But now, as we walked down the hallway, there was a new awareness—not of kinship, but an understanding. And it made me nervous even as it was…comforting.

“Hey, Rache!” came Jenks’s hail from behind us, and the rattle of the trolley as Pierce helped the bellhop at the distant end of the hall. “Top floor,” Jenks said proudly. “We’re in the penthouse suite. Where’s Ivy?”

“Inside already,” I said, and Trent ran his card and held the door open for me.

Jenks darted in, and I followed, eager to see what a penthouse suite looked like. Nice. I think the word would be “nice.” Or really nice. I’d go as far as friggin’ nice.

“Wow,” I whispered, stopping somewhere in the middle of what I’d probably call a living room, arranged with two couches facing each other, a coffee table in between decorated with stuff to make it homey and inviting. To my right was a small kitchen, a bar with three stools making a pleasant place to eat if the small table in it wasn’t enough. There were fruit and cold cuts laid out, and bread—fresh, by the smell of it. I think the maid had baked it in the oven while she tidied the place.

Looking past the living room, I could see a second living room with a bank of windows. It was on a platform and looked more plush and comfortable. There was a huge TV between the two rooms that seemed to rotate on a swivel. A wet bar took up one side of the upper living room, and it all looked out on a spectacular view of the bay. I hadn’t realized we were up so high in the hills, and though it was still foggy, I could see the tops of the bridge poking through. A room with a view—of Alcatraz.

Trent dropped his small satchel on the coffee table. “This is pleasant,” he said, gaze darting to the closed doors off the raised living room, which had to be the bedrooms, not closets. “Better than roadside hotels, anyway.”

I would have gotten angry with him, but he was smiling, probably remembering that nasty shower I’d dragged him out of, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the bathroom here was like. I was betting nice.

Trailing a silver dust, Jenks buzzed out of one room and tucked under the door of another. Ivy’s faint shout to leave filtered in, and Jenks darted back into the living room. In an instant, he was at the windows, checking things out. At least we knew where Ivy was.

“I’d just about kill for a shower,” I said as the trolley rattled in, Pierce holding the door for it. His eyes widened upon seeing the room, and he stumbled out of the bellhop’s way.

In a burst of noise, Ivy’s door was flung open. The bellhop’s spiel faltered as she strode forward, grabbed her bag, and then vanished behind her door again. I flopped onto the couch with my back to the window, my gaze going to the second bedroom. I’d be willing to bet Trent would claim it even if he wasn’t going to be here tonight—off doing his little elf-quest…thing.