The demon narrows their eyes, taking in their surroundings. It is dark, and a full moon shines overhead. They've been summoned to a clearing of some sorts. There are tall, dark green trees on all sides, and the smell of moisture. A rain forest perhaps? That would mean they were in South America. There's not an animal in sight. The only living thing here besides plants is...

    The summoner. 

    It's a girl who can't be older than twenty, her hands soaked with blood as she lies on top of her hand-drawn circles. She lets out loud, ragged pants. Her chest heaves with every breath she takes, and her black curls are in disarray. Her brown eyes are wild. 

    The demon can't help themselves. They laugh mockingly, shadowy form quaking. 

    "A child? A child summoned here?" they ask. 

    "I'm no child," the girl says hoarsely, wincing. "I wouldn't have been able to bring you here if I was." 

    The demon smiles. "You know your stuff. I'll give you that. Still, I'm surprised. I haven't been summoned in years." 

     Their summoner freezes up, looking at them warily. "And why is that?" 

    The demon can read it in the child's eyes. She is afraid now, afraid that the demon she has sacrificed so much for won't even be able to fulfill her wish. Really, though, that's the opposite of her problems. They tell her as much, red eyes bright as they smile with their illusion. 

    "Because no one has been able to bring forth one as powerful as me." 

    The girl stiffens for a different reason this time. "I can still control you," she says firmly.

    They wave a wispy, black claw, rolling their eyes. "Yes, yes. I know. Rules are rules, and all that." 

    "So," they begin, "for what reason have you called upon me?" 

    The girl licks her lips and stares down at the blood on her hands, at the life she has taken for this purpose. She raises her head and says with conviction. "A kingdom. I want you to make me a queen." 

    The demon's red eyes glow, and they let out a laugh, though it's louder this time. "Interesting. I don't think I've gotten that one before." 

    Despite what the rules say, the demon can always deny such a request. After all, the child hasn't even offered anything in exchange yet. They have been rather busy lately. Spreading a disease and bringing about the apocalypse isn't an easy task. The girl couldn't have worse timing, but...

    It'll be fun, and the demon likes fun. They've been meaning to summon another Key anyways. This made-up kingdom would serve as the perfect womb with its controlled environment.

    They outstretch their claw, sharp nails glinting in the moonlight. "All right, girl. I'll give you your kingdom." 

    The girl grabs the claw with her hand, hissing as the demon embeds its nails into her skin. Red eyes dance, and the demon asks, "What's your name?" 

    "Isabel. Isabel Ecil," 

    "And you," Isabel inquires, nodding her head. "What should I call you?" 

    How hilarious. The girl doesn't even know the name of the demon she's brought forth. They chuckle and say, "You may call me whatever you like." 

    Lucille comes for the king once the sun has long risen and the birds have given up on their singing. She is his only servant, and so she is his most loyal by default. It is her sole duty to wake His Majesty, dress him, feed him, entertain him, and bathe him.

    Not too long ago, Lucille was revered as the previous king’s left hand-the sorceress of Aideca who brought entire armies to their knees.

    Now she is a nursemaid.

    The woman doesn’t hate her position. Although Lucille isn’t known for her maternal abilities, she recognizes this as something that must be done, another responsibility to handle. Lucille is the last living member of King Alberto’s cabinet. It’s her duty to make sure that his son is taken care of.

    It helps that the boy is entertaining.

    “Carlos!” Lucille calls, pushing open the doors to His Majesty’s rooms.

    There is no answer.

    Well, she’d expected as much. Carlos isn’t known for being chatty, especially in the morning. Lucille enters his bedroom without knocking and is surprised to find the bed empty. She looks around, eyes narrowing.

    The bedroom is spacious; in the corner of the room, near the bed, is a large dresser with a mirror. Beside the dresser is a door to the king’s private bath. There is a fireplace across from the bed on the other side of the room and a sofa and coffee table covered in books before the fireplace.

    There’s a lump of suspicious blankets on the sofa.

