The Lost Heir

by Allison Whitmore

  She nodded. It was. Sky-side. An odd but appropriate term if everything else in comparison was underground. The second level was called, Catacombs and Passageways. And the third labeled, The Underground. “That looks like the main part,” Isabella remarked, “and then The Black Underground.” There was nothing sketched in the Black Underground, but everything else was extensive. “It looks like some kinda city that was never built on the Underground level. I mean, there’s no city under L.A. that I know of.”

  “It looks like the center would be right beneath Culver Hills. Look, they had a name. The Violet City.”

  Isabella noted the spot where Micah had found the city name labeled with a star in a circle, as if it was meant to be the mark of a capital city. She ran her fingers along the paper as she examined it further. “The rest expands really far. From Culver City, which is right next door, down to the canals in Venice and then north to Sunset and east to Hollywood. That’s totally crazy. I wonder why they wanted to build something like that.”

  “They made the first layer of tunnels at least because I think we’re in them.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “Just because Seth isn’t here for you to be mean to, doesn’t mean you need to turn on me.”

  “I am not mean to Seth! He’s just… I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, whatever. I get it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  She didn’t like the sour expression on his face. She shut her eyes and tried to pick up on what he was feeling, but she couldn’t. “Well, whoever did the maps went to a lot of trouble.”

  “Could have been for a story or a movie. Not real, ya know?”

  “Maybe,” said Isabella.

  “It looks like it's attached to Brightwood Studios, too. Like there was supposed to be an elevator up into it.”

  She could see the Brightwood movie studio from her bedroom window at the top of the hotel and wondered if the people there knew about these maps. Her Uncle Robert's father had been the founder of Brightwood and close friends with her great-grandparents. It was why the hotel was built so close to Brightwood. Renee and Sinclair were under contract there, meaning they had to perform in whatever movies Oswald Heel told them to. But, of course, Oswald loved them, so their roles were the best of the best—until the talkies came. It wasn't until their daughter, Beatrice, was about twelve and Isabella’s grandfather Mitchell, fifteen, that the Foxworthy family made it back to Brightwood. Mitchell played bit parts, but it was Beatrice who slowly became a bit of a darling, though it took her years to get a lead role behind Oswald's other sons, Leonard and Jack. Robert's younger brothers were at bitter war with each other for many years, so the story went. Isabella didn't know much more about that, however.

  “Yeah, it's probably for a movie then,” Isabella said finally. “Or they were planning to do something and didn't, like I said.” She needed to stop having always to be right.

  Micah got up and went to the poker table, which was shaped like an octagon. As soon as his butt was planted at one of its eight wooden folding chairs, a strange shuffling sound filled the room. “Ante up,” a soothing female voice said.

  Intrigued, Isabella joined Micah. As soon as she sat down, the voice said, “Welcome, player two.” The shuffling sound was heard again, and Isabella could see that it was from cards being dealt from a deck that had appeared at the center of the table.

  “How’s it doing that?” Micah chirped.

  “I gotta say, I’m a little freaked out.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Freaked out. That’s the phrase I was looking for.”

  “Maybe we should go.”

  “Yeah. I like that idea.”

  Soothing music, angelic yet haunting, floated from invisible speakers. The dust on all of the furniture floated into the air before evaporating. “Welcome, Renee, Sinclair, and friends!” The music turned jazzy and quick. Four tables for two emerged from the floor. A fifth table with a spinning record player emerged with a large speaker. “Remember to speak easy and enjoy the night.” Isabella went over and shut it off.

  “This was my great-grandparents’ secret place to drink and gamble! This is so awesome!”

  “Why so many books, if this place was for gambling and drinking, though?”

  “My family’s just brilliant that way, I guess.”

  Isabella tugged at Micah’s sleeves to propel him to follow her. They made their way back to the entrance, but it was now closed with no keyhole or magic symbol in sight.

  “This isn’t funny.” Micah pounded on the door with all of his strength.

  “We’ll find a way out.”

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Isabella slumped onto a stool opposite the door. “No one’s out there. I can tell.”

