Cloaked by Alex Flinn Read Free Book Online Page A

looked perfect—in their glass case. She gets so into what she’s doing that I can’t catch her eye for the rest of the afternoon. A couple of times, I think I see her glancing at me, but she looks right back down, and I wonder if she’s mad at me for saying Victoriana’s beautiful. It’s hardly news, though.
    Oh, well. I’ll make it up to her. I have time now.
    I start working on Victoriana’s shoe, even though I don’t want to because delivering it means telling her no, telling her I can’t do what she wants. The broken strap is delicate yet strong, and as I repair it, I anticipate seeing her again, slipping it on to her foot.
    If only it wasn’t going to be the last time I see her.

Chapter 11
    It is a wishing cloak. With it, you will find yourself any place you wish to be.
    —“The Salad”
    When I finish repairing the shoe, I call the princess’s room and ask if I can bring it up.
    As expected, his answer is a curt, “ Non. I will come for it.”
    He’s downstairs almost as soon as I put down the phone. I recognize Bruno, the guard Victoriana said was her most trusted, the one who practically sprained a face muscle glaring at us. I hand him the shoe, then stand there, not knowing what to say next.
    Bruno breaks the silence. “If you think she has a message for you, she does not. Boys like you are only playthings to Her Highness.” His English is surprisingly good, with much less of an accent than Victoriana’s. “Your dalliance means nothing. Ze princess is already betrothed.”
    “Really? She doesn’t think she is.” I regret the words the second they’re out of my mouth. Why argue with him?
    He scowls. “Ze princess, she is not so smart. Her head is in all kinds of places. She must be protected.”
    I hear the unspoken words, from you.
    I shrug. “I just wanted to give her the shoe. Now I have.”
    It’s clear he wants to mess with me some more, but he must decide against it because he leaves. An hour later, one of the chambermaids drops a key card on my counter. I know without asking it’s the key to Penthouse B.
    At 1:55 in the morning, I cross the lobby, hearing each squeak of my sneakers on the marble floor. It’s the perfect time. The late-night partiers have mostly come back, and the room service order cards have been picked up, but the USA Today s aren’t yet being delivered. The lobby parrot cage is covered, and the swans are asleep. The night clerk is playing an online game, and the morning maids haven’t started vacuuming. I am alone, unnoticed. The elevator rushes to the top. I feel my organs clenching against my chest. Wonder if I’ll have to knock on her door. Will the guard be waiting outside? Will he chase me off?
    When the bell rings, I jump as if attacked by a cat. The elevator door begins to close before I recover, but when I push against it, it opens.
    Victoriana is waiting for me when I enter. Dressed in one of the hotel’s white terry-cloth robes, her blond hair in braids that almost reach her waist, she looks like an angel from a Christmas card. She presses finger to lips and, with her other hand, takes me by the wrist. Her skin is cold, and I can tell she’s afraid, which makes me afraid too. She pulls me inside the suite. It’s pitch-dark except for one shattered sliver of moon on the oriental rug, revealing the worn, black shoes of her sleeping guard. I stay close, fearing tripping, fearing any sound, fearing everything. My breath seems loud. If they catch me, will they think I snuck in here to hurt the princess? Will they execute me?
    Finally, she pulls me through the bathroom door. I stumble a bit and hear her whisper, “Fool!” under her breath. Then, she pulls the door swiftly, but quietly, shut.
    The bathroom is bigger than our apartment, with a Roman tub, a bar, and three sinks. There’s even a sofa. The toilet is in a small room of its own. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Victoriana!
    “You will help me, yes?” She’s smiling.
    I blink and forget