    Lucille sighs and rolls her eyes.

    “Your Majesty,” she calls, placing her hands on the lump to shake it gently. The sorceress gets a groan in response. A head of messy brown hairs pops out from under the blanket, and a pair of dazed, teal-colored eyes glare at Lucille.

    “Sleeping. ‘m tired. Leave me alone,” the king murmurs.

    Lucille raises an eyebrow and glances at the coffee table. “Oh, really? And just what have you been doing that’s made you this tired, hmm? I hope you haven’t been staying up late reading again.”

    “Shut up! Leave me alone!” Carlos slurs his words and his eyes flutter shut.

    Lucille takes a deep breath and puts a smile on her face. She grabs the blankets, bunching them in her fists, before yanking the covers off of Carlos. The king’s body shivers at the sudden cold, and the boy makes a keening sound, blindly grabbing at the air in an attempt to recover his lost warmth.

    “Why’d you do that, Lucy?” Carlos whines.

    Lucille just clicks her tongue and lets the blankets fall from her hands to the floor. “You need to get dressed,” she says.

    Carlos sits up and gives her a sour look. “For what?”

    “For your lessons, of course.”

    The king grumbles and swears under his breath, but he gets up just the same. Carlos really doesn’t understand why Lucille goes through all this trouble for him. Is it because it’s her job? Or is there some sort of affection that the sorceress holds for him? Whatever the reason, Carlos wishes the woman would stop fussing over him all the time.

    Lucille disappears inside his closet for a few seconds, then returns with several garments for Carlos to put on. A white, long-sleeved, button-up shirt, a dark blue vest embroidered with green in what is most likely Aideca’s crest, and brown trousers.

    The king frowns at the sight of them. He’s never been one for wearing stuffy clothes. He’d rather just stay in his pajamas all day. It shouldn’t matter what he wears anyways. It’s not like anybody sees him.

    Carlos pulls his nightgown over his head, throwing it on the sofa. He shivers as the cold air hits his bare skin and rubs his arms consciously.

    “You should get a fire started,” the boy nods to the fireplace. “It’s cold in here.”

    “If that’s what you want,” Lucille shrugs her shoulders and tosses Carlos the white shirt, then moves to the fireplace to start one.

    He catches it with ease and takes a moment to inspect it.

    “It’s a little too big, isn’t it?” Carlos asks. Nevertheless, the boy pulls the shirt on and starts to button it.

    Lucille smiles, but this time it looks a little strained.

    “It was your father’s,” the sorceress snaps her fingers and the logs in the fireplace instantly combust.

    Carlos freezes, hands stilling and breath catching in his throat. It takes a moment before he regains his composure.

    “Huh,” is all he says, but his fingers shake all the same.

    Carlos finishes getting dressed, and once Lucille sees that he’s done, she pulls him closer to straighten out his vest. “C’mon,” she laughs, tousling his hair. “Let’s fix that birdnest of yours.”

    Lucille sits him at the dresser, in front of the mirror, and Carlos looks at himself. He sees his blue-green eyes, the signature color of his kingdom, and his brown hair. He sees his tan skin that grows as pale as it can the more time he spends indoors.

    That’s when Carlos first decides to bring it up.

    “I want to go outside,” Carlos says. His attendant’s hands still in his hair, tangling in the brown locks, and Carlos catches sight of Lucille’s displeasure in the mirror.

    Her lips twist downward. “Why would you want to do that?”

    “It seems like it’d be fun,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. Carlos turns his head from the mirror to look at the only window in his bedroom. It’s normal at first glance, but in place of a regular window pane, there are steel bars.

    Adviser Garcia said they’re there to keep intruders out, to keep Carlos safe. But they’re not. All they really do is keep Carlos from leaving.

    Which doesn’t make much sense because Carlos lives in the tallest tower of the castle. He’ll die if he jumps out the window. It’s not even a proper escape route, so why bother? Garcia seemed adamant, though, and Carlos eventually nodded his consent and let it go.

