Chapter Three
Mephistopheles
We barreled toward the rear bumper of a deep-green Chevrolet at seventy-five miles an hour. The car loomed in our windshield, its brake lights flashed. Yet we neither slowed nor swerved. At the very last possible moment, as I was commending my soul to my Lady, Mab veered away, missing the other vehicle by a hair’s width.
Relief flooded through me. I leaned back against the seat, trying to catch my breath.
I had not slept well after the attack on Prospero’s Mansion and had risen in the wee hours to face a busy morning. After solving two last-minute, work-related emergencies, I had joined Mab at SeaTac well before the sun rose. Using speeds only available to a souped-up jet with an Aerie One pilot, with the Staff of the Winds to quiet wind resistance, we flew the Lear to Illinois, landing at Wilhelmi Field in record time, far faster than any commercial flight. Now, as we drove our rental car to the correctional center, I would have liked a few moments of peace in which to marshal my thoughts.
“We have to go back, Mab,” I murmured. “I left my stomach around that last turn.”
“Very glib, ma’am.” Mab was only half paying attention to me as he spun the steering wheel.
“Must you drive so wildly? In the air, you’re an ace. On the road, you’re a terror!”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ve been darting in and about things longer than men have drawn breath. It’s second nature to me.”
“As a wind, certainly. But you’re not a wind at the moment! You’re a fleshly body driving his employer in a car! If you’re not more careful, someone’s going to report us to the police!” My voice rose as Mab performed another near miss. “How can you be sure the car can take this kind of abuse?”
“Nothing to worry about, ma’am. Back at the rental place, before we left the airport, I had a chat with the oreads making up this car and the salamanders manning the engine. They won’t let us down,” Mab replied, jerking the steering wheel hard to the left.
“It’s not the oreads I’m worried about!” I clung to the armrest and squeezed my eyes shut.
“I thought you said we were in a hurry?” Mab’s voice continued calmly. “A matter of life and death and all that.”
“True, but it won’t help my family if I am killed in a car crash while trying to warn them.” I opened my eyes again and sighed. “In the old days, this would have been so much easier! Father would have used the Staff of Transportation, and—voilà—we would all be standing in the company warehouse nearest to our destination.”
“A crummy way for humans to behave,” Mab muttered. “How come Mr. Prospero gave it up? He’s never struck me as the self-controlled type.”
“Ulysses has the Staff of Transportation now.”
“Ever strike you as something strange there?” Mab glanced at me without really turning his head. “Mr. Prospero used his magic books to make the staffs, right? So, why can’t he just use the books to cast the same spells again? Why can’t he make two transportation staffs, or a dozen?”
“I don’t know, but it’s irritating. In the old days, Prospero, Incorporated had a reputation for delivering all orders by the next day, which was a real feat in the days before trucks and planes! Once Ulysses got his staff, he refused to participate. He just wanted to play. I complained, but Father just smiled and said Ulysses would come around.”
“Did he?”
“No. Instead, the others went the way of Ulysses,” I said, “which is terribly annoying, as not having my family’s aid anymore leads to all sorts of difficulties.”
“Difficulties?” Mab asked. “What kind?”
“Contracts that need to be renegotiated,” I replied. “Over the centuries, some of our agreements have gotten out of kilter, resulting in fluctuating weather patterns, rising water levels, and other dangers.” I sighed. “If my brothers—or, more importantly, their staffs—were available to help, we could have the weather back on an even keel.”
Mab grunted. “Much as I hate to see magic in the hands of humans, I felt a damn bit more comfortable back when those human hands were Mr. Prospero’s. Whatever possessed him to give the stuff to his kids?”
“I don’t know, Mab,” I gazed sadly out the window. “Poor Father. I miss him. I hope he’s not in too much trouble.”
Mab turned to look at me, ignoring the road. “Miss Miranda, why don’t we go look for Mr. Prospero? Why are we going after your good-for-nothing brother when the old man might be in danger? We’ll send the amateurs and the mundanes to warn your brothers. Meanwhile, we can handle what really matters.”
