here. I can tell he's here -- they've kept that part of the bargain, but not..." He waved the cigarette through the air in a complex, almost-discernable pattern. "We'll find him, sire." The King nodded to his best and truest friend (sad thing, that). The two leaned on the rail of an outer balcony, looking over the wintry night sky, and waited. They met the Management in the bar. It seemed best -- neutral territory, plenty of chairs, and utterly deserted at this time of night/morning. Remi sat with The Mc Gaa; the King, with his entourage. Sarah looked on from a seat at the bar. Antonio was nowhere to be seen, as this was not The Day. "Rob," Remi said, by way of greeting. "How's it going?" Goodman smiled (saturnine, if that's not too ironic a phrase), and looked away. "Better than last time, Remi; trust me." '"My patience is at an end," said The King, speaking to The Mc Gaa. "You have have grown fat on Our indulgences long an' --" "Your what?" Remi's head snapped back to the Horned Man. The older man in the tuxedo laid a hand on his arm, but he shook it off. "That is complete garbage -- I've been here almost as long as anyone, and I know to the letter how much we've done for you." "Remi --" "No," Davis shook his head, standing and pacing. "We've brought your court back to you, helped you add to it..." He made a face. "Christ, we pimped for you, year after year after year." "You will not spe--" "Excuse me," said the Black Queen, standing in the entrance to the bar. "Could you... repeat that?" The King whirled. Remi smiled. "Oh yeah... and we found your wife." "You have lost the child," said the Mc Gaa. "You --" The King tried, again, glancing askance at the Queen, clearly distracted. "The Management," Mr. Dandi continued, implacable, "is Not Responsible for Lost Items." The staff walked the Seelie Court to the Lobby. Seething Court, more like, thought Remington Davis, and grinned, because it had come off better than he could have hoped. Rob Goodman, standing near his Lord, caught the expression. "Something funny?" Remi shook his head, lips tucked in tightly to hide the smile. "Nope." Goodman nodded, eyes bright and hard. "Right... right." He paused, then stepped forward, hand outstretched. "Well. No hard feelings, right?" Remi paused only a moment (not long enough to give The Mc Gaa time to stop him) and took the (hairy) hand in his own, shaking firmly. Goodman smiled, his lips stretching further than they ought. "Tell you a secret?" Behind Remi, Sarah's eyes widened. "Remi --" Puck jerked Davis in close to him, his lips a bare inch from the man's ear. "You have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear."' Remington Davis collapsed onto the hard floor of the lobby (or was it merely an empty field?), curled in a fetal ball at the base of the Wooden Indian (who could, of course, do nothing at the moment). The Court looked down at the sleeping man. As one, but for the Black Queen, they smiled. "Sorry about the mess," Rob Goodman said. And they were gone. The Land's Resort was Fading; it's time was at an end. Guests and Visitors to the place would, perchance, be able to visit it once again in their dreams or memories, but the place itself had reached a Conclusion. A Final Chapter. Sarah looked around at the walls, already fading; the floors, already thin. She didn't know what to think -- how to feel. Part of her wanted to cheer -- another wanted to cry. "Is that it?" she asked. Her hand twitches; an aborted movement. The little boy takes hers in his own, smiles up at her, cherubic and unwholesome, and replies. "Not Yet." words
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