Prospero in Hell (47 page)

Impulsively, I tapped it on the mantel, the way Mephisto would tap his staff to call his creatures. Only afterward did the sheer folly of my action strike me. What if it worked? Elves were tricky, and I hardly wished to entertain one in my boudoir! I glanced around nervously, but nothing occurred. Feeling foolish, I put the figurine on the mantel and returned to sit on the foot of my bed.

As I sat there, without hope, my glance fell upon the stone wall of the balcony. I considered what it might be like to seek oblivion by launching myself from that stony height. I imagined plummeting toward the valley, arms outstretched, but dismissed the thought with a shake of my head. Not only would my pride not allow me to take such a coward’s way out, but also this was my father’s island. His airy servants would, likely as not, catch me before I hit the ground, and I would be left very much alive, having to explain my foolishness to a mocking Erasmus.

The rain was still falling, and night was coming. It would soon be time to attempt the summoning of Father. Only, why did I think night was coming?
Outside, the sky was no darker, in fact, as the rain lessened, it grew lighter. Yet, my room was dark and gloomy. The darkness seemed to be emanating from the corner near the fireplace. My heart skipped a beat.

Seir of the Shadows!

Determined not to be caught unarmed again, I lunged for my fan, which lay on the mahogany dresser. My hand closed around its cool handle. Only then did I realize that, in my hurry to arm myself, I had left my flute resting against the wall, a mere yard from where darkness was solidifying into the form of the handsome sable incubus.

The pounding of my heart echoed in my ears louder than any thunder. The flute. I could not lose the flute, too!

Seir stepped from the shadows, blood-red eyes glancing about my room. Darkness poured from Gregor’s staff, causing the incubus’s black opera cape to billow. In the semidarkness, his perfect face looked so beautiful, as if a statue carved from black marble by one of the masters of old had come to life. My heart nearly stopped. He turned his head at the sigh of my breath.

Seir’s scarlet eyes met mine, and he gazed at me in fascination, drinking in my features as might a long-parted lover. I kept my eyes trained on him, willing myself not to glance at the flute.

“Sweet Miranda,” he murmured. His lips parted in delight, and he leaned Gregor’s staff against the wall. “All alone.”

An alarming tingle traveled through my body. Just looking at his beauty produced an unpleasantly heady sensation, like honeyed wine laced with poison. Thankfully, I need not endure this. I turned to my Lady for protection.

Only, She was not there… oh, Lord!

Trembling, I brandished my fan. Its silvery slats gleamed like the moon in the gloom. Without taking his eyes off my face, he raised his hands, as if to show he was harmless. Glowering, I stood my ground.

“Depart,” I warned, “or you shall follow your companions back to Hell!”

“Your brothers dispatched my companions, did they?” he asked. “I cannot say I am dismayed. Vile creatures, both. They are back in the Inferno, and no longer ‘shadowed,’ so I am, at long last, free from the burden of concerning myself with them. Baelor writhes in the torture pits of the Malbolge, where the Torturers debate with him upon the topic of his recent failures. While Osae sits at Queen Lilith’s feet, basking in her twisted affection and drinking from her cup—his reward for some evil deed he accomplished before his demise. Did he take one of your brothers with him?”

“No” I whispered hoarsely.

“Ah. A pity.”

The thought of Osae being petted and coddled as a reward for assaulting me filled my throat with bile. The idea so disturbed me that I nearly missed Seir’s other piece of information.

“Lilith! The Three Shadowed Ones work for the Queen of Air and Darkness?”

“Did you not know that our original duty was to retrieve the Spear of Longinus?” Seir replied.

“Of course! The Spear of Joseph of Arimathea!” I cried, recalling that after the Vatican raid, Father built the spear into the
Staff of Devastation
. “That’s why you three started hunting Theo, wasn’t it?”

“Exactly. It was Her Majesty, the Queen of Air and Darkness, who provided that spear to the Roman centurion, Longinus.” He tilted his head, his scarlet eyes regarding me unblinkingly. “Surely, you do not think just any spear could have killed the Son of God?”

