Project Jackalope (8 page)

“Well, I’m not either. I can’t
believe
you. Thanks a lot.” Agatha wiped her nose.

She shook a shopping bag at me. “After I got supplies and everything!”

I looked at the bag. “Supplies?”

Agatha smirked at me. “Disposable cell phones, that kind of thing. I figured we could use them if we have to split up again. Look, are we good? Because we shouldn’t talk about this here.” She looked around nervously, like she’d just realized we’d been screaming on the street. I didn’t tell her about the tourists.

“We’re good. So what now?” It wasn’t a good idea, but I didn’t think I could shake her without a scene. I’d
keep an eye on her. If it turned out later that she was a filthy spy, I’d sic Jack on her. Besides, if she wasn’t a filthy spy, and she really thought I was, I didn’t want to make her suspicious. I cussed Professor Twitchett out in my head. This thing had gotten so twisted around, I wasn’t sure I even trusted myself anymore. Way to be specific about the informant, Twitchett.

Agatha adjusted her beret. “Now we hide.”

Call me lame, but hiding sounded awesome. “Great. Where?” I looked around the plaza. Not a lot of great hiding places were jumping out at me.

Agatha hitched her shopping bag back over her shoulder. “Where else? The Grand Empyrean.”

This might be a good time to apologize to the housekeeping staff of the Grand Empyrean. They seem like good people, and they really didn’t deserve all the trouble we brought to their hotel. As far as I know, they don’t usually have mythical creatures running around trashing the rooms.

The Grand Empyrean is one of the biggest hotels in town—one of those really fancy ones with all the gold trim inside. The kind where the guys in tuxedos stand outside and open doors for the guests. Not your roadside motel, is what I’m saying. Not a place that I ever would’ve tried to sneak in, because those tuxedo guys, they’re real bruisers. They’ll kick you to the curb.

So you know I was super thrilled that Agatha was heading straight for the front doors. Because unless I was suddenly striking out on my own, I was going in too. I tried to look like I belonged. At least I had a suitcase, right?

Agatha marched straight up the steps and stopped, waiting for the tuxedo guy to open the door for her. Which he did. It was pretty shocking, actually. He didn’t even make a face or any snarky comments about my suitcase. (Which, come on, how could he resist?)

We breezed on in like we had every right to be there, and unfortunately, that’s where I lost it a little bit. I’ll admit it. I stopped to gawk. I’ve never seen anything as fancy as that lobby.

“Keep walking,” Agatha hissed, smiling at the man at the concierge desk.

I kept walking, but man, it wasn’t easy. There were fountains and fireplaces and chandeliers and carpets so thick I swear I was three inches shorter than usual. Which, to be honest, didn’t really do a lot for my self-esteem. I definitely breathed a sigh of relief when we got
past the carpeted check-in area. I was almost feeling normal again when we went through an archway and ended up in the middle of what looked for all the world like a high-end mall.

“There are stores in here,” I said, trying to pretend the lady behind the jewelry counter across from me wasn’t staring. “What kind of hotel has a mall?”

“Shut up and help me find the Business Center,” Agatha said out of the corner of her mouth. She smiled at the jewelry woman, who suddenly got very busy rearranging the countertop.

Lucky for me, I can read, so finding the Business Center wasn’t that difficult. The gigantic sign on the wall up ahead that said “Business Center” was a big tip-off.

I pointed it out to Agatha (who didn’t even say thank you) and followed as she hurried in and sat down at a computer. Luckily none of the people hanging out at the luxury hotel had any business needs at the moment. Probably all shopping at the hotel mall.

“What are you doing?” I said to Agatha, as she went online and called up the Grand Empyrean website.

“Just learn from the master,” Agatha said. She clicked a couple of times, blocking my view of the screen with her big head, and then turned around. “Standard okay, or do you think we should get a deluxe?”

“What?”

“Standard is probably fine. We won’t be here long,” Agatha said and went back to clicking and blocking.

Then she clicked one final time and spun around in the desk chair with a grin. “Phase one complete.”

“Phase one of what?”

“The plan. We’ve got reservations. Phase two: Check in.”

“What, here? Are you insane?” I tried to keep my voice calm. “They’re never going to let a couple of kids check in; you know that, Agatha. Even with the Dora suitcase.” Somebody had to be the voice of reason. Agatha had really lost it.

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Of course they won’t. That’s why they’re not going to see us.”

She picked up her shopping bag and headed back through the archway to the check-in area. Then she bent
down and pretended to tie her shoe. “That is where I’m going.”

