The Lost Heir (Book I)- The Violet City

Theophilus Dodge

They rode down in silence. Well, what could have been silence if Theophilus hadn't kept humming tunes that Isabella didn't recognize and then mumbling incoherently to himself. She sighed as the door chimed opened and then walked down the dark corridor. They emerged through the theater's main door and marched down rows of red velvet chairs, each holding a thick layer of dust captive in its fabric. The theater had been Renee Fox's pride and joy and the place where her daughter, the beautiful Beatrice Foxworthy, made her first and last public performance before dying at the age of twenty-one. Some kind of childhood illness took her life, or so everyone said. They also said Beatrice was a little wacko. Isabella didn't believe it though. In fact, she liked to think of Beatrice Foxworthy as being just like her-a little sensitive and sometimes temperamental, although Isabella didn't think she was that bad. They also had the same thick, wavy, black hair, but Beatrice's green eyes had been anything but dull like Isabella's were. Even in old black-and-white photos, they seemed to sparkle.

The stage had long, red curtains, knotted at the middle, and a grand piano-Beatrice's piano-sat center stage. Isabella looked up at the crown moldings and the high ceiling, more appropriate for an opera house, and reveled in how much she loved this hotel and the legacy she'd been left.

Theophilus sat down at Beatrice's piano, removed his goggles from their case and snapped them on.

Isabella, Seth, and Micah sat in chairs facing him, backs to the wide-mouth theater.

"Now, children! We will cover singing and a bit of piano today. Next time you can bring your instruments, and we can go from there. You are a bass guitar man, Seth, am I right?"

Seth grinned as he lifted an eyebrow and nodded. This was not really a gesture of modesty, Isabella noticed. Seth Logan was obviously the type of guy who needed to be knocked down off his high horse.

"And you are a drummer, yes, Mr. Micah?"

Micah grinned, and his grin truly was shy. "Yes. I love the drums. It's primal, ya know?"

"But it's not his main thing," said Seth. "Not like me with my bass."

"You do soccer, basketball and capoeira," Micah countered.

"Yeah, but you're like a computer dork at heart. That other stuff is just because I got a lotta energy." He turned his attention back to Theophilus. "My bass is like everything to me."

Micah looked a little irritated at his brother's one-upping game and pinched his mouth into a line. Wait...

"You do capoeira?" Isabella asked.

"Yeah, kinda."

"He's really good."

Isabella frowned. She didn't like having something in common with him for some reason, or maybe she didn't want the competition. He was probably ten times better than she was. He was bigger, but that really didn't have that much to do with it. Capoeira was about being clever, puzzling almost as you tried to outwit your opponent by keeping him in a constant dance. You had to be a bit of a trickster like that kid today. He'd just disappeared, and-- "I want to know who that Pythian boy is to you, Theophilus. And where did he go?" The words blurted out so quickly that even Isabella seemed surprise to hear them fall out of her mouth. She had been thinking about that odd little boy since she'd met him. Who was he? Where was he now? Why had Theophilus barely even acknowledged him? She wondered all this in spite of wanting it to be nothing at all. If it was something, any chance of a normal holiday break would be out of the window.

"Shall we start with a few scales? One is never too advanced for a proper warm-up."

"I can dig scales, but, man, it's dusty in here. How are we supposed to breathe?" Seth complained.