The Villain Keeper (5 page)

“I can't eat this geometric meat. It's unnatural.”

“The burger's genuine Angus beef,” Officer Levine said. “And the fries are fresh-cut potatoes.”

Caden glanced inside at the second item.

“They're tubers,” Officer Levine said. “I thought you'd like that.”

Caden doubted the greasy fries would pass the typical
diet restrictions of Elite Paladins. But tubers were acceptable starches in extreme conditions. “I'll try the fries.”

Officer Levine grinned like he'd won a great battle.

The war, however, was not over. Caden dropped the burger back in the bag. No animal he knew had meat that formed perfectly circular cuts. “But I'm not eating round food.”

“Shame,” Officer Levine said. “Round cow's the tastiest.”

They traveled down and up the hilly terrain of the city. The closely packed buildings of the downtown gave way to houses with big yards and tall trees. Farther out, small stalls selling junk and apples started to dot the road. They stopped on the seeming edge of the city, halfway up one of the smaller mountains.

On the slope's side stood the not-prison. It was three stories high with battered tan paint and a large porch. Behind it, the mountain was filled with evergreens and leafless oaks. In the yard, there were tall-growing winter weeds. Littered among them were all forms of oddities—cement frogs; glass suncatchers; and large, twisting copper sculptures of the sun and moon. To the side of the house, he saw metal-sculptured flowers, their petals sharp and gleaming.

Officer Levine got out of the car and opened the back for Caden to do the same.

Once on the lawn, he pointed to the metal sculptures. “Those are some of Rosa's works,” Officer Levine said. “She
sells her art at several local galleries.”

On the slope behind the house, Caden caught a flash of white. He heard a soft neigh on the wind. Sir Horace had tracked them. Caden expected no less. On the slope near Sir Horace, Brynne peeked around an oak. With a subtle hand signal, Caden ordered them to stay. Even from so far downhill, Caden could tell it irritated Sir Horace to be idle and Brynne to be given orders.

“Son, are you listening to me?” Officer Levine said. Caden turned to him. It seemed Officer Levine hadn't noticed Sir Horace, or Brynne, for that matter. Caden's allies were masters of stealth.

Caden looked up at Officer Levine. “No, were your words of importance?”

Officer Levine sighed. “Look, Rosa will let you stay as long as you need to. I want your word you'll try to make this work.”

The promise of a warm bed and warm meals was tempting, but Caden's concerns were greater than this man and this house. He would stay long enough to learn if there was a possible connection between the missing Jane Chan and the night he and Brynne were magically stranded here. But the minute he learned all he could, or found a way home, he would escape.

“I can't make that promise,” he said.

Before Officer Levine could respond, a woman marched from the house. If Caden hadn't been trained to look at
people as a whole his gaze would have been stuck on her clothes. She wore an ill-fitting sweater the color of mud and tight pants that were orange like firelight. Her hair was long and brown with stark streaks of gray; her eyes were a matching worn brown.

“Yes, you can,” Officer Levine said. “She'll help you.”

Unless this oddly dressed woman could open interdimensional magic portals, she couldn't help. “A prince is always gracious.”

“Good,” Officer Levine said, but for the first time since Caden had met him, he sounded distracted. His cheeks had taken on a rosy hue. He straightened his collar.

Caden had seen his lovelorn look before. Girls and boys often expressed it when they met his older brothers. Caden glanced at him and shook his head. “You wish to woo her,” he said. “That's why you brought me here.”

“Quiet,” Officer Levine said. “And, no. Besides, she's ex-army. I figured you two might get along.”

She approached Caden like he was a soldier in a battle line. “This him?” she said.

“Yep, and he's a handful. Knocked Jenkins on his butt.”

Despite her odd dress, her stance and demeanor were like those of the Elite Guardsmen. Caden could tell she was a soldier. He stood taller, straighter, and met her gaze.

“I have rules,” she said. “No back talk. No cursing.”

Caden always kept his speech elegant and refined. “No cursing,” he agreed.

She stepped closer. “I'll know if you curse, whether I hear you or not. Do you understand?”

“You have the gift of other sight.”

