The Lost Heir

by Allison Whitmore

  The Lost Heir

  Allison Whitmore

  with

  Erin Virginia

  &

  Grace Arden

  Copyright 2015 Allison Whitmore

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions

  should be directed to: info@booktrope.com

  Cover Design by Amalia Chitulescu

  Edited by Kathryn Galan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-5137-0574-3

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-5137-0625-2

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015919877

  Contents

  Chapter One: Isabella Foxworthy 7

  Chapter Two: The Boys in Town 14

  Chapter Three: Theophilus Dodge 23

  Chapter Four: Purple Hearts 30

  Chapter Five: A Hole in the Wall 44

  Chapter Six: Blackbirds and Butterflies 53

  Chapter Seven: Ante Up 60

  Chapter Eight: Spies Like Us 69

  Chapter Nine: Uninvited 81

  Chapter Ten: Brightwood Studios 88

  Chapter Eleven: Expect the Unexpected 99

  Chapter Twelve: Into the Darkness 106

  Chapter Thirteen: The Light Council 115

  Chapter Fourteen: Puzzle Pieces 122

  Chapter Fifteen: Slip and Slide 130

  Chapter Sixteen: Fun House 138

  Chapter Seventeen: Mimi & the Avenue 146

  Chapter Eighteen: Behold 155

  Chapter Nineteen: The Winter Solstice 165

  Chapter Twenty: A Little Shop and A Little Man 175

  Chapter Twenty-One: Visions 182

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Key & Cast 186

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Wish Valley 195

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Puzzlers 201

  Chapter Twenty-Five: The Truth 209

  Chapter Twenty-Six: The Midnight Brotherhood 216

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Shiny and New 228

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Empath Hall 235

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Jack 240

  Chapter Thirty: Prepared 247

  Chapter Thirty-One: Home for the Holidays 255

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Visiting Day 261

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Back to Brightwood 266

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Lost and Found 274

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Heart Stings 280

  Chapter Thirty-Six: The Divinato 287

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Magic 294

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Black Underground 301

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Foxworthy Vault 309

  Chapter Forty: The Orb 313

  Chapter Forty-One: Going Home 321

  Chapter Forty-Two: Happy Birthday 329

  Chapter Forty-Three: The Waltz 337

  Chapter Forty-Four: Death Match 347

  Chapter Forty-Five: Alive 357

  About the Authors 365

  Thank you to our families and friends

  for your loving support and devotion.

  Remember to believe in magic.

  Chapter One

  Isabella Foxworthy

  Fire licked the walls and formed a canopy above her head. Numb. Trapped. Their screaming burned in her ears as the earth shook, and near-death coated her skin. The fire whipped around her, close but not touching, never touching. It was almost as if she wielded some sort of power over the flames, but that couldn't be. She heard her mother and father's screams over and over as they were engulfed by the blaze. She was helpless to save them. Suddenly, the screams stopped. Terror climbed into her throat as a shadow moved toward her. She tried to breathe but couldn't. The room grew darker as her body weakened.

  “Come on. I've got you,” the man said, as her knees buckled and she grabbed his shirt. “I've got you. You’re a light in this darkness. You're safe.” The trembling in the ground stopped, but the fire continued.

  Enveloped in a warmth different from the conflagration, eight-year-old Isabella Foxworthy collapsed. Cradled in the man's arms, her terror melted into tranquility as she was taken from the house into the cool night. Her eyes opened to an oddly purple sky, and she noticed a light glowing around them, not unlike the vicious flames of the fire. Red deep as blood. An empty blackness filled the room. A foreboding fear encircled her heart. Then, her savior mumbled something, and the light turned to a silvery blue.

  “Give her to me,” another man said.

  “I can watch over her.”

  “Give her to me,” he repeated. “She needs to be at the hotel with her grandmother. The Violet Fire will protect her.”

  She felt a gentle caress on her cheek and a rush of coolness shoot through her body. “Then I'll take her.”

  Isabella reached up to touch the second man's hand, but he was gone. “Where's my mother?”

  “Hush. I'll take you to your Nano,” said the one who held her, the one who’d saved her.

  Then, as the violet sky turned blue again and as the approaching fire engines howled in her ears, the man carried her up the narrow road to the Foxworthy Hotel.

  An empath – a person who feels other people’s emotions

  A diadem – the most powerful type of empath in the world

  The Violet Fire – the center of all energy, life and empathy

  Isabella Foxworthy – the girl just trying to make sense of it all from one mishap to the next

  Los Angeles, CA - Present Day

  “FREAK!”

  As sunlight and darkness fought for occupation in the sky, nearly-sixteen-year-old, Isabella Foxworthy clutched her backpack as she approached Sunset Boulevard en route to the city bus stop a few blocks down the famous street with an insatiable need to get home FAST. Classes at St. Agnes High School had gotten out an hour earlier that day, but she'd stayed behind with a couple other girls to work out with their capoeira instructor – dancing, flipping and kicking, totally fun for her. She was getting good at it, too. But today, she had to catch Betty before she took off on her vacation.

  Isabella shifted her eyes down to her smart phone. 3:52. Awesome. She still had time to make it.

