Prosper Redding: The Last Life of Prince Alastor Page 2
‘Do we have an agreement?’ Alastor asked.
Honor took a deep breath and said, ‘Tell me what I must do.’
A Fiendish Arrangement
The mirror’s surface rippled, exhaling a puff of warm, sour-smelling air. The overhead sprinklers were still putting out the last of the candles Nell and her father, Henry Bellegrave, had lit to perform her spell.
The darkness inside the watery glass glowered back at me as I took a step forward. My face distorted in the reflection, until it looked like I was snarling.
If only my family could see me now. Poor little Prosper, my aunts used to say, scared of his own shadow. They wouldn’t believe for a second that I’d be willing to follow Pyra, or that I was capable of finding Prue, my twin, inside of whatever shadows were waiting Downstairs.
They didn’t know me at all. I’d made mistakes, I’d been misled, but I wasn’t some helpless victim in this story.
In that moment, the only thing I felt was anger. At myself. At my family. At Nell. At Alastor. At the fiends who couldn’t leave the human world alone.
Wait.
I took a step back, frustrated. ‘What now?’
The deal. We must set the terms.
‘Seriously? Now? We’re going to lose their trail!’
Yes, ‘seriously’, you craven rumpwart. An understanding up front will prevent later troubles. And, Alastor said, somewhat grudgingly, I require the magic generated from the deal to open a direct portal to the mirror we’ll arrive at. The mirror pathways have been cursed so that any humans who find their way inside will be trapped there for ever, and I rather thought we had more important things to do than float around in perpetual darkness, Maggot.
Okay. That was fair. ‘I want your help to save Prue from Downstairs, no matter the circumstances – ’
That is acceptable.
‘I’m not finished,’ I said. ‘I want you to also guarantee that you will help us get back to the human realm and not strand us down there or in the mirror pathways.’
Well played, Maggot. You are learning the ways of a fiend.
I set my jaw hard enough that it was almost painful. ‘I’m nothing like a fiend. I won’t ever be. All you do is hurt others and destroy good things. I just won’t be your plaything any more.’
Alastor was silent.
‘I also want you to end the grudge you have against my family,’ I said. ‘And leave them alone.’
He sneered inside my head, making my skin crawl with the sensation of it. No. I will grant your first two requests in exchange for the promise of your eternal servitude Downstairs upon your mortal death.
I choked a bit at that. For ever … was a long time. Actually, it wasn’t a long time, it was the thing past the standard of a long time. My afterlife would consist of licking his boots clean and cooking him whatever disgusting things they ate Downstairs.
Oh no, Maggot. I have hobs to do such things. No, you would tend to my fireviper nests, and then, after you’ve proven yourself, you’d have the privilege of preparing my favourite fairy crisps. They screech and bite as you pluck off their wings, but the oven is always quick to quiet them.
I rolled my eyes, letting my hands curl into fists at my side. The punishment wouldn’t be doing any of those jobs. No, the real prison of misery was knowing that I’d be forced to listen to him going on about his ‘dark magnificence’ until I’d probably wish I could die all over again, just to escape it for a few seconds.
I couldn’t believe I’d ever been stupid enough to think, even for a second, that he might turn down my offered contract. Like, You know what? I’ll take the moral high road just this once and help you and your sister out of this dastardly situation I’m directly responsible for putting you in.
But that was the difference between humans and fiends. Humans had the capacity for good. Fiends didn’t.
How your courage crumbles at the prospect, Alastor said. It is the only thing I ask, and yet you squander the passing seconds as though you have nothing to be concerned about. As if knowing for certain that your sister’s heart is strong enough to survive the dark rigours of Downstairs.
My own heart suddenly slammed against my ribs.
While she’d undergone several surgeries and had been given the all clear by doctors, Prue had been born with a heart condition that had nearly killed her. There was no telling if it was just the doctor’s skill and her own innate strength that had helped her survive, or a touch of the unnatural, magic luck the Reddings possessed.
