Prospero in Hell by L. Jagi Lamplighter Page A

in readiness. The day of release had been agreed upon and was approaching. The brothers were showered with gifts. Arcane secrets unknown to any other human were made known to them.”
    Seir paused here, his scarlet eyes glittering.
    “What happened?” I asked.
    “Treachery. One of the brothers betrayed us. He stole the tomes and fled.”
    My heart thumped oddly in my chest. An
Orbis Suleimani
member who stole great books of magic and fled? That sounded uncomfortably familiar. Unbidden, the memory rose of Uncle Antonio upon the battlefield in Milan, clad in his splendid armor, accusing Father of having stolen tomes of power from the
Orbis Suleimani
.
    Could the pair of wicked brothers Seir spoke of have been Uncle Antonio and Father? If so, despite Father’s equivocal comment to me about which one of the two of them—Antonio or himself—would be more likely to take what was not his, Father must have been the brother who fled with the books.
    If so, what caused his change of heart? Why had he decided not to go through with freeing the demons?
    I recalled warm nights upon the bluffs of Prospero’s Island during which my father had spoken of his great love for my mother and how it had altered the course of his life. Could my mother’s love have caused him to break faith with the demons? That was a lovely thought indeed, one that lived up to all my childhood ideals about my parents’ marriage.
    And what of these demon tomes? Were they the books of magic I remembered from my childhood?
    Cold fingers of dread touched my spine. “These books… back on St. Thomas, you claimed Father transformed them into…” I looked at my flute.
    “Into staffs,” purred the incubus.
    “Merciful Heavens!” I whispered in Italian.
    “Exactly, Sweetest darling. Staffs such as the one you hold in your hand, which, unless I am mistaken, is the aforementioned Great King Vinae himself.” Leaning toward the flute, Seir called. “Greetings, old friend, or should I say, old adversary? For what demon is friend to another, we who strive constantly against each other, seeking each to better his own position in our infernal home?”
    “What a horrible way to live,” Caurus murmured.
    I stared at my flute, repulsed by the very instrument that, until this moment, had been so dear to me.
    Could this be the secret Baelor had hinted at, the cause of my family’s destruction? I recalled his inhuman voice:
I know
. . .
why Theophrastus’s wrath leads him to embrace death, and Titus grows too slothful to maintain his vigil; why Logistilla is consumed by envy, while despair gnaws upon the innards of the once-proud sorcerer
.
    Suddenly, I remembered our victory celebration at the
Hound and Eagle
after our successful raid on the Vatican when we stole the magic that had been collected by the popes of old. Fierce Titus, who carried the
Staff of Silence,
was unusually reticent that night, a quality that grew in him in ensuing years until sloth became his ruling vice. Good-natured Theo, whose staff caused devastation, provoked a bar fight. Was not wrath one of Theo’s greatest vices, one he retired partially in hopes of overcoming? Mephisto, whose staff summons, found himself irresistible to ladies, a trait that has increased with each passing year. And Father had taken note of all this and frowned.
    He knew! Father knew the price we paid for carrying these staffs! Father, who constantly emphasized how our family fought for Heaven and the preservation of Solomon’s legacy; Father, who had written such graphic descriptions of the distortions that exposure to the presence of demons caused to the human soul!
    But, if he knew, why did he give us the staffs? Why did he not tell us, warn us? Could it be he, too, had been corrupted by the staff he carried for so many years: the
Staff of Persuasion,
which can alter a man’s mind? Couldthe demons finally have succeeded with him in his age, where they had failed in his youth?
    If so, why did he now allow