If the being in front of me isn't a monkey, at best he has a severe body hair problem, or is aspiring to be a Wookie in the next "Star Wars" movie or TV show.
He has gold hair that covers his body, and a long golden tail, and deep black eyes. He wears a gold vest and following gold trousers. He carries a golden-banded staff and moves like a monkey, nimble and quick. His facial movements are rapid, and I can immediately tell he's smart and quick.
"I have a reservation," he says. "Sun Wukong."
I've dealt with enough Chinese engineers and finance guys to recognize the name. I read comics, too.
"As in the Monkey King?"
A few keystrokes reveal that he's a longtime guest. He's right next to the pirate, Waverly Leviathan. I wonder if he likes pirates.
When I ask him, he grins. "I like all kinds," he says, not giving much of anything away. "And I like fine wine and good food. And you were going to recite the hours for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, as if I haven't stayed here before."
"Well, since you know them, I'll spare you."
Can he really be the legendary Monkey King? Does that mean that Athena comes from Mount Olympus? And what about Odin?
He has his key in hand before I can even blink. "Stop daydreaming," he tells me. "Otherwise, people will just rob you blind. That's no way to run your grandparents' place."
"Make yourself at home, why don't you?"
Why couldn't my grandparents have told me about this place? We were always close. Closer than my parents and I. Who leaves a property to someone without at least giving them a hint that it's a hotel for mythological types? Or, at the very least, people who are into cosplay. At least Athena and Odin look like modern human beings.
He tsk-tsks, moving around like he's hopped up on caffeine. "You people are so funny. I'm trying to help you. Why, you act like you've just been hatched out of a stone egg."
"Gee, thanks. I thought that was your backstory. And you can HELP me by telling me what kind of place I've inherited."
He leans forward, and for a split second, I think he's going to hit me with that staff, but inside, he whispers, "They didn't tell you?"
"I must have missed the TikTok update."
TikTok? My grandparents don't even have a basic Yelp page for this place.
Daji races in. "You have to come quickly … Oh, Your Majesty." Her tone is chilly. "I'll get one of the staff to finish checking you in."
"Still temperamental, Aunt Daji?" Sun Wukong grins at her, his black monkey-like eyes gleaming. "Did you bite one of the guests?"
"Nice attitude, nephew." Daji looks at me apologetically. "I wouldn't bother you when you're with a VIP, but it's important."
I finish checking him in with a few keystrokes. He uses a credit card, too. And he's a guest instructor for the fitness classes in the gym. Part of his stay is comped. This guy is as slick as in the original Chinese novel that made him a star of myth and legend.
"You're all set." I smile at him charmingly. My people skills may have been challenged since I took over the Wendigo Inn, but I still remember how to treat customers. "There's a basket of peaches and bananas in your room, as requested."
"Thank you. And TRY to relax. Join me for dinner tonight," he invites me. "Unless one of the others has claimed that privilege first."
"Ah, no, they haven't."
He's so quick he makes my head spin. This guy is good. The bamboo smell is a little overwhelming. He doesn't smell like a typical monkey, or monkey-man, or whatever he is.
Daji barks to get my attention. "NOW, human."
Sun Wukong clicks his tongue. "I knew her temper would come out sooner or later—just you watch out, and don't ever sleep with her."
Daji barks, "Go find some maidens to torment or demons to fight."
Sun Wukong smirks. "Oooh, got your eye on him too?"
"Athena already staked her claim," Daji mutters.
"Fortunately for him," Sun Wukong shoots back. The master of snark. "He'll never be asked to walk on the ice barefoot."
It feels like an old family fight to me, but I snap, "If you're her nephew, be kind."
He smiles approvingly. "Always."
He carries his own bags up to the elevator before I can call for a bellman.
"He's really your nephew?"
"Yes. The brat is a handful, but he's achieved greatness." She sprints ahead of me like she's training for the Olympics, all sinews and muscles and legs. I've never seen anyone run so fast.
Daji and I head through the corridors of the ground floor. The hallways are papered in white-and-green striped wallpaper, and the ground floor seems like a maze.
The first day, I thought I'd need a GPS to find my way around her, but it feels like my grandparents' old house in Marina Del Rey. For years, what with inflation, skyrocketing LA housing, and stressed-out tech employees moving there, I wondered how my retired grandparents could still afford to live there. Little did I know that they were running this inn.
We head to the Celestial Café, the restaurant onsite. It looks like a museum threw up, with all kinds of mythological figures, statues, and symbols. Someone really went to town with the menu. There's "Ambrosia of Olympus," "Nectar of the Gods," "Apples of Gold Pancakes," "Plum Blossom Cake," "Jotunheim Steaks," and even wilder stuff.
And right now, our five-star restaurant is being flooded.