Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I (19 page)

“Is?” asked Mab. “Don’t you mean was? You drilled nearly a dozen bullets into that thing.”

Theo shrugged. “Demons are eternal. They always return eventually. As to the others, Baelor is a duke of the Fourth Circle. His sphere of influence is the mind. He can see the thoughts of others. Seir is an incubus, with all the usual incubus tricks. He is called ‘of the Shadows’ because he can walk through shadows.”

“Walk through shadows?” Mab raised an eyebrow. “You mean like step into a shadow in Hawaii and come out of a totally different shadow in Timbuktu?”

“Exactly.” Theo nodded his grizzled head. “For all intents and purposes, he can teleport. The other two depend on him to move around. Neither Baelor nor Osae have a special method of travel. Without Seir, they would be stranded in the mortal world, unable to return to Hell . . . except by the method any of us could take, of course.” Theo pantomimed the gesture for having one’s throat cut and made an
ack
noise.

“Is there any relationship between the shadow in ‘Three Shadowed Ones’ and the shadow in ‘of the Shadows’?” Mab circled something on his page and underlined something else twice.

Theo shrugged and stroked the dog under his chin. “Indirectly. The term ‘shadowed’ refers to the Styx. A demon that is allowed to cross the Styx and leave Hell can use the title ‘Shadowed.’ The way it usually goes, when the demon escapes from Hell, he is granted the title ‘Shadowed,’ and given permission to wreak havoc upon the earth. He does this until some priest or virtuous knight sends him back from whence he came. Then, he’s stuck in Hell again.

“As to the connection between ‘Shadowed’ and ordinary shade,” Theo concluded, “shadows are never seen by the sun. This gives them some kind of sympathetic relationship to the river Styx—the river that divides the world of the living from the world of the dead. Seir’s power to move through shadows is derived from this thaumaturgic principle.”

“So, if we kill these Three Shadowed Ones, they can’t come back again the next day?” asked Mab.

“Right!” Theo replied. “Not unless they are released from Hell anew—which is apparently what just happened. Titus, Erasmus, Mephisto, and I slew them the first time. As far as I know, they remained trapped below some three hundred years, until Father released them recently.”

Mephisto bounced upon the couch. “I helped kill them? Really? How exciting! Don’t recall a thing. Are you sure it was me? I’d hate to think you were mistaking me for someone else. That would be embarrassing.”

“It was you.” Theo frowned at Mephisto and then turned to me. “What was Father up to, Miranda, freeing the Three Shadowed Ones? Father knows how wicked they are.”

“I don’t know, Theo,” I admitted. “I have no idea.”

Mab rubbed the back of his neck. “How’d these Three Shadowy Blockheads come to be following you, Mr. Theophrastus? Back in the sixteen hundreds, you and your brothers fought them for the first time?”

“They had been sent to retrieve the Spear of Joseph of Arimathea, after I rescued it from the Vatican.” For some reason, Theo gestured towards me as he spoke. “Maybe Father rescued some other holy talisman, and the Powers of Darkness sent the Three Shadowed Ones after it. Miranda, what was he doing before his recent trip?”

“I don’t know that either.” I rested my forehead in my hand. “I’ve asked him dozens of times what he was about, but you know Father. . . .”

“He never gives a straight answer,” Theo agreed.

“I thought he was writing poetry and working on some horticulture project,” I cried, “but he must have been doing something else, too. People seldom accidentally free demons while gardening.” Tybalt’s theories of bound demons left lying in flowerpots notwithstanding.

“Of course, with Daddy, you never know,” chimed in Mephisto. “Isn’t that how he found Ariel? Just sitting around, trapped in a tree? Probably knocked that old pine with his shovel as he was puttering around the island, gardening. Bet it scared the willies out of him when the tree started moaning and wailing.” Mephisto rose up on the couch wiggling his arms and making “ooh ooh” noises, his personal impersonation of a specter.

“Nothing scares the willies out of Father,” Theo replied sardonically.

Mephisto gave a last “ooh” and dropped backwards, hands still held at arm’s length before him. The cushions of the old couch compressed beneath his weight with a loud
poof
.

“Even he might find being tortured in Hell a bit daunting,” I said, thinking this would evoke Theo’s previous sympathy for Father’s plight. But he just scowled. Talk of Osae the Red and his cohorts had not had the desired effect either. I would have to try a new tack. If Theo’s all-consuming hatred of demons had atrophied, maybe I could appeal to his curiosity.

“We do know one other thing Father was up to: we found a new inscription over his alcove in the Great Hall that read
The Staff of Eternity
. Does that mean anything to either of you?” I looked from Theo toward the back of the couch, beyond which lay Mephisto.

“Nope! Not a thing!” Mephisto declared. The springs groaned as he continued to bounce up and down.

“Cut it out, Mephisto!” Theo snapped. “That couch has been through enough.” The springs groaned once more, then fell quiet.

“Maybe he stole this
Staff of Eternity
,” Mab suggested, “and that’s why those three demons are chasing him.”

“Could be.” Theo stroked his beard. “
Staff of Eternity
? Now, why does that ring a bell?” Theo tipped back his head, then slapped his knee. “I know! I once asked Father if he missed having a staff of his own. He said he did not, but if he ever felt nostalgic, he had an idea for another one. I questioned him about it further, but he just chuckled and made the cryptic reply that he had all eternity to think about it.”

I was not certain what to make of this. Referring obliquely to his subject with a cryptic quip did sound like Father’s sense of humor. Had he been planning this for years? Suddenly, I found myself much more curious about this unknown staff.

