Page 13 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows
Despite missing some pointers, I’m still part of this world. Humans see me as one of them, and I couldn’t be happier. Long after I fold the receipt and tuck it back into my pocket, the question lingers.
My restless night gives me pause. I have nightmares about disasters caused by gods meddling with humans.
In the morning, I reconsider. I won’t reach out. Instead, I’ll wander Manhattan for fun. I’ll check on Nathan and Rose on occasion. I’ll let the city get used to me again. I’ll take things one step at a time.
Tribeca is a strange pocket of the city—quieter than midtown, with cobblestone streets threading past old warehouses and sleek cafés. It’s where old bones meet new skin, industrial history pressed against glossy modernity. Walking its streets feels like straddling two timelines.
Stalking Nathan’s friend for over a week leads me to the conclusion that Rose’s witchcraft isn’t an actual threat... yet. Still, my connection to Nathan allows me to witness Rose pulling some serious shit—somewhat harmless—that I’m not keen on dwelling on. I make a mental note to report her abilities to Hecate, my best friend, who knows her fair share on the subject. For now, my job is to ensure that her progress doesn't lean towards black magic. Nathan will be my ally in monitoring her.
That’s how I find myself facing Nathan in a coffee shop that serves $8 lattes and smells of burnt espresso and leather-boundjournals. Dressed in all-black attire, my unlikely human friend is fully back to life. Talking animatedly about his oddball friend, his hands fly through the air.
“Damn, Rose Perry,” he grumbles, his tone half-scared and half-amazed. All in all, the reckless witch learned her lesson thanks to his not-so-tender-loving care. He swears that after the bathroom incident and a few that followed, she now understands the error of her ways. Time will tell… I’ll give updates to my father, but I doubt he’ll view it as a closed case.
As for Nathan, he’s alive in a way that he wasn’t before. All of this is enough to soothe the soul I don’t possess. I can’t deny that he looks slightly different from when we first met: He now bears a constant reminder of his unexpected trip to the Underworld. Stepping foot in a forbidden zone altered his eye color. It’s much lighter, almost golden, with darker circles around his irises, as if he were wearing colored contacts.
I don’t comment on it, nor do I bring up how his friends reacted to the change. I don’t ask if he saw me spying on him and his friends. I don’t interrupt, watching how people—drawn to his charisma—move around him. Content with the absence of any immediate threat, I let him ramble, a smile tugging at my lips.
I’m reassured, at least for now. Off to the next part of this journey.
Shadow traveling is pretty convenient and enables me to stay under the radar. No last name. No fake ID. No complications. And for this particular trip, it wouldn’t be worth the hassle. So, given my connection to the realm of the dead, stepping through cracks in reality is easier for us. That’s also how Father moves unseen.
By the time I'd fled West a few weeks later, Manhattan had worn its way under my skin again. Its constant noise. Its exuberant architecture. Its claustrophobic expansiveness. But I know when to leave. Things are under control in Manhattan, and they jumpstarted Nathan’s epiphany, leading him to the road to recovery from his addiction and zero intention of joining the dead until his day comes.
The Oregon hotel I settle into was my refuge decades ago. I’ve missed it as much as I’ve missed the lovely owner, Layla and her wife, Sheena.
This place—with its 1920s vibes, polished floors, and familiar faces—has been my human home for as long as I can remember. Even princes need somewhere to land somewhat incognito sometimes, especially those who are eager to escape an overbearing immortal father who happens to rule the Underworld.
The Renversé Hotel is a place where time slows down and everything feels weathered, rather than worn out. The lobby smells faintly of sandalwood and old books, and the marble floors have softened edges, smoothed by decades of footfalls.
The infamous fountain sits proudly in the plaza. Nowadays, it leads to an adjoining coffee place. It’s cozy, has a great java selection, and their homemade pastries are delicious. Who knew I had such a sweet tooth? This can only be a good omen.
Right?
Chapter Six
HIGHWAY TO HELL
Théo
Anticipation makes my blood boil. I doubt I’ll find full rest tonight.
I shut my eyes and exhale. A slow smile spreads across my face as my shoulders loosen. The day has paid off.
The Renversé Hotel hallway envelops me in stillness as I eye the elevator, wondering how long their fancy machine plans to grace the ground floor with its presence.
I have all the time in the world, so it doesn’t matter. Still, the wait makes my throat dry.
As a loner—which suits my line of work—I take peace when I can get it. After the Metropolitan Museum, my mind raced—mentally checking what was left to review, strategizing my next move, and already building tonight’s agenda to wind down.
I walked back along the boardwalk, hoping the ocean air might steady me. The usual buzz was gone, the crowds thinned. That shift threw me off—in the best way.
Thank God, the storm broke long enough for me to catch the sunset over the water.
I can’t stand the rain. Simon, the amiable receptionist, was wrong. The crappy weather hasn’t let up since I set foot in Princedelphia a few days ago. No wonder I’ve barely left the hotel—constantly refining my well-oiled plans, ordering room service, and using the hotel facilities rather than exploring the city.
It’s a good thing I had marked visiting the museum on my calendar, or I might’ve pushed it off again. I got dressed for my afternoon outing—dressed down, I mean.
Dark jeans, light grey sweater, and worn-out combat boots. Blending in like any other tourist.
