The Dreadful Tale of Prosper Redding

  Dread ran a cold finger across my throat. “He wouldn’t.”

  She turned slightly, looking up at me through her fogged-over glasses. “You don’t know him. Just promise, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, hating that it felt less like a secret and more like a lie.

  There were a number of things to consider as the day wore on, and Prosperity and the little witch ventured home. Alastor stayed silent, considering how close he and the boy had come to being returned to Redhood. Playing the scene out in his mind again and again.

  This close. He had come this close to being taken back to Redhood.

  It was fear that had made Alastor yell for the boy to flee. Pure, disgusting fear for his own life, which was tied to the boy’s. He hated it, every bit of it. The feeling that he was still far too weak. The smell of the boy. The knowing that if they were to return to Redhood now, before Alastor regained his full powers and cut himself free, anything the Redding family did to the child would affect him.

  And, knowing the family as he did, Alastor didn’t doubt the grandmother would kill them both to prevent Alastor from finishing the curse he had begun centuries before. They would do anything to protect their fortune, even destroy one of their own household. Honor Redding had proven as much.

  But, still…the boy refused a contract. Alastor felt as though Prosperity Redding had been on the cusp of saying yes several times, but something—something—always held him back. The fiend was confounded. Shown just the edge of what he might achieve with the aid of Alastor’s influence, the boy backed away from greatness every time. He was either a coward, afraid of such attention, or…

  No. All Reddings were alike. Even Honor had begun with the purest intentions, only to discover that success tasted best with a dash of power. Once you craved it, you required more and more to satisfy your ravenous heart.

  Alastor reclined against the crumbling tombstone, digging the boy’s hand into the squirming bag of spiders Nightlock spent the day collecting for him. He popped one in his mouth, letting it crawl up the tongue. That was better. His sense of himself expanded, filling the boy, as if threatening to burst his skin at the seams to escape.

  “Can you…pick up your pass, wretch?” The modern phrase sounded wrong to his ears. He had absorbed much by way of this century’s language simply from listening to the boy and with the hob’s diligent, if not humiliating, instruction.

  “Pick up the pace,” Nightlock said, with a small bow. “I shall do my best, my lord and master.”

  “I think we’re beyond such formality now,” Alastor said with a fond smile. “You may call me Your Highness, Dark Prince of the Third Realm.”

  The fiend beamed with pleasure. He was still busying himself arranging the shards of the broken mirror over a nearby grave.

  “Are you sure that’s a witch’s final resting place?” Alastor asked, reaching over to pluck a stray leaf caught between the stacked stones of the nearby wall. “A true witch’s grave? This will not work otherwise. The moon will be far too weak without the added power.”

  Nightlock merely bobbed his head. “Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. A true witch—only a true witch. This hob has seen other fiends moonbathe upon this earth.”

  The moon was the source of the witches’ power. The legends of it stemmed back thousands of years, to the pesky ancient Greeks who worshiped the moon goddess Artemis. The lady hunter.

  Alastor knew, however, that the moon’s power was a gift from the Ancients, who sought to maintain the balance in the realms. To keep each species in its rightful place. The Ancients had created the witches just as they had created the fiends and the humans. Alastor had them to thank for this. Those women were like a sore on his behind that refused to heal.

  A witch merely needed to spend an hour in the moonlight to absorb its full magic and use it throughout the day as she saw fit. The only danger to them came on those nights of a new moon, when the milky-white face was hidden entirely from view.

  But this was not one such night. No, indeed, the silky white face was half-hidden in the darkness. And for the fiends who knew such tricks, it was a gift to them. Because on this night, any fiend could absorb the witches’ magic and make it their own—so long as they had the proper tools.

  The final resting place of a witch. That is, a grave. Upon this grave, the shards of a newly broken mirror—aged a hundred years or older, preferably—were scattered in a circle. At midnight, the witching hour, all Alastor needed to do was lie down in the center of the circle, on a mound of damp earth. The power would fill him like the cold air in the boy’s lungs.

