The Lost Prince Page 13

  “Life expectancy is forty where we come from,” Cal said. “At fifteen, you can own property, marry, have children, joust in tourneys, and join an army. Youth is not his excuse.”

  Seth excused himself to use the bathroom. Lelani moved to the kitchen. Cat picked up the dishes, cups, and utensils around the apartment and followed the centaur into the kitchen. Lelani was forced against the range to make room for her, and Cat still had to squeeze in. Lelani was trapped in the line of fire between the spouses, which motivated her moving to the kitchen in the first place. Cat seemed oblivious to that fact.

  “We’ve all lost something because of his incompetence,” Cal said.

  Cat threw the dishes into the sink, hard. Cal and Lelani winced at the clash. “You don’t even know the half of it, Cal,” his wife said. “Before all this craziness, I had finally decided to get my MBA. I already picked up the applications. Then I realized I might be pregnant, again—and I was going to ask you if we could work out a schedule that would let me still go to grad school. If you said that you wanted me to stay home and raise the baby again, I was willing to do that, too, because I love you. How sad is that? I find the one worthy alpha male on earth to share my life with, and I’m willing to sacrifice my own ambitions for him. But it was my choice to do it.

  “All this shit going on now … where are my options, Cal? I’m stuck with your mission to save the damned prince. Your former life has been crammed down my throat! It’s taken over everything! And the way you go at it … to hell with our present life! To hell with our friends, our family, your job! You’re going to do it anyway! Where’s my choice regarding our future?” Cat left the dishes where she dropped them, stormed into the spare bedroom, and shut the door hard.

  Seth reentered the room, but had the good sense to keep his yap shut.

  Cal was speechless. Catherine’s entire life had been co-opted by his mission—turned upside down worse than if a tornado had blasted through their house. Cal was exhausted trying to hold three families together—he only had two arms. Which would he fumble? The archduke and the prince? His parents and betrothed? His wife and child?

  “You must give her time to absorb all this,” Lelani said. She fixed three cups of chamomile tea for them.

  “Time is a luxury in short supply right now,” Cal said.

  “Catherine is an intelligent woman. She understands the life-or-death ramifications of your task. It is the unknown that frightens her—the secrets. She suspects you are holding back something important.” Lelani shot him an understanding look to imply Chryslantha. “She is frustrated, but still with you.”

  “I’m frustrated, too. Why did Galen and Linnea have to die? If they had made it to safety, they would have raised the prince as their own. You never met a more levelheaded man than Galen—and Linnea, the warmest woman on the palace staff. She had her father’s nurturing gift with plants and flowers. Danel would have been safe and happy. How could Galen have driven into a truck with a baby in the car?”

  “It may not have been his fault,” Lelani said. “Magnus Proust warned me that some, a small minority, that venture between realities might be susceptible to vibrational changes between universes. A malady of the mind might come over such a person before they succumb to death. It’s similar to pressure changes suffered by the pearl divers of Karakos.”

  “I wish Proust would have told me this. Not that it would have made a difference,” he finished, looking accusingly at Seth.

  “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?” Seth said.

  “My whole life is upside down…,” Cal began, but gave up and excused himself to Lelani to join his wife.

  “He never cuts me a break,” he heard Seth comment as he shut the bedroom door.

  2

  Callum tossed and turned throughout the night. His wife slept soundly, having taken one of her mother’s Ambiens. Cal’s mind raced with too many thoughts about the past, present, and future—the possibilities about the mission ahead—strategies, tactics, pitfalls, trying to guess what Dorn and his minions were up to. Would any of the other guardians rise to their responsibilities? Or were they even now gazing at their sleeping spouses and children, choosing to sacrifice the prince and Aandor for the new lives they had built? What if he were alone with only Lelani and the idiot.

