Keep your dreams alive. The Lost Heir is on its way to publication through Booktrope Publishing. They actually encourage Wattpad posting for our pre-edited version, so I’m happy about that Wattpad fans! Almost done with essentially draft two or what I like to call our “beta” audience version. We hope a full and polished version of the book will be in your hands by the holidays.
Cheers,
Allison
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 grouchy. They 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.
“You’re avoiding my question. Why?” asked Isabella.
“No one ever comes in here, according to Mrs. Foxworthy,” said Micah.
“Her name is Bayer. Catherine Bayer. She goes by her maiden name,” Isabella explained. “Now, about that kid-”
Theophilus cleared his throat. “This theater will be shimmering as if twinkled by the light of the North Star once I’m done with it.” He glanced around the room as if his vision had already unfolded. Then his countenance turned pensive. “Yes,” he said with a nod. “If what lies beneath and within these walls spoke to you, your lives would be forever changed.”
“What? That makes no sense. And what do you mean, ‘once you’re done’?” The theater had been in decay for the better part of ten years. Her grandmother could have and probably should have sold it off, but she knew how much it meant to the family and her late husband, Beatrice Foxworthy’s older brother, Mitchell.
“Well, that means what it sounds like. Restoration, my dear. With me at the helm.”
“Oh, no,” Isabella grumbled. Her grandmother had mentioned asking Theophilus to revitalize the theater, but she thought that was a joke.
“What’s your problem?” Seth slapped his hand on his knee. “You get a movie theater. A ragingly awesome movie theater! Free!”
“Yeah. I like the sound of it,” Micah piped in.
“Yeah. Sooo cool to you, but all I do around here is work.”
“Oh, no. Miss Hotel Heiress washed a dish? Were you afraid to break a nail?”
Isabella shoved short, half-painted, silver fingernails in Seth’s face. “Does it look like I care if I break a nail? And this hotel is my life. I love it, but I’m just a kid. If I want to see a movie, I can just go down to the multiplex on the corner. And they have stadium seating.”
“Okay. Calm down. I get it. I guess.”
Isabella looked up to see Theophilus staring at them, hand in chin, nodding. Weirdo. Wasn’t he supposed to get mad at them for babbling so much?
“Would the two of you like some privacy? You sound like an old married couple, and I may not know much about the married part of that phrase, but I’m rather an expert on the other!”
“What? A couple? Ew! I just met him yesterday, and I already think he’s a jerk!”
Seth furrowed his brow but decided to ignore her as he let his eyes fall to his left where his little brother stood. Micah was oblivious to the world around him at that moment and began folding a sheet of loose paper into an airplane.
“Ah, young master,” Theophilus began, “a bit of a mechanical mind, I see. Fantastic. We’ll make use of that. Yes, sir.” He clapped his hands, then rubbed them together as if kneading a tiny ball of cookie dough. “Now, I shall play something for you. Pay close attention to the melody.”
“What happened to the scales?” asked Seth.
“And I still want to know about the boy,” Isabella insisted.
“What do you mean, you’ll make good use of me?” Micah asked.
Theophilus ignored all of them as his fingers floated over the keys, releasing a melody that was as familiar as the air Isabella breathed. It had been a favorite of her mother’s. A tune she’d never learned but had always promised to.
Her eyelids fell as if someone had tugged them shut with little strings.
Boom. She was back in that moment. She remembered the smoke clinging to her lungs as she gasped for air. The pungent odor of the charred wood was still as strong as it had been that day. Hues of orange and yellow danced along the walls as they were slowly devoured by destruction.
“I’ve got you,” the man with the black hair and very black eyes had said as he entered the house to be her savior. She remembered being wrapped up in his arms as he spoke to her that night. “I’ve got you. You’re a light in this darkness. You’re safe.”
“Hey!”
Snap. Her eyes opened. Seth’s nose hovered half an inch in front of hers. What was going on? Groggily, she noticed he had way too many freckles and obviously a lot of garlic in his after-school snack. Then she remembered her dream and the blackout and forced him away from her.
“Whoa.”
“Sorry. I must have dozed off or something.”
“You’re all right, I take it?” asked Theophilus. Isabella nodded once. “Splendid. I know you missed it, dear, so I’ll reluctantly repeat myself. Just please, don’t make me do it again. I’m getting to the point in life where a man struggles to remember his own thoughts!”
The boys chuckled.
“By the way, did you know these two are in Logan Blues?”
“Yes, my grandmother reminded us of that yesterday, remember? She hired them,” Isabella said, rubbing her eyes.
“She’s always one to help keep the memory fresh. And I’ve just recalled Logan Blues they’ve decided to stay on permanently?”
“What? Since when? We don’t have any rooms left that we can contract out for that long!”
“Good thing you don’t have to worry your pretty little mind about it then. We’re renting ours from Uncle Robert.”
Isabella’s jaw dropped. Could this day get any weirder? There was only one Robert that she knew from the hotel. The Foxworthys long-time family friend, Robert Heel. He never used the suite he kept there, but he also never rented it out. At least, not that she could recall, and Robert wasn’t one to keep secrets. “Robert Heel is your uncle?” she asked, unable to figure out how a fact like that slipped by her so easily.
“Great-uncle,” said Seth. “I guess.”
“You mean you don’t know?” Isabella said.
“He’s my father’s uncle, okay?”
“Sorry, I asked. It’s just that I know Uncle Robert really well and–”
“So, you’re jealous he’s got a real family and not just some stuck up orphan heiress to pretend he cares about?”
Isabella looked down when he said that, tears pricking the back of her eyes.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” said Seth.
Isabella wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Don’t worry about it,” she said quietly.
