The Lost Heir (Book I)- The Violet City

The Light Council

They lurched forward. Seth gripped Isabella's hand. Cleo squeezed her arm. Soft lights blinked off and then on-slow then fast-until a gossamer light illuminated an octagon-shaped room. On each of its eight stone walls hung a portrait, and beneath each portrait, a shiny jewel-like object sat. In the center of the room, an eight-sided table welcomed eight high-backed chairs wearing the same symbol they'd seen on the other side of the wall. Four matching oblong velvet boxes sat at each station. And a shimmering black globe held court at the center of the table.

"Sick," said Seth.

"I don't think I'd call this sick," remarked Cleo.

"Sick means--"

"I know what it means." Cleo said. "It's just that..."

"Can you two do me a favor?" Isabella asked before they could go on.

"What?" asked Seth.

"Loosen the lockjaw grips," she said as she felt an odd heat that turned her core cold from Seth's hand and an uneasy warmth from Cleo's. Cleo's mood was easy to discern-embarrassment-but Seth's was more complicated and, as usual, a cool wall quickly erected around him, and there was nothing more to investigate.

"Sorry," they both said, dropping their hands. Cleo approached the table.

"Well, Theophilus obviously isn't here either," said Isabella.

"Oh, wow," said Cleo, holding up a gold pen she'd taken out of one of the oblong boxes at the table. "Look at these!"

Seth approached the table and grabbed a pen from a box in front of a different chair. "Okay. This is weird."

"What are you two talking about?" Isabella strode over as Seth held out the pen he was holding. The name Gerard Logan looped in script was etched into its gold plating.

"They're two for every person in these case things," Seth muttered as he continued around the table.

"Patricia Antonelli," whispered Cleo, reading the pen in her hand before moving to the next station and picking up another. "Marcellus Antonelli."

"Mariah Logan," said Seth, his voice cracking, staring at the next pen in his hand.

"Catherine Bayer Foxworthy," Isabella said slowly, studying the one she'd picked up. What was all this? She tucked one of the pens with her grandmother's name into her pocket as she moved to the chair at the head of the table. She picked up another. "Theophilus Dodge."

"Who are Millford Peck and Betty Reed?" asked Cleo.

"Betty Reed? That's our cook," said Isabella, temples pulsing. "This is really starting to scare me, you guys."

"Every set of pens has its own symbol and the symbol from outside. The same symbol that's right there," said Cleo, pointing to a carving of it on the table. "Look. It says 'lux, veritas, virtus' beneath this one. I think that means: light, truth, and courage."

"How do you know that?" Seth asked.

"I like languages, okay? It's Latin."

"Truth?" Seth snorted. "That's a joke. What the hell have they been doing down here? I always knew my parents were liars, but-"

"I pretend to hate my parents too," said Cleo. "They are such jerks sometimes, but I want them back."

"Yeah, but how could they do this?" Seth complained. Isabella could just make out the pulsing in his neck in the sudued light of the room.

"Seth! These are clues okay? We came here to find Theophilus so he could help us find them." Isabella pushed down a sudden rage that threatened to rip free. Her eyes grew wet, but she blinked back the moisture. "You don't want to lose your parents. You don't want to be like me. I need my mother all the time. I need my father all the time. But they're not here. I have my Nano, and I love her. I have Lana, and I love her too, but no one can replace your parents. Just be happy you have them and shut up!"