  After some fleeting bouts of fitful sleep, the sun snuck up like a thief. Callum slid from the bed, with the energy and clarity of a man that had just run a marathon. Cat was still out. He shuffled into the living area to prepare for a day full of bureaucratic headaches. It was quiet. Lelani slept in the corner, but the couch was empty with the blanket neatly folded on top of the pillow. A note was taped to the staff leaning against the couch. A bad feeling crept into Cal’s gut. The note, in Seth’s handwriting, read:

  Have loose ends to take care of in the city. Have the new cell phone you gave me. Will meet you later tonight. Seth.

  Cal crumpled the note and flung it at the dining room wall with deep growl. Lelani jolted awake, dagger in hand. She looked around, groggily, and then at Cal for an explanation.

  “The idiot has gone AWOL,” Cal said.

  CHAPTER 12

  WALKABOUT

  1

  Seth waited for the Fidelity Investments branch at 61 Broadway to open for business. His watch read eight thirty—it was his first appointment in what he hoped would be a productive day. His life before Lelani’s arrival dominated Seth’s thoughts—a life like a moth-eaten tapestry, all holes and frayed fringes in need of darning. He had to account for his hurtful actions or he would be stuck in this point in his life forever; no moving forward, no evolution, just weighed down by the past. He was finally in a position to make amends and set up a brighter future—assuming he survived the present.

  New Yorkers rushed around, oblivious to the agents from an alternate reality that threatened to infringe on their cynical, hardened, and exhaustive existence. They were a strange lot, all living within a foot and a half of each other at one time or another, according to one gifted writer. They prided themselves on being able to blend the gift of privacy with the excitation of participation. The city was like poetry—compressing life, races, and breeds into music for the greatest human concentrate on earth and for whom the full meaning of the city would always be elusive. A city designed to absorb anything that comes along without inflicting the event on its inhabitants. Despite the incredible pressures of living here, New Yorkers seem to escape hysteria by some tiny margin every time. Seth prayed this would continue … that the rushing masses would stay ignorant of today’s happenings, for their own sake.

  Seth needed a shave and change of clothes, but thanks to the likes of Russell Brand and Dave Grohl, investment bankers were wary of turning away the slovenly, lest they be secretly filthy rich. A Fidelity coordinator placed him in a waiting area until a representative became available. The décor was green, white, and shades of tan. Balanced on Seth’s lap was a large plastic envelope that he had purchased at a drugstore upstate. Cat had given him the money for nicotine patches, but the deals he would make today were worth jonesing for. It was typical of Seth’s luck to get saddled with a group of nonsmokers just as his entire life was turning inside out.

  He studied the cuts on his hands earned from whittling his staff. It took him a while to get the hang of slicing off the brown and green bark. He found the knots especially difficult to work around. The staff now lay in Vivian’s apartment under an enchantment Lelani cast to dry it out quickly so that the inner bark, which still needed to be shaved off, would reveal itself by changing color.

  Seth’s cell phone rang. Not being familiar with the ring tone, it took a moment before he realized it was his—one of the disposables Cal had purchased for the group. The cop was tracking down his wayward soldier. Seth didn’t feel like a soldier, though. Herr MacDonnell thought he was the center of the universe and the boss of everyone. Fuck him, Seth thought and muted the call.

  He had responsibilities, also—and the adventure u
pstate had presented him with a unique opportunity; Seth believed it was time he looked after his own interests. MacDonnell should be grateful he at least left a note. Let Cat deal with Captain Rage.

  Cat! He had forgotten his pet, yet again. Hoshi would soon run out of food and water in Lelani’s rented room. Seth didn’t have time to retrieve her, not if he wanted to get everything done before relinquishing his freedom to the cause again. But to neglect her would only add to the list he was trying to work through. He tried to remember Earl’s number as he punched it into his new phone.

  “Hello?” answered a sleepy voice.

  “Earl, it’s Seth.”

  “Seth? Seth! We thought you were … Where’ve you been, man?”

  “It’s a crazy story…”

  “Hey, why didn’t you tell me Joe was dead?”

  Seth didn’t want to start the conversation on the defensive. “Why didn’t you let me stay with you when I told you my house blew up?” he responded.

  “You didn’t say your house blew up, asshole. You said you had a fire … made it seem like an inconvenience. My girlfriend hates you … What was I supposed to do?”