“Children, it’s important we look at the world from not just our perspective. Now, as I was saying,” Theophilus went on. “Hugo Varelli was a great composer, but he had a very dark side. Like other great men, he thrived on his muses, and one of his muses was my mother. He tortured her until she could no longer bear his rage. You see, she was an Empath, so she not only felt her own fear but was consumed in every bit of her soul with Hugo’s rage.”
“What’s an Empath?” asked Micah.
“Someone who feels other people’s emotions,” said Isabella “but that’s a load of-”
“Is it?” Theophilus raised his eyebrows. It was as if he could see inside her and knew all of her secrets. Her nose tickled and she scratched it, watching as Theophilus stood up with a whip of his cape and then paced, hands clasped behind his back. “So, you ask, why did she stay with him at all?”
The kids shrugged.
“Well, he was passionate, you see. Very much so. So much so that my mother, Constance Dodge-kind, sweet, mediocre in talent-thrived on it. She said he gave her life. She could feel something that her cold English childhood had never provided. Yes! Passion, my children. That is what we must bring to our piano.”
“Wait,” said Seth. “That’s it?”
“What happened to her?” Isabella asked.
“Another day. Another day. Let’s get started.”
Weird. He was weird, but maybe he knew things. He had been in and out of the hotel for years. Just as long as her Uncle Robert, but somewhat of a less permanant fixture. He would go and come like the hot winds that blew in from the south, carrying a lot of lively action with him.
And what happened to that Pythian kid? He was there. Then he was gone. With Theophilus ignoring every probe sent his way about the boy, she knew she had to do something on her own to find out more about him. For now, she planned to drop the whole thing and focus on something far more important, but tomorrow, she was going to find out who Pythian is and why he had come here.
She slipped between the covers, stuffed her pillow beneath her cheek and clicked on Night at Holiday Hall, starring Beatrice Foxworthy in her only feature role. She paused it for a moment, talking silently to her parents. They’d watched it with her every year around Christmas time, and she was proud she was keeping their tradition sacred. After saying hello to everyone in the kitchen at Betty’s down in the basement and talking to the staff for a little over an hour, Isabella headed up to her room, sans chowder. Betty had gone for the holiday, of course. But she still had her tradition to keep her warm. As she climbed into bed after slipping the DVD into the machine, she knew that this moment was more important than anything else going on in the hotel. Unfortunately for Isabella, the events of the day had worn her out and she fell asleep before Beatrice could sing her first song.
Chapters 1-8 currently are on Wattpad if you’d like to read more.
They arrived at the top of Culver Hills Road and looped into the circular drive of the Foxworthy Hotel in record time. A few staff members waved at Isabella as Pythian trailed behind her up the front steps and into the grand lobby. The concierge, Rolf, winked at her subtly and then continued speaking rapidly into the replica 1920s candle-stick phone behind his desk. Probably some guest complaining about the beach being more than three blocks away. Take the trolley, people. It goes right there.
Isabella picked up her foot to walk, then put it right back down and stared slack-jawed. The hotel’s two newest bartenders, Nico, who was from Italy, and Constantine, who was from Brazil, emerged from the kitchen at the back of the lobby, balancing about twenty wine glasses each. Several were upside down and several others stacked right-side up. “If my grandmother sees them, they’re dog meat.” She held her breath as they wove between the patrons seated in the open dining area at the far right. Constantine side-stepped a very tall plant and Nico looped around a waiter with a platter full of hot plates. Then they wound down the four steps that led to the Jazz Pit Bar Lounge as if they’d been doing it all their lives. “Wow. Do they do trapeze too?”
“Are there always so many people?” asked Pythian, sounding a little on edge. She understood. She hated crowds too. But for some reason it was different in the hotel. In a regular crowd, she had the added fear of getting lost, which she despised more than anything. She looked around the lobby, bustling with guests, rafters trimmed thinly with garland and a smattering of holiday lights. They had not fully decorated yet. Decorating day was December 21st. Though she would never tell her grandmother that was the best thing about being a Foxworthy-the tradition. With tradition, one never felt lost.
“It’s the holidays.”
“The holidays?”
Isabella looked at him like he’d grown tentacles. “You know. Christmas, Hanukkah, Ramadan, the Winter Solstice?”
“Oh, yeah. Right. The solstice.”
This kid was very weird. “And like I told you, Python, Theophilus isn’t here giving lessons today.”
It’s Pythian. Piiitheeean!”
“Oh, well. He isn’t here. My Uncle Jack says he won’t be back for months.” Pythian stared up at her with a plea in his eyes. “Fine. You can ask my nano. Then I get my dinner.” She started a course toward the silver-haired woman in the Prada suit, standing behind an ornate podium with a telephone at her ear. Unfortunately, a round man with a walrus-style moustache blocked her from moving swiftly in the direction she wanted to go. When she escaped his presence, a group of little kids darted by nearly tripping both her and Pythian. “You’ll be getting a lump of coal in your stockings this year! Ugh. Sometimes, I hate the holidays.”
Now all she had to do was quickly say hello to her grandmother and goodbye to this Pythian boy.
“Our masquerade ball will be the best New Year’s Eve event we’ve had in years with my granddaughter, Isabella Foxworthy performing and Logan Blues headlining,” Catherine Bayer Foxworthy spoke into the phone as Isabella and Pythian approached her behind the front desk. “Yes. New Year’s Eve. We’ll be doing a homage to Renee Fox and Sinclair Worthy and their era of Hollywood. Can I put you down for seven? Fantastic.”
“Just stopping by to say hello, Nano. I have a ton of things to do.”
“Isabella! I’m glad you’re home. How was your day, dear?” she asked, not noticing the boy standing beside her granddaughter.
“Um..horrible.”
“Sunnier. Try to be sunnier. More positive,” she said, her eyes expanding when she finally looked at her granddaughter. “What happened to your knee?”
