Prospero Regained (52 page)

All this time I had been assuming that my judgment was faulty.

What if it was not?

I believed Father was innocent of any wrong against me. I was right. I believed Ferdinand’s sincerity by the hearth. Now I knew that had been Astreus, and he had been sincere. Even my family, whom I had believed in and then doubted, had been loyal and stalwart all along—well, except for Ulysses and Logistilla, and they had to be compelled to act against us. They were not willful traitors, like Uncle Antonio.

An eerie chill ran up my spine. I chafed my arms, as if against the cold. What had Astreus told me?
It is the calling of demons to breed mistrust and discord.
And Mephistopheles the demon had told me, on Erasmus’s roof in Boston, that the denizens of Hell had no power to damn anyone but could only lead people to damn themselves. The whole purpose of demons, then, must be to cast aspersions upon us and upon the things we hold dear, until we no longer trust God, each other, or ourselves.

Well, it had worked with me.

I had ceased trusting both my father and myself. No wonder the angel on the balcony had urged me to start trusting my heart.

But Father had not betrayed me. None of the terrible claims that had been made against him were true. At worse, I could object that he had not corrected me when I jumped to the conclusion that his human wife was my mother. Or that he had told Erasmus and me different things in the matter of giving water to Maria. As for my former assumption that I had been his cherished companion … well, that had been an assumption. He never told me that it was so.

So, what was left? What had I been made to doubt in recent weeks that, ordinarily, I would have never questioned?

My mother. No, more precisely: my father’s great love, the love that had touched his heart and transformed his life.

Because something had transformed him.

He had been a callous youth bent upon the pursuit of arcane knowledge with no thought for others. He had sought knowledge, secrets, and King Vinae had offered him everything he desired. Yet, something had caused him to turn his back on the gifts King Vinae offered, to break with his brother Antonio—whom he loved—and to flee into exile with the magic tomes, rather than to allow the demons to be released.

Who could have worked this transformation, in the short time—between when King Vinae gave him the great summoning spell as a bribe for agreeing to release the demons, and when Father fled into exile? It must have been whomever he called with that first summoning.

But whom had Father summoned?

Maeve? Would not Lilith have urged him to free the demons as quickly as possible?

Sycorax? Despite Uncle Antonio’s endorsement, the idea was laughable. Sycorax may have had a few impressive spells, but her power was as nothing compared to King Vinae. Nor was she the virtuous type who would have urged him to turn his back on the demon’s gifts.

Father’s mystery love had to be a woman of virtue. She convinced him to break with his brother Antonio for the sole purpose of protecting mankind. No elven queen, witch, or denizen of Hell would have made such a request. So, maybe Shakespeare’s description of my mother was accurate. Yet, Father had called Shakespeare “overly wordy.” What could have he meant?

I searched for additional clues that might give me some insight into this puzzle. I recalled the words King Vinae had spoken almost to himself:
For what else could have enticed him, to whom I had offered all, except the one thing no demon could offer?

According to Vinae himself, the one thing no demon could offer was … love.

If love transformed Father, and love was the one thing demons did not have, then Father’s great love—assuming she actually existed—could not have been Lilith. And yet, my mother was not Lady Portia. Father had admitted that much today.

So, who was she?

Imitating Mab’s style, I listed to myself what I knew about her. She must be virtuous. She must be supernatural. Otherwise, Malagigi’s star would have rested upon my hand with ease. And she must have once dwelt in Heaven. Otherwise, I would not be a nephilim with wings of emerald light.

I recalled the radiance that always shone in Father’s eyes when he talked of my mother, and how that radiance had spread to me and directed my life. I recalled sitting beside him on the bluffs, watching the waves and listening to him talk about the wonders of my mother. He loved talking about his love for her. He even liked to see me pretend to speak to her.

He had been so pleased the time he found me playing with my dolls by the mouth of the Eridanus, the same two wooden dolls that still graced my mantelpiece. Usually, I pretended the dolls were my mother and myself, or perhaps, my mother and an angel. This particular day, however, I had invited Caliban to play with me. When Father came upon us, I explained how the woman was Caliban’s mother, while the angel was my mother, who had wings because she was up in Heaven.