The answer brought a concerned furrow to her brow. She shook her head and glanced at Officer Levine. “Just how much trouble is he in?”

“We're still trying to find his family,” Officer Levine said. “Social services wanted him sent for psych eval.”

A look of horror crossed her face. “They always have trouble with the imaginative ones.” She looked at Caden. “You'll stay here,” she said, and it sounded like an order.

“For now,” Caden said.

“Call me Rosa,” she said. “Had enough of titles in the service. No missus, no ma'am. It's Rosa and that's it.”

“Titles are important for designating rank,” Caden said. “You can call me your highness.”

Rosa gave him a sharp look.

Then, to Caden's confusion, her expression softened. She stepped toward him, arms outstretched. Fast like a silver ice runner, she hugged him. He tried to pull away, but she was amazingly strong. No doubt she was gifted with strength like his brother, the second-born prince, Maden.

“You'll be sharing the attic room with Tito. He's also twelve.”

Over her shoulder, Caden saw an irritated-looking boy hovering on the front steps. Tito was about Caden's build and height but his black hair was long and shiny, his face
was striking and sharp-featured. His eyes were intensely dark. When he frowned, his face looked lopsided.

“He'll give you the tour while I talk to Officer Levine.” Rosa turned back. “Be nice, Tito.”

Tito didn't look like he wanted to be nice. He looked Caden up and down, and his frown deepened. Caden took in his sour expression, worn-looking clothes, and long hair. It seemed he would be sharing a room with a peasant. Caden, too, frowned.

With a sigh, Tito motioned him to the house. “C'mon,” he said, and led him through a creaking front door. Inside, the walls were filled with pictures of boys and girls—former prisoners, or “foster kids,” as Tito called them. Every table had some knickknack displayed. There was dust and clutter, but it was reasonably clean for a prison.

“These are the main rooms. Kitchen is in the back,” Tito said, turning around and motioning around the first floor. “Dining room, living room, TV. Rosa's got a computer in her office, but we don't get to use it without supervision.”

“What's a TV?”

Tito stopped. “You can't be serious.”

“Answer my question.”

Tito pointed to a flat glass rectangle about the size of a small window on a table. “Um. It's that.”

Caden frowned at the thing.

“You know,” Tito said, “it's a thing that shows pictures and transmits information and stuff.”

Caden nodded, though he still didn't fully understand. “So it's like a Razzonian meditation disc? Only smaller and square?”

“Uh . . . sure. I guess?”

“And a computer, what's that?”

“Just how long have you been living in the woods?” Tito said. “Actually, don't tell me. First the tour. Then your issues. This way.”

Caden followed him up a rickety staircase. Tito motioned to the hall. “These are Rosa's bedroom, the guest room, and the girls' room when there're girls around. It's locked now.” He led him to a second staircase. “We're in the attic.”

The attic room was large and divided down the center with black tape. Mismatched rugs covered the plank floor. The ceiling slanted, and two large windows were cut out of it. Outside, the mountain loomed high. Well, high for an Ashevillian mountain. In the Greater Realm, it would have been a hillock.

An unmade bed with purple pillows and purple blankets was pushed against the wall beside the door. Books were piled beside it, on top of it, and under it. The second bed was against the wall on the other side of the tape. It was draped with a pink and orange quilt.

Tito pointed toward the made bed, the pink and orange one. “That side's yours,” he said, and walked to the purple part of the room. “This one's mine.”

The rugs dampened the sound of Caden's steps, but the floor still groaned as he walked. He glanced at the unappealing pink and orange quilt, at Tito's challenging smile, and he sat on the bed. A prince was always polite, always honest. “I'll sleep in it,” Caden said.

“Right, weirdo, that's why it's called a bed.”

There was something different about the sound of Tito's voice. Caden peered at him. Tito's voice had definitely changed somehow.

Tito gave him a look and backed up a few steps. “Anyway, Rosa says lights off at ten. No exceptions.” His voice was normal again.

Caden motioned around the room. “Why are we in the attic? There were empty rooms downstairs.”

“She keeps the boys and girls separate.”

“There are no girls.”