“Mab … the road!”
“Er? Oh, yeah.”
Personally, I was inclined to agree with Mab. It still galled me that my brothers—well, with the exception of Cornelius—had deserted Prospero, Inc. By leaving, they had failed Father, which was almost the same as saying they had failed the human race. Father, on the other hand, had never hesitated to put his principles first and his personal desires second.
“Those were not his instructions, Mab,” I resolved. I had been obedient to my father’s wishes for five hundred years. It would be impertinent for me to start second-guessing him now.
“All right,” Mab raised his hands in a brief posture of surrender, before returning them to the wheel “It’s no skin off my nose. Though, about these instructions … how did you find out about them if you haven’t heard from Mr. Prospero since September?”
“Father left a message.” I described my experience with Father’s journals and the phoenix lamp.
“Huh!” murmured Mab. “Didn’t know he could do that. So, as long as we’re committed, ma’am, what’s our plan concerning your brother?”
“We go in and question him. If he’s guilty, we leave him. If he’s innocent, we break him out,” I replied firmly.
“This may come as a surprise to you, ma’am,” drawled Mab, “but breaking people out of prison is against the law. Wouldn’t it be better to hire him a good lawyer?”
“My family has had the opportunity to observe a great deal of human justice. Its practice fluctuates widely and is seldom just. I don’t mind abandoning the guilty to its whims, but no innocent relative of mine is going to be left to the ravages of mortals. Our eternal lives are too valuable to risk!”
“Your eternal lives,” Mab spat. “You’re kept eternal by the Water of Life. Without it, you’d be no different from the rest of humanity. With it, they’d be no different from you. How come you don’t hold all lives as priceless as yours, since all mortals have the same potential to live forever?”
“They’re not members of my family,” I replied haughtily, rebuking his impertinence.
As I spoke, I glanced out the window. Through the tinted glass, I caught a glimpse of an old woman crossing a pedestrian overpass with small hesitant steps. Her wrinkled face was careworn and tired. For an instant, I felt as if it were me and not she who tottered along, alone and worn.
There, but for the grace of my Lady, went I.
Meanwhile, Mab was saying, “… a fair trial. If the jury finds him guilty, and you still think he’s innocent, there will be time enough to decide what to do.”
“We’ll worry about it after we talk with him,” I said absently, absorbed by this extraordinary experience.
In my long life, I could not recall ever having confused myself with someone else.
Besides, if I found Mephisto guilty, the cretin, it would not matter what the mortals decided.
The car screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. Car horns honked raucously. A silver Ford loomed in our rear window, with no apparent intention of stopping.
“Ma’am, I beg to differ with you, but I think we should settle it now. As I explained yesterday, I consider myself an American citizen, and I do not intend to dishonor Her laws. If you wait until after the trial, and you still think he’s innocent, I’ll do whatever you want. But if you intend to break him out before the trial, I refuse to help. I might even turn you in myself.”
“For God’s sake, Mab,” I cried. “Drive!”
Mab did as he was told, barely avoiding several accidents. My heart still in my throat, my hands sought my flute. It felt warm and solid in my grasp.
“Mab, you cannot disobey me.”
Mab shot a dark glance toward the flute. He growled. “I can damned well try. You might be able to move my limbs with that thing, but you can’t make me think. It can only force me to do tasks that are common to Aerie Ones. My knowledge and my expertise are my own, and I am not going to use them against the United States of America! We’re approaching the turnoff for the jail. What’s your decision, ma’am?”
I examined my flute curiously. Was Mab right? Could I not command those parts of him that behaved like a man? What a fascinating concept! I doubted he was correct. Father would never have put him in a fleshly body if that were the case. On the other hand, one could never tell with Father.
I made a mental note to investigate Mab’s claims of free will when I had some spare time. At the moment, I just wanted to see my brother and be done with it—without losing my life to traffic.