“Oh my!” I breathed, stunned.

His words made a sickening kind of sense. Just as Lilith had given the Unicorn Hunters enchanted weapons, she must also have supplied the spear that stabbed Christ on the Cross. She would hate the Savior for reasons similar to those that caused her to hate Eurynome.

This hatred of hers was destroying my family.

First, it had led to Mephisto’s madness. Now, Osae had given Lilith yet another victory against my Lady, robbing Her of one of Her loyal Handmaidens—and it had been centuries since I had come upon another one. No wonder Osae supped from Lilith’s own cup!

Lilith and Abaddon. Between them, the Family Prospero was nearly a memory.

Seir cocked his head and glided closer. “How beautiful you are! Like a white rose on a misty day. Pristine and beautiful and untouched.”

He reached out and touched my cheek, and I let him, mesmerized. Despite my desire to recoil or to slash off his head, my hand would not rise to stop him. Where his sable fingers touched my skin, pleasant tremors raced through my body. My thoughts swam, and I found myself able to think of nothing except how nice it would be to lie down.

Closing my eyes and drawing a ragged breath, I slid the tip of my finger along the edge of my fan. The pain woke me. I stuck the finger in my mouth,
licking the blood. The incubus watched in rapt wonder, as if he were as spellbound as I had been moments before.

I swung the fan, slashing at him. He vanished, appearing three feet away.

“Sweet, my love! You need not carry on so. Come to my arms, and I shall show you such wonders as will transport you beyond mere mortal pleasure. Your body shall sing like a harp, and your heart will match mine in its enduring love.”

“You? Enduring love?” I laughed.

Would my brothers hear me if I screamed? Unlikely, the walls were thick, but perhaps Mab waited by the door.

Seir tilted his head. His inhuman eyes trained on my lips. “Do you think we incubi do not love? You do women an unkindness! Women are not such fickle creatures. A few can be fooled with sweet words and gentle caresses, but only the unusually naïve. To truly lead a virtuous woman astray, we must offer her genuine love, or she would see through us as easily as one sees through a transparent window. So, of course, I love you. How could I look at you, so brave and fair, a thing alone and unappreciated in such a cruel, callous world, and not adore you?”

“You admit you are trying to lead me astray!”

“I am an incubus. You would hardly believe me if I said otherwise.”

“You are too late,” I muttered, turning away.

Seir turned, too. I heard the sharp intake of his breath and the soft words, “So, that is why I am here!”

Fearing he must have seen my flute, I spun around. He was staring not at my instrument, but at the mantel. I followed the direction of his gaze. The oval mirror above the mantelpiece reflected both the sable incubus and the little wooden figurine with its sapphire eyes. A chill ran up my spine. What I was seeing made no sense.

Then, suddenly, it did.

I crept backward until my back was to the mahogany dresser. Resting against it, I reached behind me and felt around until my fingers closed upon the object I desired.

“Seir? Come to me,” I called softly. When he came, I whispered, “Close your eyes.”

To my amazement, he did. His red eyes closed, and he leaned toward me, as if to meet my kiss. Seeing the incubus, who knew I was still carrying the war fan, close his eyes in trust made me feel obscurely less foolish about
having walked toward the Ferdinand I thought to be him on the bluff. With his neck so exposed, it was a pity I no longer wanted to kill him.

I placed the circlet of silver and horn upon his head. In my mind, Father Christmas’s deep voice echoed:
“When the time comes to use it, Child, you will know.”

“What becomes of tithed elves?” I whispered softly.

A puff of black snow surrounded Seir, and my heart skipped. I recognized that ebony snow. It was the same stuff that had surrounded Astreus when he walked into Father Christmas’s feast hall on Christmas. The dark, sooty cloud that had made me start with fear and regret having left my flute in my room—because I feared that it contained Seir.

Apparently, it had.

The incubus grew taller and more slender. The dark cloud cleared, and Lord Astreus of the High Council of the elves stood before me. Seir’s black opera cloak fell from his shoulders like sable wings. His presence illuminated the room, lending a dreamlike quality to the dappled, rain-filtered light and transforming the drab chamber into a place of wonder.

