Prospero in Hell (29 page)

I walked amidst the velvets and silks, a silver-blond vision in lavender with cheeks afire. I wove this way and that, dodging clumps of merrymakers and the eager helpful faces of concerned strangers. Eventually, the sea of faces blurred, and I forgot, for a time, that I was not really alone.

The one comfort, to which I clung, was the knowledge that no one but my servants knew of Ferdinand’s nighttime visit to Prospero’s Mansion. Ariel would never betray me; no one else need ever know the true depth of my foolishness.

As if ice giants breathed upon my grave, a terrible chill seized me. I had
invited Ferdinand here, tonight! I had informed Seir of the Shadows and his cohorts of the time and place of my brother’s New Year’s party. They had even made use of Logistilla’s staff since she arrived here in Boston. The Three Shadowed Ones knew the family was gathering here.

They were coming!

With a heavy heart, I sought out Erasmus. I hoped to find him alone or in private conversation, but the fates were not kind to me tonight. My brother stood at the center of a large crowd, regaling them with witticisms and colorful stories. He cut quite a dashing figure in his deep green velvet suit, a garment I had last seen him wear upon the floor of Almacks in the age of the Prince Regent. The ladies present must have agreed with my assessment, for quite a number stood about vying for his attention. They eyed me coolly as I came up beside him and touched his shoulder.

“Erasmus, I must speak with you!”

My brother turned, picked up my hand, as if it were some slimy insect, removed it from his shoulder, and dropped it. His guests, who had no idea I was his sister, watched in amusement.

“Why? So you can whisper poisonous rumors about other family members?” he asked softly.

“Erasmus, this is serious,” I whispered back.

“How serious, Dear Sister? Serious enough to interrupt my lovely guests? Shame on you! Just because you have chosen to be an old dried-up prune doesn’t mean others must follow your example.” He raised his voice as he spoke this last line, and the ladies in the crowd gave a titter of excitement mixed with shock. From their expressions, I gathered they were not used to rudeness from Professor Prospero. I, however, was in no mood to banter.

“The Three Shadowed Ones are coming!”

“Oh, ho? And what makes you think so? A horoscope? Tea leaves? Another fiery letter?”

Anger welled up in me. What was the point of choosing my words carefully, if my listener would deliberately misconstrue them? Better to get my point across simply and clearly.

“Because I invited them.”

The look on Erasmus’s face was priceless.

“Clever of you, Miranda, to invite the minions of Hell to our yearly family gathering,” drawled Logistilla, waving her glass toward me. Droplets of
champagne splattered across my face. “Get rid of us all, in one fell swoop. Your only mistake was to put in an appearance yourself.”

We stood in Erasmus’s billiards room, the velvet tables stretched out before us in the semidarkness. My brother had not bothered to turn on the lights, so the only illumination came from the hallway and from the reflection of the ballroom windows on the snow outside. My brothers stood about me in a ring, listening intently. Logistilla had moved to one side, where she sipped from her fluted glass and stared out at the chiaroscuro patterns on the snow. I did not know where in this old Victorian house one might stash a bear, but she must have found a spot, because she had not brought the great grizzly to our family gathering.

“Run this by us again,” Erasmus spoke with an exaggerated calm. “Why exactly did you betray your family to our enemies?”

“Because I mistook Seir for someone I knew,” I responded, my voice tight.

Theo crossed his arms. “And you told him about our party because… ?”

“I wanted to get my brothers’ opinion of him,” I answered.

“Well, you may have our opinion,” Erasmus replied icily. “Your judgment stinks!”

“Who are we talking about here?” cried Mephisto. “Not Ferdy?”

I nodded solemnly.

“That dirty rat!” Turning to the others, Mephisto chimed, spreading his arms. “Guess what? I found out something Miranda hadn’t told us. She neglected to mention Prince Ferdinand chucked her at the altar. Imagine knowing someone as long as we’ve known each other and neglecting to mention you’d been jilted by the fiancé whom you claimed to have finessed?”