Isabella’s knee hurt a little, but she hadn’t noticed the blood.
“It’s just a scratch, Nano. I’m fine.”
“And look at your hair!” Her grandmother smoothed her wayward strands down to no avail. “And who is this poor thing? What happened to you?”
“This is Pythian. He says he’s here for lessons with Theophilus. I told him Theophilus isn’t here, but anyway, can you help him out? Get him a ride home or something?”
“Oh, sorry to disappoint you, Isabella, but Theophilus will be here soon. I asked him to come to help you with your music and to restore the theater. Don’t you remember?”
“What? I thought Robert was in charge of that,” she said, shocked. She hated being wrong, especially, when it came to the Foxworthy and what went on beneath its roof.
“And don’t avoid my questions. What happened? You look like you need a doctor, sweetheart,” her grandmother finished, lifting Pythian’s face and studying the scratch that ran from the corner of his eye down his cheek. “That is going to leave a scar,” she said to Pythian before turning to back to Isabella, who was growing more and more annoyed by the situation. “Did you feel any sign beforehand? Hear them before you saw them?”
“Before I saw who?” She always seemed to know more than she let on. Like she could see what she’d been up to just by looking at her though she asked tons of questions. Isabella shrugged, then sighed. What was the point?
“Isabella, you know how to keep out of danger. Use your instincts like I’ve taught you, then tuck yourself away in a safe place.”
“I’m almost fifteen, and we’re both fine. So, do you mind taking him to Theophilus, Nano. I want to go find Betty,” Isabella said through a false smile looking to Pythian, who shrugged.
“Yes. Where do I find him, ma’am?” he asked Isabella’s grandmother.
“Everywhere and nowhere at all, I expect, when it comes to Theophilus. But first I’m going to get someone to clean you up. You should go home. Call your mother. And you, Miss Izzy, stay put.”
Isabella groaned.
“I don’t have a mother, and my father isn’t home.”
“Well,” Isabella sighed, feigning extreme exhaustion. “I am going to get Betty to make a cup of chowder for me.”
“After you clean that knee and meet with Mr. Dodge.”
At that moment, Theophilus Dodge, wearing a purple cape, swept into the room. That was new. He usually wore a top coat with tails and a pair of goggles, and sometimes even a top hat. Oh wait, the goggles were not missing. He just had on a new pair. Small, black, and pushed back on his white-blond head. Today, he’d must have left in a hurry. The hat and tailcoat were rarely missing. Still, he had on the usual Victorian-era waistcoat and an ascot along with a pair of pin-striped trousers. Not only did the mad piano instructor fancy himself a musician and theatrical sensation, but he also believed himself to be a master poet, philosopher, and inventor. Isabella thought he was just a lunatic.
Grandmother Catherine pulled Isabella by the elbow toward the entrance. “Ah, Mr. Dodge. My granddaughter is ready for her lesson.”
Theophilus removed his goggles and placed them in a small case he had at his side. “Splendid. I would like to see the theater as soon as possible, then we can start our lessons.”
“Your nephew is the one who wants lessons,” said Isabella.
“Nephew?” inquired Theophilus. “I have no nephew.”
Isabella looked around but could not find the boy all of a sudden. “He was right behind me. He said his name was Pythian or something.”
Theophilus opened his eyes a bit wider. “Pythian, you say?”
“Yes. I didn’t get his last name, but he said his father was your good friend. Where the heck did he go?”
“Indeed,” Theophilus said, snapping his fingers on both hands. “Well, I think we’ve had enough chit chat for the moment. Now to find my other pupils.” He turned to Catherine. “But not before I see the theater.”
“Oh, yeah, that sounds like a really good idea, Nano. Why don’t you show Theophilus to the theater while I go and get something to eat-”
“After our lesson, of course,” said Theophilus.
“Of course,” Isabella said.
Well,” her grandmother said, looking between the two of them, “I have set you up in the theater to rehearse, so you will both be satisfied.”
“Satisfaction would’ve come with scoops of chowder and maybe even a few swigs of orange soda.”
“Chowder?” Theophilus asked, eyes wide. “I’ve always thought you were a macaroni-and-cheese kind of girl!”
“Not really.”
“The photo over that fireplace begs to differ.” He pointed to a black-and-white picture of Isabella and her parents as she grinned over a giant plate of mac ‘n’ cheese. It had been taken on her eighth birthday. Less than a year later, her parents were dead. She looked away. She couldn’t stand that picture.
“People change. They grow up,” she said, swallowing the torment as it got stuck in her throat. Then, she held her head high. “Besides, Betty’s chowder is especially made for me. And I don’t need any lessons. I know what I’m doing.”
“Every great musician has a great coach,” said her grandmother with a sharp glare.
“You force me to play, and I’m good at it. Isn’t that enough?”
“She’s improving. You may want to work with her on her singing. People are starting to compare her to Beatrice, Lord rest that poor girl’s soul.”
“Beatrice isn’t the only one who died around here. Why does everyone make such a big deal about her?”
Catherine and Theophilus shared a cryptic look and did not answer her. They were doing it again. She hated when they did that. Robert was the only one who trusted her and told her things.
“Lots to do, my dear. Same entrance as always, Catherine?”
“Not quite. Isabella, please show him. Oh, Theophilus, I forgot, the Logan boys will be joining you too. They performed with their parents here last night. You heard them Isabella. Logan Blues. They’ll be here for the show, but I thought it would be nice to get the young people together to see what you might come up with.”
Isabella turned red and then her eyes started to burn because she’d forgotten to blink. “I’m fine alone, Nano, really.”
“Try to be open minded. They good kids.”
“How do you even know them?” Isabella snapped back.
