The Shadow Prince (10 page)

I grab my tote bag and hitch my soft guitar case over my shoulder. “Marta gave me a map. I’m going to find my way to that grove we passed last night. I need a good place to rehearse,” I say, and head for the grand foyer.

I’d allowed myself exactly three minutes last night to freak out about the audition—a trick I learned from CeCe, who had trained to be an actress before she ended up in Ellis—and then set to work. I’d used my new Mac to peruse my iTunes account until I’d made a list of possible songs to add to my audition piece. I’d spent most of the morning running through the lyrics, but now that Joe is up, I feel the need to get out of the house. I could hear the grove’s soothing song through my open window most of the night, and since Marta claimed that nobody ever went there, it seemed like a place worth scouting out as a practice spot. I’ve always preferred rehearsing in nature. When I was little, my mom used to claim that the flowers in the greenhouse grew twice as big because I sang to them.

“You can rehearse in my studio,” Joe calls after me.

“Your studio smells like Cheez Whiz.”

“Right. That it does.” Joe stumbles into the foyer behind me. “I know, how about I buy you a new guitar? That’s quality daddy-daughter time, right?” He reaches behind him and pulls out his wallet—where he fit a wallet in
those
pants, I don’t want to know—and opens the billfold. “A few thousand ought to do it.… Huh. I seem to have misplaced all my cash.…”

“I think you donated it to the local liquor store.” I open the front door. I don’t have time for his attempts at pretending to be a good parent.

“Wait. My AmEx is upstairs.… Wait here.”

“You’ve got an interview, and I need to rehearse.” I pat my guitar. “I like Gibby anyway.”

Doesn’t he remember how I got her
?

“But I don’t want you rehearsing outside. Not today. What if it gets dark before you get back? How will I know where you’ll be?”

“It’s one in the afternoon, remember? And you’ve never known where I was at any given point in time for the last seventeen years. Today shouldn’t be any different.”

“Just wait,” he says. “If you don’t want a new guitar, let’s get you a new amp. A nice Fender? I’ll tell that reporter to come back tomorrow, and I’ll make sure I get you to the school with enough time to run through your audition piece a few times in one of their practice rooms.”

I pause.
I could really use a new amp.…

I sigh, wondering how much I’ll regret the decision I’m about to make. “Okay, but only if we’re quick. And I get to drive.”

There is one benefit to Joe’s constant need for a designated driver—I am going to rack up the remaining hours behind the wheel I need to get my license in no time.

“Brilliant!” Joe waves his hand at me in a wait-here motion. “I’ll be right back with my card. I’ll help you rehearse when we get to the school.” He tries to bound up the stairs two at a time, but either his pants or his hangover slows him down. He whistles the melody from one of his songs as he disappears out of my sight.

I wait for a few minutes. The large clock in the foyer sounds like a countdown timer, the time I have left to rehearse ticking away. I realize I can’t hear his whistle anymore.

“Joe?” I call up the stairs. “Did you get lost?”

This house is so big, I might not put it past him.

Joe doesn’t answer. I wonder if I should wait here longer or go looking for him. My guitar grows heavy against my back. My shoulders ache. I suddenly feel like I’m ten years old again, waiting at the window—with a hefty telescope in my arms—for Joe to come pick me up so we can go stargazing. I’d waited until almost midnight that night, until my mother had insisted I go to bed.
I’m
sorry, honey. I just don’t think he’s coming.…

Standing here in his cavernous foyer, I hate that one small promise of a shopping trip can make me feel like that little girl all over again. Why am I putting myself in this position? Why am I letting Joe back in again just so I can be disappointed?

But shouldn’t I be happy that he wants to spend time with me? Shouldn’t I be forgiving? I mean, he brought me here, he’s giving me everything I’ve ever wanted, he’s giving me the opportunity to follow my dreams. Shouldn’t I be grateful? If the man wants to spend the afternoon with me, shouldn’t I let him?

