The Last Life of Prince Alastor

by Alexandra Bracken

  There was a faint crack in the words, as if some memory had surfaced in time to splinter them.

  My fingertips turned white as I gripped the slight overhang above us. Loose dust and stone scraped under my foot.

  Somewhere nearby, a door slammed like a cannon shot. Flora flinched—hard enough for her right foot to slip out from under her.

  She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance. Her eyes flashed bright emerald and her mouth parted at the start of a scream.

  I threw out my arm, sucking in a gulp of air as her arm slid through my grasping fingers. “No—”

  At the last second, her hand clamped tight around mine. My body jerked with the force of catching her weight and absorbing the momentum of the fall. I bobbed back and forth, my toes rising dangerously off the ground, then my heels, teetering there.

  Oh no—not now—not right this second—

  The edge of the small walkway literally crumbled beneath my foot, whole shards of the stone clattering down into the pit beneath us. I looked down as I tried to hang on to Flora, who couldn’t get her feet back under her.

  I shouldn’t have.

  It wasn’t far to fall, no. But lining the basin of the moat was stagnant gassy-green water and the sharp, pearly bones of a monster. It looked as if it had simply sunk to the bottom and died, leaving its remains to become a deadly trap to stumble into.

  I told him not to overfeed the leviathan! Alastor moaned. Alas, poor Goober.

  Breath stuck in my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nell lift her arm, as if to cast a spell—only to freeze up. Her outstretched fingers trembled, and her face was a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

  Do it, I thought, just cast the spell! Just trust yourself!

  Flora’s grip on my arm intensified as she tried to pull herself back onto the ledge. Her pale green skin bloomed red with the effort of hanging on.

  More heavy doors slammed, and the loud clatter of wheels overhead announced the arrival of what must be the dinner guests. Voices flared as they passed over the bridge.

  Let the elf fall and the fates decide the outcome! Let her fall!

  What muscles I had in my arms and legs shook wildly as I tried to lift Flora by sheer strength. My world lurched sharply. I couldn’t tell what was trembling now: me, Flora, the stone underfoot, or all of us together.

  Nell let out a strangled sound, her arm still outstretched.

  “Do it!” I whispered. “Whatever it is, just try—!”

  Al’s voice clanged in my ears, as harsh as an out-of-tune note. Prosperity, take care—!

  And then, before I could even suck in my next breath, the ground dissolved beneath me and we fell.

  In the second it took for my heart to stop, I realized I wasn’t falling. I was floating—cupped by a pocket of air that rocked me back and forth like a hammock.

  Nell had made it across the ledge to the bigger, sturdier platform below the bridge. Her lips moved, quietly repeating whatever spell was keeping us afloat. Relief poured over her face, but it didn’t wipe out the fear I’d seen before. Not completely.

  I swung my gaze to the left, finding a softly hiccuping Flora staring at the place where my hand was still clamped firmly around hers.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered.

  Her eyes widened. Above us, on the bridge, a fiend sang out, “Madam Badnight! My, you look radiantly hideous! Care to walk with me to the house?”

  I pressed my lips together, sealing in my breath. Don’t look down . . . good little demons, keep walking . . . keep walking. . . . We all remained exactly where we were, suspended in the tense moment.

  A growling, gravelly voice called back, “I’d rather eat my boot, you utter cad! How dare you steal my best racing lizards and act as if nothing happened!”

  Now, there’s a proper fiend, Al said, satisfied.

  Nell’s face had turned ashen and her hand trembled as her fingers curled in toward her palm. She twisted her wrist as she pulled her fist back toward her chest. The air around us shook in time to each of her pants. A sheen of sweat dampened her forehead and cheeks.

  “Don’t. Like. Heights,” the elf said. The flowering buds scattered in her hair withered in front of my eyes. Tremors raced along her skin. “Why didn’t you let me go?”

  The heavy, clipped steps of more fiends passed overhead, their voices little more than passing murmurs.