  “Your Highness,” Nightlock began, taking the bag of spiders and sealing it. “Perhaps…there is another way? Is it not dangerous for us to use a mirror for such purposes? Will you not call forth beasts from Downstairs who hunt for power like your own?”

  “Do you believe I could not protect you from my brother or any who serve him?” Alastor asked, trying to stomp out his irritation.

  “It’s only…the boy’s flesh is so soft, so thin—and his bones are like straw!” Nightlock clutched at his pointed ears, sniveling and sniffling. “Not suitable for Your Highness, no.”

  Alastor dismissed his concerns. He had chosen the Old Burying Point Cemetery for this rite, near the row of shops and the courthouse. The two fiends had waited impatiently as the last of the curious humans were led out by law enforcement officers. Now they had the secluded section of the grounds to themselves.

  So no, Alastor was not worried as he forced the boy’s body down at the center of the ring of mirror shards. As he felt the moon’s first kiss of cool magic, he told himself that the wild call in the distance was merely a wolf, and not a howler risen from the realm below. Some lonely beast.

  But he was surprised—quite surprised, in fact—when the boy woke himself up.

  “What…the…crap?”

  I shot up off the ground, slipping over—what was that, glass? A broken mirror? And that was dirt and grass and a tombstone—

  That is a grave. I am in a graveyard. I am outside. I am in a graveyard. I was on a grave. Why-why-why?

  “Al!” I barked. “What did you do?!”

  I could hear the fiend sputtering in shock—screaming in anger, What have you done? Over and over again.

  “I asked you first!”

  “Your Highness?”

  The graveyard was almost pitch-black, and totally empty. If I squinted, I could see the lights from the nearby strip of brick-fronted shops, where the Bazaar of the Bizarre street fair had been. A few tourists were stumbling around aimlessly, heading toward the train stop. I spun around, looking for the source of the voice. It had a weird accent, almost like you’d expect out of a leprechaun.

  I felt a tug on the edge of my witch boxers and looked down.

  “Milord?”

  Big, buggy yellow eyes were staring up at me, unblinking. I thought it was a dog. I seriously thought it was one of those little French bulldogs standing on two legs. Its face was kind of smooshed, and its nose was round and red and shiny, almost like a blister. Then I blinked, and I saw the one horn that spiraled out from the top of its head. The creature was the size of a toddler—it came up past my knee.

  It was sniveling and sniffing around. The noise almost sounded like a low purr, until it sucked the dripping blue snot back up into its nose.

  I stared at it. It stared at me. I felt my right leg jerk and fill with a hot, stinging rush. Alastor’s scream of frustration tore through my brain. I tried to press my hands over my ears, but it was pointless.

  He tried everything—moving my head, my fingers, my good arm, my toes—but I was too awake. I wasn’t even scared looking down at the freaky little mutant at my feet.

  All of a sudden I was just…angry. I couldn’t tell where my anger began and where Al’s ended.

  “Not milord.” The creature’s eyes got wider, if that was possible. He seemed to shrivel and shrink for a second like crumpling garbage. Then he bolted.

  That sh
ould have been my cue to head screaming in the other direction, but I leaped superhero-style over the nearest tombstone and tackled the thing to the ground. He squirmed and shook and shrieked like my grandmother when she found litter, but I had him. Even when he sank his teeth into my arm and I howled in pain, I didn’t let go.

  “Release this hob! You will release him at once! Milord, oh, Your Highness, oh, this hob has faaaailed you, he has faaaailed—”

  “Shut up!” I hauled him like a sack of potatoes out of the cemetery and started heading back to the house. “Stop it—just—!”

  It’s funny. In the back of my mind, I had been thinking it would be pretty awful to run into a cop right now. Not even just a cop, but any adult who could then call a cop on me for breaking curfew. That had been the worst I could think of, especially with Nell’s warning to not tell Uncle Barnabas about trouble that could get us locked away in the house.