But I already know how this is going to turn out. Whether it’s here or at the store or later today at the auditions, he’s going to forget or he’s going to get distracted, or something, and I’m going to be left waiting once more like that disappointed little girl.

No, I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not here for daddy-daughter bonding time. I’m not here to reconnect with my long-lost father. Joe is a means to an end. A ticket out of Ellis and an opportunity for a top-flight education. I’m here for myself. To achieve my goals, and right now, that’s getting into the music program at OHH. After that, it’s making a name for myself in the music world—all on my own.

And I don’t have time for distractions.

I don’t bother calling Joe’s name again. I don’t go looking for him upstairs.
Ten bucks, he’s probably already forgotten why he even went up there, or is puking in a bathroom
, I tell myself as I slip out the front door.

With my guitar case hitched over my back and my tote bag secured in the basket of my white and lemon yellow cruiser bike, I set off to find that grove to rehearse.

Alone.

chapter nine

I have been told to wait. So that is what I have been doing, but I don’t know how they expect me to do so for much longer.

After making introductions, the overly enthusiastic man—who told us his name was Simon Fitzgerald but that we should call him Simon—brought us to a house. It was a short walk from the grove, but between the aching behind my eyes and Simon’s insisting on pointing out and naming everything in English that we passed, the journey was as tedious as Sisyphus’s toils up the mountainside.

Simon’s cheery commentary of “This is a road. This is a bridge. This is a mailbox. This is a doorbell” doesn’t let up like I hope it will when we enter the house. “This is a refrigerator. This is a microwave. This is a coffeemaker. Have you ever had coffee? No, you other two wouldn’t have, would you? You simply must try it! This is a fabulous roast. Here, take a cup.…” He hands me a cup full of hot, brown liquid. It smells acrid and acidic to me. I pass it to Garrick. He sniffs it and his face goes from pale to green. “This, over there, is a plasma TV. It’s simply wonderful, isn’t it?” He looks at Garrick. “Oh no. Oh boy. And this, over here, is a toilet …,” he says, grabbing Garrick and
ushering him down the hall and through a door. I wince at the sound of vomiting.

“Can we dismiss this Simon guy yet?” I ask Dax. The pain behind my eyes has swelled into the rest of my head, and I am starting to worry about getting sick, like Garrick. “I haven’t forgotten that you’ve promised to fill me in on what you know. I need to get started on my quest. I don’t have time for this fool to name every object in this house.”

Dax holds up his hand to quiet me. “Do not let his disposition deceive you,” he whispers. “Mr. Fitzgerald is not your servant, he is not your friend, and he certainly isn’t a fool. It is best not to cross him, understand?”

I nod, thankful all over again that Dax is here to guide me.

“Ah, now. No worries,” Simon says, coming back into what he’d labeled the “breakfast nook,” wiping his hands on a towel. “Our young friend is going to spend some time getting acquainted with the bathroom facilities. I am afraid some folks don’t pass through the gate as easily as others. How are you feeling, my lord?”

The smell of the coffee Garrick left on the table makes my stomach swim, but I don’t want to give away any signs of weakness. “Fine,” I say.

“I’ll give you boys the rest of the tour later. We have many arrangements to make. You don’t fit the description of the Champion I was told to prepare for.…”

“There was a change of plans,” Dax says.

“Very well. That happens.” Simon pulls a flat, rectangular device from his pocket. “Remove your sunglasses,” he says to me.

I realize he means my spectacles and I pull them off. Simon sticks the device right in front of my face. It flashes a bright light in my eyes with an artificial-sounding click.

“Harpies!” I clasp my hands over my face, my eyes burning even more.

“Sorry about that,” Simon says. “But I’ll be needing a photograph of each one of you. I didn’t expect to see you again, Dax. What a pleasant surprise.” I hear the weird clicking sound again and assume Simon used the device on Dax. “I was afraid they might chop off your hands or something equally unpleasant when you returned the way you did—”

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Dax says, politely cutting him off. Dax never talks about his time in the Overrealm. I wonder what I might be able to learn about it from Simon—if I ever dare to ask.