  “We’re gonna die in here!”

  Isabella dropped her face in her right hand, rubbed her temples, and tried to breathe. Her uneven breathing stopped, but Micah’s panic firing in her veins did not. “Please, calm down.”

  Micah’s voice went up an octave. “I can’t calm down.”

  “I mean it,” she warned, clutching the hair at her temples and rocking back and forth. “Stop panicking. I can’t stand it.”

  Micah wasn’t listening. “Help!” he cried.

  “Stop it!”

  “Somebody!”

  “Micah, stop it!” Isabella started to breathe heavily in and out. Her eyes watered; her head felt like a boiling pot of oil. Her chest ached.

  “HELLLP!”

  Isabella screamed as if someone had shoved a knife in her face. Then, she heard laughter ringing in her ears. It wouldn’t stop.

  “Izzy? What’s the matter?” She saw Micah turn around, his face a pale shade of green. No, blue. Or was it purple? Everything she looked at swirled in circles before her. Then her eyes clamped shut…

  The flames danced around the room as a violet hue emanated from within the blaze. A man stood against a webbed wall, holding his stomach as if he was in agonizing pain. His features were covered in darkness, but a lick of violet strands adorned a wave of his otherwise blackened hair. “We must. Cast. A spell. A stone. Something to weaken the Fire.” The words echoed from the shadowed visage. Darkness engulfed the room…

  ***

  “What happened?” Isabella asked as she began to sit up.

  “You fainted,” said Micah.

  “Oh, right. You were panicking. But then—”

  “Then what?”

  “Nothing,” she said. She had heard laughter, dark frightening laughter. It hadn’t been Micah’s... “You didn’t hear anyone laughing did you? Before I passed out?”

  “No, why?”

  Great. She was going insane. “No reason.” She let out a quiet sigh.

  “Sorry if my panicking scared you,” Micah said.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said, sitting fully upright. “Did you figure out a way to get out of here?”

  “I think so.”

  He walked over to the right wall and moved a curtain to reveal an elevator.

  “Why didn’t you get someone? Go up it?”

  “It needs a key. I couldn’t find the key you had. I looked everywhere.

  A hot blush painted her cheeks. “Well, not everywhere.” Isabella fished it out of her back pocket. “Here.”

  He turned the key and the elevator door opened. Isabella got to her feet as Micah held it for her. They stepped inside, and up they went; to where, they did not know. Another dark room. They opened the door and found themselves in a small space behind what looked like a cupboard. Isabella stepped from behind it. Micah followed suit.

  “We’re in my kitchen, Micah. How did we get into my kitchen?”

  “I have no idea.”

  They walked through the apartment as Isabella looked carefully. “Hmm, I don’t think my grandmother is home yet. Maybe we should head back to the party so they don’t notice we’re missing.” Micah nodded in agreement.

  They exited Is
abella’s apartment and made their way through the hallway. “Let's use the side stairwell,” she suggested. They got a few flights down and heard voices. It sounded like the maids on duty. They probably wouldn't say anything. Then she heard Archie, the driver, talking. What was he doing up there? It didn't matter. He was nice, but he wouldn’t keep a secret from her grandmother twice. She pulled Micah's arm. “Let's go back in the hallway and take the main elevator.”

  “Someone will see us,” he said. “This is my floor.”

  “And Theophilus's floor.”

  He was right. Seth came whistling out of the central elevator. Isabella breathed a sigh of relief, grateful it wasn't someone else. “Oh, there you two are. The party’s almost over—I came to look for you.”

  “Don’t worry, Seth. I made sure she was safe for you,” said Micah.

  Shooting him an annoyed look, Seth couldn’t seem to find the words to retaliate. “Fair enough. So, did you guys find Theophilus in that secret room?”

  “No. But we found a speakeasy-library thing. It was kinda awesome,” Micah said. “Just a little too creepy for me to want to go back to, like, ever.”

  Seth studied Isabella for a moment. She looked away. “What's wrong?”

  “She fainted,” Micah supplied.