  “WEIRDO!”

  Two voices filled her ears as she got closer to her destination. One like the roar of a lion, the other—a baboon, maybe? Against her better judgment, she continued down the street, past a hippie clothing store and Mel's Drive-In restaurant. 3:54.

  “Stop it!” A third voice seemed to come from a young boy; his pleas punched fear straight into her chest and invaded her senses. “Please? Please, leave me alone!” the boy continued. She literally felt his fear.

  Her heart squeezed as she heard another shout of, “Stop!”

  A minute ago, she’d wanted to make it home in time for Betty's corn ‘n’ crab chowder before the hotel cook left for the Christmas holidays after her shift, but she had to help this kid, right? Or maybe a cop would come by.

  Images of Betty’s chowder fled her mind when she saw three boys in the opening of an alley a few feet from the bus stop. The largest dangled the smallest off the ground. The other stood laughing as he watched—the baboon. He and his bigger friend were dressed like skaters while the boy was in black
pants, a white shirt and a vest. Strange outfit for a little kid. The boy shook him again. She told herself that she felt absolutely nothing. She could just walk by or maybe call for help. Then the connection between her and the young boy grew stronger.

  Fat flying fists seized her heart and squeezed. Her throat narrowed, her eyes centered on the action. 3:56.

  “I can still make the bus.” When the big boy dumped the little one onto the ground and kicked him, Isabella threw down her backpack and marched full-speed over to the scene. With expert ease, she yanked one boy's already low-hanging pants down. The pudgy rat-faced boy bellowed. His friend, lankier and full of acne, lost his hold on the small boy as he doubled over in fits of laughter. He was met with a swift kick to the shin, making him stumble and fall. “Come on, kid. You gotta get up. You gotta run.”

  “I can't,” the small boy moaned. She could feel him acutely. He was nauseated, worn out, and still afraid.

  Isabella snatched him by the collar, forcing the boy into a squat. A large shadow loomed over them. Kicking her foot out behind her and then sweeping it backward, she tripped Lanky-Acne again, but she didn't think she would be able to get away with her amateur capoeira tactics much longer. From the look in Lanky-Acne's eyes as he got back to his feet, Isabella knew it was going to be game over soon.

  “Run, kid! Run!” She yanked the boy to his feet, hearing the 4:00 bus pull up to the bus stop behind them. “Follow me!” She felt his hopeless fear slide into relief mingled with a burst of adrenaline. The change in him was fast, but it worked for their situation. They needed to outrun these guys. The bloody-nosed boy's adrenaline charged Isabella forward even faster as they raced down the alley to a small street that ran adjacent to Sunset. They could take that street down to her school and be pretty close to the main gates. She wanted to go back for her backpack, but she’d run away from it. Damn it. She looked behind her. Pudgy Rat-Face fisted it between his thick fingers, slung it over his shoulder, and, with his friend now fully recovered from having his pants around his ankles, chased them down the wide alley.

  “Keep up, kid! We have to hurry.”

  “Do you know where you're going?” the boy asked as they ran.

  “I always make sure I know where I'm going.”

  They turned the corner onto the back street and ran down several short blocks until they came to the narrow road that led to the front gate of her school. White, purple, and green Victorian houses sat on the expansive grounds of a former oil baron's estate.

  The campus guard let her pass, but when the boy followed, the burly man stood. “Whoa. Whoa. Where do you think you're going, kid?”

  Isabella turned back, chest heaving. “Oh, Sam. This is, uh, my little brother.” She felt newfound safety and warmth threading between her and the boy. He wasn't worried that Sam was going to toss him out. It was odd. He didn't even know Sam, and those goons were still just outside. She tried to ignore the boy's reaction as Sam raised his eyebrows and folded his arms. Isabella's dark, wavy frizz, tan skin, and dull, olive-drab eyes clashed sharply with the pallid, sleek-haired boy with a dust of slant at the corners of his black eyes.

  “He's adopted.”

  Sam looked skeptical. “I never heard you mention a brother.”

  “I...” She'd always wanted a brother. Did that count?

  “You know the rules,” the burly guard said, arms across his chest. “No boys on campus.”

  “Look! He's being chased by them.” She pointed at the two boys who were huffing and snarling at the gate. “They were beating him up.” She didn't mention that the boy standing next to her no longer seemed fazed by this. In fact, he was just picking at his fingernails as if nothing were going on at all. Sam, on the other hand, did not take the invasion of the menacing boys lightly.

  He walked toward them, rattling his keys and waving his baton. “Is that right?”

  The bullies backed up, shaking their heads.

  Isabella approached behind Sam. “Scared now, aren't you? Cowards! Just give me my backpack and go away.”

  “What backpack? This one here? This is mine,” Pudgy-Rat-Face said, clinging Isabella's black backpack with hot pink flowers to his chest.

  “Fancy pants,” said Sam. He took another step toward them. They stepped back in unison. Rat-Face dropped her backpack, and the boys turned and shot off like two arrows released from an archer's bow. “Good riddance.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” Isabella said, patting his arm.

  “Is someone picking you up?” asked Sam.