“I know their parents from before you were born. Now, go on.” Catherine patted her on the shoulder and turned away.
Isabella looked defeated. “So, not only am I stuck doing this performance, but I can’t practice for it alone?”
“Ah, yes. Now I remember. Well, I mean no. You can’t do it alone. I have other pupils.” Theophilus rubbed his hands together. “This will be a treat for you, Isabella.”
Sixteen-year-old Seth Logan and his younger brother, Micah, appeared wearing matching Los Angeles Lakers warm-ups. Sure, Isabella waved a Laker flag during a victory parade like any other Angeleno would, but those outfits made them look like a pair of purple penguins. As her eyes caught Seth’s she looked away immediately. She noticed if she looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, that he had some slightly attractive features decorating his face. Only slightly though. The slant of his nose and the fierce black eyes, along with his olive skin made him just cute enough for her to notice. Of course, people said her skin was olive-toned too, but it really looked more like oatmeal or maybe peanut butter on a good day.
“Are those your costumes for your performance tonight with your parents?” Theophilus asked. Although some people, including Isabella, thought it was the odd-ball music’s instructor’s taste in clothing that was eccentric, Theophilus was perplexed by the purples and yellows of boys’ outfits. Theophilus Dodge was certainly a walking oxymoron.
“No,” Seth sighed, then let out a derisive laugh. “They’re basketball warm-ups.” Isabella did not like his condescension one bit. Maybe Theophilus was a bit off-beat, and maybe she didn’t feel like taking lessons from him today, but he still deserved some respect. She looked at the handsome boy again and decided that maybe he wasn’t so handsome after all. He was probably one of those types that thought he was God’s gift to all females who had the privilege of looking at him.
“Oh, so you’re in a band and you’re on the Los Angeles Lakers?”
“I do play basketball, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Seth, grinning crookedly for a moment at Isabella then deflated when he turned back to Theophilus. “If our parents ever let us stick around long enough in one place, I’d love to join a team.”
“We’re just fans,” Micah said quietly. “We like to show love and support.”
“Last night when you performed in the lounge, your mom said you guys were from New Jersey.”
“New York,” Seth amended. “And we’re more like nomads, so we aren’t exactly from anywhere.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do Renee and Sinclair’s legacy proud,” said Theophilus.
“Who are they?”
Isabella sighed heavily. “My great-grandparents. The whole event is about them. Even the mayor is coming because it’s so important. Not to mention like everybody will be there, which is why I can’t to skip my performance even if I’d rather not do it.”
“That’s right,” her grandmother said, approaching them and smiling at the boys, “your concern is at the top of the hour on the last hour of the show and, of course, the countdown to the stroke of midnight.”
“Fine, but why can’t I rehearse alone?”
“Don’t do us any favors,” Seth said. “I could be spending valuable time with my bass or my guitar.”
Isabella snapped her head toward the boy, who hovered about a foot above her and wore an expression that begged her to challenge him. The younger one, Micah, smiled as if embarrassed by what his brother had just said. “Why don’t you do that then?” Isabella challenged. Hers eyes cut deep into his as she glared in his direction.
“Well, thank you, boys. We can use your musical talents and gorgeous little faces. Don’t pop star it out too much though,” she said, kissing her granddaughter’s cheek and then moving in the direction of the two new bartenders, who were now juggling silver cocktail shakers between them. “Nico! Constantine! This is not an underground nightclub off Hollywood Boulevard. Honestly.”
“Let’s get this over with.” Isabella stormed off toward the small elevator across from the grand lobby that led to the entrance to the underground stage.
Fire licked the walls and formed a canopy above her head. Numb. Trapped. Their screaming burned in her ears as the earth shook and near-death coated her skin. The fire whipped around her, close but not touching, never touching. It was almost as if she wielded some sort of power over the flames, but that couldn’t be. She heard her mother and father’s screams over and over as they were engulfed by the blaze. She was helpless to save them. Suddenly, the screams stopped. Terror climbed into her throat as a shadow moved toward her. She tried to breathe but couldn’t. The room grew darker as her body weakened.
“Come on. I’ve got you,” the man said as her knees buckled and she grabbed his shirt. “I’ve got you, Diadem child. You’re safe.” The trembling in the ground stopped but the fire continued.
Enveloped in a warmth different from the conflagration, eight-year-old Isabella Foxworthy collapsed. Encrypted in the man’s arms, her terror melted into tranquility as she was taken from the house into the cool night. Her eyes opened to an oddly purple sky and she noticed a light glowing around them, not unlike the vicious flames of the fire. Red as deep as blood, and an empty blackness filled the room. A foreboding fear encircled her heart. Then, her savior mumbled something and the light turned to a silvery blue.
“Give her to me,” another man said.
“I can watch over her.”
“Give her to me,” the other man said. “She needs to be at the hotel with her grandmother.”
She felt a gentle caress on her cheek and a rush of coolness pour through her body. “Then I’ll take her.”
Isabella reached up to touch the man’s hand, but he was gone. “Where’s my mother?”
“Hush. I’ll take you to your nano,” said the one who carried her.
Then as the purple sky turned blue again, and as the approaching fire engines howled in her ears, the man carried her up the narrow road to the Foxworthy Hotel.
Los Angeles, CA – Present Day
“FREAK!”
As sunlight and darkness fought for occupation in the sky, nearly fifteen-year-old Isabella clutched her backpack as she approached Sunset Boulevard. Classes at St. Agnes got out an hour earlier that day, but she’d stayed behind with a couple other girls to work out with their Capoeira instructor. She was shocked when she learned St. Agnes offered it as an after school activity. Brazilian martial arts didn’t really go with the strict traditionalism of St. Agnes. Carte Blanche, the school she got thrown out of last year for something that wasn’t her fault, would have certainly had a class like that. Their motto, unschool the schoolchildren and the world will be in harmony. Honestly, Isabella just wanted to go to a normal school for once. She supposed it was better than being locked up in the hotel and homeschooled, her grandmother’s dream.
