I glanced out the window, desperate to ground myself in some sort of reality. Yep, I was still in San Francisco. In fact, I could see Audrina in the building next door, still on her balcony, strumming her guitar.
Worry pierced my personal doom spiral. That balcony was Audrina’s refuge, as well as her cage. She hid there to avoid her family. Had she been out there all night, avoiding her mom,again?
I’d never officially met Audrina’s parents in my former life, but they’d shown up at a lot of events I’d attended, so I knew who they were. Audrina’s professional-athlete-turned-property-mogul father wouldn’t be home; he barely came back before midnight each night, if he came back at all. Her mother was a former Miss America contender.
Offended by the fact that Audrina looked almost exactly like her father and was not blessed with her beauty-queen looks, Audrina’s mom had completely ignored her sincebirth and made being a “mom-of-boys” her whole personality. Every time I saw them on the street she was piling all three teenage boys, hockey masks, basketballs, football pads, and all sorts of sports paraphernalia into an SUV, shouting at them good-naturedly or talking loudly about their talent, their dates, their D1 status.
Poor Audrina—seventeen, shy, clumsy, with frizzy orange hair, an upturned button nose and heavy brow—was not good at sports. It made everything much worse for her.
Every day, she retreated from the scornful glares of her family and hid out on the balcony to play her guitar. I was lucky enough to hear her; she had a voice sweeter than a nightingale.
Not that it did her any good. Stopping just short of outright abuse, her mom refused to let her do anything outside of school, telling her she was no good at sports or anything else, so there was no point forcing herself out of her shell. She laughed when Audrina tentatively asked if she could go to music school when she graduated, and outright refused to pay for it, saying it would be a waste of money. You’re too shy, her mom said. There’s no point. Go to a tech college, do some STEM subjects, go hide in a lab somewhere.
Before my downfall, I’d heard that Audrina’s mom never admitted to having a daughter at all. Only her sons were ever mentioned in conversation. If her mom found out I’d been encouraging Audrina to busk down in Golden Gate Park, singing and playing her guitar in full view of the public, she’d track me down and kill me with her bare hands.
There was no chance I was going to let Audrina live her life all alone, a little bird in her balcony cage, so I always made a point to open my window and have a conversationwith her whenever I could get away with it. I took her for hot chocolate in the square when her mother and brothers were out. I also helped her secretly apply for scholarships to performing arts schools, and thanks to her busking, she’d saved enough money to keep herself afloat if her mother refused to let her go. She was a sweet kid; she deserved so much more than the hellish family she was born into.
I watched her for a second to make sure she wasn’t crying and made a mental note to check in on her the second I stabilized a little.
We walked through the portrait room, heading towards the dark-oak double doors at the end. Cecil kept up the monologue the whole way. “Through here, we have the drawing room, which will serve as a common space, as it is closest to the front door. Prince Donovan and Princess Cress will occupy the east wing.” He pursed his lips. “Those two thugs, Nate and Eryk, I have thrown into a little hovel in the south rooms.”
I stopped in my tracks, facing him. “They’re still here?”
“Of course they’re still here. Where else would they be? They must stay here with you until the danger has passed and the stones in the Middle World realms are closed and safe. They have accepted you as part of the company now. You’re in it right up to your wrinkly neck, sweetheart.”
I groaned out loud. “I was hoping I’d already worked through that delusion.”
“Hmm. You are very odd,” Cecil said, gazing at me through narrowed eyes. “I understand your education has been sorely lacking, but we don’t have time for this. Please stop being so weird immediately.”
I rubbed my temples. “The horse has already bolted from that particular stable, Cecil.”
He whinnied loudly. “Was that a slur? Are you trying to insult me?”
“No, no,” I said hastily. “Um, let’s just get going. What are we doing, again?”
“I told you: the Prince has requested to speak to you urgently.”
“But not too urgently, obviously, if you think that giving me a tour of my imaginary house is more important.”
He popped me on the forehead with his hoof.
“Ouch!”
“Donotdisrespect Violet House! You are her servant just as much as she is yours. I warn you—don’t forget that, or you might find yourself buried beneath the floorboards.”
“Sorry.” I took a deep breath and sighed it out. “Listen, Cecil, this is all lovely, but it might be a bit… too grand. Can I just have another coffee in a nice kitchen, or something?”
He put his hoof on his chin, tapping thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose I might have gone a bit overboard. I was trying to teach you to fly without first letting you walk. Nevertheless, the bare bones of the House have been established and my magic has carefully fed and watered and nourished her. Violet House is now awakened and functional, so the main part of my job is complete. You could fashion a kitchen to your own tastes if you like. Provided it is not too hideous,” he muttered under his breath. “I retain the power of veto.”
“What do you mean?”
He stared at me like I was an idiot. “Just ask Violet House to produce what you want.”
“Right. Violet…” I turned and faced the door. “Please give me a replica of Martha Stewart’s farmhouse kitchen. The Bedford estate, not the Hamptons one.”
The floor beneath my feet vibrated enthusiastically.
“Good, good.” Cecil nodded. “Do you want to include this Martha Stewart person, too? You can’t do it yourself, but if you like, I could push with my magic a little and abduct her?—”
