“There is actually one other place,” the clerk behind the desk chirped. She was cute and chubby, closer to Elof’s height than mine, and behind her horn-rimmed glasses, her green eyes were noticeably different sizes. Her dark curls were pulled back into short pigtails, and the name on her cheery yellow polo read Margarit. “But I wouldn’t really recommend it.”

“Why not?” Elof asked.

“I shouldn’t talk ill of competitors,” Margarit said, so she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “It’s just two water-damaged trailer homes at the edge of the swamp, converted to have six rooms stacked with bunk beds, hostel style.”

“I think we’ll stay here,” Bryn said.

“You definitely made the right choice,” Margarit said with a smile. “All right, I’ve got you set with two rooms, each with two single beds, and you’re planning to stay three nights.” She grabbed two keys from under the desk, each one attached to a room-number keychain. “Who gets the keys?”

Bryn took one right away, and Pan shared a look with me—brief, uncertain, a little hopeful—but Elof spoke up before either of us could say anything.

“Pan and I made fine roommates before,” Elof said as he reached for the key. “I suppose we can manage here.”

Margarit told us where the rooms were, but the hotel wasn’t big enough to get lost. We went to the hall to the left of the small lobby, and through the open breezeway that connected the three trees together. And there were our rooms—201 across from 202.

Bryn unlocked the door, and I gave Pan one last look over my shoulder before going into the room after her. It was small, styled nearly identical to the lobby, and it was clean. The three-piece washroom was about the size of ones I’d seen in motorhomes, and we had a teeny balcony through sliding glass doors that overlooked the swamp.

I grimaced at the beds. Not because they were narrow and hard—although they were. It was the duvet made of velvet the color of burnt sugar. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why the Omte insist on combining their moist climate with tons of plush velvet.

“What’s the plan from here?” I asked, lying back on the bed. It was really more of a cot than a true mattress, but it felt good to stretch out after a long day of traveling.

“Well, I need to contact Bekk.” Brynn was taking her clothes out of her bag and hanging them up in the mirrored wardrobe, and she glanced at the flip clock on the nightstand. “Oh, shit. It’s after six. I told her I’d call her by now.”

“After you call her, then what?”