  Your brain just isn’t programmed to guess that the broken mirror shards around you would start to shiver, then seal their jagged edges back together. You just don’t think to imagine a huge shaggy dog the size of a small cow, with teeth as long as your fingers, digging its way out of a small shard of glass.

  I couldn’t even choke out a whimper.

  The dog smelled sour and sharp all at once. It reeked like it was rotting from the inside out—its hot breath fogged the air around its head in swirling clouds, turning my stomach as it drifted past me. But worse—even worse than all that—were its eyes. They were red, red, red.

  “Nice…doggy?” I tried, backing up. The creature in my arms went boneless, fainting with a wheezing gasp of terror.

  As if that weren’t enough, the monster opened its mouth, the words dripping from its mouth with its acid drool. “Find Alastor. Take Alastor. Find Alastor. Take Alastor.”

  Run.

  I took a step back, the dog took one forward—all the way back onto the sidewalk and out of the graveyard. Yellow drool slipped between the gaps in its teeth, foaming as it hit the ground. The pavement sizzled as it burned. The air filled with the stink of rotten eggs, but I wasn’t sure which one of us it was coming from. There was a warm, damp patch on my shirt where the little creature had wet himself.

  Awesome.

  “What…what is that?”

  A howler. You will not escape.

  “Thanks for that vote of confidence!” I wanted to look around to see if there were other people watching, but the street was deserted. The giant dog came one step closer, its nose turned up to sniff the air.

  I will run us back to the house and the witchling. We will only escape if I am at the helm.

  “No way,” I choked out. The dog arched its back in a leisurely stretch. Black, gummy lips pulled back, almost like it was smirking at me.

  Prosperity. Alastor sounded calm, but there was a sharp edge to his words. The fact that he used my name only made my heart lurch. We shall work together, or we shall die together.

  No contract?

  You think I have time to draft one? Zounds, Maggot—

  The dog sprang forward, its jaws snapping open with a howl that tore through the moonlight. “Find Alastor! Take Alastor!”

  And I was running.

  The tingling heat filled my legs like a rush of pricking needles, but the night was cold against my skin. It smeared past me in a dark blur. My feet flashed under me, faster and faster until I wasn’t even sure they were touching the ground. I wasn’t even sure we were headed back to the House of Seven Terrors. I just gripped the ugly little creature in my arms and let Alastor pump pure rocket fuel through my system. The dog’s paws slapped against the sidewalk, kicking up sprays of mud and water. Two drops of its acid spit flung against my neck, and I almost stumbled at how bad it hurt.

  Something sharp caught the back of my shirt and tore it across the back. I felt the pinch of that same sharp thing against my skin and let out a cry of my own.

  I am going to die. I am going to die. I am going to be eaten by a Godzilla dog, and no one will ever know what happened—

  SILENCE!

  Alastor forced me to take one last leap off the sidewalk before my whole body launched into the air. I was flying—well, technically falling. I arched up over the two neighbors’ lawns. Their Halloween decorations seemed like tiny toys, I was up so high. I heard the hound snarl and snap its teeth, clipping my heel, and risked a look back.

  The monster fell to the ground in a twisting bundle of dark fur. It whimpered like any dog would when it hit the gnarled bushes and flattened them. It thrashed against the pumpkin lights that were tangled around its neck, until it finally yanked itself free. The cat that was sitting on the porch, its tail swishing back and forth against the welcome mat, watched the whole thing happen without so much as a blink.

  I didn’t look back again to see if it was following us. Not when I was the one that was suddenly taking a swan dive.

  Alastor tucked my body in on itself just before I hit the dead grass with my shoulder and rolled to safety, narrowly missing the stained cement path. The ugly little nugget of a fiend I’d had in my arms went flying clear across the way, landing up on the porch with a thump.

  It was such a weird sensation to be tired down to my bones but have someone else prop my legs up and move them along. I slumped forward against the porch steps, crawling the rest of the way.

  Into the house, Maggot. Do not forget my servant.

