Into the Dark: The Shadow Prince Part 27

"Speaking of which, Bobby says you've missed your last two sessions at the recording studio." Ah, the reason Joe isn't happy to see Sunny. He's been slacking. "I've been busy working on the musical for Daphne's school." "Oh, that explains it," Sunny says merrily, but the sound coming off him is anything but. "Joe, may I have a word with you in private?" "Of course." Joe pats my hand as he stands. "I'll only be a minute, Daph."

"You are letting yourself get distracted," Sunny says to Joe as I watch the two walk away. A mixture of very unhappy sounds is coming off both of them. I imagine Joe is about to get a berating for neglecting his "G.o.d of Rock" duties.

"So, you do exist," a man says as he scoots into the booth next to me.

I blink at him until recognition clicks. I've seen him on TV countless times with Joe. Bobby Rox, Joe's drummer.

"At least I did the last time I checked," I say.

Bobby laughs. He's pink faced and I can tell he's on the verge of being drunk.

"Tell you what. We thought the old monk had made you up so we'd stop teasing him about being a eunuch!" he says with a chuckle. "Did you just call my father a eunuch? Because I'm going to need a Brillo pad for my brain to get rid of that mental image." Bobby laughs so loud that the people at the adjacent tables stare.

"We just like to tease the old boy. I'm sure he's got all the right equipment. The guy's just as celibate as a monk. In all our years, with all those groupies and reporters and supermodels, he's never once . . .

you know."

"Again with the mental images . . ." I point at myself. "Daughter, remember?"

Although a slightly disturbing topic of conversation, this bit of information surprises me about Joe. He's never struck me as the religious type, nor the self-disciplined type, either. My mom had never said whether she and Joe had ever technically gotten divorced. Was it possible he is just that faithful?

I shake my head. They'd only seen each other five times in the last seventeen years. That certainly didn't count as a marriage.

There had to be another reason for Joe's discretion. . . . "The old boy probably wouldn't drink so much if he let himself get laid once in a while!" Bobby goes on guffawing and I'm glad when a familiar face approaches the table.

"Marta, you're here, too?" I ask.

"I was nearby," she says. "Joe sends his apologies. He needs to attend to some business with Mr. Fitzgerald. I've been asked to escort you home."

Normally, I might feel slighted by Joe, but I don't argue with this change in plans. It's nearly one thirty in the morning and I can feel the fatigue pulling at my bones. I've already scheduled a Skypechat breakfast with my mom, followed by three hours self-imposed singing practice in the morning, and then I'm supposed to meet with Tobin for lunch so I can tell him everything I've learned about Haden and the Lord family. It's still not a lot, but I know he'll be revving for an update.

I follow Marta sleepily to her Audi. It's a long drive back to Olympus Hills and I'm not sure I'll stay awake. "Who's Mr. Fitzgerald?" I ask with a yawn as I get into the pa.s.senger seat. "I thought Joe was with Mr. Sunny."

"Oh yes. Only Joe calls his manager Mr. Sunny-because of his 'sunny disposition.' He's Mr. Fitzgerald to the rest of us." chapter forty-one haden It is nearly dawn by the time I return to the house in Olympus Hills. I have been gone for nearly a day, but I am heady with music and emotion-like an Heir who's imbibed too much nectar at a feast- and I don't care. I bang into the kitchen, singing one of the many songs I have memorized during the night.

Someone is waiting for me, but it isn't Dax, as I expect. "Care to tell me where you've been?" Simon asks. He sits at the kitchen counter with a mug of his coffee. Based on the dregs left in the pot, he's consumed quite a few cups while waiting for me.

"No." I pick up an apple from the centerpiece on the table.

"Do you know where I was?" he asks.

"Nope." I whistle a tune, heading for the stairs.

"I was at a friend's restaurant opening. And the darnedest thing happened. Something that has never happened in all my years. My platinum card had a hold on it." I stop at the front of the stairs.

"You can imagine my surprise when I called the credit card company to clear things up and found out that somebody in my household put a fifty-eight thousand dollar expense on my card yesterday afternoon."

I take a bite of the apple. I don't realize how hungry I am until the sweetness touches my tongue. I look at Simon while I chew.

"Not that I'm not good for the money. Not that I don't have the room in my account. They were just concerned. As was I. Do you know why I was concerned?"

I shake my head.

"Because someone in my charge didn't come home last night and wasn't answering his phone. I thought maybe this someone had decided to skip town. But you wouldn't do that, would you? Skip town? Abandon your quest? Run away? Like a coward?"

I suddenly find it hard to swallow. "I am not a coward. And I didn't run."

