Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I (22 page)

Theo rose, and my heart leapt, for he looked as if he planned to take up his staff and head out to save Father there and then. If he would only leave his farm and return to the world, I was certain he could find the strength of
will to throw off this malady of the spirit, whatever it was that had poisoned him and made him turn his back on the family and on life.

Theo’s gaze dulled. The sense of purpose left his body, and he slouched back in the chair again.

“I’m certain Father can take care of himself,” he said flatly. “He can’t be in Hell. That’s ridiculous. No, this is about you. You just don’t face up to facts. You know, Miranda, sometimes I think Erasmus is right about you. Nothing has touched you in five hundred years. You’re the same now as you were at sixteen.” He coughed briefly and then stood up. “Excuse me, I am going to get myself a glass of water.”

Theo headed for the kitchen with the old hound following him, its nails clicking loudly against the broad boards of the floor. As they disappeared through the door leading to the kitchen, an older woman’s voice rang out cheerfully, inquiring what she could get him and whether he wanted refreshments for his guests. From her tone of address, she sounded more like an employee than the mistress of the house.

As my brother stomped off, I stared after him, stung. Was this really Theophrastus, my loyal brother who had defended me unfailingly against Erasmus’s cool and acerbic humor? How bitter he had grown in his old age! Even so, I found it hard to stomach his siding with Erasmus. If Theo had fallen this far, what hope had I of rousing him?

Rage toward my malicious brother swept over me. Intellectually, I knew Theo’s new attitude was not Erasmus’s fault, but I could not quite get myself to believe it.

The door of the kitchen, which had been propped open, banged shut behind my brother, and I forgave Theo for all his rudeness.

On the back of the door hung a shield-shaped embroidery frame. The dark walnut frame held an embroidery of an elegant unicorn rampant upon a field of royal blue. The unicorn had a silver horn and silver hooves. Tiny pale flowers of light blue and lavender grew at her feet. The piece had faded over time, the unicorn’s graceful deer-like body yellowing to a creamy beige. Yet I felt it had aged well.

The sight of the faded embroidery brought back a flood of memories. Long ago, Erasmus claimed my lack of skill at womanly arts resulted from some want in my person. In truth, it was my upbringing among spirits rather than civilization that was to blame. Theo had stood up for me and told Erasmus that if he repeated his slanders, he would have to answer to Theo
and his Toledo steel. And when Erasmus refused to be silent, Theo had beaten him soundly.

To show my thanks, I secretly learned the very arts Erasmus had mocked me for lacking. The first thing I made with my new skills was this embroidery of Theo’s livery, for Theo had kept the vow he made in the Filarete Tower at the age of five. He had taken the Unicorn as his device and had devoted his long life to righting wrongs in her name. That my embroidery hung here, when even his beloved sword and clock were not in evidence, meant that, despite his gruff words, he had not forgotten his affection for me.

THEO
came back with a tray of fresh-baked cookies and a mug of hot chocolate for each of us. He carried the tray around and handed out the cocoa before settling back in his armchair with a cookie and his glass of water. The dog scampered back as well, and laid its grizzled muzzle across his feet.

The sight of the embroidery had warmed me, and the cookie was sweet and fresh from the oven. As I sipped my cocoa, however, I felt a dull emptiness spreading through my heart. Out in the snow, I had felt so confident that a few encouraging words were all that would be needed to rouse Theo out of his lethargy. I had not counted on the debilitating effects of the physical ills from which he suffered. These ills were hardly a barrier, of course. A drop or two of Water of Life and he would be good as new again. However, they sapped his spirit, keeping him from rallying against the reaper whose dry fleshless hands clawed at his door. I had tried Father’s plight. I had tried reminiscing. I had tried righteous anger against the demons, I had even tried family duty, from which the Theo of old never shirked. Nothing had worked.

I did not know what to do.

Silently, I bowed my head and prayed to my Lady, asking for Her aid, begging Her not to let my brother die.

Mephisto, who had been watching a soap opera, switched off the TV. His mouth full of cookie, he peeked over the edge of the couch and blurted. “Hey, Theo, you’ll never guess who we saw at the hotel today! Prince Ferdinand. You remember him . . . the supposed sap? Did you know he jilted our sister? At the altar, even? Left her standing there in her wedding dress! I bet you didn’t know that.” He waggled his index finger at Theo. “Somehow, Miranda neglected to mention this down through the centuries.”

“Don’t be foolish, Mephisto,” Theo began, then he caught sight of the blush upon my cheeks. “Miranda . . . is he telling the truth?”

I stared into my mug, my appetite suddenly gone. When I finally spoke, it may have been the most difficult single word I ever pronounced.

“Yes.”

Theo looked so shocked and so hurt that, for a moment, the young man he had once been was visible through the wrinkles and the short gray beard. I would have been overjoyed had I not been wishing so very hard that I could turn invisible. The humiliation of watching the pain and doubt that warred upon my brother’s features was so great, I thought I should die. Tears of shame stung my eyes.

Theo did not even attempt to maintain his pretense of gruff aloofness. He cried, “B-but, he must be dead, some five hundred years now! Are you certain the man you saw was not a look-alike?”

“I don’t understand it either,” I mouthed. I had intended to speak, but no breath came. “But he asked for me by name. I suppose it could have been Osae,” I added more clearly. The thought cheered me, obscurely. “I didn’t get close enough to check for telltale red spots.”

“He abandoned you at the altar?” The muscle in Theo’s jaw began contracting. “How did he justify breaking his sacred engagement vow?”

“She doesn’t know. She ran away and wouldn’t talk to him,” Mephisto chimed in. He now had a mustache of chocolate foam. “Too chicken to face the man who wronged her and warped her for life.”