  “Look, I need someone to get Hoshi out of a boarding room on Twenty-third. I’ll text you the address. She’s out of food and water.”

  “Why can’t you—”

  “’Cause I’m tied up with stuff, Earl. Please just do this for me. I know I’m a jerk, but you’re the only friend I have left and I need you to do this.”

  “Yeah. Well—Marge likes the cat … and I’m holding kitty hostage until you pay up for the bags I fronted you.” Seth breathed a sigh of relief. Hoshi would be okay. After a short pause, Earl asked, “Are you coming tonight?”

  “Mr. Raincrest?” a Fidelity agent motioned he was available. Seth put his index finger up—the universal signal asking for one more minute on the phone, and followed the man to his cubicle.

  “What’s tonight?” he asked Earl.

  “Joe’s service. His mom flies him back to Cali tomorrow. The guy’s been your friend for years … Are you going to miss this, too? Is this Mindy’s abortion all over again?”

  “Thanks for getting the cat. Room three-thirteen.” Seth ended the call. Earl was one of his oldest friends; it became apparent how daunting getting out of the hole he’d dug himself into over the years would be. He really was a first-rate asshole. If it weren’t for Lelani, Cat, and even Cal, he’d truly be alone.

  “What can I help you with?” asked the rep. He was a young black kid, thin, just out of college, and probably wearing the first suit in his life his mama didn’t buy for him.

  “I need a trust … mutual funds—something that doesn’t need a lot of hands-on care.”

  “How much are you investing?” the representative asked.

  “A lot.”

  “Can you be specific…”

  “No. Lots of zeros,” Seth said. “The money’s coming later, but I need to open the account now.”

  The representative went through several funds, throwing terms at him like “Lipper” and “Morningstar.” Seth opted for a slightly aggressive four-star fund with a consistent track record. He linked his new investment account to his bank and thanked the rep for his time. Seth headed to his bank next to make POD provisions in the event of his untimely demise. With that set up, it was time for the real business. But Seth couldn’t walk into the next establishment looking and smelling the way he did. He had to go home first. Home. He dreaded this moment.

  2

  The door had been replaced with a temporary slab of plywood and sealed with police tape. More plywood covered the big holes in the wall separating the hallway and the apartment. A second piece of board across the hall covered his neighbors’ wall where debris had blown through. Seth ripped through the police tape and made his way into his home gingerly, avoiding gaps in the floor. The apartment gave off a distinct vibe that he could not define. He chalked it up to the ash dust and the gloomy grayness it gave everything. These charred remains of his old apartment were symbolic of his life. Seth tried to see something positive in the destruction. These items represented the years he lived in selfishness and anger. The fire wiped away that past. It meant renewal—purification. Wasn’t his prince’s sigil the phoenix, after all—a bird that dies by combustion and reinvents itself continuously? On second viewing, a lot more stuff had survived the explosion than Seth had realized the last time he was there with Lelani.

  The brunt of the explosion had been in the living room/kitchen area. Unfortunately, the bathroom behind the kitchen was a jumble of ash, twisted metal, and shattered porcelain. No showering would be done in there. The bedroom walls were blackened skeletons of their former selves, but the bedrooms suffered the least damage. In the closet hung his favorite wool peacoat, a deep navy blue with double-breasted black buttons and a wide lapel that flipped up and made him feel like a Merchant Marine officer. It smelled of smoke like everything else in the apartment, but with cold weather coming in, it would be better than the jacket he’d been using. Seth located his backpack under the charred remains of his bed. It was covered in ash, but was relatively intact. Inside, was an unopened pack of Camel cigarettes. Seth thanked the god of small things and stuffed any surviving documents and bank papers into the backpack along with the new paperwork and plastic folder he’d been carrying. His credit cards were slag, and he had tapped out all his remaining cash the day of the fire. Behind the stove, he retrieved two hundred dollars wrapped in tinfoil that had belonged to his roommate, Joe. He’d forgotten about it the day of the fire. Joe certainly didn’t need it anymore. He rummaged through more of Joe’s property and found some white T-shirts and boxers still in their plastic wrapping. Seth welled up with tears and suddenly had to sit on the floor. The underwear was from Joe’s mother—she often sent her son care packages from California. Joe freely shared their contents with Seth—homemade biscuits and jam and an overabundance of clothing. It was Seth’s good fortune that he was about the same size as his ex-roommate; more so to have had a friend with the patience and goodwill of a saint like Joe.

