The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter

He offered a weak smile. I thought cats didn’t fetch. His fingers opened and he released the chain.

There was a small tunnel opening—an air vent that traveled high above the passageway. Before Exeter could change his mind or talk her into staying, she sprang to the top of a pile of rubble, dragging the silver leash behind her. Eventually, the small shaft would lead aboveground. Mia hunkered down, jumped, and slipped neatly into the opening. Once she reached the surface, she would find her way back to the hotel, and bring back the others.

A chattering, or more like the sound of angry people yelling, drifted down the air duct. Yes, she was almost certain they were human voices. Curious, the cat moved closer.

Be careful, Mia. The cat sent him a purr. The fact that she and Exeter could communicate so well emboldened her exploration. She crawled into a connecting passage that angled down, not up.

“Tell him anything he wants to know—he won’t get what he wants, regardless.”

She recognized Phaeton’s voice. The cat crouched, inching down the shaft until she came to a slatted louver covering. Mia narrowed her eyes.

America sat on a crude wooden bench, her hands bound by leather cuffs. Chains ran through her bindings, attached to rings mounted to the wall. “You must trust me when I say it won’t be long now.” On the other side of the small space, Phaeton was slumped in the corner of a cell. Heavy iron bars obscured some of her view, but he appeared to be brooding.

“What is—or was this place?” America tugged at her bindings. Mia wholeheartedly agreed, imagining the Bastille a more hospitable situation.

Mia—be very careful. Is there anyone else in the dungeon?

No use hiding her thoughts, Exeter apparently heard them all. The cat froze. A door creaked open. A man of striking appearance entered the room. His head was shaved, or nearly so—she supposed it was more of a close- cropped stubble. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Tall and broad shouldered like you, Exeter.

He wore a long silk robe that was frayed along the hemline and cuffs. The hair along the cat’s spine stiffened. He also held a whip—a flogger with a number of knotted leather strands at one end—a cat-o’-nine-tails. As the wizard approached America, the cat pawed restlessly, ready to spring. No one would lay a hand on America—not if she could help it.

Mia, what is happening?

Prospero.

Phaeton rose from his cot and spoke up. “America is prepared to tell you whatever you’d like to know, aren’t you, dear?”

The wizard scanned the room for a prolonged period. “No doubt you are both wondering about the explosion—the boom and rumble.” He spoke quietly, as he had in the hologram. Rather unnerving, the voice—soft and husky, like Exeter when he was aroused. The imposing man turned from America to Phaeton. “Sorry to rattle your cage.”

Phaeton returned his captor’s stare. In fact, she had never seen him glare at anyone like this—as if he would tear Prospero limb from limb, rip his eyes from their sockets, then grind him into small bits for the crows to pick over. Phaeton often played his enemies for fools, but she wondered if seeing America so close to her time— her belly large with their love child . . .

“If you touch her, I’ll have to kill you.”

Good God, Phaeton has lost his wits.

He’s in love. Exeter’s whispered answer caused her heart to race. It was obvious Phaeton loved America—truly and dearly. A shiver ran through the cat as she shook off his words. The very sentiment Exeter would never feel for her. She instantly quashed the thought.

“It would seem your friends have arrived.” Prospero swung the whip handle around. The leather straps whined, stirring the stale air of the chamber. “No body count . . . as yet.” Pivoting toward America, Prospero lifted the whip above his shoulder, and let it fly.

The tails wavered above her shoulders. America cried out and Mia burst through the air vent. She landed on Prospero’s back, teeth gnashing, and her claws digging into his shoulders. Prospero roared in pain and flung her off. The wizard clutched at his robe and gasped in agony. Mia retreated to a dark corner and blinked. He must not see me yet—he continues to pivot—looking. She had never seen Prospero’s powers at work—but she suspected he was not so injured that he couldn’t gain mastery over her.

Careful, Mia.

The back of his garment was torn to shreds, blood dripped over a back covered in hash marks, most of them old lesions—layers deep. And they weren’t battle scars—they were marks made over a prolonged period.

Prospero suddenly whirled around and came directly for her. His fingertips burned with light, the same kind of energy Exeter used to arouse her. But this light was different, it crackled and sparked with hurtful, blinding light. Was Exeter a wizard? The thought flashed and she soon received her answer.

If I was a wizard, would I be stuck under this pile of rock?

The cat leapt past Prospero and sprang off the opposite wall. She added a bit of potent lift and pushed off —only the lift wasn’t there. Someone had grabbed hold of the silver chain as she jumped. Despite the violent yank to her neck, she struggled against the leash. Her throat constricted as she stretched, claws splayed, to reach the safety of the air shaft.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” Another hard jerk forced her into the arms of Prospero.

Chapter Nineteen

MIA OPENED HER EYES. She had shifted. The wizard cradled her like a babe in arms, though his gaze lingered with an interest that was far from innocent. I am caught, Exeter.

A very long time passed before Prospero looked into her eyes. “You must be Mia.”

Charm him, until I can get to you.

She did not quite comprehend Exeter’s meaning. Or perhaps she didn’t wish to. “My name is Anatolia Chadwick—or Mia—if you’d like.” She lowered her eyelids slightly—offering the sleepy look Exeter had once called sultry. “And you are Prospero.”

“To begin my life . . . at the beginning of my life, I was born Alastair Wentworth the third, on a Friday, at the stroke of midnight, I’m told. The midwife declared that I was destined to be unlucky in life; and secondly, that I would see ghosts and spirits. Phaeton and I have this much in common.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “But you may call me Prospero—if you’d like.”

“Wooing her with David Copperfield? It’s no surprise you have to create drooling, beady-eyed monsters to keep you company.”

The wizard’s grin was wicked, or sly. Maybe both. “Phaeton appreciates my literary references. It might even be the reason he’s still alive.”

Mia looked the intimidating man directly in the eye. “Nonsense. He’s alive because you need him to help you wheedle favors from the Moonstone.” Mia quickly took in the medieval cavern and cell. “Hello, Phaeton.” Her gaze traveled to America, who appeared to be more than uncomfortable, chained to the wall, with only a bench to rest on. “Are you all right?” Something about America’s nod bothered her.

“Put your arms around my neck.” The wizard ordered in his quiet, contained way. She had expected him to be wretched and cruel—so much easier to detest—but this Prospero was neither of those things.

As yet.

A tug on the leash reminded her who was master. Mia placed her arms around his neck and clasped her fingers. Once again, the wizard ogled her. “You are Doctor Exeter’s ward, or concubine. I’m a bit . . . confused of late.” The chamber door creaked open on its own. Mia blinked. Had someone opened the door or had the wizard used his wily ways?