    There are times you don’t push Garcia. That was one of those times.

    It would be nice to go outside, Carlos thinks. He hasn’t been out in forever, not since…

    The accident.

    Carlos frowns, pushing the memory away and continuing. “Anyways, I want to go. It’s been a few years, and if I went with some guards-”

    “You can’t,” Lucille interrupts. Her eyes are blank now, and she shakes her head. “Garcia would never let you. It’s too dangerous.”

    Carlos narrows his eyes and looks at Lucille’s reflection as she resumes her activities, trying to tame his messy hair. He waits a moment before saying, “But I want to.”

    Lucille’s hands tighten in his hair. Carlos winces at the pain that bursts onto his scalp, hissing, and Lucille lets go immediately. Her hands remain tensed in mid-air, and she only looks a little bit sorry.

    “Forgive me,” she murmurs.

    Carlos blinks. He glances down to his hands. “It’s you, so it’s fine,” he explains, even though Lucille already knows. All of this is just a formality.

    From their morning routine to Carlos’s lessons, everything’s a pretense, a farce that they create. It doesn’t matter how Carlos looks for the day, because no one will be seeing him. It doesn’t matter if Carlos has a good education or not, because he’ll never have the opportunity to use it.

    It’s sickening, and Carlos has grown tired of being sick.

    “Please don’t say anything about the outside to Garcia,” Lucille pleads, bringing her hands to rest at her sides. She clenches the sides of her skirt. “You’ll be punished if you do.”

    Carlos relaxes in his chair, tilting his head back. He closes his eyes. “Yeah, I know,” he sighs, “but thanks for the warning.”

    Lucille continues on smoothing out the tangles in Carlos’s hair, and once she is done, she curtsies low. “I’ll be waiting for you in the study,” she turns to leave.

    “There’s no need, Lucille. I won’t be going to my lessons today,” Carlos tells her, digging his fingernails into his thighs.

    Lucille's entire body tenses, shoulders rising and hands clenching. She turns back stiffly to give Carlos a heated look. “What do you mean by that?”

    Carlos takes one last look at himself in the mirror, before he spins to face Lucille. She’s shocked, Carlos can tell, and maybe a little angry, too.

    “I don’t want to go, so why should I? It takes too much effort. Besides, I don’t put anything I learn to good use.”

    Lucille narrows her eyes and moves forward. They are dark with an emotion that Carlos can’t name. Lucille is close enough that the red in her eyes stands out, but if one wasn’t paying enough attention, she’s far enough away that they still pass for brown.

    When Carlos was introduced to Lucille, four years old and hiding behind his mother’s skirt,  he’d realized there was something inhuman about the woman. It was all in her eyes. She wore some sort of brown transparent film-contacts, was it?-to conceal the bright crimson irises. Even still, the dark color bled through when one was close enough. They still do, it seems.

    Despite how inhuman Lucille may be, she is the closest thing to a mother figure that Carlos will ever have again.

    The sorceress takes a deep breath. Her charge is both a blessing and a curse. If it weren’t for Adviser Garcia’s threats, she is sure that Carlos’s stubbornness would know no bounds. He is such a bull-headed teenager, much like his mother was in her youth.

    Thinking of the previous queen is sobering. No matter, Lucille tells herself. Where I have failed before, I will succeed now.

    “Garcia will have a few choice words to say about this,” Lucille reminds the boy gently. “I can save you from only so much of his wrath.”

    Carlos rolls his eyes and mutters, “I’m not scared of him.”

    “Then you are a fool, Carlos,” Lucille says. “Garcia is the one who stands before you and a public execution.”

    “He can’t execute me! I’m the king!” Carlos responds hotly. Despite what he says, there is a twitch in his gut. The king understands that he is wrong. He just doesn’t want to think about dying, so he denies that it’s possible.

    “In name alone.”

    Carlos frowns at that, at the words he recognizes as truth, and asks, “Why am I even here, Lucille?”

