The Lost Heir

by Allison Whitmore

  Chapter Nine

  Uninvited

  later that morning, the wind beat across her face as her mother’s old roller skates took her through Culver Village Square. The holidays were everywhere. Mainly Christmas, but touches of Hanukkah and the solstice hung about several shops. She decided to stop in for breakfast at her favorite café to devise a plan. She needed a place away from the hotel so nobody would stick their noses in her business.

  “Welcome to Cake ‘n’ Honey. My name’s Max. How may I help you?” a teenage boy asked in a bored tone as she approached the counter. New kid. She read his nametag to make sure she remembered him next time. She prided herself on being a regular at this place and knowing all of the staff. Kids her age usually didn’t hang out at cafés, so it was a favorite hiding spot of hers when she needed to just be alone. No matter where she hid in the hotel, someone was bound to find her. Here, she found solace.

  Max Sepulveda was his full name. Awesome. She was pretty good with names for some reason. She liked the way they fit with people’s faces. With the exception of that kid, Pythian. What the heck kind of name was that, anyway? And what on earth had happened to him? She pushed the image of the boy’s face from her mind and returned her focus to Max, noticing the half-eaten triple-chocolate brownie he’d tucked behind the register. A rule-breaker. Very good to know.

  “May I have the back table?”

  “Yeah, sure.” The lanky caramel-skinned boy led her to a table tucked in the corner of the shop. As he handed her the menu that she had already memorized, his shirt-sleeve lifted, and she spotted the edge of a tattoo on his bicep. Not surprising for a teenager but a little uncharacteristic of a worker at Cake n’ Honey. “Your server will be right with you.” Max cat-yawned. He was probably a partier. Out all night.

  She ordered tea and a plum bun and then took out her journal and scribbled ferociously:

  Musetta.

  I know Jack Heel is the lost heir. He has to be. He saved me when I was little. Then he disappeared. I’m pretty sure that he works at the studio. I just don’t know why he’s never come by to visit or say hello. Maybe he’s afraid of my grandmother. She can be kind of scary…Stomach growling. Need another plum bun like ASAP. BRB –

  Just as she stood to order another plum bun, her telephone jingled a ringtone she knew all too well. “Isabella! Have you forgotten what day it is? Where are you?”

  “Decorating day. Damn.”

  “If you are out of the hotel, return immediately,” her grandmother said, and then the phone went dead. There would be no arguing with her grandmother today.

  Isabella had to find Jack, but it was only December twenty-first, so she had some time still. She left the correct amount, along with a healthy tip for the server, and then tucked away her journal. “Good-bye, Max,” she said, startling the snoozing boy on her way out.

  “Oh, see ya.”

  She laughed. He was kind of cute, but she had no time for boys. Not when the only place she’d called home since she was eight years old, and between whose walls she’d spent every birthday and holiday before that, might fall to pieces forever. She’d find Jack. Then everything would be all right.

  As she approached the hotel, she could already hear the entire ruckus going on inside. She walked into the middle of the lobby. “It’s December twenty-first!” Rolf cried. “Let’s tree-trim, people!” Wreaths, garlands, and red-and-gold bows were being tossed about, to and fro. Beads and mistletoe, candelabras and Santas, shimmering gift boxes with perfect little bows—they all decorated the hotel, bringing the holiday to life.

  “I wish those presents weren’t empty,” Micah said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his robe.

  “Put some clothes on.” Isabella touched her necklace. It was warm in her hand. She could tell Micah was a bit embarrassed after what she had said, but she only felt the buzz of his anxiety, rather than the usual onslaught of feelings. She could get used to this.

  “Nah, I gotta go fix my mom’s butlerbot. I work better in my flannels.”

  “Your mom has a butlerbot? Nano could just arrange housekeeping for you guys. Those things don’t work, do they?”

  “They’re limited, as my dad would say, but she likes the novelty,” he said, heading back upstairs.

  Isabella folded her arms tightly across her chest. First, the necklace and Theophilus’s ramblings; then there was that secret meeting with Robert, Catherine, and, of course, Theophilus. And let’s not forget Jack: the possibility that he could be the lost heir, maybe living right next door the entire time. Before she had a chance to let out the petulant yelp of frustration brewing in her chest, though, Seth appeared, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. Those were probably his pajamas, too, but at least they were a lot less obvious than Micah’s lazy ensemble.