“Yes, yes, reunions are always wonderful,” Simon says. I am still seeing a bright white spot in my vision as he looks me over from head to toe and scratches his chin. “We will need to make some … er … adjustments. Dax, you will help me. In the meantime, Lord Haden, my house is your house, so make yourself at home.”

“What exactly do you do for a living?” I remember from my lessons that people in the mortal world have different jobs that they perform and are then compensated for—not compulsory assignments required by the king. Whatever it is that Simon does for a living, he is compensated well—in mortal terms—for it.

“A little bit of everything.” Simon’s grin stretches far across his face. “I guess you could say my specialty is procuring
things
for people.” He opens the thing he called a refrigerator and pulls out a glass of green liquid and takes a swig. “Gotta keep the ole immune system up. Especially with so many teenagers living in the house again. Want some? I’ll make you all some smoothies if you want. I just got a new Blendtec.”

He holds the glass up. It smells like fermented weeds. My stomach churns. I shake my head. “Is there a place I can put my things?”

“Oh yes, yes. I forgot to show you to your rooms.”

After that, Simon escorts Dax and me up the stairs to our bedchambers. To my surprise, my room is much larger than the one I had been reassigned to in the palace after my father expelled me from the royal living quarters.

Simon names a few of the things in the room, and then with his most enthusiastic expression yet, he says, “This room is fantastic. The best room in the whole house. I trust you will be comfortable waiting here while Dax and I finish our arrangements?” His smile is so wide and his teeth gleam so white, I almost don’t catch the true meaning of his words. I am being ordered to stay here and wait, something I am not comfortable agreeing to.

“But when can I get started? How do I find this Daphne girl?”

“Be patient,” Dax says from behind Simon in the doorway. “Lord Haden, I know you feel anxious. I know you’re eager to begin your quest, but it’s imperative that you don’t do anything until the arrangements have been finalized. Take this opportunity to rest from your journey. Wait here.”

Simon’s eyes narrow slightly as he looks at me. “Say yes,” he says in a way that makes me feel compelled to agree whether I want to or not.

“Yes,” I say.

“Fantastic!” he says. “You and I are going to get along just peachy.”

He closes the door behind him and Dax. I hear the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock, and panic wells up inside of me. The feeling increases with every moment that passes. I listen
by the door for some time. At one point, I hear Simon escort Garrick to his own room across the hall. A few minutes later, I hear another voice in the house that sounds distinctively female. This sets me to pacing the floor, from door to window and back again. At another point, I think I hear Dax and Simon leave the house.

But when will they be back? How long will these arrangements take?

I find myself pacing again, biting my fingernails—another trait of my mother’s that I unfortunately inherited. It feels as though several hours have passed since Dax and Simon left me. I have done as I was told. Heeded Dax’s warning not to be impulsive. But every moment that passes and I am stuck in this room is a moment that I am not working toward accomplishing my quest. Waiting is not acting. And not acting is akin to failing. How can I wait anymore?

I clutch at my hair and sit on a chair in the room. There’s a bed here, too. Dax told me that I should take this opportunity to rest. He knows I didn’t sleep last night.
Rest
is a luxury. Being alone is, too. Especially in the middle of the day. I guess I could collapse on the bed. Let myself stop thinking, for once. Take pleasure in a few moments of solitude—of not being watched or judged by anyone. No one expecting me to do anything for the moment. Rest is what I need. I should give into the fatigue that pulls at my body. I should let it all go for now.…

But I don’t know how anyone can sleep when it’s so cursed bright.

The sun has shifted much higher in the sky, causing the light that pours in through the window to grow even brighter. I have to wear the dark glasses even inside the house, which should be a deterrent to wanting to venture outside, but the muscles in my
body ache from inactivity. The queasiness that plagued my stomach before has shifted into a weight that sits in my gut like a heavy stone. It
feels
as though I have been waiting for hours, but I have no idea how long it has really been.