    Lucille doesn’t say a word. She keeps her silence and with it, she keeps the truth from Carlos, hoping not to hurt him.

    “Whatever,” Carlos sighs. He stretches his arms over his head, then takes off his vest, throwing it onto the floor, and unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt. “If you’re not going to tell me something I don’t already know, you can leave.”

    “And what will you do all day if you’re not going to your lessons?” Lucille clicks her tongue, crossing her arms over her chest.

    Carlos smiles, untucking his shirt, and gives an exaggerated yawn. “I think I’ll just go back to bed,” he rubs at his eyes and goes to do just that. He climbs on top of his king-sized bed and starts to pull the covers over his head.

    “Garcia won’t be pleased.”

    “What’s he going to do? Lock me in my palace?” Carlos asks. His muffled voice takes on a note of exaggerated surprise. “Oh, wait.”

    He can imagine Lucille shaking her head now, and the king hears her flats shuffle across the floor. She’s probably coming closer so she can yank Carlos out of bed and drag him to his less-

    Something soft presses down on Carlos’s head. He can feel its warmth through the blankets. It’s soothing and familiar.

   “Sleep well, Your Majesty,” Lucille whispers, patting his head.

    Carlos finds his eyes drifting shut as he leans into Lucille’s touch. He should be suspicious of how quick the woman was to give in to his selfish request, but it’s Lucille. She would never do something if she thought it would put him at risk.

    That’s right. Sleep. Everything goes away when you sleep, a voice croons.

👑

    Carlos was nine when it happened.

    It was the middle of the night, and his mother was shaking him awake. “Quick, baby,” she hissed. “We have to hurry."

    “Mama?” Carlos asked, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

    His mother was dressed in one of her sundresses, black curls hanging limply on her shoulders. There was a splatter of something dark on Mama’s dress and face. It took Carlos a moment to realize that it was blood. The young boy made a noise of distress.

    Mama pressed a finger to her lips, and Carlos took a deep breath. His chest felt tight all of a sudden, and even though he wanted to cry, Carlos knew he just had to listen to his mother and everything would be alright.

    His mother held out her hand. Despite the blood coating it, Carlos grasped it without hesitation.

    Mama dragged him from his room and down the hall, in the direction of his father’s study. Carlos’s locket bounced against his chest, jingling as he blindly followed, trying to keep up as the loud screeches and thuds sounded behind them.

    There were fists pounding on the doors to their family’s private rooms, people demanding to be let in, but Mama remained composed. Her eyes were fixed on the entrance to Daddy’s study, and once they were close enough, she threw her hand forward. Magic crackled from her hand and leaped towards the door. It covered the door, unlocking it with a click, and then fizzled out.

    “Hurry,” his mother urged. She slammed her body into the door to open it, and once Carlos entered the study after her, she let go of his hand to slam it shut.

    Carlos wrinkled his nose and wiped the blood off on his pajamas. Unlike most other little boys, he had never liked getting dirty. Mama was leaning against the door, taking deep breaths. Her black hair was like a curtain as it hid her face from view.

    “Mama? What’s going on?” Carlos asked, voice quiet. He could already tell that bad guys were coming to get them. The prince just didn’t know why this was happening.

    His mother stiffened at his words, then relaxed. She lifted her head and fixed Carlos with a smile. “I was thinking we could play a game of hide-and-seek.”

    Even though Mama was smiling, lips taut as they stretched from side to side, Carlos saw that she was trembling and that her eyes didn’t sparkle with joy, but tears.

    Carlos reached forward to hug Mama’s waist tightly. “Don’t wanna,” he pouted. “I need to stay here with you and keep you safe.”

    His mother let out a soft laugh. She crouched down so she was eye-level with Carlos and put her hands on his shoulders. “Oh, baby. I guess it was stupid of me to try and keep it from you. You’re a smart boy. You already know what’s going on.”

    Carlos nodded, narrowing his eyes. “There’s bad people outside. They want to get inside to hurt us, right?”

