Prospero in Hell (15 page)

“If the rumors are to be believed, he went to Elgin, Illinois, where the grave of your dead brother Gregor lies.”

I squatted down and scratched him behind the jowls. As he purred. I reached out with my other hand and rubbed one of the heart-shaped dogwood leaves between my fingers. The leaf was smooth and cool.

“So. Now we know,” I whispered.

“Know what?”

“What happened on the equinox.”

“Which was?”

“Father used the
Staff of Eternity,
which he made by sprouting a piece of the True Cross, to open a gate to Hell—the gate through which came the Three Shadowed Ones and Ferdinand.”

“But why open such a gate? Perhaps Dread Prospero enjoys being chased? If so, he need not have gone to such trouble. I could have chased him.”

“Father did not go to be chased.” I brushed off my skirt and stood. “He went to resurrect my brother Gregor.”

I rode the flying carpet back through the long winding corridors that led from the Fairy Glade to the main house. Tybalt sat before me; his unblinking golden eyes kept careful watch over all we passed. We checked on Caurus as we came back through the Vault and assured him that as soon as Mab returned from his travels, we would send him to properly seal the jar.

When we finally arrived in the main wing, the Lesser Hall was frigid. My breath formed a misty vapor. Calling Ariel to inquire about the drop in temperature, I learned that during the few hours I spent in the Wintergarden, four days had passed in Oregon. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, but Ariel, being an airy spirit with no body, had not thought to turn up the heat. After fending off his customary inquiries as to when I would be freeing the Aerie Ones from their servitude to our family, I sent him to adjust the thermostat and to bring me some piping hot tea.

Tybalt leapt lightly from the flying carpet. I followed him, dismounting gracefully. Once back on solid ground, I wrapped myself in my white cashmere cloak, and lit a fire in the hearth, resting my enchanted flute across the mantelpiece. In doing so, I dislodged the little statuette of the elf lord Astreus from in its customary place upon the mantel. Its sapphire eyes glittered in the firelight as it fell. To my dismay, my heart leapt at the thought of him. I caught the figurine in midair and stood frowning at it.

So many questions plagued me. Had this elvish Lord of the Winds tithed my brother to Hell? Had Father sent my childhood love, Prince Ferdinand of Naples, into Hell as well, without even killing him first? I might be able to forgive my father, whom I admired for his many noble accomplishments, but not the elf lord. If he was responsible for my brother’s madness, I vowed he would meet an even worse end than his current fate of being trapped in the Void on some endless errand for the Elf Queen!

Tybalt had settled onto a burgundy cushion and was washing his sleek, black, hind foot. “All this trouble you’ve been having—the Three Shadowed Ones chasing you and your siblings around like flustered mice—has it all been because your father wished to recover your dead brother? Why didn’t Prospero ask Prince Mephistopheles to go to Hell and get Gregor for him?”

A shiver went through me, as if a troop of spiders traveled up and down my spine. Our suspicions were true. My brother was a demon.

“How did you know Mephisto was a Prince of Hell?” I asked slowly.

“Schrödinger told me.”

“Schrödinger?” I asked, “When did you talk to Schrödinger?”

Schrödinger was Mephisto’s familiar, although she had been called by another name in the centuries before quantum mechanics. Like me, Mephisto seldom practiced ritualized magic anymore. His familiar now acted as his secretary, reminding him of important tasks and appointments.

“Schrödinger doesn’t have much to do these days. Sometimes she comes to see me,” Tybalt replied.

“Doesn’t have much to do… why? Mephisto is as confused as ever… was this during the period when he had lost his staff and couldn’t call her?”

“She was hit by a car,” Tybalt replied serenely. “Now, she’s a ghost.”

“Poor Schrödinger!”

When we had found Mephisto on the streets of Chicago, he had muttered something incoherent about a cat and a car. What had it been?
“A woman hit my cat with her car. She said she was sorry. Does that mean it’s okay?”
It had never occurred to me he might be talking about his familiar!

“So my brother… really is a… Prince of Hell?”

“So Schrödinger claims,” Tybalt washed.

“How long have you known?”

“A while.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.

The cat’s golden eyes met mine guilelessly. “You never asked.”

Gritting my teeth, I declared, “In the future, should you gain any information regarding my family and Powers of Hell, please consider yourself asked!”

“As you wish.” Tybalt settled down and closed his eyes, a curl of sleek black fur upon the silken pillow.

“Very good.” I paused. “Has there been any word from Mab?”

Tybalt opened one eye. “He has not yet returned from his last errand. What was it? Fetching the paper? Delivering parcels?” The black cat yawned.
“Why do you even bother keeping a company detective? Cats are ever so much better at finding things.”

I was tempted to reply:
Because, unlike cats, Mab does what he’s told,
but refrained. No good could come of my being drawn into the Mab-Tybalt rivalry.

“I sent him to investigate the latest incident of sabotage against Prospero, Inc.”

“So, now he’s calling it sabotage, too, is he?” Tybalt purred. “Do send by your ‘company detective’ with his formal apology when he returns. I promise only to tatter him a little.”

I sighed. Apparently, cats had no compunction against saying “I told you so.” Any rejoinder I might have made was interrupted when Ariel’s fluting voice sang out, alarmed.

“Ill news, Mistress! Zephyrus and Notus have returned from their trip to the realm of the djinn, yet their news is not joyful. Angered that any lesser than the Dread Magician Prospero himself dared treat with them, the djinn showed their displeasure readily. They rended Zephyrus. Notus has conveyed him hither, hoping you, our Gracious Mistress, might spare a drop of your enchanted balm to heal his wounds, as you have done in days gone by when one of our race was in need.”