  “What’s going on?”

  “My grandmother makes us wait until the twenty-first to trim our tree. All the other hotels have theirs shiny with gold bows and silver crap by Thanksgiving.”

  “I was wondering why the tree was naked,” said Seth.

  Isabella blushed.

  “Take a box!” Elyse shoved one at Seth.

  “Sure, but why is there so much purple? It’s Christmas.”

  Elyse buzzed off, waving her hand over her shoulder, much too busy to answer his question.

  “If you must know, the violet flowers were my great-grandmother’s favorite.”

  “Renee?”

  Shocked that he’d remembered, she continued. “Yes. Renee. Anyway, since it was her hotel, we keep the tradition. Actually,” Isabella said, letting her earlier frustrations drop away, “we also bring out the— Here they come.” Male staff members carted violet Victorian sofas into the room as the old blue sofas were taken out.

  In the midst of all this activity, the Antonelli twins appeared. Xander looked excited. Cleo surveyed the scene with slightly hooded eyes. She liked decorations, Isabella was sure, but the labor involved in helping hang said decorations was absolutely not her cup of tea.

  “Why don’t you just leave the purple sofas out all year?” Seth asked, pointing to the one being placed facing the tree.

  “Violet,” Isabella muttered as her mind stuck on the word that had recently been showing up randomly. There was the man with the violet in his hair and the Violet Fire. “The Violet Fire is dying,” were Theophilus’s exact words. “She is the only one who can save it.” Whatever that meant.

  She could not take this anymore. She had to know what was going on. She had to know more about this Empath Society. The problem was that, simultaneously, she wanted nothing to do with it. It petrified her from the tips of her toes to the top of her wild head of hair.

  “Are you performing tonight?” asked Cleo, bringing Isabella back from her mental game of ping-pong to see Cleo looking directly at Seth. Her hand was on her hip, brows raised expectantly.

  “Yeah,” said Seth, stuffing his fingers into his pocket and shrugging.

  “I want to hear you play.”

  “It’s just old-people stuff.”

  “I’m sure you’re great.”

  “I guess, but this band’s my mom’s thing. She just makes us join along.”

  “Just your mom’s?” Cleo asked.

  Seth looked from Isabella to Cleo then to the box in his hand. His eyes went wide, as if he'd forgotten to do the most enjoyable and exciting thing in the world. “I gotta go,” he said then left them standing there.

  Isabella laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Cleo demanded.

  “It’s usually me chasing boys away.”

  “That’s because you’re so bossy.”

  “Ha! And you’re not?”

  “Whatever, Izzy.”

  The holiday music kicked up. The Yuletide was here. As much as the atmospheric cheer titillated her senses, she couldn’t stand the idea of being forced to stay inside the whole day.

  “I gotta go do something,” Isabella said when Xander returned with a chocolate-covered reindeer.
<
br />   “Where did you get that?” Cleo asked brightly.

  He broke it in half and deposited it into her hand without a second thought. “Sorry, Isabella. Want some of mine?”

  “No. I was just about to head out.”

  “Oh, where ya goin’?” asked Xander.

  “Brightwood Studios.”

  “Awesome! I wanna go!” Xander beamed.

  “I thought you were going to help decorate.”

  “Are you kidding me? As much as I love Christmas, you’re talking movie studio. But wait a minute. They don’t give tours at Brightwood.”

  “I know,” Isabella said with a sigh. “And I really need to talk with someone on the lot. I just don’t have his number or e-mail or anything.”

  “Not much of a social networker, Isabella?” Cleo asked dryly, licking the last of the chocolate off her fingertips.

  “This guy probably doesn’t even have a computer.”

  “Guy? Who is he?”

  “Obviously he must be some weirdo. Who doesn’t have a computer?” asked Micah, materializing from where, she did not know.

  “No one. I thought you were fixing your mom’s robot maid.”

  “Butlerbot. Finished it and got bored.”

