The bell above the door rang when he walked in, a gentle tinkle that was old fashioned for its place in the world. But then, Vibora Bay was a little old fashioned, or at least wanted to present itself as being part of the old Louisiana before hurricanes changed it.
A deeply black woman stood on the other side of the counter at the hotel. She seemed to be involved in something on the flat-panel TV just above her head, so didn’t turn around to face him. “Sign here,” she said, pointing to a ledger book without looking at him.
Jim signed his old name, Jim Aster, and stood waiting.
“Room 207,” she said, eyes still glued on the TV. “You got a balcony, faces the bay.”
“Do you want any money?”
“Pay when you’re done. Eighty dollars a night.”
He had the swipe card in his hand and hoped that was the right room number. “Uh, thanks?”
“Don’t mention it.”
He didn’t detect magic at use here. But somehow the woman knew who he was, and what he was looking for.
He followed the room numbers, and then found his way to his room. Jim swiped the card – it turned green and he heard the click of a lock. He shrugged with a “Huh” and stepped inside.
The room smelled like it needed airing, of mold and unwashed rugs. He flipped on the light, and it didn’t look that much better. It had a bed, a balcony as advertised, which the window was open to look out at the night bay. He could hear the foghorns of a ship or a lighthouse in the distance.
He closed the door, then crossed the room and closed the curtains. He could hear muffled noises from next door, and realized he would get no sleep here tonight.
He went to the closet, a sliding door. Behind it would be a closet with an ironing board and an iron, some hangers for clothes, maybe a small safe. That wasn’t what he was concerned about.
Jim took out a small pocket knife and scratched into the paint a symbol on the upper right corner of the closet. On the lower left corner, he scratched another symbol, saying words under his breath. He said more words as he scratched the symbol on the left top, then on the bottom right. He used the pen knife to scratch a line in the rug, following the track of the sliding door. Then he closed the door.
Gently, he knocked three times three, and slid open the door. He saw before him darkness, not the inside of a closet, either. He took a breath and stepped forward –
And stumbled out into his own mansion, located on the shores of Meade Lake.
He let out his breath, and looked around smiling. It was home.