Prospero Regained

by L. Jagi Lamplighter

  I looked nervously at my comb, wrapped my hair up as it was, and pinned it behind my head.

  Ulysses continued, “At the time, I thought the fact that my life was in danger justified everything. Now that I’ve seen Father in action—I mean, the Gov’nor’s willing to die rather than let the demons go…” He hung his head sheepishly, “I realize I’ve been a royal git.”

  Logistilla patted his hand. “Don’t despair. Father knew you’d grow up eventually.”

  “Point is, Ma’am, Ulysses got your hair instead of Caliban’s—him not knowing which demon was in which staff and all.” Mab looked down at his fedora, which he was worrying between his fingers. “I … er … I thought you should know, seeing as Mr. Prospero is your father and all.”

  “Spirit-man, I would thank you to keep your wild hunches to yourself!” Logistilla huffed. “We don’t understand a word you are saying!”

  But I did. I understood exactly.

  * * *

  I MUNCHED on the few remaining carrots and tried to stay out from underfoot. I sat upon a blanket, which did little to protect me from the icy chill of the glacier, my most-recent dream weighing upon my thoughts. Were I to trust it, I might allow myself to hope. But that could not be.

  Still, Astreus’s taunt about not trusting had struck home. How had he known my thoughts? Oh, because I had told him.

  And because it was a demon’s duty to sow doubt and fear.

  The dull ache in my heart became an open, gaping wound that threatened to tear apart my whole being. Disgusted, I reminded myself coldly that even had none of this happened, there would never have been a chance for us. Humans did not mesh with elves. Astreus would never have been happy living in the mortal world. As for me, I could hardly leave Prospero, Inc., to go gallivanting about with elves—no matter how much I might wish otherwise …

  No, better that I mourn him, than that I tempt myself with false hopes and fall prey to Seir’s machinations again.

  Of course, Seir had come to rescue me. Could that mean there was some truth to his claim that Astreus’s affection for me lived on in his dark heart?

  I shook my head, amazed at my own schoolgirl-like naiveté. What incubus would not come when called by a woman he pursued? His coming signified nothing.

  * * *

  ERASMUS came over to where the rest of us were gathered. “Everything’s ready to save Father. Only, I need a volunteer and … an ounce of Water.”

  “An ounce!” we all cried.

  “A whole ounce? That’s at least forty drops!” I declared. “Would Father want that, under the circumstances? He ordered us to leave him.”

  “Forty drops could keep one of us hale and strong for forty years, twice or three times that if we ingested it sparingly.” Cornelius spoke up from where he had sat in quiet meditation. “That was eighty or even a hundred and twenty more years that Father’s projects could be watched over and brought to fruition. Eighty to a hundred years more guiding the Orbis Suleimani and making sure they are on the right path. Which would Father want more? His life? Or another century for one of us?”

  “But he told us not to…” I began and then let my voice trail off.

  Theo frowned down at me. “You’re only saying that because you are under a spell.”

  I swayed and sat down, startled.

  Was that true? It certainly did not sound like me to argue in favor of abandoning Father. What was I thinking?

  And yet, it seemed so obvious. Father had told us to leave. It was his last wish. He wanted his family to survive and carry on. We should not do anything that endangered our ability to carry out that last wish.

  I frowned, remembering the false voices in the City of Dis. I turned to Gregor to ask him to put up the zone of silence briefly, so that I could determine whether or not these thoughts were intrusions such as we heard in Dis. Just as my mouth opened, I remembered that he could not use his staff.

  I felt certain, absolutely certain, this was the right course … in exactly the same way I had felt certain, during the Great Fire of London, that I should remain in the house—even though all London was burning—because Father had told me to mind it until he returned.

  Oh my.

  “It’s not a spell, it’s an imprinting,” Logistilla declared. She lay with her head in Titus’s lap.

  “How do you know?” asked Theo.

  “It must be so.” Logistilla spoke to the rest of us like a schoolmarm addressing her charges. “Remember when Theo asked if Miranda was under a spell? Father said the answer was obvious. Well, I’ve been thinking: what about the situation would Father consider obvious? I believe I have figured out what he meant.

  “I’ve looked into the Unicorn quite a bit you know,” she continued primly. “I, too, considered joining her service once. Miranda could not possibly be under a spell that controlled her free will—not while serving the Lady of Free Will, Herself. Any such spell would have broken long ago. I’m sure that is what Father meant when he said it was obvious. No, if Miranda cannot disobey Father, it is not because of a spell!”