  “And showered and dressed? It’s been seventeen minutes, tops.”

  “I can move quickly when I want to. So what’s going on? Where are we going?”

  “I didn’t say anything about any we.”

  “Aw, come on, Izzy,” said Xander. “I really want to come with you. Even if we don’t get in.”

  “Get in where?” asked Seth, holding a sprig of mistletoe and wiping the tip of his nose as a bead of sweat fell down it.

  “We’re going to Brightwood Studios,” said Cleo. “Wanna come?”

  Isabella rolled her eyes. Why don’t you skywrite it above the hotel that you’re in love with him and get it over with? “I thought I was going alone, but—”

  “But you don’t talk to Johnna Johnson, whose father just happens to be one of the top guys there,” Cleo put in.

  “Oh, right.” Isabella had tried to forget that annoying fact. “Do you think she can get us in?”

  “If she begs her father, no. But if I call her mother, who happens to love me, and drop your name, Izzy, I think we might get in. I mean, you are a Foxworthy.”

  “That’s a load of bunk,” said Isabella. “They don’t even let you past the gate unless you have a badge or paperwork.”

  “Yes, but there are always exceptions. Have you actually tried asking your grandmother to get you in for a tour or a visit?”

  “Well, no. I figure she’d just tell me to stay away from Brightwood Studios. It is a sketchy kinda place, after all.”

  “Well, I’ve got a plan that will work, okay? Johnna’s mom is a first-class social climber. She’ll insist that her husband get us some passes.”

  “In case you guys didn’t know, I love my sister,” said Xander, kissing her cheek. “I’m going to get my camera. Be right back.”

  “So, we gonna do this thing?” asked Seth.

  “Um, yes. Yes, of course we are,” Isabella said finally. Going with them wouldn’t be so bad, especially if they got her in easily, and especially if they provided the proper diversion. “Just don’t tell my grandmother. And don’t invite Johnna! She’ll blab. I want to keep this a secret.”

  Cleo looked at her out of the corner of her eye but didn’t probe for an answer. “Okay, I’ll think of something. Just give me a second.” She walked off, phone pressed to ear, her free arm waving as she spoke animatedly with Mrs. Johnson. When she returned, she had a satisfied look on her face. “All set. Gonna go get changed quickly.”

  “What? Can’t you wear what you’ve got on? I want to go now.”

  “We still have to wait ‘til Xander gets back.”

  “Yeah. I gotta get cleaned up, too. Meet you back here in five,” Seth said, jogging toward the elevator. She noticed he still had that mistletoe with him.

  “Be back in two minutes,” said Cleo.

  This was becoming a circus. Though she was grateful for Cleo’s help, all that was on her mind was slipping in and out without any of the adults catching her, especially her grandmother. That… and finding Jack Heel.

  Chapter Ten

  Brightwood Studios

  Isabella and her four imposing guests approached the Brightwood Studios gate an hour later. Cleo led the way in a ‘60s mod outfit, complete with white go-go boots. Why she was in such a ridiculous costume, Isabella had no clue.

  The man at the security booth snapped open his window as soon as his eyes shifted to them. “So, now you’ve got your little Bieber fan club with you,” he sneered. This guy really needed to go on a lunch break. That or sign himself up for a personality transplant.

  “We have an appointment with a Miss Julia Pengrave,” Cleo told him smoothly. “Isabella Foxworthy, Seth and Micah Logan, and Alexander and Cleo Antonelli.”

  The guard lifted a red shaggy eyebrow and then looked down at his list. “Oh, yeah. They called about you a half hour ago. I thought it was a band or somethin’. All right, let’s see your identification.” They stared at the man. “Ain’t none of you got IDs?”

  “I think I have my school identification,” Cleo said, pulling out a card encased in plastic from her small bag. She promptly handed it to the guard.

  “Thank you, Cleopatra,” he said, reading her full name off the card. Cleo blushed. Seth and Micah chuckled. Micah put his fingers together in a triangle and swiveled his head about to mimic an ancient Egyptian dancer. Seth laughed louder. Isabella started to join in but stopped herself when Cleo’s embarrassment invaded her senses.