“Okay, Mab,” I said. “It hardly matters to me. If I think he’s innocent, I’ll wait until after the trial. But I’m going to hold you responsible for his safety. And woe to you if I believe him innocent and the Three Shadowed Ones reach him before the American courts do.”
“So be it, ma’am,” Mab swore. “Let it be upon my head.”
* * *
The prison facilities were as impressive as any walled medieval city, except the great walls were meant to keep men in instead of out. Entering, we were conducted through a lengthy security procedure, made more difficult because the guard found it hard to believe someone as youthful-looking as I had been born in the 1950s. I probably would have been refused entrance altogether had he not mistaken my silvery hair for a sign of age. It was time to update my identification.
Of course, doing so would not be so easy this time, due to computers and modern security measures. As they finally waved us by, it occurred to me that it was a good thing Father had experimented with incarnating Aerie Ones back in the first half of the twentieth century. If he had produced a group of grown men out of nothing today, it would be tremendously difficult to acquire the necessary ID. Back when Mab got started, a letter of reference was sufficient.
We arrived so early that we had to wait until the visitor facilities opened. Eventually, a guard led us to a place where we could look through a window into a large room where they promised to bring my brother. There were phones on both sides of the glass, separated by slim walls that formed shallow booths. To either side of us, another prisoner spoke with his visitors. Mab and I stood silently, neither of us eager to talk as we awaited Mephisto’s entrance.
The door opened, and two guards dragged in the prisoner in his bright orange jumpsuit. He gazed fixedly at the floor, long black curls covering much of his face. I tried to get his attention, but he did not look up.
Too embarrassed to face me? This was not a good sign.
I sat down in the chair, facing the window, and picked up the phone on my side. The guards handed the other phone to their prisoner. I spoke to him sternly in Italian, asking if he were guilty of the crime of which he was accused. Instead of answering, he began to chant in a breathy singsong, babbling about how he was the alpha and the omega, the Archangel Gabriel and Mephistopheles. As he chanted, he raised his arms over his head. His hair fell away from his face, revealing wide cheeks, a crooked nose, and a heavy dark brow.
This man was not my brother!
* * *
Outside the prison, we walked silently to our car. As we reached our vehicle, Mab hung his head. “Oh, ma’am! I hope you can forgive me for leading you on a wild goose chase.”
I glanced his way, intending a stern rebuke, but he looked so woebegone I could not help smiling. Suddenly, the experience seemed inexpressibly amusing. I started giggling.
Mab frowned, hurt. Then, a grin began tugging at the corner of his mouth. He too began to chuckle, and then we were both laughing uncontrollably. As soon as one of us would stop, a glance at the other would set us off again.
“By the North Wind, it’s a good thing we didn’t break him out without talking to him first!” Mab chuckled as we climbed into our car. “Would have been downright embarrassing, breaking out the wrong man!”
“Very true! Remind me of this event, should the issue ever arise again,” I replied. “You made an understandable mistake; the prisoner claimed to be Mephistopheles, and he did look Italian.”
“Mr. Mephistopheles’s trail still leads to Chicago, ma’am. He’s here somewhere, or, at least, he was here recently. Perhaps we should take a day or two to investigate. Clues might come to light here that I’d miss if I were back home in Oregon.”
I closed my eyes and prayed to my Lady. She had brought this matter to my attention, I had no doubt She would help me carry out my duties. A sense of urgency, of growing danger, had begun nagging at my thoughts, and yet, as I prayed, I felt enveloped by Her calm constant presence. This feeling of peace came with no specific instructions. My Lady was gracious, all-wise, and a very present help in trouble; however, She only spoke to Her Handmaidens when it suited Her divine purpose. After pondering, I interpreted this to mean that we should stay here in Illinois.
Of course, had I been a Sibyl, I could have just asked Her directly and received a clear, unambiguous answer.