Isabella shifted her eyes down to her smart phone. 3:52. Perfect. Eight minutes until the bus got there. She loved the stability of the city bus system. Always coming and going on time, well at least in theory. Even if the afternoon bus was late, she could always count on it coming eventually. And if she missed it, another one would be along soon. It took care of her and other people no matter who they were. It, in an odd way, allowed her to wobble on the wings of independence before she was ready to fly off on her own. She was glad her grandmother let her ride it this year. 3:53. She didn’t want to be late though. Not today.
“WEIRDO!”
Two voices echoed in her ears as she rounded the corner. One like the roar of a lion, the other-a baboon maybe? Against her better judgment, she continued down the street, past a hippie clothing store and Mel’s Drive-In restaurant. 3:54.
“Stop it!” A third voice protruded, echoing with sheer fright. Appearing to be coming from a young boy, the pleas punched fear straight into the cavity of her chest.
“Please? Please, leave me alone!” the young boy continued to plead.
Her heart squeezed as she heard another shout of “Stop!”
She should hide. She wanted to make it home in time for Betty’s corn n’ crab chowder. The cook was leaving for the Christmas holidays after her shift ended at five, and she wanted one last cup. So hot, so creamy. No, that was selfish, right? Other things were more important than her stomach. It growled. But maybe it didn’t have to be her. Maybe a cop would come by.
Images of chowder fled her mind when she saw them. Three boys. The largest was jangling the smallest off the ground. The other stood laughing as he watched – the baboon. She told herself that she felt absolutely nothing. She could just walk by, or maybe call for help. She could call for help.
Fat flying fists seized her heart and squeezed. Her throat narrowed as her eyes centered on the action. 3:56.
“I should help this kid.” Beads of perspiration exploded onto her temples. “I can still make the bus.” When the big boy dumped the little one onto the ground and kicked him, Isabella gave up, threw down her backpack and marched full-speed over to the scene. With expert ease, she yanked one boy’s pants down. The pudgy rat-faced boy bellowed, his friend, lankier and full of acne, lost his hold on the small boy as he doubled over in fits of laughter. He was met with a swift kick to the shin, making him stumble and fall. “Come on, kid. You gotta get up. You gotta run.”
“I can’t,” the small boy moaned.
Isabella snatched him by the collar, forcing the boy into a squat. A large shadow loomed over them. Kicking her foot out behind her and then sweeping it backward, she tripped Lanky-Acne again, but she didn’t think she would be able to get away with these tactics much longer. From the look in Lanky-Acne’s eyes as he got back to his feet, Isabella knew it was soon to be game over.
“Run, kid! Run!” She yanked the boy to his feet, hearing the 4:00 bus pull up to the bus stop behind them. “Follow me!”
She and the semi-bloody boy raced toward the corner Isabella had first emerged from. Relief and fear mingled together. She wanted to go back for her backpack, but there was no time. Pudgy Rat-Face fisted it between his thick fingers, slung it over his shoulder, and with his friend now fully recovered from having his pants around his ankles, chased them around the block.
“Keep up! We have to hurry.”
“Do you know where you’re going?” the boy asked as they ran.
“I always make sure I know where I’m going.”
They reached an alley that was no alley at all but a narrow road that led to the front gate of her school. White, purple, and green Victorian houses sat on the expansive grounds of a former oil baron’s estate. The campus guard let her pass, but when the boy followed, the burly man stood. “Whoa. Whoa. Where do you think you’re going, kid?”
Isabella turned back, chest heaving. “Oh, Sam. This is, uh, my little brother.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and folded his arms. Isabella’s dark, wavy frizz, tan skin and dull, olive-drab eyes clashed sharply with the pallid, sleek-haired boy with a dust of slant at the corners of his black eyes.
“He’s adopted.”
Sam looked skeptical. “I never heard you mention a brother.”
“I…” She’d always wanted a brother.
“You know the rules,” the burly guard said, arms across his chest. “No boys on campus.”
“Look! He’s being chased by them.” She pointed at the two boys who were huffing and snarling at the gate. “They were beating him up.”
The security guard walked toward them, rattling his keys and waving his baton. “Is that right?”
The bullies backed up, shaking their heads.
Isabella approached behind Sam. “Scared now, aren’t you? Cowards! Just give me my backpack and go away.”
“What backpack? This one here? This is mine,” Pudgy-Rat-Face said, clinging Isabella’s black backpack with hot pink flowers to his chest.
“Fancy pants,” said Sam. He took another step toward them. They stepped back in unison. Rat-Face dropped her backpack and the boys turned and shot off like two arrows released from an archer’s bow.
“Thanks, Sam,” Isabella said, patting his arm.
“Is someone picking you up?” asked Sam.
“I prefer the bus,” she said. The boy stood beside her expressionless as he shifted his eyes between her and Sam as they spoke.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea with those two out there,” said Sam. “You should call your family.”
“I don’t have a family,” she replied.
Sam’s expression was serious when he asked, “What about your grandmother and all those people living under your roof?”
“My grandmother’s all right, I guess, but those people living under our roof need to take a vacation,” said Isabella.
“Isn’t that what they’re doing?” Sam laughed.
“Maybe but I’m not,” she said, looking down at her phone. It was 4:20. Betty would be leaving soon. “I can take care of myself,” she said as a coolness passed through her body and her connection to the boy snapped apart like a dried twig. She gasped. “But I guess, I wouldn’t mind a ride…this time.”
Sam nodded. “And what about you? Where do you live, kid?”