Theo rose stiffly from his chair. He groaned and pressed his hands against his lower back, his face pale with pain. “Enough. I answered your questions. Now it’s time for you to go . . . before you do any more harm.”

“Harm? Did I break something?” Mephisto sat up and looked around quickly.

“You brought Osae the Red.”

“Actually, Sir,” Mab lowered the brim of his hat, “that wasn’t us.”

Theo squinted at Mab. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve been thinking about it, Mr. Theophrastus, and I couldn’t help noticing . . . that shapechanger? He showed up pretty quick after your brother here pulled the Chameleon Cloak out of the bag. Granted, that’s a pretty big beacon as supernatural draws go, but if this Osae character can’t fly super fast or something, how come we didn’t see any sign of his
teleporting friend? If this Seir of the Shadows guy had been around, wouldn’t he have put in an appearance after you shot the bear, to grab the body before we took it away to be burned? I mean being a shapechanger and a demon, Osae can probably regenerate, even from a chest full of lead, given time, right?”

Theo nodded. “Yes, that is their normal pattern of behavior, Seir pulling them out when the situation gets too dangerous. They escaped me that way, oh, dozens of times. Almost enough to make me wish I had Titus’s staff! Nice staff, the
Staff of Silence
, though I prefer mine. Er, preferred.” He finished, flustered. “Seir must not have been about.”

“In that case, I must conclude Osae the Red was in the vicinity of the thrift shop before we arrived—which can only mean one thing.” Mab leaned forward and pointed a finger at Theo. “They were onto you, Mr. Theophrastus. Osae the Red knew you and your staff were in the area, and he was here hunting for you!”

Theo drew back, reaching out to the wall to steady himself. Mephisto sat up and peered over the couch, his eyes wide. For myself, my heart was pounding with fear and relief!

So, this was why my Lady had pressed me to hurry to Theo’s! Without Her urging, I would never have turned off at that exit for gas either, nor gone into the thrift shop. Had we not found the Chameleon Cloak, we would not have discovered Osae the Red was nearby. I bowed my head and thanked Her for keeping watch over my little brother.

Theo frowned apprehensively. “Osae is easy to spot, but only when I’m on my guard. If he had come when I wasn’t expecting him, when I didn’t have my rifle . . .” His face paled. “He could have approached me as anything, a cow or a squirrel!”

“Or an Irish Setter.” Mab gestured at the old hound with the elbow of his writing hand. “That’s what he looked like when we first saw him. Good shape to lure a dog lover.”

“In that case, I owe you an apology,” Theo admitted haltingly.

“Nothing to worry about. After all, you rescued us from the shapechanger,” Mab replied gruffly. “Dang lucky you happened to go out for gas when you did!”

“An angel sent him,” Mephisto piped.

“How’s that?” asked Mab.

“Nothing,” Mephisto ducked down behind the couch again. “Just a hunch.”

Theo gave Mephisto a long look while Mab flipped through his notebook. Raising his head, the latter asked, “Any advice on how we could find out more?”

“I’m not a magician,” Theo said flatly.

“In that case, I think—” Mab began, but he was interrupted by Theo, who was still speaking.

“A magician,” Theo continued, “would probably counsel you to hold a séance. Lesser spirits, such as the ones who talk to mediums, are impressed with demons like the Three Shadowed Ones and track their movements. That newfangled device popular during Queen Victoria’s time would be even better. What was it called? Oh, yes . . . the Ouija board. Ouija boards give clear and understandable answers, if used correctly. Wednesdays are best, if you can’t wait for a high holy day. Not that I would know, of course,” he finished brusquely, aware the three of us were watching him. “Oh, and make certain that the axis of the board is aligned with the north.”

The old hound whined hopefully beside his master. When Theo lowered his head to look at his dog, Mephisto gave me a thumbs up. We smirked at each other over the back of the couch. Not a magician, my foot!

“But take care!” Theo raked a hand through his gray hair. “Demons are not to be trifled with! They like nothing more than to breed deceit and mistrust, turning brother upon brother and friend upon friend. Do not trust them, no matter what they promise!”

So fierce and fervent did he look, it was as if the Theo of old had returned. My heart leapt.

Theo’s next comment was cut short by a bout of coughing that bent him nearly double. Tremulously, he pulled his medicine bottle from the pocket of his buff coat and opened the brown plastic container. Upon consulting his watch, however, he changed his mind and slowly put the cap back on without removing any of the pills. Apparently, it had not been long enough since the last one. Setting the container aside, he grabbed the armchair, waiting for the coughing fit to end. The old dog whined softly, gazing up at his master with concern.

I sat there watching my brother coughing his life away, my heart heavy with sorrow. If five decades of facing life as a mortal had not softened his resolve, what hope had I of saving him?

From the shifting mists of time rose a memory of my first conversation with Theo, back in 1482, some eight years after Father and I returned to Milan from Prospero’s Island. I stood in the cupola at the top of our Filarete Tower, the highest point in Milan, some forty yards above the roof of the two corner towers, and over seventy yards above the courtyard below. Facing inward toward the parade grounds, the vast edifice of
Castello Sforzesco
stretched out before me, a sprawling rectangular shape in the dark. The fortified
Roccetta
was barely distinguishable, a dark bulk in the left of the rectangle. To the right, however, the windows overlooking the Ducal Courtyard shone with life, and strains of music winged their way up through the cold night to where I stood.

The gaiety and lights poured out from yet another festivity, the third this week. My Uncle Antonio was visiting from Naples, and my stepmother used his visit as an excuse to throw a series of parties. The fact that this same uncle once betrayed my father in no way dimmed her enthusiasm, though, to her credit, she put her charm to good use, winning the admiration of many of Antonio’s supporters.