Father’s fierce blue eyes had softened with warmth and love, and he had said, “What a perceptive little girl you are.”

Do you not know me, My Child?

I started and looked around, but the voice had spoken only in my memory.

Oh. Of course.

Tears of joy welled up in my eyes. But it was so extraordinary, so utterly glorious, that I could not believe it.

“Father was right: Shakespeare was overly wordy,” I whispered, apparently not as quietly as I had hoped.

“Excuse me?” Logistilla said.

I swallowed and got control of my voice. “The Elf Queen is not my mother. I am not Lilith’s daughter.”

“What? ‘Thy mother was a piece’?” Erasmus chuckled, smirking. “Don’t quite know what to make of that, but it makes more sense than your mother was a…” His face went strangely blank.

“Erasmus.” I grabbed his arm. “You’re a lot like Father, devoted to knowledge and pursuing secrets. Imagine you were in his position, a young
Orbis Suleimani
member who has just been handed the great spell of summoning. Who would you summon?”

Erasmus shrugged my arm off. “O that’s easy! As an
Orbis Suleimani,
I am always most eager to question our…”

I saw the exact moment when he realized what I was driving at; the exact moment when the truth struck home.

Erasmus’s body rocked back. His face contorted into a disbelieving scowl, but his eyes were filled with awe. “No … it could not … but it…” Almost as if he did not realize he was doing it, he reached out and passed his fingers through the emerald light of my wings. “‘Thy mother was a Virtue!’”

“I beg your pardon?” Theo looked up from where he had been intent upon a quiet conversation with Mephisto.

Erasmus pivoted slowly toward the others, his face as pale as the glacier underfoot. “Father’s first summoning. We have figured out who he must have called.”

“Who, my brother?” Cornelius asked eagerly, tapping toward us with great interest.

“Why is this important?” Ulysses looked up from where he was playing marbles with small balls of ice.

Mephisto piped up, “Because the first being Daddy ever summoned is Miranda’s mother.”

“Oh, right!” Ulysses leaned forward with interest. “Bully. Go for it, Erasmus. Who?”

Erasmus seemed to have some trouble answering. “Who else would he call: Solomon’s angel, the one who brought him wisdom.”

I said, “Of all beings Father knew of to call, only she could have offered him more than King Vinae; for the demon king could
tell
him secrets, but the angel of Heaven could make
him
wise.”

My brothers and sister stared at me, expressions of incredulity and wonder frozen upon their faces. Then, they began all talking at once.

“No, it can’t be!”

“But angels don’t … do they?”

“Of course! Miranda’s wings are exactly the color of Muriel Sophia’s robes!”

“Shhh. Do not speak that name aloud!”

“Go, Daddy! He ’pooned an angel!”

“But how astonishing! Who could have expected such a thing?”

“I’ve always known Miranda was an angel.” This last, quietly, from Caliban.

“So have I,” said Theo. He and Caliban exchanged a brief, brotherly grin.

“No wonder you did everything Father told you!” Erasmus cried, aghast. “You weren’t under a spell! Angels lack free will!”

“We already figured that out,” Logistilla replied tartly.

Caliban added, “And Master Prospero … Father…”—Caliban’s face broke into a smile—“He consecrated her to the Unicorn in hope that the Lady of Spiral Wisdom could set her will free.”

“I think I missed something.” Mab came back from where he had been pouring salt into the outermost circle. “Who’d Prospero summon?”

“His ‘Fair Queen M.’” I laughed. “The angel, Muriel Sophia.”

“The same angel you all just betrayed to Seir? Geesh!” Mab whistled. Then his eyes grew big. “Mr. Prospero was shooting a lot higher than we gave him credit for, wasn’t he! No wonder he turned his back on what the demons had to offer! Angels of Wisdom are big stuff!”

“The Angel of Bitter Wisdom,”
volunteered the Club.
“My great nemesis. Miranda is her daughter.”

“Do not volunteer information,” Caliban commanded mildly.

“Dear God!” Erasmus took a stumbling step back. It was one thing to conjecture. It was another thing to hear King Vinae confirm it. “All my life … I’ve been torturing a baby angel?”

“I hate to break up a party,” Mab muttered, “but the spell’s ready, and we don’t got much time.”