“Oh, I knew she was lying about that,” purred Erasmus. “That’s one reason I’m sure she’s lying about so many other things.”

“How could you have known?” I asked, shocked.

“Uncle Antonio told me.”

“Oh!”

Erasmus continued, smirking, “Do you recall how I found Uncle Antonio on the battlefield before he died? As he lay in the mud, gasping out his last breath, he confessed to Prince Ferdinand’s murder. Apparently, he feared that if the prince married you, the two of you would conceive an heir, and he, Antonio, would be out of the running for future King of Naples. He murdered Ferdinand and tried to take his place in the affections of his father, the king. Apparently, it worked for a while, though eventually he and the king had a falling out.”

I stared numbly at Erasmus, wondering why the room had begun to spin. “You knew? All this time? You knew what happened to Ferdinand, and you’ve never told me?”

“Were you interested, Sister? Funny, you never mentioned the subject. I figured if you ever told me the truth, I would tell you what I knew. Otherwise, why enlighten you?”

“Santa Maria, madre de Dios
. . .” I whispered, reverting to the language of my childhood.

My love had died, died long ago… murdered by my uncle. The same wicked uncle Father had forgiven for his previously crimes against us, crimes that had resulted in Father and my infant self being exiled to the Island. The grief of it blended with the grief of my current humiliation, and my heart ached as if Ferdinand had died anew.

From beside me came a deep hoarse growl. “Explain to me, in plain English—exactly who is actually an incubus?” asked Theo.

“Prince Ferdinand Di Napoli is Seir of the Shadows,” I replied, tensing for the coming onslaught.

“And you invited him here?” Theo cried, outraged. “What happened to ‘O Brother, he insulted my honor’?”

“I… we thought we should hear his side of the story,” I stammered.

“Then, we all went for Italian food, and he tried to kiss Miranda. It was romantic! Those inkies sure know how to woo women,” Mephisto chimed in happily.

“Don’t tell me the ice princess fell for an incubus’s tricks?” purred Erasmus.

Mephisto shook his head loyally. “Nope, she was as cold as stone.”

“That, at least, is to her credit,” admitted Erasmus, and Theo looked slightly mollified. My cheeks burning, I left it at that. No one need know about my second meeting with the fake Ferdinand at the mansion.

Cornelius had sat down on one of the stools and was leaning against the nearest pool table, resting his head on his hands. Without looking up, he spoke up in his customary calm voice. “All this family history is no doubt fascinating, but do we not have a more pressing matter to discuss, Brothers and Sisters?”

“Let him come.” Theo hunched his shoulders and his lined face broke into a harsh grin. “I’ve got a few questions for him.”

“What if he brings his friends?” asked Cornelius. “Will it be safe for the guests? Should we cancel the festivity?”

“We must cancel.” Erasmus tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling. “This party is a Boston tradition. There are hundreds of people present. If we let them stay and our uninvited guests harmed even a single one, I would never forgive myself. Ah, what a shame, and we haven’t even served the salmon mousse yet.” He turned on me suddenly. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? To ruin my evening?”

This was too much.

“Oh yes, Erasmus,” I fumed. “I sent engraved invitations to the Three Shadowed Ones asking them to come by and collect our staffs, as we are going to be all gathered together in one place. This was after I cut off Father’s head and framed Ulysses for Gregor’s murder, which I secretly committed myself. Tomorrow, I plan to destroy the Earth with my fellows, the other wicked children of Sycorax, but not until I’ve irritated Theo into having a heart attack. Can’t leave any stone unturned. Satisfied?”

“Glad to hear you’re willing to admit some of your sins,” Erasmus replied, as cool as ever. “It’s a start. A few more outbursts like that, and maybe we’ll get the truth out of you.”

I pressed my fingers against my temples, which were beginning to ache. “You are incorrigible, Erasmus.”

“So,” asked Logistilla, who was looking at me oddly. Too late, I remembered I was not supposed to mention the Ulysses matter. “The plan is to send the guests home and then pig out on Erasmus’s food until our nemeses arrive? And then what? Defend this rickety old place as best we can?”

