The amoebalike tires completely lost their grip. The vehicle began to roll over on its side — and that was the last thing Gene knew.
Ten
Long Island
Sheila thought that Trent looked exactly what a prince should look like. For one thing, he was terribly handsome. His pale hair was the color of fresh butter, his eyes the hue of the sky on a bright afternoon. His features were strong, the cleft chin firm; classic princely features. But there was more to him, something in his bearing that bespoke a high-born status.
Just like a prince, she thought. She had been distantly in love with him since their first meeting.
She sat back and took a sip of wine. Sure, he was probably three hundred years old, but what’s age got to do with it? He sure as heck didn’t look three hundred years old. More likely thirty-five. Forty at the most. It was magic, of course.
“Like the wine?” Trent asked, settling into an armchair across from the sofa.
“It’s wonderful,” Sheila said. “What is it?”
“It’s a special California vintage cabernet, limited issue. I have some friends in the wine business out there.”
“It’s great.”
Trent pivoted in his chair. “Uh … Snowclaw? You sure you won’t have anything?”
“Thanks,” Snowclaw said, turning away from a view of the woods. “But I don’t go for that smelly flower water you human folks drink. No offense.”
Trent laughed. “None taken.”
Anyone who had seen Snowclaw in the castle would never have recognized him. Instead of being a huge quasi-ursine biped covered in fur, Snowclaw was now a rather large human male with snow-white hair and the musculature of a professional bodybuilder. He wore a white shirt, red tie, charcoal slacks, and navy-blue blazer. His size 15 black pumps shone with a gloss.
Sheila’s spell had done the trick. Snowclaw looked unusual — even for a weight lifter, he was enormous — but acceptable.
“To get back to business,” Trent said. “Granting that Gene is here on Earth, locating him might be a little problematical if someone with magical abilities kidnapped him.”
“Well, that’s what I think happened,” Sheila said.
Trent nodded. “His disappearance does sound a little suspicious, judging from what you’ve said.”
“There’s not much to go on. Actually it’s all mostly based on this sneaking suspicion I’ve got that something’s up at the castle.”
“Something very well could be. But the question is who’s behind it all. Have any ideas?”
“Well, we were thinking …”
“My sister Ferne?”
Sheila nodded. “I’m sorry, but —”
“No need. She’s a bad one. But she can’t be the culprit, because as far as I know, Incarnadine did away with her. No one but my brother knows exactly what happened to her, but he did inform the family that Ferne’s case had been adjudicated ‘with coldest justice,’ I think his phrase was.”
“Does that mean he had her executed?”
“Well, everyone — my other sister, Dorcas, and I, along with the more distant relatives — we all took it to mean that Ferne had been dispatched to her heavenly reward, to phrase it kindly if not plausibly.”
Sheila sighed. “Well, that eliminates her as a suspect, I guess. And if it’s not her, then I haven’t the foggiest clue who it could be.”
“On the other hand, you do have a castle full of people” — Trent nodded toward Snowclaw, who had taken a seat on the sofa — “and other gentle beings. No end of suspects. As far as motives, well, there you have a problem.”
Trent suddenly rose and walked to the fireplace, behind the glass doors of which a cheery fire glowed and crackled.
“There is one other possibility,” Trent said, looking deep into the flames.
Sheila looked at Snowclaw. They waited.
“I know my brother,” Trent said finally. “He just might not have killed her.” He gave a rueful chuckle. “I have to confess that I would have, without hesitation or remorse. She nearly destroyed everything, including the castle.” He shook his head, still staring into the fire. “Reckless, reckless woman.”
Presently Trent returned to his seat. “But Incarnadine has a soft spot for her, always did. I’ve always suspected he might be in love with her. He’s never let on, though. If so, I don’t blame him. As you know, she’s something to look at.”
“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Sheila said. “That made her even more scary.”
“And I’ve always suspected that the feeling was mutual, between the two of them. All very repressed, of course, at least on Incarnadine’s side.”
“So she could be alive. She could even be in the castle somewhere.”
“It’s a possibility,” Trent said, “but a slim one. Mind you, Incarnadine is an able ruler, and a wise one. He wouldn’t compromise his security and the security of the crown for the sake of personal feelings, his own or anyone else’s.” Trent leaned back in his chair. “At least, I don’t think he would.”
“You should know your own brother … er, Your Royal Highness.”
Trent laughed. “Forget the honorifics. This is Earth. This is America, after all.”
“Sorry. It’s just that I don’t get to talk to princes every day.”
“You should be so lucky every day.”
Sheila giggled. “I kind of like it.”
Trent gave her an engaging smile. “Well, it’s easy playing Prince Charming to so charming a lady.”
Sheila melted a little inside, then tried to put romantic thoughts out of her mind.
“Of course,” Trent went on, “there’s always me as a suspect.”
Sheila reddened. “Sir, there’s never been any doubt in my mind —”
“Oh, but there should be!” His Royal Highness chuckled. “I have the motive, the means, and no end of opportunity. I should be number one on your suspect list. In fact, when you called, I assumed you were coming here to play detective.”
“Oh, no, that wasn’t the reason at all,” Sheila protested. “I wouldn’t presume. It’s just that we need help, and with Lord Incarnadine away —”
“I understand. Sorry, I shouldn’t be kidding around. I realize this is a serious matter, what with your friend involved.”
“We’re worried, sir. And we do need help.”
“Please, don’t call me ‘sir.’ I got out of the prince business long ago. ‘Trent’ will do.”
“Certainly … Trent.”
“That’s better. Sounds more like you trust me.”
“How could we suspect you when you helped Incarnadine against the Hosts of Hell?”
“I was fighting to save Perilous, not necessarily my brother.”
“I see.”
Trent shrugged. “Just being honest. And I was only half joking about my being a suspect.”
“I trust you,” Sheila said firmly.
He smiled, showing astonishingly white teeth. “Thank you. And I you.” He put down his glass. “Won’t you stay for lunch?”
“We’d love to,” Sheila said, with deep-seated reluctance, “but Linda is working on a spell to locate Gene in the castle, and she needs all the help she can get.”
“I thought you were pretty sure that Gene disappeared here.”
“It’s just my magician’s intuition again, but there is the slight possibility Gene might have slipped past the guards at Halfway House. I didn’t want to say anything, but once I found both of them asleep in front of the TV.”
“You should have reported it,” Trent said. “They should be disciplined.”
“Well, I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. It must be boring to be stuck in that house —”
“That’s hardly an excuse.”