If it was the latter … what would happen to her if Alastor finally broke free from my body and took all of our family’s good fortune away? What if it was so terrifying Downstairs –
No. I shook my head, flinging the horrible thought away. Prudence was strong. She’d always been the better of the two of us, in all the ways that mattered. She’d rescued me from any number of mess-ups. It was my turn to save her, and I would.
I will help you save your sister and ensure you return here together. In exchange, I’ll have your shade. Do you accept these terms?
Wait. The thought of Alastor’s vow of vengeance on my family stirred up another one. Honor Redding had already promised all the shades of his family and descendants centuries ago, including mine. I wasn’t giving the fiend anything more than he already had.
Confound it all— Alastor spluttered, clearly hearing my thoughts. He’d been so in love with the image of tormenting me that he really hadn’t realized it. This time I was the one smirking. No! I require something else, then—
A heavy pounding on the storage room’s door startled me out of my thoughts. My head snapped around, stomach plummeting as someone called out, ‘Is anyone in there? Stand back from the door, we’re coming in!’
‘I accept your original terms!’ I said. ‘Just hurry!’
A flash of green light gathered at the centre of my chest, then billowed out in tendrils. I startled, jumping back from the mirror as the shimmering strands knotted themselves together over my skin and seeped into it.
Magic. I’d never seen a shade of green like this before, not in all my paint sets or coloured pencils; it wasn’t one found in nature, that was for sure. It looked almost … electric. The last few traces of magic floated around me like sparks, drifting into the mirror.
Fine, Alastor said, sulking. Clearly my time inhabiting your puny mind has temporarily dulled my own. The sooner I escape, the better.
Yeah. We’d see about that.
A surge of prickling heat went through my arm as he took control of it. Somewhere behind me, the pounding on the storage room’s door intensified like a booming heartbeat. I couldn’t look away from the mirror, though, not when my finger touched its shivering glass and a spark of that same green magic leaped from it. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
Do you always close your eyes when frightened? Alastor asked. Open them wide, stare down your fear until it obeys you.
I gritted my teeth. ‘I’m not afraid.’
Not yet.
By the time the door burst open and the firefighters spilled inside, the mirror had already closed behind me.
Where Fiends Dwell
Passing through the mirror portal is like being caught between one heartbeat and the next. For that single disorienting second, there is nothing but pure black – no air, no light, no sound. You’re not falling, or flying, or moving at all.
You’re not even sure you still have a body.
And just when you know to start worrying, when the soggy edges of your thoughts start to make less and less sense, it all explodes.
Something reached out and gripped me by the throat, yanking me forward so hard that I felt my cheeks and lips peel back from my teeth. Rainbow prisms of light whirled around me, spinning faster and faster. My stomach heaved, and I couldn’t close my eyes; tears streamed from them. A roar filled my ears, drowning out my thundering pulse and Alastor’s gleeful laughter.
In the end, I didn’t get off the ride – I got ejected.
‘Al!’ I managed to choke out. My knees hit wood and splintered it. When I finally landed, it was with a loud, queasy-making splat.
Brown mud and something that smelled suspiciously like what came out of the wrong ends of humans sprayed up around me on impact. It pooled around my waist like I was in the most disgusting of swamps. I coughed and gagged. When my palms skimmed over the water, they caught on floating pieces of … something.
Ahhhhh, Alastor said wistfully. It is the essence of ‘home’, is it not?
It was the essence of puke, actually. Days-old puke, left outside in the heat.
Holding my breath, I managed to push myself fully on to my feet, closing my eyes as the reeking watery substance dripped off me. The ground was compact beneath my feet, at least, and when I stood, whatever steaming poison was roiling around me only reached my knees. Better. Ish.
I moved forward gingerly, craning my neck back to peer into the shadows over my head. There was only a thin stream of green light illuminating the space, just enough to make out the basics.