My lips parted to speak, but the joy of seeing him so unexpectedly, after I had just feared we would not meet again, was too great. No words came.

“We tithed elves join the ranks of the demons of Hell,” Astreus answered, his changeable eyes a storm-tossed gray. He adjusted the crown upon his head, running a finger over an insert of horse hoof. His gaze searched my face keenly, lingering on my smooth brow where the Sibyl’s mark was not in evidence. “How goes my gift?”

He did not know. My heart felt as if it had turned to ash and was slowly blowing away. How could I put such a thing into words? I stammered several beginnings, only to be unable to continue. Finally, the words came haltingly from my lips.

“A gracious gift, my lord, but I fear I can make no use of it.”

“How so?” he frowned, his gray eyes growing still more tempestuous.

“I… I am… Eurynome no longer… Osae… he came…” My mouth went dry, and my voice fell silent. However much I tried, I could not say, “He came in the disguise you used to deceive me and win my trust.”

“He defiled you?” The elf’s voice was as soft as rose petals.

I nodded. Tears spilled over my lashes and burned their way down my cheeks. Yes, that was the word: “defiled,” as in “no longer a holy vessel worthy of my Lady.”

“Then, all is lost,” said the elf matter-of-factly.

“For me… it is.” I wiped my eyes.

Astreus watched the falling rain, his golden profile a study of motionless grace. I ached to reach out and touch him. Almost as if hearing my thoughts, he moved forward until he loomed over me, his breath warm upon my face. I gazed back at him and found I was trembling. Though fully awake, I dreamt a flock of doves took flight all around us. I could hear the sound of their wings beating against the air.

“Did my gift mean anything to you? Did you cherish it before your loss?” he asked, his words barely audible above the noise of wings.

“It meant a great deal.” I gave my head a hard shake and took a deep breath. The dream of doves vanished. “I have been wanting to thank you.”

“Then grant me one last boon.”

“I make no promises!” I countered quickly. Pleased as I was, I had not taken leave of my senses. Was he mad? He was an elf and an incubus! So far, he had blown up part of my father’s house, destroyed the statue of Theo, finagled his way, disguised as Ferdinand, into my house, my dreams, and—as long as I was being brutally honest—my heart, and betrayed the location of the family New Year’s party to the Three Shadowed Ones, resulting in Titus getting shot.

I would be wiser to grab a lightning bolt with my bare hands than to offer him a boon.

Astreus dropped to one knee. My heart began to beat oddly, joyfully. I felt faint and leaned against the dresser for support. Human men only knelt like this for one reason. Surely, he was not about to…

“Slay me!” He gestured at the Japanese forge god’s fighting fan, which lay atop the bureau. “Slit my throat with your enchanted blade and grant me the gift of Oblivion.”

“Ex-excuse me?”

He did not stir but knelt watching me. His eyes had gone as red as rubies.

“Is th-this some kind of trick?”

“No trick. You were my last hope. If I return to being Seir now, I will be lost.”

“But…” I sputtered, “you cannot expect me to cut you down in cold blood, without any explanation!”

“You are right. You deserve to hear the tale,” He rose lightly to his feet.
“I will tell you all, and you may choose whether to honor my request or no. Come, let us to the balcony and speak beneath the open sky. Whatever your decision, this is likely to be the last time I shall ever see it.”

I let him walk before me, holding my breath when he paused beside the hearth. He glanced at the chessboard and moved a black knight, before continuing over the threshold to the balcony. The moment his foot touched the stone, I sprinted across the chamber and grabbed my flute, hugging it to me. With the instrument held tightly in my hand, I joined him outside among the orchids.

Once upon the balcony, he leaned against the stone railing and stared out at the rushing sky, the rain pelting his head and shoulders. The storm was lighter now, the clouds a billowing collage of pearl, charcoal, and dove gray. The winds, though slower, still whistled and moaned through the towers of the mansion.