“I was on my way to see my uncle, Theophilus, at the Foxworthy Hotel.”
“What?” Isabella’s mouth fell open. Sam laughed.
The boy continued, “The Foxworthy–”
“I heard you. That’s my hotel. And your uncle hasn’t been around for over a month.”
“Oh, no that’s not true,” said the boy. “He’ll be there today to give piano lessons.”
“Oh great. I hope they’re for you and not me,” she said with a sigh.
The young boy tilted his head. “And what do you mean, it’s your hotel?”
Twenty minutes later, a black town car pulled in front of the school. A gray-faced driver with gray-blue eyes rolled down the window.
“Hi, Archie. This is my friend,” Isabella said, thrusting her thumb behind her at the boy. She turned to him. “What was your name again?” They’d chatted with Sam for a while about a lot of nonsense while waiting, and he had said, but she didn’t pay much attention. She had to stop being so selfish, right? But she wasn’t selfish. She did a lot for a lot of people. So, maybe it wasn’t that she was selfish. It was more that she really wanted to be selfish but couldn’t. She really didn’t know.
“Pythian,” the boy said.
She smirked. “No wonder you were being pummeled.”
“Pummeled?” asked Pythian.
“You know…beaten up? Creamed? Turned into rodent bait?” She probably shouldn’t have said that. For a person who felt other people’s emotions, she certainly was good at whipping them with her tongue at the wrong time.
“How’s it goin’, Isabella?” the driver asked as they got into the back of the hotel’s service car, wrinkles pinching the corners of his smile.
“Winter break starts tomorrow, and I already want it to be over.”
Archie looked back at her with a wry smile as if he knew exactly what she meant, or so he seemed to think. The Foxworthy Hotel was crowded over the holidays and Isabella had more to do than ever, but that wasn’t the real reason she wanted to skip this time of year. It never failed that she got into some sort of disaster because her weird empath abilities heightened even more than usual the last two weeks before her birthday, December 31st.
Isabella shifted her eyes to the boy beside her. His breathing even as he stared out of the window wearing that empty expression again. He said Theophilus was at the hotel. That meant more to do. Nope. Isabella was not going to let her grandmother win. She was going to have a normal holiday, like a normal kid. First, she’d dump the boy, go find Betty then hide in her room. The perfect plan.
TOPIC: Story World Building
Many of you have read or heard about our book, The Lost Heir, so my writing partners and I were thinking that maybe some of you might like to see who the “Skyside” world in The Lost Heir came to be.
**Skyside=Above ground (as this world also includes vast environs below ground).
There are two major locations considered Skyside in the novel: Brightwood Studios and The Foxworthy Hotel. As a writing team over two plus years, we visited many places to write and take notes. The year after that, we’ve spent in edits and publishing this title, along with my other book, Forget Me Not. Thank you, Booktrope Publishing.
Our goal was to get outside and work in blissful settings that might inspire the story locations fluttering around in our imaginations. We looked no further than our hometown of Los Angeles.
Inspirations for BRIGHTWOOD STUDIOS
The Culver Studios is the movie studio that inspired Brightwood Studios in The Lost Heir. We spent a lot of time walking along the outer rim. Though we’ve been inside briefly, we have not had the full tour yet. But when we stayed as guests at the Culver Hotel, we had a good view of it from our windows. From the best of our views, we found out what it might have looked like as Isabella looked out of her window onto Brightwood Studios. See below. Cool huh?
Below is the 2oth Century Fox backlot. A good deal of Brightwood’s backlot is based on this studio, which is about five miles from Culver Studios. I have been on this backlot a few times more times than Culver so it was easier for me (Allison) to picture this one. Also, Brightwood is about halfway between the size of the Culver Studios and Fox lot. Though Sony Studios is closer to our main location, the only thing I think we used as inspiration is that lot’s main gate…It once used to be good old MGM. Yay for Leo the Lion!
THE FOXWORTHY HOTEL
The Culver Hotel is the hotel we spend the most time in and was the primary inspiration for The Foxworthy Hotel. I guess you could say The Culver Hotel is our hero. Practically adjacent to Culver Studios, just like The Foxworthy is nearly attached to the fictional Brightwood Studios in The Lost Heir, The Culver Hotel was always accommodating and friendly when we’d spend hours there working with our laptops. Some of the staff members even made into the book! We’ve had several tours of the hotel and as we mentioned earlier have rented rooms a few times to make sure we soaked up the classic Hollywood charm that the stunning boutique hotel has to offer. The Foxworthy is meant to be much larger than The Culver Hotel. We had to do that so we could make sure it has plenty of places to move and get lost in. But The Culver Hotel itself is not without its own magic and mystery. Talk to the staff and you’ll hear stories of the ghosts of Hollywood past. Legend has it that there is even We love an old tunnel underneath the hotel that led to MGM (now Sony lot). Sorry, people, it got plugged up… or so they say.
Below is the gazebo at The Ritz Carlton, Marina del Rey. We only went to this hotel once to write, but we loved the back garden and the staircase that led to it so much that we decided to make it the inspiration for the gardens behind the ballroom The Lily Field Ballroom in The Lost Heir. This gazebo looks like it comes from a magic world, doesn’t it? It definitely opened up our imaginations to beautiful ideas.
We visited the Chateau Marmont and felt it was as spooky and grand as The Foxworthy. The Foxworthy, again, is larger than the famed Hollywood Hotel, but lacks the bungalows the Marmont is famous for. Also, there aren’t many wild celebrity parties at The Foxworthy — in the first book, anyway. 😉 We created a funny character whom you’ll meet later in the series just before we went inside that. It was a fun visit, but since we were afraid to break something, we decided to leave after about an hour. They seemed nice enough though.
