Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I (46 page)

Bending, he brushed my mouth with his. My lips parted. I leaned into his kiss, and heard myself moan softly. Then, his arms came tight about me, embracing me, and he crushed me to his chest.

The sensation coursing through me, as he held me, was all the more amazing for its familiarity. It was the same warmth that touched me when I called upon my Lady. Only now, it was as if that warmth had woken up and taken on a life of its own. It coursed through my limbs like a living thing, spreading wildfire. The feeling was dizzying, and far headier than the finest wines. As Ferdinand raked his hand through my hair and bent to brush his lips against the soft skin of my neck, it occurred to me I had been wrong all these years; there was a pleasure greater than the knowledge of a task well done. My arms snaked about his neck, and I returned his kisses as best I could with my untutored lips.

We stood thus entwined, the fire crackling behind us. He kissed me more deeply, and the hall around me faded. I was aware only of Ferdinand and of myself. My heart raced uncontrollably. I shivered, alarmed by the wild, intoxicating sensations bedazzling me. My fingers trembled against the hard muscles of his back. I feared both that he might continue and that he might stop.

It occurred to me that we were appropriately engaged. We could marry, and I would never need to be farther from him again than this.

Like an icy wind on a pleasant spring day, memory cut through my dazed fantasy, and I recalled who I was and what I was about. Sibyls could marry but not mere Handmaidens. A Handmaiden must remain a virgin if she wished to maintain her position. I would have to choose between Ferdinand and my Lady. The choice was an easy one.

I pulled back my head and said, in as cool a voice as I could muster, “I would like you to leave now.”

I would have sounded calm and dignified, except I was short of breath.

Ferdinand did not object as I half expected, half hoped he would. He stood a moment as if stunned, an indecipherable expression in the depth of his brown eyes. Then, he nodded with a sad smile.

“If that is what you wish,
bella mia
, then I will go. I know all this is new for you. Alas, it is far past the time I should have left. I am expected elsewhere tomorrow and must be on my way.”

Crossing the room, he slipped into his cashmere overcoat and wrapped a white pilot’s scarf I had not previously seen about his neck. Dressed thus, he looked very much like the cover of a glossy men’s fashion magazine.

Coming back to me, he said, “It was a charming evening, was it not?”

“Yes . . . I had a lovely time,” I said, to my surprise. I had intended to be cold to him, but, yet again, his manner cut through my haughtiness. “It has been a long time since I have spoken to anyone as we spoke tonight.”

“And I may see you again?” He bent down to look into my averted eyes.

“Very well,” I replied haltingly.

“When?” he asked. “You must tell me when,
bella mia
! I must have something to look forward to!”

The intensity of his gaze flustered me.

“Ah . . . New Year’s Eve, my brother Erasmus is throwing a party. It’s in . . . I forget where, Ariel will give you the address on your way out,” I blurted out. Louder, I called, “Ariel, give Ferdinand the address Logistilla gave me.”

Until the words left my mouth, I had given no thought to Erasmus’s party. If Ferdinand accepted, I would be obliged to go. I found myself torn between an unrealistic hope that Ferdinand’s New Year’s Eve would already be unavoidably occupied, and an intense wish that he would attend.

“Your family will be there?” A keen spark of interest showed in his deep brown eyes.

“Some of them,” I replied speculatively. Little help as my family might be in other ways, I could trust them to thoroughly interrogate anyone who might make extravagant claims about Father. I was curious to see what Cornelius, who claims he can hear truth in a person’s voice, would conclude about Ferdinand’s story.

“I would like that,
bella mia
.” He took my hands. “I would like to meet
your family.” He bent his head and kissed both of my hands. “And now I must trouble you to call a taxi, for I have no other vehicle.”

Ariel gave Ferdinand Erasmus’s address, while I called for a taxi. When it came, I accompanied Ferdinand to the driveway. The snow, which had tapered off during the night, had recently resumed. A blanket of white lay over the lawn and surrounding trees. All seemed hushed. I walked beside Ferdinand down the snowy slate path to where the taxi waited in the curving drive.

“New Year’s Eve then,
bella mia
,” he whispered to me, as he opened the rear door of the red-and-white cab. I nodded silently, shivering in the chilly night air.

Ferdinand bent to climb into the seat. Straightening suddenly, he swung around and seized me, crushing me to him. He kissed me harshly, his lips bruising mine with their roughness. I kissed him back and slipped my shivering arms beneath his coat to embrace him, the warmth of his body spreading slowly to me.

The snow swirled about us. The taxi driver waited patiently. When Ferdinand finally drew away, there was a furious and untamed gleam in his eyes that flickered like a raw flame. I feared he would seize me again, or carry me off with him, or refuse to leave. A moment later, however, his customary gentleness returned. He kissed me demurely upon the cheek.

“Till the New Year,
bella mia
,” he whispered in my ear.

Then he was in the taxi, and the driver was pulling away. I watched the cab disappear down the long drive leading to the road. When I could no longer see the red taillights, I brushed the snow from my shoulders and went inside.

As I walked back, each step felt so light, I was tempted to look over my shoulder to make certain I was leaving footprints in the snow. I felt as if I were standing on the air, just like the angel I had described. A delightful tingling ran from the roots of my hairs down the length of my body, causing me to laugh out loud. Reaching the lesser hall, I seized the statuette of my elf and danced about the hall with it, my gown swirling as I went. Even the steady curious gaze of Tybalt, where he lay curled upon his silk pillow, did not dampen my lightheartedness.

I awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the curtains of my enormous canopy bed. The bed had been built during the reign of Elizabeth I, when such beds were first in style. As I luxuriated upon the massive mattress, it amused me to recall that, back then, our whole family had slept crammed into this single bed.

What pleasant dreams the night had brought. I dreamt Ferdinand kissed me, and no fence of lightning appeared to drive us apart. Only . . . I sat upright. I ran a finger across my lips. They still felt tender. Then, it had not been a dream at all, had it?

The phone rang, and an Aerie Spirit wafted the receiver to my hand. I leaned back against the headboard and greeted Mab, whose gruff voice came wearily to my ear.

“Greetings, Miss Miranda, how are things back there?”

“Very well, Mab,” I replied enthusiastically. “It’s a lovely morning!”

“No additional disasters?”

“Not a one. No inkling of what may befall us by Twelfth Night, either, but I have the company on high alert, to be on the lookout for more attacks, just in case.”

“Good thinking, Ma’am,” Mab grunted. “I sent the truck parts we recovered to our forensics guys. I’m hoping they will be able to tell us the cause of the crash.”

“Let’s hope they find it was just an accident, though Tybalt doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but I wouldn’t trust the talking fur ball. He has this quirky notion that facts should not stand in the way of an exciting theory. Hardly a reliable witness.”

With nothing to gain from participating in the Mab-Tybalt feud, I changed the subject. “How is it going where you are?”

“Okay, Ma’am. This is what I found out.” There was a short pause, during which I could hear him flipping the pages of his notebook. “Your father visited Prospero’s Mansion in Oregon on September 17th—while you were in Japan. I’m not certain exactly where he went next—looks like he spent a few days in New York, perhaps visiting your brother Cornelius.”

Cornelius again. I shuddered.
Please, Lady, do not let him have worked evil upon Father, too!

“Anyway,” Mab continued, “he showed up here in Elgin five days later, on September 22nd, which happens to have been the fall equinox this year. The old priest who takes care of the graveyard where Gregor was buried says Mr. Prospero arrived about two p.m. He had a judge’s order allowing him to exhume your brother’s body and brought in a backhoe to dig up the grave. Then the bulldozer departed and the old priest left Mr. Prospero alone with the coffin.”

“Exhume Gregor!” My mind boggled. “Wha-what happened next?”

“Well, that’s just it, Ma’am. No one seems to know. The priest says your father never showed up to sign the rest of the paperwork. Nor have any of my people been able to find hide nor hair of him since. The backhoe driver was the last person who reported seeing him. It’s as if Mr. Prospero walked into the graveyard and vanished off the face of the Earth . . . which may be exactly what happened.”

None of this made any sense, unless . . .

Could Cornelius be in league with the demons? Could he have sold out Father in order to free the Three Shadowed Ones and get his hands on Gregor’s staff, perhaps hoping to earn some nefarious reward from his infernal allies? Perhaps, ensorcelling Theo and tricking Father were part of some greater, overarching plan.

No. The idea was ridiculous. Besides, Father claimed he freed the Three Shadowed Ones. Of course, he thought it was an accident. . . .

“This doesn’t sound good, Mab.” I spoke slowly, hoping to mask my confusion and dismay.

“I questioned the old priest as to whether there were any other unusual occurrences,” he continued. “He mentioned two weird things. First, late that same night, a man was found wandering around that same graveyard in a state of amnesia. Or at least the priest called it amnesia; apparently nothing
the guy said made sense. The old priest took him to the local hospital, which in turn shipped him off to Chicago. I spoke with the doctors, to ascertain whether it might have been Mr. Prospero. They described a young Italian man, who I am tentatively assuming was Mr. Di Napoli—at least, until I find evidence to the contrary.”

“Well, that’s a relief!” I sighed. Slipping from my bed, I began laying out my emerald tea dress and clean undergarments. “More corroborating evidence for Ferdinand’s story!”

Knowing that Ferdinand might be on the level made me feel better about last night’s visit; however, I refrained from mentioning it to Mab. The experience was too precious to share just now, and I did not wish to field the barrage of questions such an admission would surely bring.

Over the phone, I could hear a scratching sound, as if Mab were doodling on a notepad as he talked. “The other thing was: on September 23rd, a trucking company showed up and carried away a crate. According to the old priest, they were supposed to be taking away a broken headstone. However, the priest showed me the broken headstone—it was still there. Then, he showed me the paperwork. Guess what company owned that truck?”

A feeling of icy dread clawed at my stomach. “The same company that owns the warehouse we investigated in Landover, Maryland?”

“You betcha!”

I sat down in front of my vanity and rested my forehead against my palms. It had just dawned on me that the theory Tybalt proposed that first night might be correct. Perhaps Father had not told me what he was about because he feared I would disapprove—and with good reason.

Rallying, I picked up my brush and began untangling my long silvery locks. It took a certain knack to keep the phone nestled snugly on one’s shoulder while dressing one’s hair, but decades of practice helped. Of course, one of these days I would get a speakerphone, and yet another of my highly-honed skills would go the way of galloping while riding sidesaddle, placing the bed-warmer just so, and dancing in a bustle—victims of the relentless march of progress.

“I don’t suppose the priest had any idea what Father wanted to do with Gregor’s body?” I asked. Mab gave a negative snort. I continued, “Did he say what became of Gregor’s body and coffin?”