“Time is of the essence, Mab,” I said, opening my eyes. “There’s no point in our wasting time returning to Oregon, just to rush back again as soon as another clue turns up. Let’s go to our Chicago offices and have the—whatever they are calling clerks nowadays—arrange a hotel for us. Then, you can continue searching for my brothers while I check in with the head office.”
* * *
Leaving the prison, we drove into Chicago, a city of wonders! Long ago, in Milan, I lived in a castle with a clock tower seventy yards tall. Even today, no building in Milan rivals that tower. Yet, seventy yards was like a child’s toy compared to the soaring marvels of glass and steel in downtown Chicago. The Sears Tower reached over 1,450 feet. While it dwarfed the buildings around it, the shorter ones also reached heights unimaginable to the men of my childhood. I never tired of gazing up at them.
But it was not just the buildings. I’ve lived in many cities during my long life: Milan, London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, St. Petersburg, Alexandria, to name just a few. Despite their various marvels, they had one thing in common—they stank. The inhabitants routinely dumped their chamber pots and rotting garbage into streets already buried under piles of horse manure. One could not walk in these cities without ruining one’s shoes—sometimes, one’s entire outfit.
Today’s tall looming skyscrapers rose over firm dry streets, clean except for occasional mud or litter. And the color! Ancient cities were bright on festival days, but flags and banners soon faded. Not so the brilliant signs and eye-boggling billboards of this modern age. The difference between the stinking towns of old and the glorious metallic expanses of today staggers the mind! I would never have believed men could produce such magic if I had not lived to see it with my own eyes.
And to think that none of it would have been possible without Father and Prospero, Inc.!
* * *
I arrived at our Chicago office just after ten. My next hour was swallowed by company business. I commandeered the Branch Director’s office and dealt with problems that had arisen since the morning. Many of our business concerns were unusually busy due to the Christmas season, and half our branches claimed to have emergencies only the CEO could resolve. Finally, I gave instructions to have all mundane troubles dealt with by the appropriate vice president and to forward to me only issues involving the five Priority Accounts.
Our company offices had been in a fashionable district when we opened them in 1910, but times change. Now, the area was so dilapidated, I hesitated to walk the eight blocks to the hotel; however, I felt a sudden intuition that I should walk the distance. After arranging for our bags to be sent ahead, Mab and I set out on foot.
We strolled through the windy streets of downtown Chicago, past delicatessens and small stores selling jewelry or cameras. Winter was nearly upon us, and the weather here was true to the season. Mab pulled up the collar of his gray trench coat and lowered the brim of his black fedora, hoping to protect the back of his neck from the icy cold. I wondered how much protection an Aerie Spirit or, in particular, the carnal manifestation of the Nor’easterlies, actually needed from the wind.
The cold was not particularly disturbing to me either. Among the many charms woven into the emerald satin of my enchanted tea gown was a protection against the chill brought by any wind. However, a high-necked Edwardian gown tended to draw odd looks these days, especially if worn unadorned in frigid weather. So, I had added a white trench coat and a matching fedora, which fit snuggly over the Grecian twist into which I had pinned my silver-blond hair. Catching our reflections in a plate glass window as we walked along in our trench coats and hats, I thought Mab and I made a jaunty pair.
The morning rush hour had ended. A few well-dressed citizens bustled past, but the majority of our fellow pedestrians were unkempt and shivering. Almost every unattended alley or doorway had an occupant sleeping in it, huddled beneath newspaper or an old blanket. Across the road, a man in a bright fez and a brown overcoat stood in an archway. His placid face could have belonged to anyone—a short-order cook, an accountant, a department-store clerk, or a stock broker—except that one eye was significantly smaller than the other. As he met my gaze, something about his expression reminded me of the past, of many people I had met over the long years: people who worked for me, both aerie and human; people I had known in my childhood and long forgotten. Disturbed, I averted my gaze and pressed on.