“The djinn dared to attack one of mine, did they?” A smile that had nothing to do with mirth curled back my lips. “They will soon learn better! Great Prospero may be missing, Gregor may have perished, and Theophrastus the Demonslayer may be as good as dead, but Prospero, Inc. is not without its teeth!”

Rising, I headed for the eyrie. Over my shoulder, I called, “Ariel, send for Boreas!”

The eyrie of the winds was located high in the house. A single window spanned the entire circumference of the round chamber, opening upon a landscape of clouds. Feathery cirrus, billowing cumulus, and gray-dark nimbus clouds rushed swiftly by, shifting and changing, yet ever resembling rolling mountains and gentle valleys. To the north, this rushing cloudscape parted, as the waters of a stream split about a protruding rock, around the base of an enormous black thunderhead that rose above the cloudy landscape to form a towering peak.

From the pearl-gray sky above, a huge whirling funnel of white cloud reached downward, its tip hovering just above the highest point of the majestic thunder peak. The two formed a black and white whirling hourglass,
the only stable features in the otherwise ever-changing landscape. Of all the enchanted windows in Prospero’s Mansion, I found this one the most eerie; this fleecy countryside was not in the waking world, but in the Land of Nod, where men wander while they sleep.

The eyrie itself had marble walls and columns. Marking the eight directions were towering throne of palest stone, each fashioned in the shape of the giant blossom most dear to the Wind whose seat it was. Ariel’s beloved cowslip occupied the southeast, followed by a honeysuckle for Notus in the south, a foxglove for Afer, a snapdragon for Zephyrus in the west, a forsythia for Caurus, a crocus for Boreas in the north, and a rose for Eurus in the east. Between the crocus and the rose, Mab’s daffodil had been pushed back against the wall, leaving deep scratch marks in the marble floor. In its place, a ring of chalk and salt surrounded a simple wooden cot.

Despite the eeriness of the view, or perhaps because of it, I loved this room. I could sit here gazing at the clouds of dreamland for hours. It always smelled fresh, as if newly washed by recent rain, and the place echoed with music. Today was no exception. Mournful, haunting Oriental tones swept through the chamber, accompanied by an irregular patter, much like rain on a tin roof.

So close to the realm of dreams was the eyrie that the Aerie Ones were visible to mortal eyes. They appeared as tall, overly thin, androgynous beings with long, slender fingers, billowing hair, and graceful feathered wings. A quartered livery, showing a face with puffed checks juxtaposed with a unicorn, adorned their flowing robes.

Zephyrus, usually so quick and lively, lay slumped across his snapdragon, his stormy eyes half closed, and his bagpipes abandoned on the floor beside him. Gathered about him were three of the Great Winds. Notus leaned over his wounded comrade, feeding him drops from his pot of honeysuckle nectar. His warm eyes of summer blue, usually so lucid and calm, were clouded with concern. The Southwest Wind, Afer, hovered in the cupola, gazing down with his rain-gray eyes; his pale yellow wings spread throughout the upper portion of the chamber. Eurus floated nearby playing his shakuhachi. His long unbound hair and his robes, both the color of sunrise blush, billowed in time with the Japanese flute.

The stairs came up in the center of the chamber, the trapdoor having been worked into the windrose design upon the floor. As I stepped from the stairwell and moved across the chamber toward Zephyrus, Ariel came through the trapdoor and closed it behind us. Here in the eyrie, he, too, was
visible. He stood some nine feet tall, with enormous arched wings that curled around the columns. A wreath of cowslips crowned his narrow, intelligent face, from which pale blue-gray eyes, the color of early morning, regarded the wounded Zephyrus. A clarinet hung like a weapon from his belt. With Ariel’s arrival, of the eight Great Winds, only the three incarnated Northerlies, Caurus, Boreas, and Mab, were missing.

I crossed to Zephyrus and lay my flute down beside the snapdragon. As I knelt beside him, my heart leapt into my throat. His long sinuous body was so badly torn that I could not distinguish his limbs from the shreds of his torso and wings. Golden ichor spurted from the long, raked, claw wounds. Where it struck the air, it hardened into chips of amber. They rained down against the stone floor, causing the
pitter-patter
I had heard. He moaned piteously, a sound reminiscent of the wind blowing among bowing willows.

Could even the Water of Life heal these wounds? Briefly, I closed my eyes and prayed to my Lady on Zephyrus’s behalf.

A sense of peace came over me. Looking up again, I ran my fingers lightly over his airy body, speaking soft words of comfort. Slowly and painstakingly, he reached out long sinuous fingers and touched my face and hair. Gentle light taps, like insect’s legs or the touch of a spider’s web, explored my skin. I sang softly in his ear, soothing him.

“Be of good cheer, Zephyrus. Help is at hand,” I promised gently. The forgotten elf figurine was still clenched in my left hand. I shoved it into the pocket of my cloak and drew out a tiny pear-shaped vial of cut crystal. Within glimmered a pearly liquid.

As I withdrew the stopper, the sweet scent filled the chamber eliciting a low chorus of
ah’s
from the Aerie Ones. They watched as if spellbound as a single drop of the shimmering liquid fell upon Zephyrus’s wounds.

Instantly, the long narrow rents ceased leaking their golden lifeblood and began knitting together; the Water of Life worked its balm far more quickly upon Aerie Ones than it did on bodies of flesh. Yet, after five minutes, only his shoulder and left arm had mended completely, and precious blood still flowed from the rents in his back and legs.

One drop of Water of Life was always enough to stave off death; his life was no longer in peril. However, if I left him as he was, his recovery might take weeks or even years. He might even remain permanently crippled.