We had fallen through some kind of wood bench. I grasped up the two biggest pieces of it, holding them together to reveal the telling circle that had been cut into it.
Oh.
No.
This was …
I started to bring my hands up to cover my face, only to remember what was on them. I started to wipe them against my shirt, only to remember it was on that, too. And then, because the only other option was screaming, I took a deep breath.
‘Al,’ I began.
Yes, Maggot? he asked, all innocence.
‘Why,’ I said, the word tasting like vomit, ‘did you bring us through a mirror in an outhouse? Why? Why?’
Not that I must explain my every decision to you, but I brought us here because it is my private facility. It is cursed so that only I may open its door. It is the only mirror in all the realm that I could be sure was not watched by Pyra or her crew of filthy traitors, as no one else is aware that it exists.
‘You put your emergency escape in your toilet?’
While many lesser fiends and peasants aspired to my station and adorably mimicked my finely tailored outfits and demeanour, no fiend would ever desire to look in here, would they?
There wasn’t a lot that I could – or would – praise Alastor for, but I had to give him this: he could rival any cockroach for self-preservation.
‘You really don’t mind your subjects seeing you for the first time in over three centuries covered in … this?’ I couldn’t bring myself to say the actual word.
Fie, Maggot. I wouldn’t dream of announcing myself in such a hideous and humiliating form as a mortal boy. No, I shall wait until I am free of your prison and in my true, terrifying form before I allow the realm to rejoice at my return. It will be soon enough.
‘How soon?’ I asked, unease prickling over my skin like thousands of spiders.
I felt the curve of his smirk in my mind and shook my head.
No – I had my own answer to my question. How soon? Not one second before I rescued Prue and got us back to the human world. Figuring out how to break my family’s contract with him to save us all from his vengeance had to come second.
The Reddings: just your average all-American family who made a deal with a demonic parasite to destroy their rivals and pave their future with gold, and then were stupid enough to try to break the agreement to avoid its consequences. As much as I loved my parents and sister, the finger I was pointing at Alastor was crooked, and curled back at me.
If Alastor was a cockroach, then my ancestors had been the Black Plague. Alastor might have darted away from trouble to hide, but the Reddings hadn’t been happy until they’d wiped out anyone who had dared to stand in their way.
‘You better hope you never escape my head,’ I swore, ‘because the second you do, I am going to wring your fluffy white neck for all of this.’
It would endlessly amuse me to watch you try, Alastor said. Do you intend to stay down here and bask in the moist offerings, or shall I help you jump out?
I don’t need your help, I thought back. Eyes burning with the fumes, I stretched up, feeling for the ledge the seat had been balanced over. My fingertips brushed stone. Solid ground.
Now, how will you do this, Maggot? Alastor wondered. I seem to recall your trepidation at the prospect of having to climb a rope ladder in – what do you humans call it? Ah yes. Physical escalation.
The soup of waste and mud shifted around my knees. My foot found a groove in the wall. I kept both hands up on the platform.
Physical education, I corrected. I would have rolled my eyes, but they felt like they were on the verge of melting out of my skull.
Education? What is there to learn? Some creatures, like myself, are born with physical prowess, and others, like yourself, are not. You must accept the hand Fate has dealt you or make a deal with me to rise above your station.
That wasn’t true at all. Even the best athletes had to build endurance over time, and with almost everything else, you just developed a tolerance. You suffered through your extended family calling you worthless until it no longer stung. You learned how to stay silent as your teachers berated you for another failed test. You got used to a fiend talking inside your skull enough to keep functioning and not curl into a tiny ball of torment.
I had a high tolerance for a lot of things. And I was not going to be the Redding Who Died of Starvation and Dehydration in an Outhouse, thanks.
My arms shook as I dragged myself up. The soles of my wet sneakers slipped against the wall, struggling to find purchase. By the time I finally flopped on to the flat, hard-packed dirt floor, my heart was pounding and I couldn’t feel my fingers.