“Yeah.” Tito looked away. “But she's worried you're a flight risk. She figures if you're up here, you'll have more trouble sneaking out. I've been with her for three years. She knows I'd never leave. I'm stuck up here, you know, to help you adjust.”

“I don't need to adjust,” Caden said.

They fell into silence. Tito rocked on his feet. “So,” Tito said, “you told the system people your father was king?”

“I did,” Caden said.

“Why?”

“Because it is so,” Caden said.

“Uh-huh,” Tito said.

“You don't believe me.”

“Don't really care.” Tito scrunched up his lopsided face. “But you were stupid to tell the police. And the social worker. You're lucky they didn't ship you right off to the nuthouse. Much worse than juvie, from what I've heard.”

“You think I should keep my birthright secret?”

“Yeah,” Tito said, then his tone changed—the pace of his words changed, the cadence shifted. “But I can't believe I have to share a room with a nutcase like you.”

Caden crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Nutcase?” he said. He was certain that was insulting. “If you want to fight, we can fight.”

“Right. I'm terrified,” Tito said. Suddenly, his striking eyes widened. “Bro, you speak Spanish?”

“Excuse me?”

“You're speaking Spanish,” Tito said.

Caden was speaking another local language. He'd never used his gift of speech without knowing it. Not until Asheville. Not until right now, and his insides twisted. It had never worked like that. Although, he'd never used it as much as he had in recent days, either.

“Well,” Caden said, and shoved off his discomfort, “I speak most languages.”

Tito turned his mouth back into his lopsided frown. “Huh,” he said. “My advice, keep that to yourself, too.”

Caden crossed his arms. “You seem full of advice.”

“Yeah, well,” Tito said. “Rosa told me to be friendly—I'm being friendly.”

There was more to it than that. Caden could tell. He nodded toward the stairs. “You're mad at her,” he said.

“So what if I am?” Tito said.

Maybe she banished him to the attic? Maybe she beat him and kept him from food and drink? “Why?” Caden said. “Is she violent?”

Tito scowled, and his voice came out furious. “Rosa's the best person you'll ever meet.”

The best person it seemed Caden would ever meet called them down for dinner.

Caden caught up with Tito on the second floor and stopped him. “If she's so wonderful, why are you upset?”

Tito went still and stony. His gaze flickered to the locked girls' room. Caden followed his gaze. The flier about the missing girl was still folded in his pocket. Officer Levine had said she'd been imprisoned here before disappearing three days ago. “Was that Jane Chan's room?”

Tito flinched like he'd been hit. Caden recognized Tito's pained expression. He was certain Tito's anger covered a deeper hurt.

The king's first wife, his brothers' mother, died three years before Caden's birth. One of her portraits hung in the Grand Hall of the castle—a place of great honor. Her hair and eyes looked golden like the sun, her head was crowned in a fine silver circlet. On each anniversary of her death the
castle was draped in somber dark silks. His brothers and father became sullen and quiet.

Four years ago on that dark-draped day, Caden had found his seventh-born brother, Jasan, twelve years his senior and gifted in speed, alone in the Grand Hall. His eyes were red and his cheeks wet. His tall, lithe frame, strong and ever sure, shook like he was fragile.

Caden looked at the portrait. “It's sad,” he said.

Jasan's pain morphed into anger. He grabbed Caden by his shoulders. “You don't get to look at her like that.”

Caden winced.

Jasan glanced down to where his fingers dug into Caden's shoulders. Immediately, he gentled. “Go away,” he said with a sigh. “You wouldn't understand.”

Jasan was right. There was no portrait of Caden's mother in the Great Hall, no portrait of her anywhere. The only sign she'd ever existed was Caden.

Caden might not have understood Jasan's pain, but he was good at knowing what to say to ease it. Despite his brother's words, Caden glanced up at the portrait and then back to his brother. “You look like her,” he said.

Back in the present, here in the Ashevillian not-prison, Tito had a similar mix of fury and despair. What Caden didn't know was why. “You know,” Tito said, “you're only going to be here a few days, so mind your own business.” With that, he turned on his heel and stomped down the stairs.