  Seth let out an emotional barrage the likes of which he couldn’t remember ever having done before. It built up out of nowhere and took him over. He had lost his brother. Seth’s behavior after Joe’s death was abominable. Even with the mission, it would not have taken much effort to make a few phone calls—to tell friends what had happened and to offer condolences to Joe’s family. Who better than Seth knew what it was like to lose a family member to a fire? The lost, senseless, hopeless feeling that nothing in the universe makes any sense.

  The vibe in the apartment continued to nag at Seth—in fact, it bugged him more now, yet was still just beyond reach of recognition. As Seth grasped at what it was, his neighbor Ramone, a portly five-foot-two South East Asian type with short black hair, ran into the living room wielding an iron skillet raised over his head.

  “Rahhhh…!” Ramone growled.

  He may have looked fearsome if not for the large flowery red and yellow Hawaiian shirt, white hot pants, and white Dolce & Gabbana flipflops. “Oh my God. Seth? You scared me,” Ramone said, with a trace of his Filipino accent. He was holding his chest and panting.

  “I scared you?” Seth retorted. “You’re the one wielding a deadly weapon.”

  “The homeless keep trying to squat in here. Chad and I shoo them away.”

  “Thanks … I owe you,” Seth said.

  “You look like hell, sweetie.”

  “I’ve had a rough few days. Your apartment pretty much survived?” Seth asked.

  Ramone nodded. “Everything still smells like smoke,” he said like a man that had spent a lot of effort scrubbing everything down.

  Holding fresh underwear, Seth remembered what he had come back for. “Can I use your shower?” he asked.

  “Of course. Let me tell Chad we’re having a guest first. My little magic monkey walks around naked,” Ramone whispered in a hand-to-cheek side note, as he flipflopped out of the room.r />
  The “magic monkey” was too much information for Seth. He tried to keep the image of a hanging Chad out of his head.

  Magic, he suddenly realized. That’s the vibe in this apartment. A sensation at the periphery of awareness—it’s what he felt around Rosencrantz. It was the residual magic used when Symian blew up the apartment—perhaps even the spell from Lelani’s brass compact. Seth closed his eyes in an attempt to feel it out around him. It was like the smell of the ocean from a mile away, barely there and yet so. The more he concentrated, the harder it was to pinpoint; as though he were repelling the energy with the effort.

  Seth decided on another tack. One of his nude models, a yogini that had always tried to get him to meditate, was obsessed with clearing Seth’s mind, opening his chakras, and expounding the virtue of nothingness. Seth had put up with it because he was obsessed with opening up her other parts for his own pleasure. He sat in the lotus position and calmed his breathing. He cleared his mind by first thinking of snow on a serene mountaintop. Nothing happened. He was too on edge. He needed something to calm his nerves before he could calm his thoughts. Seth cracked opened the Camel cigarettes and lit up. It tasted better than sweet salted butter on a croissant. He rested his arms against his folded legs, cig between his fingers and again tried to clear his mind. The energy around him grew stronger—more opaque. It drifted out of the walls, the charred remains of furniture, but he remained receptive, open, wanting nothing. Seth didn’t know how long he would need to sit there before something noticeably obvious happened. Should he acknowledge the energy when it reached him? He heard a gasp and opened his eyes. Ramone stared, bewildered. The cigarette? Seth thought.

  “I just needed something to calm…” As Seth raised his hand with the cigarette, he noticed a faint silvery glow flickering about his hand like burning gas. He quickly realized the aura covered him.

  “You’re on fire,” Ramone said.

  Seth lost focus, and the light dissipated.