Free Prospero in Hell by L. Jagi Lamplighter Page A

seemed tainted, as if it had been paid for with my brother’s blood.
    “You may be right,” I admitted wearily. I took the book back, replaced the coat-of-arms, and slipped the slim volume back into the packet of my cashmere cloak. “It would certainly explain the facts. If it is true, I’m glad that Astreus has spent the last three hundred years toiling on some unpleasant task, and I’m sorry I danced with him!”
    Mab, who had admired his elven liege lord for many more centuries than I had been alive, did not share my fervor. Sticking his notebook into the pocket of his trench coat, he hunched his shoulders dejectedly and slouched from the room.
    The next morning, as we prepared to depart, Mab asked, “Before we leave, Harebrain, how did you find us?”
    “Find thee?” Mephisto was standing in front of a floor-length mirror set into the sitting-room door, trying on the cavalier’s hat Santa had given him for Christmas.
    “How did you happen to arrive right as the Three Shadowed Jerks attacked our plane?”
    “Ah, that,” Mephisto replied, adjusting the hat.
    He did not continue, but stood silently staring at his own reflection, his face contemplative. It was a handsome hat in a style Mephisto had often worn years ago, with a big indigo ostrich plume protruding at a jaunty angle. Seeing it on his head brought a pang of nostalgia for the company of the younger, saner Mephistopheles.
    I looked at my brother. Was he secretly evil? Had he been tithed and made a deal with the Rulers of Hell to save his life? Or was I starting at shadows and seeing bogeymen where none were present? If he were working for the forces of Hell, why did he save us, first in the warehouse and then when the Three Shadowed Once destroyed our plane?
    If Astreus tithed him, why had my brother portrayed the elf lord wracked by grief? None of it made any sense, and just thinking about it was making my head hurt.
    Eventually, Mephisto gripped the hat by its wide black brim and, pulling it off, handed it to me. “You’d better keep this, Miranda. I’ll only lose it.”
    “Er, thanks, Mephisto. Just what I always needed,” I murmured dubiously.
    “I’m not giving it to you. It’s my hat,” he replied frowning, as if he was concentrating very hard. “I just want you to keep it for me. Bring it along to Erasmus’s New Year’s Eve party, would you? Just in case I find a tux to match it. You did say you were going, didn’t you?”
    “Yes, I did.” I thought of Ferdinand, and my cheeks grew warm. A giddy girlish sensation threatened to engulf me.
    I stiffened. Was this natural or demon-Mephistopheles-induced madness? I frowned at my brother. “Were you going to answer Mab’s question?”
    “Huh? Oh, yeah.” My brother shrugged and replied in his rapid casual manner. “How did I find you? I didn’t. I was chasing them, the Three Shabby Ones. After they summoned Chimie back—and I snatched my staff out of their hands—I followed them around for a while, letting various friends have a chance at harassing them. They tried to teleport away, of course, but I’d snuck a few friends onto them: Soupy the Snake, and the poison butterfly, and guys like that. And… oh yeah, I just happened to be there when they were attacking you. They must have had a fell spirit watching your plane that alerted them when you were in the air. It probably had been following you ever since the Islands. Glad I was there, though! Itwould have been a shame if you’d crashed. That smooshed-to-red-paste look just wouldn’t suit you, Miranda.”
    “Thank you, Mephisto,” I said gratefully. Demon or not, he had saved me. Under the influence of hat-inspired nostalgia, I gave my crazy brother a hug.

CHAPTER FIVE
     

     

Of Secrets and Revelations
     
    A cold ride on Pegasus, a quick jaunt in a company jet, and we returned to Prospero’s Mansion, in the foothills of Oregon’s Cascade Mountains. Upon arriving home, I learned that Prospero, Inc. had just suffered