  “Flora, hey,” I whispered. Nell’s magic vibrated under us, and we dipped just an inch closer to death below. I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to unclench my jaw, keeping my eyes on the elf. Apparently, it was easier to pretend to be someone who was brave when you had to do it for another person. “We’re okay. We’ll be fine. Nell won’t let us fall—”

  The word choked off as the air beneath us vanished and we lurched down like sudden turbulence. Just as quickly, we were bounced right back up, but not before Flora had managed to climb up my arm and wrap her arms and legs around my head and chest.

  “Flora—Flor—ack—”

  Her weight made me tip back dangerously. Somewhere above us, I heard Nell grunt with effort and saw a blaze of green magic pass beneath us, smoothing over the air.

  But I also felt the telltale hot rush of pins and needles filling my right arm. The way those fingers prickled as they curled into claws, rising toward Flora’s arm around my neck, was a clear warning of Alastor’s plan.

  I gritted my teeth and shoved back against the feeling of the malefactor flooding my nerves. Stop it!

  She’ll sink us! Why die for her?

  As I’d learned, you couldn’t appeal to a fiend’s honor. You just had to put it in selfish terms they might understand: Why waste your power trying to shove her off when you’ll need even more time to get it back?

  That’s— Al’s voice broke off. Cunning, Maggot.

  Nell continued to whisper the spell, too quietly for my ears, as we floated forward. Not back toward the remains of the ruined ledge, but to the wider platform just in front of the door.

  As soon as I felt my toes touch down, I turned and gripped Flora, steadying her as she landed beside me.

  “See?” I told her. “We’re fine.”

  Flora grasped my arm, staring up at me with bright, shining eyes.

  “Um, really, we’re okay,” I said. “You can, you know, let go—”

  Flora did not let go.

  “You have an honorable heart, and a singular soul,” she said, her voice grave. “You are no fiend at all, Prosper Redding. I will save you from your disastrous fate. I shall free you, by fist or blade, from the rascally rake who lurks inside of you. Though it may take centuries—and you will be wobbly and wrinkled and also maybe dead—Flora la Leaf will not stop, not to eat, nor to rest. Should you disappear, I will find you. I will follow you across the

  realms—”

  “Uh . . .” I began. “Maybe . . . I mean, no thank you? But thank you?”

  “—and I will slay your enemies, and create jewelry and wares that would make kings fall to their knees and weep at their beauty—” Flora knelt before me, still gripping my hand. She bowed her head and pressed her forehead against my fingers.

  “Wow, okay. Wow,” I tried again. “That is . . . um . . . a lot. And super not necessary.”

  There was a hard gasp behind us as Nell slumped against the wall. She pressed a hand to her forehead, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “I almost . . . You almost fell because I couldn’t . . . I was too scared it wouldn’t be enough. . . .”

  “What a wonderful witch you are!” Flora declared. The shame on Nell’s face only deepened. She tried to twist away.

  “You saved us,” I said, chest clenching at the sight. “Your magic—”

  “Don’t mention it,” Nell said quickly, emphasizing the first word. “Seriously. Don’t. I could have . . . I wasn’t even sure it would work. You could both be dead.”

  “But we’re not,” I said, then emphasized, “because of you. You saved us.”

 
Nell turned away, ending the discussion. She seemed genuinely shaken, and I didn’t know what to say—if there was anything I could say—that would make her feel better.

  Best not to console at all, Alastor advised, in one of his few moments of wisdom. It is one thing to fail yourself, and another matter entirely to fail friends.

  Nell hadn’t failed us, though. That was what I wanted her to see.

  Flora dug around inside her bag, retrieving the small seedling from it. A look of relief passed over her face as she held it up, giving it a thorough looking over.

  “There, there,” she whispered to it, stroking its leaves again. It might have been the failing light or my own nerves playing tricks on me, but I could have sworn I saw the plant shiver. “It’s all right. No need to be upset.”

  Okay, then.

  “Where does this lead?” I asked, turning toward the open door.

  This is the door the servants used to feed Goober, I believe.