  Gregor spoke in his hoarse grave tones. “Angels have no free will of their own. Their attention is fixed upon God, and they take their instructions directly from the Lord. Fallen angels are angels who have become twisted, so that they are fixed only upon themselves. Nephilim, partaking of both human and angelic nature, must become fixed upon some outward thing. Because God is not visible to them, they pick some other being or element from their environment.

  “Historically, most nephilim have fixed upon Lilith, which is what led to their great excesses and, subsequently, the Flood.”

  “God’s teeth!” Theo slapped the ice beside him. “Then, Miranda is not under a spell at all! She’s merely ‘fixed’—‘imprinted,’ perhaps, would be a better word—upon Father!”

  Cornelius spoke softly. “If Miranda is indeed such a creature, it is likely that Father consecrated her to Eurynome in hopes that she would imprint upon the Unicorn. Perhaps, he was too late.”

  “Well, that makes me feel better.” Theo laughed as if a burden had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. “I hated thinking Father had done her harm.”

  A sudden rush of joy filled me. I recalled the hope that had come when the little silver star had balanced on Mab’s palm. Astreus, as both himself and the false Ferdinand, had spoken of how I might be like the angels, who never swerve from their duties because they see only the virtuous course. Certainly, such a fate would be preferable to being ensorcelled.

  I had experienced so many twists and upsets lately that I hesitated to rejoice. Still, I felt very glad that I had never quite stopped believing in Father.

  Gregor stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “It pains me to bring up an unpleasant subject, but can we trust Miranda?”

  “I beg your pardon?” I asked, quite astonished.

  Gregor inclined his head to me, “I mean no disrespect, Sister, nor do I doubt your intention. It is your heritage that concerns me. Do we know for certain that Lilith does not have some kind of control over Miranda? If Miranda obeys Father, and Father is gone, will she obey his order to listen to her brothers? Or will she revert to some earlier childhood memory and begin listening to the commands of her vile mother?”

  “This is ridiculous,” Theo interrupted. “Miranda is not a doll!”

  “Isn’t she?” Logistilla asked. “Why else did she haunt the castello for fifteen years without talking to anyone? I think she’s very much like a wind-up toy. Gregie-Poo is just asking: ‘Who is winding her up?’”

  “I wish you would not call me that,” Gregor sighed, resigned.

  “I am not a doll!” I insisted. “Nor am I going to do anything that would betray my family—no matter who my mother is!”

  “You mean, ‘not on purpose,’” Erasmus said.

  “You’re one to talk,” I spat back at him.

  “I may be an ass, true, but that doesn’t mean you’re not something worse. I saw your face when that ho
rrid plant was trying to eat me. You were glad. You just stood there and watched me get dragged down, laughing.”

  “That’s not true!” Mab leapt to my defense. “Miss Miranda jumped right in after you, as did Mr. Gregor!”

  “Yup, that’s right,” Mephisto chimed in. “She grabbed Soupy’s tail and went right into the soup—only it was black, more like black bean broth. Anyway, whatever it was, she went right in, while Mab and I took a nap. I love you, too, Brother, but I was tired.” He put his hands together, lay his head against them, and made snoring noises.

  I chuckled at Mephisto’s antics and then turned to Erasmus. “I admit I did not react immediately. It was not one of my best days. Especially, as you had been so quick to save me. But in my defense, you are a seasoned warrior, while I am a woman who prays and plays a flute.”

  To my surprise, Erasmus threw back his head and laughed. “You have me there. I’ve trained enough rookies to know that the skill of acting under pressure is one that must be learned. I had no idea you dived in after me. I’m touched.” He did not look touched, but he kept smiling.

  “She found you, too,” Gregor said kindly. He did not add that he had rescued Erasmus’s arm.

  “As to the Water”—Cornelius stood up; Erasmus moved to take his arm—“it’s up to Mephisto. He is currently the head of the family.”

  “That’s right, Miranda!” Mephisto declared, “When Daddy’s not here, I’m in charge, and Daddy told Miranda to obey me … or her brothers anyway, and that includes me. So, I’ve decided. We spend the wet and save Daddy!”

  “Wonderful.” Erasmus turned to Caliban. “How much time do we have left?”

  Caliban inclined his head to the club. “What time is it?”

  “Ten o’clock P.M. You have two hours until midnight,” replied the voice of King Vinae.

  Erasmus turned and smirked at me. “And just so that you don’t need to worry about being left out because you mother’s a demon, Miranda, you can be the volunteer.”

  * * *

  WE rose to go to our places. The thought that we might be able to save Father after all brought hope to my heart and lent a lightness to my step. Maybe, things were just not as bad as I had feared.

  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, devo
ted 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.