"I know that now," he says. "But you wouldn't be the first to try. That's one of the reasons I'm here. I almost came after you. That wouldn't have been pleasant for anyone involved-just ask your friend Dax. However, luckily for you, I took a closer look at the charge on my account. What exactly was so fascinating at Pacific Coast Records that you felt compelled to spend nearly sixty thousand dollars on it?"

"Music."

"Music?" Simon pours soy milk into his coffee and stirs it with a dainty spoon. "Sixty. Thousand.

Dollars'. Worth of music?" He takes a sip and pulls a face like the milk has gone bad. "You know music is forbidden in the Underrealm?"

"Yes, but I'm only using it to get closer Daphne. It's part of my quest. Dax said it's okay for Champions to bend the rules occasionally. . . ."

"I know what Dax says. He used the same argument on me when he convinced me to get you a spot in the program. I question whether it was wise to go along with it."

"It's working. That's where I was yesterday. I was with her." At least part of the day.

"Do you know why music is forbidden?"

"Because it's too human?"

"Because of the Traitor. Because of what he did. He used his music to manipulate the G.o.d of the Underrealm. To trick him, deceive him. To distract him so he could steal the Key to the underworld.

To trap the Underlords down there. Your G.o.d would still be alive today if not for that man's filthy manipulations."

"That has nothing to do with my-"

"That's what music is. It's manipulation. It plays on your emotions. Makes you think and feel things that aren't true. It distracts you."

"I'm not distracted."

"You sure? There's sixty grand and a full day of unaccounted time that tells me differently. You stink of emotion." He pushes his coffee cup away. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were having second thoughts about your a.s.signment." He stares at me, his dark eyes boring into me.

"I'm not," I say softly.

"You sure, boy? I'd hate to tell dear ole Papa Ren that his boy is an even bigger disappointment than anyone imagined. Tell him not to keep that seat next to his throne warm for you. Tell him you're just some nursling who can't keep his head on straight around some skirt who can spin a couple of pretty little songs."

"I'm sure."

"Good." Simon takes his cup and plate to the sink. He pulls on a pair of rubber gloves and turns on the water. "Just to make sure, I'm going to be keeping you on a tighter leash," he says, taking a scrub brush the color of limes to his dishes. He cleans them with an intensity that makes me glad I am not a plate. "Under no circ.u.mstances are you allowed to leave Olympus Hills again. I have activated the GPS in your phone. I am to know where you are at all times. You will be home no later than midnight every night, and you will give me a full account of your daily doings. If I find that the music program is indeed becoming too distracting, I will terminate that arrangement immediately. You will have to find other avenues for getting close to your Boon. Less emotional ones. Do you understand me?" Being told that my movements are to be monitored and restricted is irksome enough, but the fact that he's holding the music program out like some carrot he thinks he can s.n.a.t.c.h away based on my behavior makes me angry.

"You are not my king. I don't have to answer to you in this way."

"I am your father's emissary, which means here, in this place, when you look at me, all you should see is your father. I speak for him. I act for him. I report everything back to him. You will treat me as though I am him." The cup Simon has just scrubbed clean cracks in his gloved hand. "Is that clear?"

"Yes," I say, leaving my half-eaten apple on the polished mahogany banister, and head up the stairs to my room.

"Good night, then," Simon calls merrily after me. "Oh, and please try to keep your daily spending to at least a ten-thousanddollar minimum."

k I dream fitfully, waking and falling back asleep, for the rest of the morning. I see my mother's face. I hear her voice. I remember that she used to whisper a lullaby in my ear when I was too young to tell anyone. I can't quite hear the little melody, but I can feel it.

I hadn't allowed myself to fully think of her in so long, but once I did yesterday, it's like I can't push away her ghost. She haunts me.

I see her standing in my bedchambers, looking pale and withered. I am sitting at a table, playing chess with Rowan. We are both seven years old. I am bigger than Rowan but he always beats me when we play strategy games. I prefer to wrestle. I ask our mother for a gla.s.s of water and she reaches for the pitcher that sits on the mantel of the fireplace.

She cries out and collapses, falling face-first against the marble fireplace. I hear the crack of her skull against the stone hearth.

"Mother!" I shout and run to her. It takes most of my strength to turn her limp body over. A gash in her forehead weeps blood. Not knowing what else to do, I clasp my small hands over it, trying to staunch the bleeding, and shout at Rowan to run for help.

"I'm not your servant, Haden," he says, and moves his rook forward to capture the queen I'd left unprotected on the chessboard when I rushed from the table. "We're better off without her. Now come finish our game. I just put you in check."

Blood seeps out from under my fingers, staining Mother's ashy hair red. I can't stop the bleeding. I hear a soft gasp from the doorway and notice Garrick, small and scrawny, lurking in the corridor, only a few feet away from us, as usual. He blinks at me. The boy is a Lesser. Bred for following orders. "Go!" I shout to him. "Get help! Get my father!"