  “How well do you know it?” I asked quietly, drawing the gazes of the girls.

  Well enough, I suppose. I had to purchase the plans for it in the Assassins’ Market for one of the fiends I hired to dispose of Bune. That reminds me, I wonder if I can get my money back. . . .

  Nell, seeing my expression, knew better than to ask. She turned toward Flora instead. “Are you sure this entrance is safe? How did you even find it?”

  The elf sucked in an enormous breath, gathering the air she’d need to power her lungs through the story, but another voice spoke for her first.

  “Because I showed it to her.”

  “Holy crap!”

  I took a huge leap back, stumbling into Nell. She steadied me, looking less surprised to see a shade than worried.

  “Marvelous,” the ghost said, sounding bored. “I had forgotten how very rude the living are, or you’ve forgotten what few manners you possess.”

  This ghost—this shade—wasn’t a wisp of light or a thunderous feeling of déjà vu or a soft voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. He wasn’t even like the gentle spirit that lived in the House of Seven Terrors.

  This was another kid.

  A kid dressed in what looked like an old-fashioned suit. He wore—was that the right word? It didn’t seem like he was wearing the clothes, but that they had simply become part of him.

  He . . . displayed(?) a long-sleeved white shirt, a patterned vest, and short pants that ended where the knee-high socks began. There was no color to him at all. His form was like a thin sheet of bone-white parchment, lit from behind. Even his hair, which might have been dark in life, was as pale and transparent as the rest of him.

  His hand brightened and solidified, just for a second, as he closed it around the door. Rather than pass through the metal, he was able to open it.

  “Hello, new friend Zachariah Livingston!” Flora said, bounding forward. “This is Nell, and this is Pros—”

  “You’ve mistaken me for someone who still has a heart and might actually care,” the boy said, his accent’s primness rivaling even Alastor’s. “Is that the witch you spoke of cowering behind the boy with a face like a rat?”

  Ouch.

  How dare he slander you so—you are as attractive as a banebat.

  “Prosper is the most chivalrous, handsomest human,” Flora interjected sternly, her hands on her hips.

  “Hey, thanks—”

  “It’s not his fault that he smells so bad and has ears like a troll,” Flora finished. “Don’t be so grouchy.”

  “I am deceased,” the boy said, giving her a withering stare. “I shall be as grouchy as I like.”

  “We are what we choose to be,” Flora said, “and you are choosing to be a meanie.”

  The ghost did not dignify that with a response. “Come in now, or don’t. It does not matter to me if they dine on those little beasts. If they notice I’m missing, or if I displease my master, another decade will automatically be added to my time. And I’m already at three centuries.”

  Holy.

  Crap.

  This wasn’t just a ghost—a shade, as Alastor and Nell called them. This was . . .

  Your future, Al supplied, a trace of a smile in his words.

  Zachariah Livingston, or someone close to him, had made a deal with a malefactor while he was alive. And upon his death, that deal came due and he was brought into servitude Downstairs.

  “I want the witch to cut my chain now,” Zachariah said, crossing his arms over his thin, shimmering chest. “I have been in this realm too long to trust the likes of fiends.”

  I hadn’t noticed it at first, not until we followed him into the dark hallway behind the door and he became our only source of light, but clamped around his ankle was some kind of spiked bracelet. A seemingly endless chain glowed behind him, revealing the path he had taken down the hall and up a flight of nearby stairs.

  Ah. Alastor sounded as if he’d just pieced something together. He must have been collected by my brother Bune. When Bune no longer could serve as his master, his contracted time transferred to the house where he was assigned work. If the witch or elf promised that they could break the contract, they are fools.

  Is it possible to break it at all? I asked. Or are you just mad they’re proving that malefactors aren’t all-powerful?

  A witch can break a chain of servitude if the original contractor is gone, and the contract has transferred to an unliving object, such as a house. But the magic it would require is far beyond what she has at her disposal without the moon.

  Nell was already pulling out her book, checking the table of contents to find the right chapter. I knew the exact moment when she read what Alastor had just explained.