Others, more adventurous, dared the cold to panhandle for their dinner. A lone woman with a red kerchief over her head and earrings the size of my palm sang beside a radio. An open cardboard box on the ground before her held a scattering of coins. Her voice was eerie and lilting. Mab tossed a bill into her box and another into the instrument case of a slim figure in a blue poncho and a sombrero, who sat on an old tomato crate, playing the lute.
As we approached the door of the hotel, the lute player began a new tune, singing in a high tenor:
The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I,
The gunner and his mate
Lov’d Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery,
But none of us cared for Kate;
For she has a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!
She lov’d not the savor of tar nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch:
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
The song brought a smile to my lips, despite its lewd nature. Many years had passed since I last heard it, outside performances of The Tempest. By Shakespeare’s grace, it had outlasted many of its more deserving contemporaries. Yet, it seemed oddly charming to hear an old familiar tune, even a bawdy one, on the streets of modern Chicago. I walked back to listen.
The lutenist’s head rose. A slim pale hand pushed stringy black hair from large brown eyes that slowly grew round with fear.
“Miranda?” My brother Mephisto peered out from beneath the sombrero. “What are you doing here?”
“Why I … I’m looking for you!” I replied.
Mephistopheles was slight and lithe with warm brown eyes. He was also filthy. Dirt and oily grime coated his poncho. His matted stringy black hair had not been washed, or perhaps even combed, in months. His cheap sneakers were riddled with holes. Through one hole protruded the big toe of his left foot, the nail of which was rotten and caked with pus. And he stank, abominably.
He sat on the tomato crate gazing at me fearfully. Then, a glint of comprehension sparked behind the emptiness in his eyes. He leapt to his feet and flung out his arms to embrace me, whooping with joy. The lute he had been playing flew from his hands and crashed upon the cement sidewalk, shattering into several pieces.
“You found it!” Mephisto cried, oblivious of the lute. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “You found it!”
“Found what?” I threw up my hands to ward him away as he tried to kiss me. The stench was unbearable. Still, I was happy to see he was in one of his cheerful periods. Mephisto stared at me in wonder, as if amazed anyone could be thinking of a subject other than what was on his mind.
My initial shock at encountering my long-lost brother on a random side street faded the instant I recalled that my Lady had prompted me to walk in this direction. That was how the Lady of Spiral Wisdom worked, subtly and indirectly, yet leading me always onward to my goal.
“My staff, Miranda! You found my staff?” His voice rose to end on a hopeful note.
“No.”
“Oh.”
Mephisto stepped back and hung his head. I brushed at the grime that now clung to my white coat with a handkerchief I found in my pocket. Several passers-by stopped to look at the shattered lute where it lay upon the concrete, a tangle of splinters and strings. Their attention drew my brother’s.
An unarticulated moan came from Mephisto’s lips. He rushed over and scooped up the broken lute, cradling the pieces in his arms and keening softly. He looked back despairingly toward me, his pathetic face streaked with tears.
“Not my lute! Not my lovely lute, too,” he cried. Laying his cheek against the broken neck of the instrument, he whispered, “Who did this, my lovely? Who did this to you?”
Big wet tears rolled slowly over his hollow cheeks. Watching the pathetic figure of my weeping brother, I contrasted him in my mind’s eye with the handsome statue of his youthful self.
Mab stepped up beside me and spoke in a low voice. “The poor sucker doesn’t even remember that he threw it.”
“It breaks my heart, Mab.”
“Didn’t know you had one, ma’am.”
I stepped forward and put my hand on Mephisto’s grime-caked arm. “It’s all right, Mephisto. I’ll buy you another one.”
“I don’t want another lute. This was my lute,” he began.
“The next one will be yours, too.”
“… I’ve had my lute almost my whole life.” A haunted look came into his eye. “It’s the one my mother gave me; my mother’s been dead over four hundred years. It’s the lute I played for Queen Elizabeth.”
I stepped away, back to where Mab stood. He was squinting at the fragments of lute.
“Was that really a fifteenth-century lute?” Mab asked.
“Most likely he lost that one long ago and forgot he’d replaced it.” I shrugged. “But it is possible.”
