Illuminate by Aimee Agresti Page B

brushed at her shoulders and her sapphire eyes twinkled, in a way that suggested she was looking forward to putting me through the wringer. “We have so much to accomplish today. I trust you’ve eaten and you’re ready to get started?”
    The idea of food made my stomach wrench. I still didn’t feel quite ready for solids. If I had been hungry and had had more time, I would have explored the kitchen near the Parlor. She had told us yesterday that we were welcome to take meals in there whenever we pleased, at a table back near the meat locker, where we could park ourselves away from the customers. We weren’t supposed to frequent the other restaurant, Capone—the more upscale dining room—where the kitchen would be harried and hectic. Aurelia had given us the impression we would be getting in the way if we were ever anywhere near there.
    “I’m, uh, just fine, thank you.”
    “Very well, come to my office. I have some materials for you.” She had already started walking, so I hustled to catch up.
    “Thanks,” I said shyly, then remembered. “Oh, um, speaking of materials, you didn’t by chance leave a notebook for me in the library?”
    “Did you lose something already, my lamb?” She sounded both annoyed and confused.
    “No, I just . . . sorry, never mind.” It appeared that empty book hadn’t been from aurelia. She pushed open a door—the door I had seen her and Lucian step out of twenty-four hours ago.
    At first glance, the room looked like it should be the office of a grizzled old man who smoked cigars and told tales of drinking his way through Prohibition. The walls were paneled in the same cherrywood of the library shelves, and the floor was dominated by a battleship of a desk, a thick, boxy piece that must have consumed a forest of trees. It looked antique, with etched vine-like designs creeping along the sides and bordering the top, but it had been shined and polished. Behind the desk on a TV screen old and new shots of the hotel alternated on a loop. The only feminine touches were a sleek red-velvet sofa with gold feet and goldenrod and tiger-striped pillows and two matching tiger-print armchairs.
    Aurelia settled in behind the desk and I quickly took a seat in one of the chairs facing her.
    “Today you will photograph the members of the Outfit, Lucian, and your fellow interns, just as you photographed me yesterday. I’ve made a schedule here.” She handed me a printout with an endless stream of poetic names—some I already recognized from last night and new ones like Genevieve and Celine, Sebastian and Finn—and times beginning at ten o’clock. “Everyone will be coming to you ready to go. I have your attire for today as well. I trust you’ll be able to photograph yourself or will you need someone to do it for you?”
    My questions bubbled up. We were going to be included in this project? And what did she mean by “attire”? But I answered, “Sure, there’s a timer and I believe I saw a remote control too.”
    “Excellent. With the exception of our chef, everyone else is here and you should be able to complete the shoot today.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned back in her chair. She was so certain, and she spoke in such a controlled, firm way. “We won’t trouble ourselves with the process of selecting photos until tomorrow. If there’s nothing else, you’re free to go.” She slid a slim keycard across her desk leaving it on the edge for me.
    “Thank you.” As I rose to leave, she had already begun flipping through a stack of papers.
     
    The photo studio had been left almost exactly as it had been yesterday. The only difference today: a white ribbed tank top had been folded and left neatly on the stool with a piece of paper pinned to it reading “Haven.” I held it up, letting it unfold. It had a bit of a scooped neck, which made me nervous. I couldn’t tell how it would lie on me. I set it aside and tried not to think about it.
    Raphaella appeared