The outhouse itself was no bigger than a coffin. There was a small crescent-shaped cutout in the simple wood door through which that eerie green light was filtering. I stood on my toes and peered through it.
A long alleyway stretched before us, curving into darkness. Foul, pale vapour hissed from cracks between the cobblestones on the ground. The walls on the buildings beside the outhouse seemed to lean over the pathway like vultures, waiting to see what prey might scurry by.
When nothing melted out of the nearby shadows, I slowly pushed the old door open. There was only one way to go – forward.
I stripped off my sopping-wet sweater and tossed it aside. By the time I reached what I assumed was the end of the alleyway, the smog thickened, glowing green under a nearby street lamp that flickered with magic flame. That electric shade of emerald fell over the whole realm like a coat of slime. They didn’t seem to have real fire here, and I wasn’t sure why that surprised me.
I took a deep breath, studying what I could see of the kingdom. Painting it would be simple. I’d only need three colours: sinister black, dull silver and that fluorescent, unnatural green.
I don’t think I ever truly appreciated how many bright, vivid colours existed in the human world until I came here, a place stained with overwhelming darkness.
There’s a stone at your feet, Alastor said. Take it in hand and toss it against the wall to your right.
I already knew I was going to regret it before the rock even left my hand, but I did it anyway. It clacked against the other stones, and just like that, the structure dissolved into a thousand inky bats.
‘Gah!’ I sputtered. Throwing my arms over my face and head did nothing. Their wings fluttered against my skin, prickling like cactus needles. ‘Why did you – why did you tell me to do that?!’
I bit back a small cry of pain as one of their tiny clawed wings hooked into my earlobe and tugged. ‘Get off!’
These bats made whatever we had in the human world look like flying mice. They were the size of hawks, and I could not have been less surprised when I felt a set of fangs puncture my arm and the drag as it pulled at my blood.
I gripped its squirmi
ng form with my free hand and wrenched it away, throwing it toward the others. The beat of their wings sent the vapours spiralling up, lifting its heavy cover to let me see what was beyond it. My eyes widened as I looked up.
And up.
Because of this, Alastor said, pride swelling in his voice. Welcome, Maggot, to Downstairs.
The Kingdom of Dark Towers
The kingdom glared back at me, inky and seething against the glow of magic from the street lamps and lanterns in the city above us.
Alastor inhaled sharply. It was the gasp of someone who was seeing home for the first time in three hundred and twenty-five years.
We stood at the base of what appeared to be a small mountain, one that was curving in on itself like a rotting apple. Aside from the one we stood on, there were three other levels – streets – that ringed around it, connected to each other by a labyrinth of stone steps and ladders. With each layer, the buildings grew taller and thinner.
The buildings were all made from the same black stone and mortar. I brushed my hand against the side of a pub – Grim Grayscale’s, if its crooked sign was to be believed. The building’s stones had each been carved into the flat rectangle of a brick, but they were smooth to the touch. Actually, now that I was really looking at them, the pub, and the other structures like it, just seemed like gloomier, more sinister cousins of the colonial homes you’d find in Salem. In Redhood.
But the difference was that in Downstairs, everything was just that little bit off, like someone had tried to read someone else’s homework upside down and copied it. Windows had been installed at a slant. The doors were too narrow and too tall. It was like looking at a shadow version of home.
Yes, well. If one lives in the Flats, one generally does not have the currency to buy the finer homes on the upper steps, in the Scales or the Crown – the third and fourth steps, you see?The Horned Palace sits at the head of it all, behind the veil of the fog.
Steps meaning streets, I guessed. The street right above ours looked roughly the same, with a few strange, shadowy shapes I couldn’t fully make out. The third step, the Scales, had neater versions of the homes down here, but they were stacked on top of each other – three, four, five storeys high. Each level of each teetering house had its own roof, all of them curling up like grasping claws.