“Father gave you a supply of Water for your Bully Boy!” I asked, taken aback.
The dining room was suddenly very quiet. Erasmus and Titus gazed at Mephisto with particular intensity. Erasmus’s face had gone an odd shade of green.
“Yeah . . . so?” Mephisto asked cheerfully. His staff was still handcuffed to his left arm and stuck up beside him, jerking about whenever he gestured or cut his food.
“Why did he give extra Water to you for your manservant, but none to me for my . . . to Titus for his children?” Erasmus asked, pronouncing each word with careful precision.
But I had glanced over at Calvin. Earlier in the meal, he had slouched over his dish and shoveled food into his mouth, until Mephisto had elbowed him. Then, he had straightened up and used proper manners. But there was something about that slouch, the shape of his shoulders, the way he had practically inhaled his food, that seemed to fit in this dining hall. My stomach clenched, and a strange dizziness took hold of me. The room seemed to swim and spin. Calvin saw me watching him and gave me a sweet hopeful smile, like a dog who knew he was about to be whipped, wagging his tail before his master.
I knew that look. The clothes were wrong, and the smooth, clean-shaven skin, but the expression had not changed. I remembered racing the wind along the beaches of this island, the apron of my skirt filled with clams, with my best friend dogging my footsteps, that same expression on his hopeful face—the same “best friend” who later attacked me so vilely.
No, it could not be!
I leaned closer, staring. His five o’clock shadow covered not only his jaw, but his cheeks and his nose and part of his forehead. Thick tuffs of hair protruded from the cuff of his sleeve. If he were to hunch his shoulders . . . if he stopped shaving . . . if he were merely wearing a loincloth . . .
The edges of the world blurred. I wondered abstractly whether I might faint.
“Miranda?” Theo reached up and touched my arm. “Are you all right?”
I pushed Theo’s hand away without looking at him. My throat had gone dry. It took me two tries to speak.
“Hello, Caliban.” My voice cracked. “It’s been a long time.”
“Caliban?”
“Caliban!”
My family all began clamoring at once.
“I thought Caliban was some kind of furry monstrosity.” Erasmus peered across the table. His voice sounded odd, and his complexion was still a queer green.
“I was, until Master Mephisto civilized me.” Caliban beamed at Mephisto. “Now, I shave a lot.”
“Fascinating,” purred Logistilla, who was seated beside Caliban. She trailed her fingers over his bulging biceps. “So, the beast tamer tamed you, did he? What kind of tricks can you perform?”
Caliban blushed noticeably under Logistilla’s scrutiny, but his eyes remained trained on me.
“I’d like to apologize for my behavior toward you back in our youth, Miss Miranda,” he said shyly. “I was an ignorant brute.”
In the back of my mind, I could hear my own voice speaking, calmly telling myself that it was ungracious not to forgive a man for something he did as a mere youth five hundred years ago. Yet, I had hated Caliban so fiercely and for so long, I was not sure I was capable of forgiving him. After all, he had treated me badly when we were children together, and he tried to rape me and rob me of Eurynome’s favor—the most traumatic event of my early youth. A part of me wanted to strike him down instantly. A mere toot on the flute, and a bolt of lightning would cleanse the world of his stain forever.
The man standing in front of me, however, looked more like the fellow who repaired the fireplace in the Lesser Hall last spring than like the cruel, depraved monster I remembered. I imagined Beowulf arriving at a formal tea and discovering one of his fellow guests was Grendel, all decked out in tux and tails; or St. George at a garden party where the dragon was roasting marshmallows for the other guests. I wondered how they would have taken it.
“Yes, you were . . .” I began coldly and would have continued in the same vein, except that, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Erasmus smiling smugly. Color had returned to his face, and he looked expectant, as if he were waiting for my coming tirade. His reaction disturbed me. Was I as cold and callous as he believed? Or as predictable? “However, that was a long time ago. Let us put the matter behind us and not speak of it again. You may consider yourself forgiven.”
With a Herculean effort, I forced my arm to rise. My skin crawled as he reached forward to shake my hand. Yet, it felt like any handshake, firm and . . . human. Caliban squeezed my hand kindly, giving me a wide and genuine smile. To my right, Mephisto was grinning and giving Caliban a thumbs-up. Erasmus, however, looked faintly disappointed.
