Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I by L. Jagi Lamplighter Page A

Mephistopheles would invariably be the first to solve it. Things came naturally to him that others had to work hard to achieve. Erasmus might currently be the best magician in the family—other than Father, of course—but that was only because Mephisto had dropped out of the running. Nor was magic the only area where Mephistopheles had excelled. He had also been a master with a paintbrush and with a blade, at one point earning himself the sobriquet of “the best swordsman in Christendom.”
    When Mephisto’s condition became apparent, Father devoted a century to searching for a cure. Then, one day, he ceased pursuing the matter. I questioned him about this more than once, but Father could be extremely cagey when he wished. To this day, I did not know if he had discovered something that caused him to back off or if he merely decided the matter was no longer worth pursuing.
     
    IN the back seat, Mephisto was finishing his story. “. . . had to run, but that was okay, because by then I’d broken open every object big enough to possibly hold my staff. I think . . . I might have made a mess.”
    “Let me guess,” Mab drawled slowly, “You didn’t find it?”
    Mephisto shook his head sadly. “It wasn’t in there, and no one carried it out. Between the cab driver and me, we watched all the doors. But one truck left between when I arrived and when I got inside.”
    “And . . . ?”
    “That truck went to Chicago. So, that’s where I went!”
    “Did you pay the cabby for his considerable investment of time?” I asked curiously.
    Mephisto nodded. “I gave him my wallet.”
    “Was there anything in it?”
    “No, but it was a really expensive wallet, studded with diamonds! My brother Ulysses gave it to me. The cab driver was happy.”
    “So, you followed the truck to Chicago?” Mab asked.
    “Well, I started with the address the truck had been delivering to. I had found it in the office of the warehouse in Maryland. That’s how I knew where it had gone. But the place was empty when I arrived. It must have been a fake address!” He frowned and shrugged. “Or maybe I remembered it wrong.”
    “How long between when the truck left Maryland and when you arrived in Chicago?”
    Mephisto hesitated while he figured it out, counting on his fingers. Finally, he said. “Eleven.”
    “Eleven hours?”
    “No, eleven weeks,” Mephisto said. When Mab groaned, he added defensively. “It took me a while to get there. I visited Theo, Miranda, and Logistilla first. Oh, and I went by Cornelius’s to borrow money.”
    Mab sighed. “One last question. What were you doing in Chicago when we found you?”
    Mephisto answered cheerfully, “Oh, that’s easy. I was on my way to Daddy’s local office to borrow money. Only I’d been there to hit them up for dough already a few days ago—when I first arrived—so I didn’t know if they’d help me again. So, I was trying to make a little on my own.” Mephisto turned toward me. “Clever of you to come walking down the very road where I sat singing, Miranda!”
    “Cleverness had nothing to do with it,” I replied, “My Lady directed me to walk that way.”
    “What a good egg that Unicorn is!” Mephisto exclaimed. He put his chin on his palm. “She really knows her stuff!”
    I cringed but did not rebuke him; calling my Lady a “good egg” was not, technically, disrespectful.
    Mab took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Not much I can do here unless you want to give up the other matter, Miss Miranda. Trail’s a little old.”
    “Wouldn’t hurt to investigate the workers at that warehouse and the Chicago address. Could you find the warehouse again, Mephisto?” I asked.
    “Sure!” my brother chirped, “It’s right in the spot that I left it!”
    “One would hope,” muttered Mab.

CHAPTER
FIVE
     

     
     

The Chameleon Cloak
     
     
     
    The fuel gauge was only barely below the half line and I was impatient to get to Theo’s, but an