  “I prefer the bus,” she said. The boy stood beside her expressionless as he shifted his eyes between her and Sam as they spoke. He seemed perfectly calm now. It was as if the episode outside the gate hadn't even happened. Isabella wondered why she was still so connected to him. He wasn't in danger any longer.

  “I don't think that's such a good idea with those two out there,” said Sam. “You should call your family.”

  “I don't have a family,” she replied.

  Sam's expression was serious when he asked, “What about your grandmother and all those people living under your roof?”

  “My grandmother's all right, I guess, but those people living under our roof need to take a vacation,” said Isabella.

  “Isn't that what they're doing?” Sam laughed.

  “Maybe, but I'm not,” she said, looking down at her phone. It was 4:20. Betty would be leaving soon. “I can take care of myself,” she said as a coolness passed through her body, and her connection to the boy snapped apart as if it was a dried twig. “Well, I guess I wouldn't mind a ride... this time. My grandmother won’t like that I’m asking for one so last minute, though.”

  Sam chuckled. “I’m sure she’ll make an exception. And what about you? Where do you live, kid?” he asked, looking at the small boy.

  “I was on my way to see my Uncle Theophilus at the Foxworthy Hotel.”

  “What?” Isabella's mouth fell open. Sam laughed.

  The boy continued, “The Foxworthy—”

  “I heard you. That's my hotel. And your uncle hasn't been around for over a month.” Her old music instructor, a Foxworthy family friend for decades, did have a room at the hotel but not an apartment suite like the rest of the permanent residents. He was always on the go, and he wouldn't be back for months.

  “Oh no, that's not true,” said the boy. “He'll be there today to give piano lessons.” This kid really was getting on her nerves.

  “Oh, great. I hope they're for you and not me,” she said with a sigh.

  The young boy tilted his head. “And what do you mean it's your hotel?”

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, a black town car pulled up in front of the school. A gray-faced driver with gray-blue eyes rolled down the window.

  “Hi, Archie. This is my friend,” Isabella said, thrusting her thumb behind her at the boy. She turned to him. “What was your name again?” They'd chatted with Sam for a while about a lot of nonsense while waiting, and he had said it, but she hadn't paid much attention. She had to stop being so selfish, right? But she wasn't selfish. She did a lot for a lot of people. So maybe it wasn't that she was selfish. It was more that she really wanted to be selfish but couldn't. She really didn't know.

  “Pythian,” the boy said.

  She smirked. “No wonder you were being pummeled.”

  “Pummeled?” asked Pythian.

  “You know... beaten up? Creamed? Turned into rodent bait?” She probably shouldn't have said that. For a person who sometimes felt other people's emotions, she certainly was good at whipping them with her tongue at the wrong time.

  “How's it goin', Isabella?” Archie the driver asked as they got into the back of the hotel's service car, wrinkles pinching the corners of his smile.

  “Winter break starts tomorrow, and I already want it to be over.”

  “What kid wants winter break to be over before it starts?”

  “It’s pretty much sucked for me the past few years, so, uh, this kid,” sh
e said, leaning back in her seat.

  “This is much better than the Underground. You should come to the Underground someday,” said Pythian.

  “Rolf told me this was a secret mission and not to tell your grandmother I had to come get you.”

  Isabella sighed. “I didn’t want her to worry. There’s too much to do at the hotel.”

  Archie looked back at her with a wry smile as if he knew exactly what she meant. The Foxworthy Hotel was crowded over the holidays, and Isabella had more to do than ever, but that wasn't the real reason she wanted to skip this time of year. It never failed that she got into some sort of disaster because her weird empathic abilities heightened even more than usual during the last two weeks before her birthday, December 31.

  Isabella shifted her eyes to the boy beside her. He stared out of the window, wearing that empty expression again. He was beyond strange. But if he was right and Theophilus was at the hotel, it meant even more work to do.

  Nope. Isabella was not going to let her grandmother win that little game. She was going to have a normal holiday like a normal kid, even if she didn’t have a normal family anymore.

  First, she'd dump the strange boy, go find Betty, and then hide in her room to do whatever she wanted. The perfect plan.

  Chapter Two

  The Boys in Town

  They arrived at the top of Culver Hills Road and looped into the circular drive of the Foxworthy Hotel in record time. A few staff members waved at Isabella as Pythian trailed behind her up the front steps and into the grand lobby. The concierge, Rolf, winked at her subtly and then continued speaking rapidly into the replica 1920s candlestick phone behind his desk. Probably some guest complaining about the beach being more than three blocks away. Take a bus, people. It’s not that hard. The hotel was a quarter of a mile up a hill between Culver City and Mar Vista in the smaller, sometimes forgotten Los Angeles neighborhood known as Culver Hills, a few short miles from the Pacific Ocean. Like some of the other towns in the city, Culver Hills had its own central village with shops and restaurants, a police department, fire department, and a multiplex theater. One of the biggest attractions in Culver Hills was Brightwood Studios. Much of the studio could be seen from the eastern side of the building, but the best view into its backlot was from Isabella’s room on the penthouse floor. Brightwood was the place where her great-grandparents became celebrities nearly a hundred years ago.