I thought less of him for it.
“Why did Father want Caliban kept alive?” asked Cornelius.
“Good question.” Erasmus frowned down at his wineglass.
“Does it have something to do with him being Miranda’s brother?” Theo asked.
“Maybe Daddy promised Sycorax to take care of her other kid, back when he was shagging her,” Mephisto chirped.
“Mephisto, please!” Theo snapped. “Ladies are present.”
“My mistake,” Mephisto admitted cheerfully. “When he was ’pooning her.” He glanced back at Theo. “’Pooning’s okay in mixed company, isn’t it, Theo?”
Theo groaned and rested his head on his hand.
“My sister?” Caliban turned to me for an explanation. “We were close once, like sister and brother, but all that ended when . . .” he hung his head sadly. “After that, the master banished me from the house.”
“Miranda is literally your sister,” Erasmus stated succinctly. “As in: You share the same mother.”
Caliban looked to Mephisto, who nodded happily and slapped him on the back.
“Yep! Welcome to the family, Miranda’s half-brother! That makes you and me . . . what?” he looked at the rest of us for help. “Stepbrothers? Cousins twice removed? Applesauce?”
“Which is really the same as not being related,” Logistilla purred, sliding her chair closer to Caliban’s. She slipped her slim hand around his massive arm. “Only friendlier.”
“Beware,” growled Titus. “She turns her lovers into bears.”
“Not all of them.” Logistilla pouted prettily and snuggled closer to Caliban.
“Yeah, some of them she turns into pigs or cheetahs,” offered Mephisto.
Caliban gave Logistilla’s hand a gentle clumsy pat and swallowed. Logistilla continued to smile up at him and batted her eyelashes. Caliban blushed, not entirely dismayed by the sudden shower of feminine attention, yet alertly aware of proximity of the glowering Titus.
“What are you?” She ran two fingers up his enormous bicep. “A construction worker? A football player? Truck driver?”
“I am a professor at NYU,” Caliban replied modestly.
“A professor!” To Logistilla’s credit, she recovered her aplomb almost immediately. “Really? What do you teach?”
“Poetry and the classics.”
“Oh my!” Logistilla put her hand to her heart. The rest of us murmured in surprise at this news, except for Mephisto, who smiled as proudly as a new father.
“Didn’t I do a good job!” Mephisto waved a hand as if presenting Caliban. “They don’t call me Mephistopheles the Stepbrother-Cousin-Applesauce Tamer for nothing!”
“I don’t get this, Ma’am,” Mab spoke up. “I thought your mother was the dame whose portrait hangs over the Wife’s Throne.”
“So did I.” I ran my finger absently over the cut crystal of Water of Life vial. “Erasmus and Mephisto claim Father told them otherwise.”
Mab glanced from Caliban to me and back again, frowning. “You make an incongruous pair, Ma’am. While I admit this fellow doesn’t look like the ogre’s get of Spearshaker fame, he’s still . . .” Mab made an expansive gesture. “Well, the word ‘enormous’ comes to mind. You, on the other hand, are more like a porcelai
n doll come to life. I don’t see the resemblance.”
Caliban’s brow furrowed and he rubbed his temples, as if trying to remember something. Whatever it was did not come to him. He looked up at me hopefully. Somehow, it was hard to revile him when he looked so puppylike. Steeling myself, I laid my hand on his shoulder for an instant, and then moved on. If he really was family, then I owed a duty to him, even as I did to my father’s sons.
I continued around the table, pouring a single drop of Water of Life into each of the remaining goblets, including Caliban’s. Finally, I came to Theo. His gaze rested on mine, and a shadow of the old sparkle returned to his eyes.
“Why not!” He thrust forth his glass.
I poured liberally, giving him extra Water. As the shining pearly drops fell into his glass, the entire table broke into applause, though Mab looked sheepish afterward, recalling his disapproval of immortal mortals. Recalling Theo’s delicate health, I gave him two extra drops for good measure. Then, I poured some wine and three drops of Water into a silver dish in the middle of the table for the local airy servants to share. Coming back to my own place, I let a drop fall into my own glass. The pearly drops swirled into a golden-white liquid that spread through the darkness of the wine. The scent was glorious. We sat breathing in the fumes for a time before sipping the draught.