  “What if it comes after—”

  Look. It stays at the fence, do you see? But why…?

  Some part of me recognized the sound of the stairs creaking overhead. The front door was still wide open, giving me a picture-perfect view of the big shaggy black dog prowling back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the lawn.

  The black puffball that was Toad had shifted into an even bigger dog than the one outside of the gate, and he was growling with anticipation of the fight. I wouldn’t have even recognized the changeling without its bright round eyes. He took off with a roar, chasing the other dog down the street until it was yelping in fear.

  Note to self: do not upset Toad.

  “Prosper?”

  Nell’s already frizzy hair was sticking up every which way from sleep. She wiped at her eyes and suddenly jumped when her brain finally woke up the rest of the way at the sight of:

  1. Me sprawled out in the front hallway with my legs twitching.

  2. My pajamas hanging off me, totally shredded.

  3. The bloodthirsty dog that had been staring the two of us down.

  “What did you do?” she demanded. “Did you sneak out with the fiend to summon the howler? Did you make a contract with him?”

  “Don’t—” I warned. “Don’t come any closer!”

  Nell didn’t understand. I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. Before I could push him back, Alastor had my arm, he had my hand, and he was wrapping it around Nell’s neck.

  “No—no!”

  The words ripped out of my throat. Nell’s eyes bulged as she tried to push my arm away. Her lips were moving, but the blood was thundering too hard in my ears, the fiend was laughing too loudly for me to hear what she was saying.

  You understand now what I am capable of. Al’s voice sounded unnaturally high. I felt his fear and desperation like it was my own. You claim to only wish to save your family. Your only hope for her survival is to sign a contract with me. Agree, Maggot—agree!

  “Screw. You,” I gritted out. No contract now, no contract ever!

  She will die, just as your whole family will—

  A burst of warm energy struck me dead center in the chest, shocking my entire body into numbness as it shoved me back down the steps and across the yard.

  No, I thought, still feeling dazed from the blow. You don’t know Nell.

  “I’ve got more of that, you parasite!” Nell was saying as she advanced toward the gate, one glowing fist still raised. The howler let out a tooth-snapping growl that was met in kind by one from Toad, who launched off the porch like a
bolt of lightning.

  A hot rush of pins and needles filled my limbs. My hand twitched closer to a sharp rock, and I could see it so clearly, how Alastor would use it to hurt Nell or Toad.

  “No!”

  It felt like jamming a cap back on a bottle of exploding soda. That horrible fizzing sensation eased up, and Alastor’s cries of frustration started.

  “Are you okay?” Nell asked at the same time I said, “I’m sorry! I’m so, so, so sorry!”

  “What’s going on?” Nell looked like she wanted to punch me. “How could you be so stupid as to leave the house?”

  The truth exploded out of me: “It wasn’t by choice!”

  She took a wide-eyed step back. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s been…he’s been taking my body out for a ride at night,” I admitted. “I had no idea.”

  “Obviously,” Nell said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay…okay…we’ll figure this out….”

  I almost forgot about the ugly little gremlin I had carried back with me. Nell couldn’t see him sprawled out on the porch, but she heard him snarfing, sucking up his dribbling electric-blue snot and drool.

  “Slip from the shadows into sight,” Nell whispered, “reveal yourself in the light.”

  A ball of light tracked over to him, hovering no matter how far away from it he tried to get. I knew when she finally saw him. She shook her head, but didn’t look all that surprised.

  “A hob?” she asked, looking straight at me. “You couldn’t survive a few weeks without a slave to attend to you?”

  “Hey, I would never—” Oh. She was talking to the bratty malefactor. Not me.

  I will not dignify that with a response. I am a Prince of the Third Realm.

  “We need to get Uncle B,” I said, finally feeling strong enough to push myself off the ground.

  “No!” she whispered. “No! We can’t tell him about this—not the malefactor taking over your body, not the howler you saw. I told you, we’ll be trapped in the house—”