The Beverly Hills Hotel‘s Cabana Cafe was a fun place to have lunch and write. We shared steak quesadillas and had amazing cocktails. Yes. We are over 21. We had a great time discussing Isabella’s life and family legacy at this historic Los Angeles landmark. We did not base specific decor of the hotel in The Lost Heir, but we do imagine Isabella and her grandmother’s suite to look a bit like the interiors of the bungalows. The hotel staff clothing in our novel is also similar to that of the BH Hotel staff’s. Thank you Pink Palace for always being so friendly and making our poor writer girl days filled with hopes and dreams.
We also spent some time at The Roosevelt Hotel for inspiration. It’s bigger. It’s Hollywood. It’s legendary. We could not skip it. So what happened on the first, second then and third visit? We just ended up eating giant burgers at their Average Joe and Jane restaurant, 25 Degrees, situated at the back of the hotel. Nothing specifically in The Lost Heir is based on the Roosevelt, other than this restaurant. The food at Betty’s is a combo of the food here, The Culver Hotel, The Biltmore in downtown Los Angeles, and, of course, Musso & Frank!
That’s it! There will be many more places visited in the series, but unfortunately, there is no underground Violet City, but I’m sure we’ll find ways to make do. Oh, note: Isabella’s school (St. Agnes) is based on Immaculate Heart School for Girls as well as Marymount High School. We did visit the below location to map out Isabella’s run from the bullies with Pythian and decided to place her school, St. Agnes, in a fictional location near the 8600 block of Sunset Blvd, known as Sunset Plaza. Fun times! We actually walked the chase path. We had a lot of fun. Thank you for reading.
Sunset Plaza, Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles, CA — setting for Part 2 of Chapter 1
We’ve had a great time getting prepped for the novel. Now it’s time to finish it up and get it out there for you all to read it. We hope you enjoy it!
We are not giving up on the road to at least semi-traditional. One of the places we intend to submit our book to is Alloy Entertainment. It seems Alloy and a few other publishers don’t welcome self-published, previously published, and likely Wattpad Published works (given that I think they’ve already published one of them). I will provide a list of other places I’ve found at the end of this post. For now, I would like to introduce the roughest version of our novel. What you see when it’s finally polished and “officially” launched may be quite different. You have been warned, and we hope you enjoy!
Here’s a great fan Trailer of The Lost Heir, using clips from various films.
Publishers Who (Appear) to Take Previously Published or Self-Published Works
(Note: The author must retain all rights to work at time of submission in e)
Alloy Entertainment / Amazon Digital First
Other genres:
A Dash of Romance. Much of what drives YA is the incorporation of a good love story. Take a look at the article I wrote highlighting some very keen words of wisdom from C.S. Lakin. She’s pretty awesome if you haven’t seen her videos or read her stuff. Google her if you haven’t. Until then, I hope you enjoy the article.
via A Dash of Romance.
A.V. Arden’s Novel, The Lost Heir is going traditional! We decided to go for it this route rather than crowdfunding our novel after all. We will hunt for a publisher in the next coming months. I swear I sometimes think this book has a mind of its own. It wants to be on shelves, maybe. I think so many of our work really deserves that — I mean, us as YA authors who have great stories to tell.
Pictures are of the trio, some story inspirations, and their favorite place to write, The Culver Hotel in Culver City, CA!
The hillock dropped into a shadow-boxed yard on the left and spilled out a meadow of flowers on the right. It was like a man resting, one leg perpendicular, the other splayed at leisure. At the foot of the leisurely leg, sat a dirt path, tiny and welcoming to any dreamer of time and place. Tall grass met the little road after a spell, teasing promises of either a scratch or a tickle. Then the peach tree, the adopted child of the looming eucalyptus, all positioned to the right like the enormous flags, erected in the name of our neighborhood, told me hello and welcomed me back to my childhood.
We would like to share with you a revised chapter of our book, The Lost Heir:
Los Angeles, CA – Culver Hills – December, 2008
Fire licked the walls and formed a canopy above her head. Numb. Trapped. Their screaming burned in her ears as the earth shook and near-death coated her skin. The fire surrounded her on every side but did not touch her. It was as if she was controlling it herself, but that couldn’t be. She heard her mother and father’s screams over and over, but she could not do anything. Then the screams stopped. Terror climbed into her throat as a shadow moved towards her. She tried to breathe but couldn’t. The room grew darker as her body weakened.
“Come on. I’ve got you,” the man said as her knees buckled, and she grabbed his shirt. “I’ve got you. You’re a light in this darkness. You’re safe.” The trembling in the ground stopped but the fire continued.
Enveloped in a warmth different from the conflagration, eight-year-old Isabella collapsed. Encrypted in the man’s arms, her terror melted into peace as she was taken from the house into the cool night. Her eyes opened to an oddly purple sky, and she noticed a light glowing around them not unlike the vicious flames of the fire. Blood red and black. A foreboding fear encircled her heart. Then her savior mumbled something and the light turned to a silvery blue.
“Give her to me,” another man said.
“The violet fire will protect her until she turns fourteen.”
“Yes,” said the other man. “The last diadem child.” She felt a gentle caress on her cheek and a rush of coolness pour through her body. “Take her up to the hotel. I’ll be watching.”
Isabella reached up to touch the man’s hand, but he was gone. “Where’s my mother?”
“Hush. I’ll take you to your nano.”
Then as the purple sky turned blue again, and as the approaching fire engines howled in her ears, the man carried her up the narrow road to the Foxworthy Hotel.
Los Angeles, CA – Present Day
“FREAK!”
As sunlight and darkness fought for occupation in the sky, nearly fourteen-year-old, Isabella clutched her backpack as she approached Sunset Boulevard. She shifted her eyes down to her smart phone. 3:52. Eight minutes before the bus arrived at the stop across the street and half a block away.