“May we flourish and prosper in the year to come,” said Cornelius, as he raised his glass to his lips. The others murmured their assent.
My siblings all began talking at once, describing what they wished for in the year to come. I sat listening to their excited chatter and smiling, at peace even with Caliban for the first time in over five hundred years. Cornelius, who was seated to my left, leaned over and asked, “What would you do if you could be or do anything, Sister?”
I laughed. That was easy. “I want to be a Sibyl.”
“Ah, of course. Have you ever questioned the current Sibyls about this? What do they say?”
“What current Sibyls?” I asked sadly. “I cannot find a single one. I have not even met another Handmaiden since the 1860s, over a century and a half ago.”
“I wonder why they are hiding?” Cornelius mused.
“Hiding?” I asked sadly. “Or dead? Killed by Unicorn Hunters. And you? What would you do, if you could do anything?”
“Retire to the Riviera, or maybe to an island like Father’s,” Cornelius replied, cutting his fish.
“Retire? You?”
“Is that so very strange?” Cornelius smiled faintly. He leaned back. “Mortals get to retire. Their usefulness comes to an end, and they are rewarded for their toil with a period of leisure. Have you ever had a period of leisure, Sister? I know I haven’t. I so envy Father’s recent retirement.”
“What would you do if you retired?” I asked.
“Sit on the beach, feel the sun on my face, and listen to music. At night, I would hire my own string quartet to play my favorite pieces exactly as I like them.”
I blinked. “That . . . would be nice. Can’t you try it?”
Returning to cutting his fish, Cornelius snorted. “If I retired, who would run the world?”
Before I could think of an answer, Logistilla’s voice drifted dreamily down from the far end of the table. “I have always been of the opinion this must be what the nectar of the gods tastes like.”
“You’d be right,” said Mab. “That is what nectar tastes like. I should know. Had some once.”
“You have tasted divine nectar?” Erasmus asked with interest.
“Got invited to—well, you’d call it a party—once, by Zephyrus. Ganymede showed up and brought his cup. Very pretty boy, Ganymede, too pretty for his own good. Got him in a lot of trouble and Zephyrus, too, for that matter. Or maybe I’m thinking of Hycanthus. Anyway, I got a swig out of the cup. Wonderful stuff, but sent me into a dither like straight proof might to you folks. I was a woozy wind for weeks.”
Erasmus chuckled loudly, his laughter echoing, and even Cornelius smiled.
“A toast,” Titus cried, holding his glass aloft, “to Miranda, whose unfailing virtue and chastity brings us this gift denied to all other men.”
The others raised their glasses, even Erasmus.
“To Miranda,” they chanted in unison.
“Thank you. It is my pleasure,” I said gravely, and a warmth spread through me fueled by their gratitude, such as I had not felt in many many years.
We sat together, sipping and smiling, as we watched the burning sun sink into the western sea.
After dinner, we spread out and searched the house for anything that might be useful for the spell. Originally, Mephisto, Erasmus, and Cornelius were to make all the preparations. As they discussed the ingredients necessary for the protective wards, however, Theo constantly interrupted them with suggestions and corrections. After a time, my other brothers grew tired of this.
“You are not a magician, as you are so fond of telling us,” Cornelius said pointedly. “Perhaps, you should leave this matter to us, hmm?”
“I’m too old for this,” Theo replied with a growl. “All right, you’ve got me! I admit it. I am the best darn magician in the family. Now, get out of my way!”
Erasmus, Cornelius, and Mephisto gave way. Theo squatted down and examined the paraphernalia we had gathered so far, sniffing the alchemical salts and examining the sacred knives. Finally he grunted. “Not sure this stuff is still good. Could use a second opinion here.”
“Of course,” Erasmus glided forward. “Anything for you, Brother. Why don’t you let me—”
“Not you,” Theo cut him off with a curt wave of his hand. “Mab.”
Erasmus stepped back, eyebrows raised, while Mab lowered the brim of his fedora and stepped forward to squat beside Theo, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Sure thing, Mr. Theophrastus. Just pour a bit of it on the ground. If I can pass my hand across it in comfort, it’s no good.”
