Welcome to the Release Day Celebration for
McGrave's Hotel by Steve Bryant
presented by Tantrum Books!
Be sure to enter the giveaway found at the end of the post!
Happy Book Birthday, Steve!
It’s 1936, and nearly twelve-year-old JAMES ELLIOTT is a bellhop at McGrave’s Hotel, there a year since the night his parents died while on a spy mission into Nazi Germany.
JAMES craves a goodbye message from his parents, but is distracted by troublesome guests who require his help.
Assistance with locating a missing and priceless mummy, wrangling mutant spiders, and attaching the head of a bridegroom is just the kind of hospitality guests have come to expect while at McGrave’s hotel where guests are dying to check in.
But over the course of one frightful evening, James will team with Death’s daughter to fight Nazi sympathizers, monsters, and the undead in this riveting, deathly, historical adventure story unlike any you’ve read before.
McGrave’s Hotel by Steve Bryant
Publication Date: October 11, 2016
Publisher: Tantrum Books
Mr. Nash passed out the
assignments and sent most of the boys to their stations. James lingered behind
a bit, as he often did.
“Sorry,
Jim, boy, no one has asked for you today.”
James appreciated that every
staff member knew he was longing for a message from his parents. James knew
full well that they were dead, of course, but he hoped they had left a message
behind. It must have gone astray.
Tonight, however, something
was amiss. James didn’t like the look on Mr. Nash’s face. Mr. Nash’s eyes
twitched, his neck muscles looked tense, and tiny beads of sweat collected on
his temples. This was unusual, as Mr. Nash was always in command at McGrave’s.
“Is everything all right?”
James said. “You look worried, sir.”
“Do I? Sorry, most
unprofessional. Unbecoming for an Oxford man. I shall try to better conceal my
feelings. It’s that, ah, we’ve had a call. We could be receiving a special
guest later this evening. A VIP, to be sure.”
VIPs at McGrave’s were
tricky. As at most hotels, they expected the best suites, tiptop service, and
world-class flattery. Unlike what was expected at most hotels, some of their
requests bordered on the extreme. A bellhop didn’t mind being a late-night
servant, but he didn’t want to be a late-night snack.
“Who, sir?”
“Oh, ah, never you mind,
Jim. Never you mind. He is often
expected in many places, so he may not turn up at all. No point in worrying you
by mentioning his name. Now, off you go, lad. We’ve plenty of our usual run of
guests to entertain us. We’re still awaiting a Broadway celebrity, a contingent
of foreigners, and a pair of newlyweds. As always, make old Mr. McGrave proud.
I know you will.”
The Grand Lobby soared four
stories from the marble lobby floor to the frescoed ceiling with its paintings
of brooding storm clouds. Its most prominent feature was the gigantic framed
painting of Thaddeus McGrave himself. Standing hands on hips, Mr. McGrave
glared down at his patrons and staff, and all who looked up at the painting
would swear the eyes followed them as they moved about. It was said that, by
the middle of the nineteenth century, Thaddeus McGrave owned half the
cemeteries and a third of the funeral homes in the Northeast. He had learned
early on that there was money to be made from death, and it therefore came as
no surprise that he would erect a hotel that was bedfellows with death.
As James studied the
painting, he guessed that not all was well with Thaddeus McGrave. From his
vantage point in his gilded frame, opposite the grand clock that ticked off the
hours in giant golden Roman numerals, Mr. McGrave no doubt did not like what he
was seeing and hearing. The talk of an overseas war weighed on everyone’s mood.
According to Mr. Nash, Mr. McGrave always felt that death in moderation was a
bit of a good thing. It gave a place an edge, a subtext, something to discuss
over an evening’s glass of wine, or a reason to keep one eye open during a
night’s stay at a chancy hotel. Mr. Nash pointed to the eighteen-foot-tall
Christmas tree in the lobby, with glass ornaments shaped like grinning human
skulls, as quite the right touch. On the other hand, James realized, death on
the scale of war took the fun out of it. It rankled the staff. As James well
knew, Chef Anatole, the hotel’s celebrated master cook, couldn’t bear the
thought of foreign boots tramping into his beloved Paris, and it showed in his
recently uninspired dishes. Maurice, the night waiter, hailed from Austria and
didn’t mind if you were displeased with your filet mignon or a little light on
your tip, but he gave customers the stink eye if they were German. Mr. Nash
worried about bombs falling on his old college in England, and that in turn
worried Miss Charles to see him so distracted. As to Miss Charles herself, her
fingers were getting chafed from constantly shuffling and re-dealing her tarot
cards, but it was to no avail. The cards simply refused to say anything good
about Europe. Far above, according to staff whispers, even the gargoyles were
getting more fidgety than usual.
James’s own thoughts on
Germany were far from indifferent. When the man from the government came to
confirm what James already knew, that his parents were dead, the man explained:
“It was all about German war
plans,” he said. “In March, they started rebuilding their air force at an
alarming rate. Incredible numbers. They will need pilots for all those planes,
and your parents stumbled onto a special school where young boys are being
trained. Your parents tried to get photographs of the school, but we don’t know
what happened after that. Their radio broadcast was interrupted.
“They were posing as
tourists, and it should have been easy for them to get in and out. In the end,
we think they were betrayed. The innkeeper where they stayed worked for the
Nazis. I’m sorry, James. We are all truly sorry.”
Steve Bryant is a new novelist, but a veteran author of books of card tricks. He founded a monthly internet magazine for magicians containing news, reviews, magic tricks, humor, and fiction, and he frequently contributes biographical cover articles to the country’s two leading magic journals. He lives in Bloomington, Indiana.
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