“WEIRDO!”
Two voices echoed in her ears as she rounded the corner. One like the roar of a lion, the other – a baboon maybe? Against her better judgment, she continued down the street, past a hippie clothing store and Mel’s Drive-In restaurant.
“Stop it!” a third much more frightened voice of a young boy punched fear straight into the cavity of her chest.
“Please? Please, leave me alone!” the young boy continued to plead.
She imagined her grandmother advising her to take cover and swept her eyes over her surroundings as the boy’s fear increased along with her guilt. Her heart squeezed as she heard another shout of “Stop!”
If she tucked herself into one of the alleyways or stopped to say hello to the junior from her school who worked as a hostess at Mel’s, she’d not only avoid an unnecessary fight, she would get home in time to talk to Betty. Her hotel’s cook made the best corn n’ crab chowder in the world. Of course, Betty was leaving for the Christmas holidays after her shift ended at five, so she had to get back home fast.
Isabella’s throat dried up as the violence continued to assault her. When she came to a spot between the buildings, she saw them. Three boys. The largest jangling the smallest off the ground. The other laughing as he watched – the baboon. I feel nothing. I feel nothing.
Flying fists seized her heart and squeezed. Pump. Dump. Pump. She was going home to a hot cup of Betty’s chowder. Her eyes centered on the action.
“I so don’t wanna help this kid.” Beads of perspiration exploded onto her temples. “I can still make the bus.” When the big boy dumped the little one onto the ground and kicked him, Isabella gave up, threw down her backpack and marched full-speed over to the scene. With expert ease, she yanked one boy’s pants down. The pudgy rat-faced boy bellowed, his friend, lankier and full of acne, lost his hold on the small boy as he doubled over in fits of laughter. He was met with a swift kick to the shin, making him stumble and fall. “Come on, kid. You gotta get up. You gotta run.”
“I can’t,” the small boy moaned.
Isabella snatched him by the collar, forcing the boy into a squat. A large shadow loomed over them. Kicking her foot out behind her and then sweeping it backward, she tripped Lanky-Acne again, but she didn’t think she would be able to get away with these tactics much longer. From the look in Lanky-Acne’s eyes as he got back to his feet, Isabella knew it was game over.
“Run, kid! Run!” She yanked the boy to his feet, hearing the 4:00 bus pull up to the bus stop behind them. “Follow me!”
She and the semi-bloody boy raced from the alley to the main street and shot toward the corner Isabella first emerged from. Relief and fear mingled together. She wanted to go back for her backpack, but there was no time. Pudgy Rat-Face fisted it between his thick fingers, slung it over his shoulder and with his friend, now fully re-pants, chased them around the block.
“Hurry up!” Isabella had placed third in the middle school track-and-field finals last year. Of course, this year she had no time for any extra-curricular activities with all the work at the hotel.
“Do you know where you’re going?” the boy asked as they ran.
“I always make sure I know where I’m going.”
They reached an alley that was no alley at all but a narrow road that led to the front gate of her school. White, purple, and green Victorian houses sat on the expansive grounds of a former oil baron’s estate. The campus guard let her pass, but when the boy followed, the burly man stood. “Whoa. Whoa. Where do you think you’re going, kid?”
Isabella turned back, chest heaving. “Oh, Sam. This is, uh, my little brother.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and folded his arms. Isabella’s dark, wavy frizz, tan skin and dull, olive-drab eyes clashed sharply with the pallid, sleek-haired boy with a dust of slant at the corners of his black eyes.
“He’s adopted.”
Sam looked skeptical. “I never heard you mention a brother.”
“I…” She’d always wanted a brother.
“You know the rules. No boys on campus.”
“Look! He’s being chased by them.” She pointed at the two boys, who were huffing and snarling at the gate. “They beat him up.”
The security guard walked toward them, rattling his keys, waving his baton. “Is that right?”
The bullies backed up, shaking their heads.
Isabella approached behind Sam. “Scared now. Right? Just give me my backpack.”
“This is mine,” Pudgy-Rat-Face said, clinging Isabella’s black backpack with hot pink flowers to his chest.
“Fancy pants,” said Sam. He took another step toward them. They stepped back in unison. Rat-Face dropped her backpack and the boys turned and shot off like two arrows released from an archer’s bow.
“Thanks, Sam,” Isabella said, patting his arm.
“Is someone picking you up?”
“I can take the bus.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea with those two out there,” said Sam.
“I can take care of myself,” she said as a coolness passed through her body and her connection to the boy snapped apart like a dried twig. She gasped.
“And what about you? Where do you live, kid?”
“I was on my way to see my uncle, Theophilus, at the Foxworthy Hotel.”
“Where?” Isabella said with surprise.
“The Foxworthy–”
“I heard you. That’s my hotel. And your uncle hasn’t been around for over a month.”
“Oh, no that’s not true. And Theophilus is not really my uncle. He’s my dad’s friend. I have to take music lessons with him, and he said he was working at the hotel.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Isabella, frowning. “I’m calling my grandmother to come get me.”
“And what do you mean, it’s your hotel?”
Twenty minutes later, a black town car pulled in front of the school. A gray-faced driver with gray-blue eyes rolled down the window.
“Hi, Archie. This is my friend,” Isabella said, thrusting her thumb behind her at the boy. She turned to him. “What was your name again?”
“Pythian.”
She smirked. “No wonder you were being pummeled.”
“That’s not funny.”
“How’s it goin’, Isabella?” the driver asked as they got in the back of hotel’s service car, wrinkles pinching the corners of his smile.
“It’s winter break. I can’t wait for it to be over.”
_______________________________________________
Sunset Plaza, Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles, CA — setting for Part 2 of Chapter 1
Allison Virginia Arden 