For a long moment Maya could n’t breathe. It was n’t just sweat indurating her casket this time it was recognition, the kind that did n’t come from memory but from instinct, from commodity ancient and buried in the bone. Room 309 was n’t simply staying for her. It knew her. It had called her. And now that she was back on the third bottom, it was n’t going to let her leave again. The door stood slightly open as if it had parted just enough to taste the air. A thin, cold draft flowed from inside the room, brushing against her face like a hand drawing its fritters along her impertinence. She forced herself to sit up, her caricatures pulsing