Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I by L. Jagi Lamplighter Read Free Book Online Page B

and then sat down glumly. “Sure is a shame about those nice statues.”
    “Our statues!”
    I leapt up and began running up and down the length of the hall, dodging large chunks of fallen debris, trying to see the statues. Those along the right wall, Ulysses, Titus, Cornelius, Mephisto, and my father, were undisturbed, save that the outstretched arm of my father’s statue had broken off and fallen to the floor. The left wall, however, had not fared as well. The reddish marble, which had once portrayed my dead brother Gregor, lay in several large pieces. The statues of Logistilla and Erasmus had been reduced to blue and green rubble, respectively.
    I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach. Most of these statues were older than the United States of America. The statue of Erasmus predated the birth of the younger siblings: Cornelius, Titus, Logistilla, Gregor and Ulysses. It had always stood in some Great Hall, here, or in England, or, long before, in Italy. The statues had seemed eternal, inviolate—like my brothers.
    Tears of fury filled my eyes.
    “How dare he!” I cried, my fists clenched. “Does he think he can attack Miranda Prospero, immortal Handmaiden of Eurynome, and escape unscathed?”
    “Ma’am, not a good idea to challenge the powers of Hell . . .” Mab began warily, but I was running again.
    Theo! Theo’s statue!
    An enormous chunk of reddish stone that had once been part of the roof blocked his alcove. The Water of Life that keeps us young also makes us more than human. Putting my shoulder against the stone, I drew upon this supernatural strength and shoved the obstacle aside. It grated loudly, then slid.
    Beyond, the green head and torso of my statue lay sprawled at the foot of the Wife’s Chair. The delicate hands, so painstakingly fashioned, had shattered. My statue’s fingers lay scattered across the gray-and-black floor like so many shards of jade. It was disconcerting to see myself broken in pieces upon the floor. I suddenly felt frightened.
    With my heart beating loudly in my ears, I ran to Theo’s alcove. If the statue of Theophrastus were destroyed, then it would be as if the young knight who had taken such joy from the power he wielded were lost forever. The old man Theo, if he even lived, would never be that boy again. It would be as if the incubus had murdered the brother I had so loved.
    Rounding the edge of the alcove, I saw the white body of Theo’s statue standing tall upon its pedestal. Giddy with relief, I laughed and sagged against the wall. Trust Theophrastus the Demonslayer not to let a demon disturb him. I lurched forward and hugged the statue.
    I missed Theo so much! As I embraced his marble facsimile, I recalled a cold November day, more than half a century ago. My family stood gathered about Gregor’s grave on the twenty-fifth anniversary of his death. The tools of Father’s spell, which had gone so sorrowfully awry, lay scattered about the chalk pentacle at our feet. Theo had stepped forward and announced in short angry words that he was turning his back on magic and rejoining the human race. I had laughed, reminding him of other resolutions he had made and broken in years past. Once, he had vowed to join the Jesuits, and he had forsworn wine and women more times than I could count. None of his other resolutions had lasted long. I predicted a similar fate for this one. How wrong time had proven me.
    As I pressed my cheek against the cool marble, I noticed something white lying in the corner of the alcove. It looked disturbingly like a head. I glanced up.
    The statue was headless, sheared off at the neck.
    Cautiously, I approached the fallen head, unnerved by the sight of thelikeness of my brother Theo lying decapitated on the floor. At least it seemed undamaged. An oread, a spirit of earth and rock, summoned properly, might be able fuse this clean break, and the statue would be as good as new. I seldom performed such sorcery myself, but Father could do it easily.