Garrick, only five years old, half my size and almost as bony as my mother, bounds away. I hear the smack of his sandaled feet against the stone floor as he heads down the corridor toward my father's chambers.

My mother's eyelashes flutter open, but her jade green eyes seem unable to focus.

"I'm here, Mother," I say.

She seems to recognize my voice. She lifts one finger as if she is trying to raise her whole hand but the rest won't cooperate. "Haden, my son," she whispers. "Always remember who you are." Her eyelids slide shut, a low rattle echoes from her throat, and her finger trembles as it lowers to lie as still as her others.

"No, Mother!" I shout at her. "Don't leave me!"

I try shaking her, but she doesn't move. I clasp my hands over her head wound again, determined not to let her go. It takes so long for my father to return with Garrick that my mother's warm blood has grown cold and thick under my hands. "She's dying," I say to him when he finally enters the room with two of his advisors and a couple of servants. My father nods. He snaps his fingers and says, "Clean up this mess," to his attendants. He turns to leave without giving his wife a second look.

"No, no, no," I scream at him. "You have to do something! Save her. Take her to the healing chambers!"

"It's too late," one of the servants says.

The other attendant tries to pull me away from my mother's body. Anger, and another emotion I don't understand, surges through my small body. I scream and kick at the servant's legs. A stinging pain p.r.i.c.ks at the backs of my eyes. A terrible wail fills my ears. . . .

k I sit bolt upright in my bed. I am cold, but my chest is damp with sweat. My phone wails again from the top of my dresser. I am grateful for the sound-grateful it awakened me before the rest of that memory can play out in my dream. Grateful not to witness what I did next-not to relive the moment of my unforgivable shame.

Brimstone shifts and yawns at my feet. I nudge her off my toes and stumble to get my phone from the dresser. I hurry to answer it when I see Daphne's name.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Were you still asleep?"

"Long night."

"Me, too," she says. "But I've been up since seven."

"Did you go with your father, then?"

"Yeah," she says. "And you know, it was better than I thought it would be. Got a little odd toward the end, but it was actually kind of fun."

"I'm happy for you."

"The only problem is, now Joe thinks I'm going to go on tour with him this summer."

"This summer?" A pang of guilt hits me in the chest. Daphne may not ever see a summer again.

"Yeah, can you imagine? I can barely stand sharing a mansion with the guy; can you picture us in a tour bus? And his drummer is kind of a weirdo." She pauses to take a breath. "But, hey, I'm guessing you haven't checked your email yet. Considering you're Sleeping Beauty and all."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Anyway, check your email. I think I've found the perfect song for our duet. I sent you the music."

"Give me a minute." I open my email app. Other than the welcome packet that came from the school at the beginning of the year, her message is the only one in my inbox. I open the file she's sent and peruse it, glad I'd used a YouTube video to learn how to read music since my first lesson with her.

"This is good," I say, imagining the sounds of the notes as I read them.

"It's 'Falling Slowly' by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova- from one of my favorite movies. It's the first duet I thought of, but after looking at several others, I think it's the best option." I read over the words. Imagining the lyrics with the notes evokes an uncertain, wanting ache in my chest. "It's perfect."

"It's going to take a lot of practice," she says. "Are you up for spending that much time with me over the next couple of weeks?"

"Yes," I say.

At this moment, there's nothing I want more.

chapter forty-two.

daphne

The next couple of weeks are pretty much a blur. Between homework, sitting in on a second round of auditions to help Joe and Mr. Morgan select the other princ.i.p.al roles for the spring musical-I make sure to put in a good word for Lexie for the role for Persephone, not only because of the truce we made, but because she actually deserves the part-and rehearsing with Haden every afternoon and lunch break, I am shocked when I realize that Thanksgiving is already upon us.

Thankfully, Joe decides not to cook Thanksgiving dinner himself, and instead, we join a couple of his bandmates for a private party at Bobby Rox's restaurant. The food is divine, but to my surprise, I enjoy the company. Bobby and his wife, Elle, have the cutest daughter, and Chris Trip, the band's ba.s.sist has everyone in st.i.tches over his impersonations of Mr. Fitzgerald, their overly chipper manager.

When Joe pa.s.ses up the Thanksgiving champagne and opts for the cranberry juice mixed with Sprite concoction that I order for myself from the kitchen, Bobby slaps Joe on the back and says, "You've been a good influence on our ole boy here, Daphne!"

"Hear, hear!" agrees Chris. "I thought Joe could write his way out of a bottle of Jack Daniel's, but he's even better sober. Those songs he's writing for your school play are amazing."