  “I just got dizzy from all the dust, I think. I’m fine.” She looked away from the boys.

  “You're sure you're not sick?” asked Seth.

  “I said, I'm fine.”

  He nodded. “Then I think we should get back before someone notices we are all missing from Johnna’s party.”

  “And you care about getting in trouble?” Isabella asked, folding her arms.

  “That's not the point.”

  Isabella’s eyes met Seth’s, and, for a moment, she felt like she understood him. He was worried about her and Micah getting into trouble, not himself. But why would he care about her? He barely knew her.

  “Okay, let’s get going then.” She started forward as Micah shook his head.

  “Sorry, guys, but I wanna go to bed. No one cares if I'm there, anyway.” He turned and began to wander down the hall toward Robert Heel’s old apartment suite, where he and his family were now staying.

  Without interfering, Seth and Isabella shrugged to each other and started toward the elevator. Just in front of them, a door flew open, and Theophilus spilled out. Isabella gasped and pulled Seth into the first closet she found. Peering through the keyhole, she watched as Robert Heel followed behind.

  “Are you certain she’s going to meet us there, Theo?”

  “Yes, Robert. You may have razor-sharp hearing, but I still have twenty years on you, old friend. My noggin is well in hand, I assure you.” Theophilus continued on his way to the elevator with Uncle Robert. “I don’t believe she’s going to like this meeting.”

  “It’s not about what she likes, Theophilus. It’s about what is best for this hotel and her family.” Theophilus looked back and grinned at him.

  As the elevator doors swallowed both men up, Seth looked at Isabella with a look of surprise on his face.

  “My grandmother and those two are up to something. Come with?”

  “No way. I thought we were going back to the party.”

  “Fine. I’ll go alone.” She pushed open the closet door and stepped out into the hallway. “I knew I couldn't trust anybody,” she muttered.

  “Trust? This isn’t about trust. You want to go sneaking around and eavesdropping on your grandmother and her friends!”

  She turned to find Seth’s Adam’s apple nearly touching her nose from him standing so close. “Oh, um, sorry.” She stepped back as if burned and took a recomposing breath. “This is my hotel. My family’s legacy. I need to know what is going on with it. It’s important to me.” Her face softened as she spoke.

  “But I thought you wanted to have a normal holiday, Izzy.”

  She shrugged. “I can't have one until I know what's happening.”

  “I guess I can’t let you go alone. Micah isn’t here to protect you this time.”

  “Pfft, more like he’s not here for me to protect him this time.” She smiled and let out a soft chuckle.

  “I’ll go with you, but if there’s any sign of trouble, will you promise we can leave right away?”

  Isabella shook her head and walked away. “I don't make promises I can't keep.”

  Seth looked at her as she stopped in front of the elevator. “I’m so going to regret this,” he mumbled to himself as he caught up with her.

  Chapter Eight

  Spies Like Us

  After passing a few of the known gossipers of the hotel staff, Seth and Isabella stepped into the long corridor that held the hotel's executive offices.

  “Which way is your grandmother's office?” Seth asked.

  “That way,” Isabella said, pointing left but turning to walk right.

  “Then why are we going in the opposite direction?”

  Without answering, Isabella led Seth to a closet with a tall oak door. She opened it to reveal a nearly empty storage unit lined on three sides with a bench and only a few boxes stuffed onto the top shelf. Beneath the shelf directly before them was a hole, cut out for the vent in the wall behind it.

  “If we listen through this, we can hear everything in my grandmother's office without them seeing us. Her door is at the opposite end of the hallway, but her office actually curves into a room below this level and expands out this way. That vent over there will let us hear down into it.” Isabella stepped onto the bench in front of the vent as Seth closed the door behind them. She turned back to him sharply. “Why'd you close it?”

  “I thought you didn't want anyone to see us,” he said. “I can open it again if you want.”

  “Shh.” Isabella cupped her hand over her ear, pressed it to the vent, then plugged her opposite ear with her fingers. Leaving the door in place, Seth joined her, bending down slightly due to his height.