I left them arguing over whether salt tin or sea water was better for deterring wandering spirits and set out for a walk. A thousand troubles shouted for my attention, but I pushed them back, determined to spend a few moments peacefully reacquainting myself with my old home.
I walked through the cedars and fig trees, brushing past hibiscus bushes and sweeping tree ferns. The air smelled of evergreen and orchid blossom, with no trace of winter present, and of course, of the ocean, which I could hear crashing against the bluffs in the distance. Near at hand, blackbirds trilled, and a wood pigeon cooed. Farther away, probably on the rocks to the north, a seal barked.
Some of the individual trees I recognized as great old versions of youthful saplings I had known. The rest had sprouted in the centuries since I last ran carefree through these woods. The makeup of the forest itself had changed, I noticed, more oaks and pines, fewer birches.
Walking through the old forests, broken here and there by lawns dotted with fairy slipper orchids, was an eerie experience; rather like shopping in one’s favorite chain bookstore in a strange town, where everything looks familiar, yet nothing is where you expect it to be. I wondered what magic Father had performed to keep the orchids blooming in January. I could never get mine to bloom properly in the winter—outside of the enchanted gardens behind Prospero Mansion. Come to think of it, perhaps the same enchantments protected these blossoms as had created that place.
I passed between the cliffs and entered the ravine. Here in the shadow of the high rock walls, the vegetation became less tropical. To my right, I could hear the roaring of the river Father had dubbed the Eridanus. In the deepening twilight, the tiny feylings twinkled and sparkled like unfixed stars. The moss was soft and spongy beneath my feet and filled the air with a loamy scent. I drew nearer the river and felt the cold spray from where the rushing water struck and tumbled over rocks. A rabbit nibbling the long grasses that grew on the bank raised its head but did not run or give alarm. The rabbits here had no predators, save for hawks and other winged creatures. Nothing that walked o
n legs had ever menaced them.
Cresting a small rise, I came upon a gentle dell. As I walked through its slender beeches, I began to feel an odd sense of familiarity. This section of forest was new and unfamiliar, but here and there something triggered a feeling of déjà vu: the old gnarled stand of lilacs, the rock that reminded me of the back of a beetle. It was not until I came to the semicircular growth of mountain laurels, nearly lost amidst the younger taller trees, that I realized, with a sharp sting of astonishment, where I was. In my childhood, this had been an open glade, with only the lilacs, the laurel bushes, and a stand of hortencias growing here. How different the old place looked overgrown with tall stately trees.
I closed my eyes and pictured the glade as it had once been, taking my bearings from the mountain laurels and Beetle Rock. Stretching out my arm, I opened them again and walked in the direction I pointed, dodging poplars and beeches. Between the trunks of twin white pines, I glimpsed a cascade of mountain grape. Circling the pines, I approached slowly and, reaching out, as if in a dream, pulled aside the vines.
They parted to show granite. Pushing aside more, I stepped forward and found myself standing on a flat rock about four feet square with two hefty pillars of crudely carved granite on either side. I ran my finger over the rough stone, tracing a bas-relief of a horned equine. Once, there had been a spiral carved on the rock beneath my feet as well, though, due to weathering and decayed leaves, I could hardly see it now. The grape vines spilling down either side of the pillars like a leafy-green veil added a sense of sacred seclusion that had not been here in my youth.
“The Shrine of the Unicorn,” I whispered aloud, remembering.
I came here for the first time on my fifth birthday, the day Father consecrated me to Eurynome. How fresh and beautiful the glade had looked. It was early May, and the island was still glistening from the spring rains. I remember a profusion of flowers and the wonderful scent of blooming lilacs.
How I had looked forward to that day! When we arrived here, I was aquiver with excitement; so much so that I danced about the glade, spinning until my apron stood straight out before me, while I hummed the song Father had taught me to sing during the ceremony. Even when Father ordered me come stand beside him, I could not stand demurely as was my usual wont, but stood bouncing and humming, too filled up with joy to keep still. Even now, the memory of that moment brought a smile to my lips.
Prospero in Hell Page 27