Mephisto began walking. He wound his way through the pedestrians until he came to a trash can. There, he unstrung the strings from the neck and body and ceremoniously lowered the broken remains into the wire bin. Wandering back to the tomato crate, he sat with his hands over his face.
In a tired and ragged voice, he said, “Breaks. Stolen. Falls apart. Everything I love gets destroyed. My staff is gone. I can’t find my Bully Boy. My friends don’t recognize me. A woman killed my cat with a car. She said she was sorry afterwards. Does that make it okay? All the things I love get destroyed, and there is nothing I can do. There’s nothing I can do to protect them.”
Mab spoke softly in my ear. “I think he’s forgotten us.”
I nodded.
Mab lowered the brim of his hat. “He’s not going to hear any warning you give him, ma’am, and he’s in no position to respond if he did.” When I did not answer, Mab continued, “Mr. Prospero told me nothing could be done for him. He said Mephisto resisted every attempt your family made to help him.”
“It’s true. Every time Mephisto seemed to improve, he would suddenly grow obstinate and refuse to continue his treatment. We tried locking him up, but sooner or later he’d escape or one of his supernatural beast friends would show up to break him out. Eventually, Father washed his hands of the matter and said we had to let him go his own way.”
“Let’s go then,” said Mab, “There’s nothing else we can do.”
I started to turn away, then hesitated.
“There’s one big difference between the past and now.”
“What’s that, ma’am?”
“Normally, Mephisto has all sorts of supernatural friends to help him. When he has his staff, no number of ordinary thugs could overwhelm him. Without it? He may be faster and stronger than a normal mortal, but in his current condition, he could be taken out by a bum with a knife.” Frowning, I contrasted in my mind once more the picture of my brother, broken and dirty on the sidewalk, with the intelligent young man portrayed by his statue. “We can’t leave him like this, Mab!”
“We can’t do anything for him here,” Mab gestured at the sidewalk. He waved his hand in front of his face to dissipate the awful stink.
Walking over to Mephisto I grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
* * *
I had just finished my soup and was beginning on my salad when the door into the men’s bedroom finally opened. A wet and bedraggled Mab came slouching into the parlor of our suite. Mab had been saddled with the unpleasant job of stripping Mephisto down and piling him into the shower, while I went out to purchase a new wardrobe for my brother. On the way back, I had stopped at a theater costume shop, where I had found a royal blue surcoat emblazoned with the fleur-de-lis, left over from a performance of The Lion in Winter. It was my hope Mephisto would accept it as a replacement for the ghastly poncho. As best I understood, he had started wearing ponchos to begin with as a replacement for his royal tabard.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Admiring his new duds in the mirror,” Mab growled. “He’ll be out here soon enough, once he smells the food.”
As Mab pulled the silver dome off his lunch, the door opened again to admit my brother.
Mephisto looked like a different man. He was clean. His newly-cut hair formed a halo of wavy dark curls around his head. He wore a loose, black, Russian shirt and black trousers with high black-leather boots. Over the black clothes, he had thrown the royal blue surcoat emblazoned with the fleur-de-lis in silver. When he came forward and embraced me, he smelled pleasantly of Old Spice aftershave. I had not seen him look so neatly turned out in many, many years.
Mephisto leapt back. He spread his arms and threw back his head, assuming the pose he had immortalized in his statue of himself.
“Don’t you recognize me?” he cried happily.
“Of course, I recognize you, Mephisto.” I looked him over once, and then gestured toward the food cart. “Ah … why don’t you pull up a chair and eat your lunch? You look famished.”
He really did, too. He was thin, almost emaciated. I wondered if he had eaten in days.
Mephisto pulled up a straight-backed chair to the serving cart of food room service had provided and began devouring the fare. He inhaled whole slices of pizza and devoured sandwich halves in a single bite. His eyes, however, remained fixed fondly, though warily, on my face.
“So?” he asked happily, his mouth full.