  In the office, Catherine said, “I know you think you're trying to help, Robert, but, at the end of the day, this is my grandchild's hotel, her family legacy, and I am doing my best to maintain it until she's ready to take the helm.”

  “We may not be family by blood, but is that all that counts? I just can't let this hotel or the Foxworthy name go to hell.” That was Uncle Robert. “Renee and Sinclair were my father's dearest friends, much like you and Theo have been to me. I love you all like family, so don't think I'm bringing this up for any other reason. I honestly believe the hotel is being mismanaged.”

  “How dare you, Robert?” Isabella's grandmother said.

  “I don't mean any offense, Catherine, but things are happening in this hotel that need to be addressed. I know it might be easy to look the other way, but we can't always do that.”

  “And what's your opinion, Theo?” she asked.

  “To protect the flame and accept her birthright, the last diadem must be allowed to re-connect with the lost heir. If we open the vault, they may reveal themselves to one another, and then and only then will the Violet Fire be restored.”

  “There's more to it than that, Theophilus!” Catherine admonished.

  “If you open the vault, then you will find the Foxworthy fortune, and the hotel will be saved in more ways than one,” said Robert.

  “The Violet Fire must be the priority,” argued Theophilus. “That means we must bring her to the lost heir.”

  “And the vault,” said Robert.

  “What the hell is Theophilus talking about? The Violet what?” Seth asked, which earned him an elbow and a hearty shush from Isabella. “I wanna hear,” he whispered.

  “Then do it quietly!” Isabella scolded in a hushed voice. The hotel was in danger of going under and this violet fire was going out. Theophilus had said that before to her. But what did it mean?

  “I appreciate your concern, Robert, but I don't have time for this right now. Despite what you may think, I do actually have things to do to keep this hotel running.” Without entertaining an
y replies, Isabella heard her Grandmother Catherine open the office door. “If you two are going to stay in here for much longer, I ask that you lock the door before you leave.”

  “Catherine, I'm sorry. Where are you going?”

  “To the supply closet, if you must know. I just got a text message from Rolf saying he can't find something or other.”

  “Why not send him to the supply closet, then?” asked Robert. “We really must talk this over.”

  “I would, but I prefer to mismanage things in person.”

  “Catherine—”

  The office door snapped shut.

  Panicked, Isabella shrieked, “This is the supply closet she was talking about! If we go out now, she'll catch us coming out of here together.”

  “And we can't have that, can we?”

  Isabella narrowed her eyes at him. “That's not funny. What are we going to do?” She looked at Seth with fear in her eyes.

  “Don't worry. I got this,” Seth said as he fiddled for his cell phone. It lit up as he tapped the screen furiously.

  As her grandmother approached the closet, Isabella heard the familiar tune of her cell phone's ringtone echoing outside the door. “Yes?” her grandmother asked whoever was on the receiver. “What do you mean Micah got sick at the Johnson party? What did he eat? Just perfect. No. No. I'll personally go up to make sure he's okay and speak with his parents. The last thing I need right now is a liability hanging over the hotel.”

  “How the hell did you pull that off so quickly?” Isabella asked Seth.

  “You don't think Micah and I have a backup plan, in case we get caught doing something wrong? I just texted him, Plan C: Catherine.”

  “That's all you need to say for him to play sick and have your parents call the front desk so that they call my grandmother?”

  “Yep. Knowing Micah, he probably called the front desk, pretending to be my parents, and demanded to see Catherine to save time.”

  “But won't your parents say it wasn't them who called?” Isabella asked as panic started to rise in her again.

  Seth shook his head. “Relax. He'll tell 'em something like he called the front desk to ask what was in the food they had catered... because Micah tends to file complaints. Then he probably went to my parents and faked sudden illness. They'll go on alarm and focus on him. When Catherine arrives, they won't be surprised someone from the hotel showed up to help because of Micah's distress call. They will promise not to sue because they are not the type and will mostly be focused on Micah. My parents like to worry over him, for some reason.” The last statement was mumbled and made him look away. “Whatever. It'll keep Catherine busy for a while.”