She jerked her head at a sleek ATM-type machine in the corner of the lobby, near a bunch of trees decorated with twinkly lights. (Yeah, I know. Trees inside. It was that kind of place.) “You are going to the counter to make a disturbance of some kind. I don’t care what it is, as long as you’re obnoxious or stupid enough to attract everyone’s attention. Shouldn’t be hard for you.”

“Agatha, they’re not going to give us a room. We’re going to get busted.” I was starting to feel panicky.

Agatha ignored me. “When you’re done, meet me back at the Business Center. Just keep them distracted. And don’t get yourself thrown out.”

I was liking this plan less and less. “But wait, what?”

“Oh, sheesh, Jeremy, just be yourself.” Agatha gave me a shove in the direction of the desk and started off toward the weird, unnatural indoor trees.

She was halfway across the room before I actually believed she was serious. But there was no way to stop her, and even though the concierge was just lazily flipping
his pen around on his desk, I could tell he already had her in his sights. It didn’t look like I had much choice, unless I wanted to watch Agatha get interrogated.

I headed to the check-in desk to create a diversion, which seemed like the world’s worst plan ever.

I looked around carefully to make sure that there was no one around who might know me from school or identify me in a future life. Because not wanting to get kicked out was severely limiting my diversion options here. And the only option I could think of was going to ruin my reputation at school if anyone found out (even more than being at an actual hotel with Agatha Hotchkins).

I tried to make my face look as babyish as possible, sniffled loudly, and made my lip quiver as I went up to the counter. That’s right: I was going to cry.

The sniffle caught the attention of the middle-aged woman standing nearest to me at the counter. She looked up suspiciously, probably trying to decide whether I was making a pathetic I’m-about-to-cry sniffle or a disgusting I’m-about-to-dribble-snot-on-your-counter
sniffle. That’s why the lip quiver was key. When she noticed that, she was putty in my hands.

“Can you tell me if my dad’s checked in yet? He’s supposed to be here, but he’s not answering his cell phone. I’ve called and called.” I sniffled again and tried to look brave. I dug my feet down in the thick carpet until I’d sunk down to the height of your average fourth grader and tried not to watch Agatha sidling up to the fancy machine.

The lady looked sympathetic. “Let me just look that up for you. What’s the name?”

I sniffled louder. “Well, see that’s the thing. He’s kind of well-known? So he doesn’t use his real name when he’s traveling. So he probably just went with John Smith?”

I tried to peer over the desk at her computer while she tapped away. Then she frowned at me. “No, I’m sorry, we don’t have a reservation for a John Smith.”

I did a loud hiccup-sob that made the man next to her at the counter take notice, but only for a second. The concierge had stopped playing with his pen and was
watching Agatha intently. I was going to have to ramp up my game if this was going to work as a diversion. A couple of sniffles apparently weren’t going to cut it.

The concierge scooted his chair back. I took a deep breath.
Game on, concierge.

“Are you sure?” I wailed, and then looked around like I was embarrassed. “What about John Brown—is there anyone under that name? Please?”

Even the concierge looked over when I did that last one. I felt a surge of triumph, which I channeled into another hiccupy sob. I almost had him. I hoped I was buying Agatha enough time.

“No, no John Brown. I’m sorry.” The woman really did look sorry. The man down the counter didn’t, though. He looked disgusted. Well, excuse me for living, buddy.

I snuffled loudly into my sleeve and tried to look panicky. Which wasn’t hard, since the concierge was getting up. We were two seconds away from busted or home free. I just didn’t know which.

“Those are the only names I know that he uses! Unless…Charles Smith? How about that one? I think he
goes by that sometimes.” I didn’t see how I could act more panicked without wetting myself, and I’m sorry, there are just some things I’m not willing to do.

The woman started typing again, and the concierge came over and tapped me lightly on the shoulder. “Son, is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I snuffled sadly, trying to keep from laughing hysterically. I should be on TV, I’m that good. I clutched at the concierge’s arm. “I don’t know. I’m just trying to find my dad, but he won’t answer his phone.”

The desk woman tapped some more on the computer. “Charles Smith?”

“Yeah,” I said, gearing up to produce a heartbreaking wail.

“Good news! He has checked in just a little while ago.”

Well, crap. Who would’ve thought I’d get it in three? In retrospect, I should’ve gone with more uncommon names, but I didn’t want to be too obvious about it.

“That’s…uh…great. Thanks.” I didn’t know what to do except stand there like an idiot.

“Why don’t I call up and let him know you’re here?” The woman smiled at me again. The concierge patted me on the shoulder and headed back over to his desk.

Why don’t you just shoot me now, lady?

“No, that’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“No trouble at all!” The woman said, ear already to the phone. “Mr. Smith? Your son is in the lobby.”