  “Blame my parents,” said Cleo in a bored tone, shrugging. Isabella couldn’t believe she could keep her emotions so well hidden.

  “Next!” the guard bellowed to the rest of them.

  Seth pulled an out-of-state driver’s license from his back pocket to everyone but Micah’s shock. “I have to update this, but here.” He stuffed it into the guard’s hand.

  “You drive?” asked Isabella, eyes wide.

  “Sure do, kid,” Seth said, taking his license back. “Take you for a spin if you gotta car for me to drive.” He winked, and Isabella blushed, even though she knew he was only joking.

  “I wouldn’t risk my life if I were you,” said Micah. He ignored Seth’s glare as he turned to the guard and admitted, “I don’t have an ID. Cleo, why didn’t that lady tell us to bring our IDs?” Micah asked as Xander pulled out his school ID and showed the guard, who checked him off the list.

  “I thought you were supposed to be smart,” Cleo said.

  “Smart doesn’t always mean prepared,” Micah replied.

  “Touché,” said Cleo.

  Micah smiled at her, and for a moment it looked like they were sharing something silent between one another. Then Cleo looked away when the guard cleared his throat.

  Isabella dreaded telling the guard that she didn’t have an ID with her, either. But before she could do so, a sunken-faced man swerved an open-top van inside the front gate. He climbed out and marched toward them, his smile enormous.

  “Five kiddos, right? Yep. That’s them,” he said rapidly in a heavy Australian accent and then leaned over to the guard to speak behind his hand. “And one of ‘em’s a Foxworthy. Now, don’t you worry—I got their clearance badges. They’re special V.I.P.s” His sharp blue eyes glistened on the unusually warm December day. He wore a fez cap and khaki-colored safari gear. In his left hand was a large bullhorn, and around his neck was a silver whistle. Did he and Theophilus share fashion designers or something?

  “These two here haven’t shown IDs yet,” the guard told him.

  Isabella and Micah shared a look of worry and apology.

  “Don’t you worry. Don’t you worry,” the strange man said, pulling out a gray cylindrical device and putting what looked like a camera lens up to Micah’s eye. A beam of light scanned over it. “All right. You’re good.”<
br />
  “Wow. That’s really cool,” said Micah. “Can I try it?”

  “Of course you can’t,” said Cleo, planting her hands on her hips. “He has to check if she’s the right person.”

  The man chuckled. “The little lady here’s a stickler for the rules, eh?” he asked, promptly handing the device to Micah. Micah, who looked like he was holding back sticking his tongue out in triumph at Cleo, smiled and pointed it at Isabella’s eyes. Expertly, he clicked the button at the bottom and Isabella felt the warm beam scan her eyes. “If you’re not on the list, then it will start beeping like mad,” the man told them. When it didn’t beep, he snapped the device back up and stuffed it in his bag. “There, we’re all set, Nate,” he said to the guard before turning to Isabella and her friends. “Welcome to Brightwood Studios.” His accent made her feel as if they were going on an adventure. “I’m Dago, your tour guide. Mr. Johnson and Mr. Peck had me come ‘round to get ya.”

  “Who’s Mr. Peck?” muttered Cleo.

  “I hear there is a Foxworthy in our midst,” he said brightly to Cleo, apparently missing her question. “Very exciting.”

  The five of them exchanged glances. “What’s so exciting about that?” Isabella asked as Dago led them inside the gate and toward his strange van.

  “I didn’t think Brightwood gave formal tours,” said Xander.

  “We do today,” Dago replied.

  “Mrs. Johnson told us that a Julia Pengrave, the studio historian, would be giving us a tour,” explained Cleo.

  “Yeah,” said Isabella. “No one said anything about riding around on… that thing.”

  “Pengrave left for the holidays, so you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid,” he said to Cleo apologetically and then turned to Isabella with his eyebrows raised. ”And this thing is a luxury only a few are privy to, so if I were you, young lady, I would shut it and grin.”

  “Ugh. Watch your mouth, fez boy,” said Seth, shaking his head. “Are you guys sure you want to do this?” he asked everyone but looked directly at Isabella.

  “Yeah. I really do.”