My face burned like a furnace, and I feared I might faint; something that had not happened to me since the 1800s, when the dictates of fashion required that I wear a corset too tight to allow for proper breathing. Theo, who had always adored me, regarded me with something akin to pity on his face.

I was saved from further indignity by a knock at the door. The three farmhands—a hefty, bearded man and two wiry fellows in flannel jackets—returned from the bonfire to report “the weirdest thing.” The bear carcass split open in the midst of the flames, and a small red bird had flown out. Theo asked a few questions and then sent them away, shaking his head.

“God’s teeth!” He reverted to the swear words of an earlier age. “He escaped me that way once before! I should have told my men to keep their guns ready and shoot anything that came out.” My brother shot a long angry look at the trunk upon which I was sitting.

Mab closed his notebook and adjusted his hat. “Look, it’s been nice visiting, Mr. Theophrastus, and I admire your philosophy. But we’ve got to be going, if we’re going to warn the rest of your relatives. Oh,” he snapped
open the notebook. “There was one other question I wanted to ask Mr. Mephistopheles.” Mab turned to Mephisto. “What color was Chalandra’s hair?”

“Oh, the most pretty auburn, just like a Titian. And she had the most lovely pearly gray eyes . . . Oh!” Mephisto trailed off. His mouth fell open. Then he screwed up his face as he began to spit and sputter.

“Eew, gross! Yuck! Phewwy!”

“Teach you to be more careful about your bedmates,” Mab said. “You’re lucky she didn’t make off with both your staves.”

Mephisto drew his knees together. Theo shook his head in disgust, though he chuckled dryly in spite of himself.

“Well, we’re off then,” I said softly. The room seemed stiflingly hot, and I found myself short of breath. I had failed. Theo would die, and I would be left, bereft.

Theo stood, suddenly awkward. “Take care of yourself. If I don’t see you again . . .”

“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss,” Mephisto stood and slapped him on the back. “We’ll be back to bug you before you know it.”

“I would prefer if you did not return,” Theo replied stiffly.

While my brothers talked, I went to Mab and took back the crystal vial. When Theo’s head was turned, I slipped it onto the writing desk, next to the brown medicine container. I was probably wasting two ounces of the precious Water. But, some risks were worth it.

Moving across the room, I embraced Theo and kissed his bristly cheek. He squeezed me tightly to his chest.

“It has been good to see you again, Sister,” he said lamely, as he let me go. “You are as beautiful as ever. . . .” His hand rose as if to touch my cheek, then fell away. “Untouched by the passage of time.”

In light of his previous comment regarding Erasmus, his words pained my heart and nearly caused me to cry. I managed an appreciative smile and squeezed his hand, but he only stood frowning at me. Dropping my eyes, I turned to go.

That was when it struck me. One last desperate idea. Perhaps it was in my power to save my brother after all.

“Theo, do you recall the day atop Grantham Tor?” I stood in the doorway, framed by darkness and softly swirling snow.

“We were both children then,” Theo replied brusquely.

“So, your promises meant nothing?” I whispered, hurt. Maybe the Theo
I loved was already dead. Maybe he had died long ago, on that horrible night beside Gregor’s grave. Maybe this man here was nothing but a husk.

Theo bristled and snapped fiercely, “I always keep my word!”

Oh, thank God! I drew myself up.

“Prince Ferdinand Di Napoli has offended my honor.”

I did not wait for him to answer, but turned and headed through the early evening gloom toward our rented car. As I crossed the snow-sprinkled yard, I could feel the heat of Theo’s anger burning behind me like a flame.

“Miranda, your suitcase is chirping,” announced Mephisto.

“Quiet, pal, someone will hear you. Ma’am, haven’t I told you before you should turn that dratted thing off when on a stakeout?” Mab muttered, exasperated.

“Relax, Mab, we’re in a sealed car. No one is going to hear us. Only, I don’t think I can reach the phone. Could you answer it, please?” I asked.

Mab grunted and reached into the backseat of yet another rental car. As he opened the carrying case and answered the phone, I kept a lookout on the warehouse door across the parking lot.

It was early evening of the following day. We were in Landover, Maryland, parked in front of the warehouse that was the last known location of Mephisto’s staff. As soon as the warehouse employees cleared out, we were going in to have a look around.

After leaving Theo’s, we had driven back to the airport without incident. Once at the plane, I had wanted to hurry on to Logistilla’s, in hopes of reaching her before the Three Shadowed Ones did. Mephisto had refused to give us any additional directions, however, claiming we were not taking the hunt for his lost staff seriously. In return, Mab had offered to bash him with a lead pipe.

Since it was quite late in the evening, we had found a hotel for the night, where we could discuss the matter civilly. Eventually, we reached a compromise. Mephisto told us Logistilla lived in the Caribbean. In return, since Maryland was en route to the Caribbean from Vermont, we agreed to pause and check the warehouse where Osae had brought Mephisto’s staff and see if it might generate any additional leads. Once this was done, Mephisto promised, he would give us the exact location of St. Dismas’s Island, where our sister Logistilla lived.

So now we sat in the car, hunched down under a blanket, waiting in silence for the warehouse employees to depart. At least, we had sat in silence until my phone rang.

Mab spoke softly into the telephone. “Hello? Miranda Prospero’s answering service. Chicago, eh? What can we do for you? Really, you don’t say? Wait, I’ll ask her.” He covered the receiver with his hand, “Miss Miranda, it’s that kid from the Chicago office, Simon? He says there’s a gentleman at their office asking to see you, a Mr. Di Napoli. Mr. Ferdinand Di Napoli.”