I swear my heart stopped beating. Once Charles Smith told her that he didn’t have a son, it would only be a matter of seconds before guards had me in handcuffs and carted me off to jail.

I tightened my grip on the Dora suitcase and got ready to bolt. But just as I was flexing my knees for takeoff, the woman nodded encouragingly at me. “Thank you, sir. I’ll let him know.”

She hung up the phone. “Your father will be right down for you.”

“Oh. Uh. Thanks, that’s awesome,” I said. I could feel sweat beading up on my head. “I really appreciate it. I’ll just, uh, wait at the shops.”

I turned around and walked awkwardly over to the mall area, with the desk woman beaming at me the whole way. I turned around and gave her a lame half wave, turned the corner, and took off as fast as I could toward the Business Center.

Agatha was already there waiting for me. “Not much of a diversion, Jeremy,” she said. “But it was enough. Sorry about your dad.” She smirked at me.

“It had better be! I almost got thrown in jail! I’ve got to get out of here because my ‘father’ is coming down for me!” Sheesh, one morning with Agatha and I was doing air quotes too.

“No problem,” Agatha said. She waved a room key at me. “We’ll just head upstairs.”

“What the—”

Agatha went over and pushed the elevator button while I gawked at the key. “Where did you get that? Is that real?”

Agatha glared at me. “Shut it!”

The elevator door opened and a rumpled-looking businessman got out. He looked up and down the
hallway with a confused look on his face. I had a really bad feeling I was up close and personal with one Mr. Charles Smith.

I pushed past him into the elevator and hit that close door button for all I was worth. I didn’t stop until the doors were shut tight. Agatha smirked at me the whole way up.

We got out on the twelfth floor and walked the maze of passageways until we came to room 1231. Then Agatha opened the door with a flourish of the plastic card key, waltzed into the room, and started making herself at home right off. I was still waiting for the catch. I looked around. It was a real-life hotel room all right—a really fancy one, too. And no security guards seemed to be on our tail.

“Okay, what gives?” I folded my arms and waited for an explanation. “Are you a thief?”

“It’s called online reservations, dumbbutt,” Agatha said, throwing her shopping bag onto the bed.

“So where’d the key come in? Is this somebody’s room?” Unless she’d crept around behind the counter while I was doing my “Where’s dad?” act, I didn’t see how she’d pulled it off.

“Yeah, mine. It’s automatic check-in. You just go to the machine, use the credit card you used to make the reservation, and voilà! Instant room key.” She flopped down into the big red chair by the TV and grinned like a maniac.

“Credit card?”

Agatha shrugged and propped her feet on the footstool. “My dad gave it to me. It’s for emergencies. I figure this is an emergency, right?”

“They let you use a credit card?”

“It has my name on it and everything, okay? It’s totally legit. I use it all the time.”

“But won’t your dad get mad?”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Look, if he freaks, I’ll just say the card was stolen. Why would I be reserving a room at the Grand Empyrean? In the middle of a school day? That’s just ridiculous. Use your brain, Jeremy.”

I have to admit I was impressed. Freaked out by her criminal mind, but impressed. Once my heart rate had gone back down to normal levels, I carefully unzipped the Dora suitcase and stood back to watch the traditional jackalope hissing and/or spitting show.

Then I hit the minibar.

“Bourbon counts as whiskey, right?” I said, looking at a couple of bottles. I opened one, put my finger over the top, and turned it over. I touched my finger to my tongue and then seriously wished I hadn’t. The whiskey burned like all get-out and tasted like armpit. I don’t know how Jack drinks that stuff.

“Great, I’m on the run with a drunk. Just my luck.” Agatha hauled herself out of the big red chair and started rummaging in the shopping bag.

“Not for me, you jerk. For him. It’s whiskey bourbon, right?” I was pocketing everything I could identify as whiskey. I didn’t know how long we’d have him, and it’s not like I could just go into a liquor store and explain that I had a jackalope to feed.

Agatha ripped the packaging off one of the disposable cell phones and tossed it to me. (Threw it at me, actually. It left a mark.) “What, does he care about brands too? He’s not hungry. I tried to give him a carrot and he didn’t want it. And even if he was hungry, he wouldn’t want alcohol.”

“Carrot? No wonder. Jackalopes like booze.” I grabbed one of the glasses from the top of the minibar and took the protective cover off.

“But he’s—” Agatha started, but I held up a hand and amazingly, it shut her up.

“An animal hybrid. I know. But he’s not.” I poured the bourbon into a glass and set it down next to Jack, who only sniffed it for a second before practically upending the glass in an attempt to guzzle it.