“I believe something may have happened to Father,” I began. “He sent me a note that suggests he ran afoul of powers he could not control. His message asked that I warn the family if I did not hear from him. When I found the message, I sent Aerie Ones to his house on the island, but he hadn’t been back since he left to come to America in September. So, I’m warning the family. Beware the Three Shadowed Ones.”
“They’re after our staffs!” Mephisto exclaimed.
“How did you know?”
“They took mine, didn’t they?”
“I thought yours was stolen by some strumpet you took home for the night.”
“That’s because you didn’t stick around to hear the whole story,” Mephisto shot back accusingly.
“You were drunk.”
“You were rude.”
This was getting us nowhere.
“Someone broke into the house and … did some damage,” I said, returning to the earlier topic. It was too soon after the lute fiasco to tell Mephistopheles about the shattered statues. “I believe it was one of these Three Shadowed Ones, and he was after our staffs.”
“I told you!” Mephisto turned to Mab. “Didn’t I tell her?”
“That’s not all, Mephisto,” I continued. “The creature that broke into the mansion … it was an incubus.”
“What?” exclaimed Mephisto.
“A Power of Hell!”
“Oh, them.” He reached for a biscuit.
A shiver ran down my spine. Was Mephisto so far gone he no longer feared the servants of Hell? If so, he was not just out of it, he was dangerous to be near! Either way, it was time to do what I came to do and go.
“Look, I’ve given you Father’s warning. Now, you know. Father said to ‘keep close the gifts he had given.’ In your case, the warning came too late. All the same. I thought you should know.”
“Who else have you warned?”
“No one yet. You’re the first.”
Mephisto wiped his mouth with one of the napkins provided. “What a good move! Now you’ll have me to help you find the others.”
“Great comfort that is,” muttered Mab, from where he sat hunched over his lunch. Apparently, he was still disgruntled from the drenching he had taken bathing my brother. Mephisto regarded Mab, and then turned back to me, cocking his head.
“Where’d you chase up this one? He looks like something out of the movies. Is he your bodyguard?”
I laughed, and Mab snorted.
“A body would have to be crazy to guard the likes of her. Always rushing in where angels fear to tread.”
I stood to perform the proper introductions. “Mephisto, this is Mab Boreal, one of the Incarnated Northerlies. He heads our company detectives. Mab, this is my brother Mephisto.”
“Detective?” Mephisto’s eyes shone brightly. “As in ‘finds lost things’?”
I nodded.
“And he’s traveling with you? … And you’re going where now? To warn the others? The others who have staffs these Three Shadowy Ones might be hunting down as we speak?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Mephisto glanced back and forth between Mab and myself. Then, he gave us his brightest smile. “When do we leave?”
“No. Absolutely not.” Mab rose to his feet and stalked over to stand in front of me. “There is no way, ma’am, that I am going to help this kook find his magical glorified kindling.”
“‘Kook’? Who you calling a kook? Mr. Sam Spade wannabe?” Mephisto turned to me. “Tell him how great it will be, Miranda. Just like old times! We’ll travel together, and I’ll help you. And if we just happen upon my staff? Well, that’s fine, too.”
His mention of old times evoked memories of countless treks, some pleasant, some disastrous. I recalled one time Father, Mephisto, and I had gone to Switzerland to meet with a yeti and discuss avalanches. Taking Mephisto, the Beast Tamer, instead of one of the enforcers—Theo, Titus, or Gregor—had turned out to be a mistake. Mephisto did gain a new shaggy friend he could summon up with a tap of his staff; however, nothing was ever done to improve the avalanche situation.
“No, Mephisto,” I said firmly as I pictured Mephisto’s well-meaning antics resulting in my being buried under ten feet of snow again.
“At last, she shows some sense,” muttered Mab.
“But, you’ll need help. What if the Three Shadowed Ones attack?” Mephisto said.
Mab snorted. “What help would you be?”