  The swampy air around us reached out and fogged Nell’s glasses, giving her an excuse to take them off and clean them on the hem of her cloak. Her jaw worked back and forth, as if she couldn’t decide what to say.

  I’d told her I didn’t want lies between us, but this lie wasn’t between her and me, it was between us and the shade. And, more importantly, it was necessary.

  I felt for Zachariah and knew, whether or not he or someone else made the contract, that he was suffering. Right now, though, I had to prioritize the living.

  Maggot . . . Alastor said, an odd note to his voice. It seems you are capable of surprising me after all.

  “Okay,” I told him. “Deal. But we need to save the changelings first. And you have to help us get them out alive. After that, Nell will sever your chain.”

  The witch in question cut me a sharp look.

  “I was killed by typhus, not stupidity,” Zachariah told me. His thick brows lowered into a dour look. Or a sour one. Or both. Somehow, both.

  Enough. We have wasted too much time. Let me speak, just for a moment.

  Against my better judgment, I let him.

  “Listen, slave—”

  I shoved him back down. “Aaaand you’re done.”

  The ghost boy sulked. “I felt there was something different about you. You’re one of them—or you hide one.”

  Tell him there is no way the other fiends will not notice his chain has been broken, the surge of magic will be too great. Moreover, the only way to truly pass on is with the help of my magic, and I will only grant it should he do as you command.

  Is that true? I asked him.

  Does it matter?

  Right now . . . it didn’t. I quickly and quietly relayed the message back to the shade. Zachariah shimmered in the dark air.

  “Fine. If nothing else, I’ll look on in great amusement as you inevitably fail. I’ll be trapped here for another two centuries or however long it takes for the Void to devour us, but at least your deaths will be good for a laugh or two.”

  The Void. I hadn’t thought about what would happen to the human shades serving the fiends if the realm collapsed. There was a new tightness in my throat, but I forced myself to ignore it until it went away. I didn’t touch that thought again, even as it sat on my brain like an unwelcome blister.


  Zachariah floated toward the stairs at the back of the small chamber, his near-translucent toes trailing against the floor. “If the queen succeeds in saving the realm, I’ll ensure someone snares your shades so you’re forced to help me clean up after the master’s pets. The droppings are especially steamy in the summer.”

  What a cheerful guy. I shared a look with Nell as we followed him inside.

  Hushed voices and clinking silver reached us from beyond the door at the top of the stairs. But it was the way the air smelled that got my full attention—how the traces of rotten eggs faded, only to be replaced by something I might have found at home. Pepper. Garlic. And—

  My breath caught.

  Freshly cooked meat.

  The hard part wasn’t finding the kitchen. It was getting past the constant stream of shades gliding in and out of it.

  We hung back, just down the dark, candlelit hallway, waiting. I tried to track their comings and goings to figure out if there was any kind of rhythm or order to them. So far, there was none—it seemed like a rush of chaos, and the shades never once lost the vaguely panicked looks on their faces.

  With visible effort, they forced their hands to solidify just enough to carry the weight of a mountain of roasted fruit, pies decorated with what looked like fried bats, and a jiggling, skull-shaped mountain of Jell-O. Gemstone-like insects floated inside the slippery pink mass, shivering with each slight movement.

  “Not enough greens,” Flora muttered. “No wonder fiends are so rude.”

  The shades came and went again, their chains of light floating just above the dirty carpets between the kitchen and the staircase that spiraled up to the next floor, where the fiends—and their ruler—were dining.

  “What now?” Flora asked Zachariah. “Are any of the shades your favorite friends? Could we ask them for help?”

  Zachariah bobbed on the air, as if riding some unseen current. “Of course not, you nitwit. They’ll happily report me to the new master of the house for helping you. Tattling on the misdeeds of others will shave time off their own contracts. And before you ridiculous beating hearts ask, I’m assigned to sweep the halls, up and down, all bloody day and night. The house won’t extend my chain to go into the kitchen.”