“I’m ready.” I stepped forward.

Erasmus seemed to be in shock. I was not sure he had actually heard me until he murmured absently, “No … no, I don’t need you anymore. I’ll do it myself.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

Alcestis’s Bargain

“Okay, let’s get moving!” Mab clapped his hands. “Everyone to their places, then I’ll close the wards. Seeing as we’re already in Hell, and all the bad spirits are already here, we’ve decided not to waste Water paying the guardians of the four directions, so you won’t see triangles for them. Besides, Professor Prospero did not think the angels of the four directions would come anyway, even if he called them. Not having guardians definitely makes the spell more dangerous, though. So, from this point forward, no one but Professor Prospero had better talk!”

Mab herded each of us into one of three circles drawn in salt that Mab and my brothers had brought along for just such purposes. The three were set equidistantly about a central circle, which contained only a single triangle. The triangle held one of Erasmus’s shoes, into which he had instructed me to pour the ounce of Water of Life. The scent from the Water was glorious, and the black shoe had already begun to sprout little green buds. If the spell failed, and we had to walk out of here, Erasmus was going to have a hard time making it back across the mountains and out of Hell with a single shoe.

As we took our places, Mab went about with a jar of salt from one of his many trench-coat pockets, closing the openings through which we had entered the wards. He saved for last the circle where I stood, stepping within and closing it from the inside. Then, he nodded to Erasmus, indicating everything was ready.

The wind moaned as it raced across the barren glacier, diffusing the heady fragrance that emanated from the Water of Life–drenched shoe. It hung in the air, filling our nostrils. I was reminded of our last dinner on New Year’s Day, when we had drunk nectar-laced wine together. How long ago that event now seemed!

The ice beneath my feet trembled as, in the distance, the giant slammed his fist against the glacier.

Erasmus stood at the center of the inner circle with his head bowed, as if gathering the wherewithal to begin. He was dressed in his dark green justacorps and breeches. With his lank dark hair pulled back from his face, tied into a queue with a piece of black warding ribbon, he might have stepped off a stage production of
1776
. He looked handsome and sad, very different from his normal languid self.

Raising his hands, he cried out: “Spirits of the Inferno, I call your attention to the ancient laws of Sympathy and Contagion. The law of Sympathy declares:
Once touching, always touching
. From this follows the principle that the father and the son are one—for having touched once, at the time of engendering, they must always be together. I call upon you, Spirits, to witness this fact.

“Psychopomp, Lord of Messengers, he who conveys the souls of the dead, I call you by your secret name: Hermes Tristmegistes. I command, conjure, and compel thee to come and do my bidding! Come to me, drink of the nectar within this homage to your fleet-footedness, and carry out my will.

“The father and the son being one, I call upon you, Great Tristmegistes, to uphold the precedent set by Alcestis.”

Mab clamped his hand over my mouth before I could scream. Some of the others were watching calmly, but the magicians in the family understood all too well what was about to come. Logistilla had gone deathly pale. Theo held both his hands over his own mouth, and Mephisto, his Cavalier’s hat in hand, took several steps forward silently mouthing: “No! Let me.…” He paused at the edge of his salt circle, his face a twisted mask of sorrow.

I was not a magician, but I knew the story of Alcestis, who volunteered to take her husband’s place when it came his time to die. It had never occurred to me to wonder about Alcestis’s family. Did she have brothers, sisters, and parents who mourned her after her selfless sacrifice? How they must have rejoiced when she was rescued from Hades by Hercules.

Only there would be no Hercules to rescue Erasmus.

The wind stopped, and there came a flash. Bones, then organs, then skin and garments—all formed from white light—swirled together within the central triangle, forming a ten-foot-tall figure. There was no sound associated with this; the entire phenomena was silent.

The light faded. A youthful man with dark curling hair and beard stood in the central triangle beside Erasmus’s shoe. He had lithe, bronzed limbs over which he wore a short tunic, a winged
petasos,
and winged sandals. In his hand, he carried the black and white Caduceus, its two snakes flicking their black tongues as they glanced this way and that. Father told me once that Hermes’s Caduceus was the first of all magician’s wands, and that he had patterned our staffs after it.