“That’s about the face of it,” replied Erasmus.

“Oh, goody!” Mephisto cheered. “A fight!”

I stood on the narrow flat center of Erasmus’s roof, leaning against the small railing that surrounded it, and gazed out over the steep sloping sides, through the darkness and across the pale snow-covered fields below. The air, while chilled, was surprisingly balmy for a snowy Boston night. The silhouette of the single gargoyle, hunched above the main entrance on the far side of the roof, was my only companion.

After our talk, Erasmus dismissed his guests with some story of a sudden breakout of an infectious disease. Meanwhile, Theo, Mephisto, and Cornelius posted themselves in various strategic positions to guard against the approach of the Three Shadowed Ones. Even Logistilla was given a guard post, to her great consternation. Only I, whom Erasmus refused to trust, was at loose ends.

Not wishing to encounter any of my relatives, I had gathered my cashmere cloak and, after a brief chat with the local Aerie Ones, gone directly to the roof. Now, standing in the chill of the night, I contemplated all I had recently learned.

It was as if someone had shredded the tapestry of my life.

A scant month ago, my days had been pleasant and unruffled, my life following the same smooth course it had continued along for centuries. I was the cherished daughter of a noble man and his long-departed true love. As C.E.O. of Prospero, Inc., I worked diligently to maintain the company my father had created and to uphold its purposes and principles: protecting mankind from the ravages and depredations of the supernatural world. True, one of my brothers was dead, another was mad, and a third had broken with the family to follow a path toward his own destruction, but I knew my family would never do one another any true harm, never betray one another. The only sour note in the melody of my life had been that I had not been making progress in my effort to rise to the rank of Sibyl.

Then came the fateful day in early December, less than a month ago, when I held Father’s journal up to the Phoenix lamp and received his cryptic message, a message that had apparently been intended for Erasmus.

And now?

I stood at the railing, staring into the darkness, feeling as if I stood at the edge of a precipice, gazing down into the utter blackness below. It was as if the brink were still before me, giving me an illusion of safety, but I could feel my feet slipping. If I could not regain my balance, my descent into the chasm below would be certain… and there was nothing I could grab to slow my fall.

Erasmus’s accusations echoed in my thoughts.
Sycorax
. Her name alone evoked revulsion. Goose bumps rippled along my arms. How she had terrified my child self! I recalled running across a field, chasing my ball. I must have been about eight. As I entered a glade of orchids, a sudden shadow eclipsed the sky. Hovering over me was a vulture of an old woman whose body was as bent as a question mark. She smelled of brine and rotting flesh as she scowled down at me, breathing putrid breath. Reaching out for me with crooked bony fingers, she muttered in a singsong voice: “Pretty child, lovely child. Tasty, I wager, to fill an old witch’s hunger.”

At that moment, Father appeared, amidst a thunderclap, and chased her off with his staff. That was the last time I saw her, for she died soon after.
Only now, as I looked back, did I realize that she must have smelled so terrible because she was deathly ill.

Could that horrible harridan be my mother? Could Father have lied to me all these years, merely pretending I was the daughter of his beloved Lady Portia, the kind and loving soul who had provided the guiding star of Father’s life, transforming him from a petty duke into a noble enchanter? I would have sworn not, but then I would have sworn Father would never have sent my first love bodily into Hell…

But he had not!

Uncle Antonio had killed Ferdinand. Father was innocent! Relief buoyed me, and the brink receded, only to draw suddenly near again as I considered the false Ferdinand. Despite the night’s chill, I could feel the burning in my cheeks. Incubi seduce schoolgirls out of convents, not worldly enchantresses, such as myself.

Yet, when, during our conversation by the fire, he had spoken of suffering centuries of torment for the innocent love of a chaste maiden, I had been completely taken in. It was as if some façade had been ripped away, revealing the true torment of his soul. I had believed him entirely. What acting skill Seir possessed, to fool someone as experienced as I! Even now, when I recalled it, I felt impressed by his sincerity. His protestations had seemed as sincere as my father’s description of his great love for Lady Portia… .