فصل 09

You Totally Want the Minibar Key

WOULD IT SURPRISE you to learn that the place was bigger on the inside?

The foyer alone could’ve been the world’s largest hunting lodge—a space twice as big as the mansion appeared on the outside. An acre of hardwood floor was covered with exotic animal skins: zebra, lion, and a forty-foot-long reptile that I wouldn’t want to have met when it was alive. Against the right wall, a fire crackled in a bedroom-size hearth. In front of it, a few high-school-age guys in fluffy green bathrobes lounged on overstuffed leather couches, laughing and drinking from silver goblets. Over the mantel hung the stuffed head of a wolf.

Oh, joy, I thought with a shudder. More wolves.

Columns made from rough-hewn tree trunks held up the ceiling, which was lined with spears for rafters. Polished shields gleamed on the walls. Light seemed to radiate from everywhere—a warm golden glow that hurt my eyes like a summer afternoon after a dark theater.

In the middle of the foyer, a freestanding display board announced:

TODAY’S ACTIVITIES

SINGLE COMBAT TO THE DEATH!—OSLO ROOM, 10 A.M.

GROUP COMBAT TO THE DEATH!—STOCKHOLM ROOM, 11 A.M.

BUFFET LUNCH TO THE DEATH!—DINING HALL, 12 P.M.

FULL ARMY COMBAT TO THE DEATH!—MAIN COURTYARD, 1 P.M.

BIKRAM YOGA TO THE DEATH!—COPENHAGEN ROOM, BRING YOUR OWN MAT, 4 P.M.

The doorman Hunding said something, but my head was ringing so badly I missed it.

“Sorry,” I said, “what?”

“Luggage,” he repeated. “Do you have any?”

“Um…” I reached for my shoulder strap. My backpack had apparently not been resurrected with me. “No.”

Hunding grunted. “No one brings luggage anymore. Don’t they put anything on your funeral pyre?”

“My what?”

“Never mind.” He scowled toward the far corner of the room, where an overturned boat’s keel served as the reception desk. “Guess there’s no putting it off. Come on.”

The man behind the keel apparently used the same barber as Hunding. His beard was so big it had its own zip code. His hair looked like a buzzard that had exploded on a windshield. He was dressed in a forest green pinstriped suit. His name tag read: HELGI, MANAGER, EAST GOTHLAND, VALUED TEAM MEMBER SINCE 749 C.E.

“Welcome!” Helgi glanced up from his computer screen. “Checking in?”

“Uh—”

“You realize check-in time is three P.M.,” he said. “If you die earlier in the day, I can’t guarantee your room will be ready.”

“I can just go back to being alive,” I offered.

“No, no.” He tapped on his keyboard. “Ah, here we are.” He grinned, revealing exactly three teeth. “We’ve upgraded you to a suite.”

Next to me, Hunding muttered under his breath, “Everyone is upgraded to a suite. All we have are suites.”

“Hunding…” warned the manager.

“Sorry, sir.”

“You don’t want me to use the stick.”

Hunding winced. “No, sir.”

I looked back and forth between them, checking their name tags.

“You guys started working here the same year,” I noted. “749…what is C.E.?”

“Common Era,” said the manager. “What you might call A.D.”

“Then why don’t you just say A.D.?”

“Because Anno Domini, in the Year of Our Lord, is fine for Christians, but Thor gets a little upset. He still holds a grudge that Jesus never showed up for that duel he challenged him to.”

“Say what now?”

“It’s not important,” Helgi said. “How many keys would you like? Is one sufficient?”

“I still don’t get where I am. If you guys have been here since 749, that’s over a thousand years.”

“Don’t remind me,” Hunding grumbled.

“But that’s impossible. And…and you said I’m dead? I don’t feel dead. I feel fine.”

“Sir,” Helgi said, “all this will be explained tonight at dinner. That’s when new guests are formally welcomed.”

“Valhalla.” The word surfaced from the depths of my brain—a half-remembered story my mom had read me when I was little. “The HV on your lapel. The V stands for Valhalla?”

Helgi’s eyes made it clear I was straining his patience. “Yes, sir. The Hotel Valhalla. Congratulations. You’ve been chosen to join the hosts of Odin. I look forward to hearing about your brave exploits at dinner.”

My legs buckled. I leaned on the desk for support. I’d been trying to convince myself this was all a mistake—some elaborate theme hotel where I’d been mistaken for a guest. Now I wasn’t so sure.

“Dead,” I mumbled. “You mean I’m actually…I’m actually—”

“Here is your room key.” Helgi handed me a stone engraved with a single Viking rune, like the stones in Uncle Randolph’s library. “Would you like the minibar key?”

“Uh—”

“He wants the minibar key,” Hunding answered for me. “Kid, you want the minibar key. It’s going to be a long stay.”

My mouth tasted like copper. “How long?”

“Forever,” Helgi said, “or at least until Ragnarok. Hunding will now show you to your room. Enjoy your afterlife. Next!”