“I could hit them with my lute,” Mephisto offered helpfully, evidently forgetting the instrument he had broken. Or perhaps he was envisioning a fate for the one I had promised to buy him.
“No. I’ll leave you a little money. You won’t be destitute.” I made a mental note to dispatch an Aerie One to keep an eye on him.
“But I could help. I know I could,” he continued plaintively. “I knew how to use a sword … once.”
“No.”
“Please! Don’t leave me behind, Miranda. I’m afraid to be on my own without my staff. Please?”
I hated to hear him beg. He sounded so pathetic. Yet, I was certain if I brought him along, it would lead to another calamity such as our encounter with the yeti, or the time Theo and I were nearly drowned by his mermaid friends. We were facing the Powers of Hell, and even a slight mistake could lead to a fate far worse than frostbite.
“Come on, Mab,” I said, “We need to keep going. Lives could be at stake.”
* * *
Mab and I gathered our hats and coats. Mephisto retreated into the corner, where he sat with his arms crossed, sulking. I offered him some money, but he just threw it on the floor. I shrugged and returned to Mab.
“Do you have any more leads?” I asked, “Or must we return to Oregon?”
A crafty look came into Mephisto’s eyes. He leapt up and stepped in front of us to stand in the doorway.
“And, of course, you know where you’re going. So, you don’t need me to lead you around. But perhaps I’ll see you at Theo’s? Or maybe at Cornelius’s? Got to be going, now. ’Bye.”
He waved goodbye and started out the door. Mab and I exchanged glances.
“Mephisto! Wait!”
“Yes?” Part way down the hall, Mephisto froze as if in mid-step. He turned and leaned back toward us, cupping a hand about his ear. “You called?”
“You know where Theo is?”
“And Cornelius! And Logistilla!”
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell us?” I asked sadly.
“What do you take me for? A fool?” he asked, throwing up his hands. “But of course, I would be willing to lead you there, if …”
“If … what?”
“If you make your detective help me find my staff,” he said.
I looked at Mab. He was scowling.
“Could be a matter of life or death for some of my brothers, Mab. What if we hadn’t heard of the Three Shadowed Ones when the darkness started forming in the Great Hall?”
Mab stared at me hard for quite some time. Finally, he nodded glumly.
“Okay, Mephisto,” I said. “You have yourself a deal.”
“Yippee,” yelled Mephisto, punching the air as he leapt.
The phone rang in the room behind us.
“Could you get that Mab? It could be from our Chicago branch,” I said.
“While you’re at it,” called Mephisto. “Could you pick up the money Miranda left on the floor? I have a feeling I might want it after all.”
“Pick up your own damned money,” grumbled Mab, answering the phone. He spoke into it for a moment. Then, he picked up the money and came out, shutting the door behind him.
“It was for you, ma’am. Front desk says there’s someone waiting downstairs to see you.” He handed me the money. I handed it to Mephisto, who wadded it up and stuck it into his pocket. Mab continued, “She hung up before I could ask any questions. I don’t like it.”
“Who could possibly know I was here, except someone from our Chicago office?” I asked. “Come on, let’s go downstairs.”
“What was it I said about ‘angels fear to tread’?” growled Mab. “Never listens to me. Okay, ma’am, risk your neck. But I’m sticking with you. Just in case.”
“Me, too!” exclaimed Mephisto.
“Great, just great,” I murmured. “You two have to promise me that if it’s a mundane business associate, you’ll both vamoose.”
“Let’s take the elevator to the second floor, then walk down the fire stairs to the lobby,” Mab said. “Just to be safe. That way we can approach from an unexpected angle and catch any assailants unaware.”
I sighed but obliged him. We took the elevator to the second floor and then found the nearest door marked EXIT. The fire stairs opened into a plush lobby covered by a maroon carpet. In the center stood a fountain surrounded by tall fronds.
Ahead, a man leaned casually against the counter. The clerk behind the counter, a pretty little brunette, blushed under his attentions. Then I saw his face.
Without hesitating, I turned and fled.