    “That’s right. My baby boy’s so smart,” Mama praised, bringing Carlos close to embrace him. “Listen, baby. Help is coming, ok? Aunt Lucy and the others should be here soon. They’ll save us from the bad guys. We just have to wait until then.”

    Mama’s words relaxed Carlos, and the prince found himself sagging in relief.

    He nuzzled closer to his mother, breathing in the sweet smell of bread that stuck to her skin. It was Saturday, wasn’t it? Baking Day then. Mama always got up early to make rolls, cakes and other baked goods. She’d probably been in the middle of that when this happened. Maybe after all this was over, she’d make something special for him and Daddy

    “Where’s Daddy?” Carlos asked suddenly, pulling away from his mother. He felt ashamed that he hadn’t voiced concern for his father earlier. It was just that Daddy was so strong, so tough...he was definitely okay. In fact, he was probably fighting the bad guys right now, if the noises outside were to be believed.

    But Mama froze at the mention of Daddy, eyes going dark for a moment, like she was remembering something horrible. She clenched her bloody hands into fists and gave another fake smile. “We’ll talk about it after all of this is over,” was all she said.

    Carlos felt his tummy clench like he was sick and opened his mouth to protest, but a sudden, loud crash stopped him. The voices outside grew louder and closer.

    Mama’s eyes grew wide, flicking to the door and then back to Carlos.    

    “Carlos, listen to me.” There was a note of urgency in her voice, more deadly than before, and she grabbed Carlos’s hands, cupping them in her own. “You have to hide now. Like the hide-and-seek I was talking about before. You have to.”

    Carlos shivered and clasped her hands like a lifeline. He was silent as Mama steered him behind Daddy’s desk, and then tucked him in the little space underneath it, folding his legs underneath him and positioning his arms over his knees.

    “Be silent. Don’t say a word. No matter what happens. No matter what may be heard. You will not leave this place.”

    “If the bad men try to get you,” Mama continued, eyes fierce as she tapped Carlos’s locket with her finger, “then just do what we practiced earlier this week, ok?”

    The words were uttered with desperation, and Carlos rested his chin on his arms as Mama gave him one last pained smile, then disappeared from view. The darkness of the cubbyhole that overshadowed him seemed to close in on all sides, sweeping him up with a sudden chill.

    There were shouts of excitement growing near, along with the thumping of boots. Carlos’s teeth chattered. His fingers dug into his pajamas, twisting the blue material anxiously.

    Mama said it would be okay, though, right? So it would be. It had to be. Mama didn’t tell lies.

    So what was this feeling in Carlos’s chest, this shard of doubt that stabbed his heart?

    The voices died off, as did the footsteps. Maybe they’d given up and gone away. Everything was quiet, and then-

    BANG. BANG. BANG.

    Carlos jolted at the sound of something large and heavy knocking on the door. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the terrifying sound.

    BANG. BANG.

    His mother spoke to him in between thuds.

    “Remember, Carlos."

    BANG.

    The door started to creak in protest, hinges shaking as the assault continued.

    “You are an Ecil.”

    BANG. BANG.

    “And you are loved.”

    With one final thud, Carlos heard the snapping of wood as the door gave way and felt the force of something hit the desk. The prince buried his face in his knees to muffle his soft whimpers. He heard the joyful exclamations from the bad people as they made their way inside his father’s study.

    “Ah, look! Ole Albert’s whore thought she could get away,” a deep voice jeered. It was followed by several chuckles.

    His mother’s voice was filled with panic, a stark contrast to the previous cool it’d contained. “You? Why are you-?”

    Mama let out a choked gasp as she came to some horrible realization. “Why would you betray me?”

    “Shut her up, would you?” someone complained. “Her voice is getting on my nerves.”

    “Psh. Like you have any nerves,” another voice laughed.
    There was the sudden sound of someone coughing viciously, like they were being strangled. Carlos whimpered at the sound. He understood it was most likely his mother.

    “Let her go,” a new, soft voice commanded. It wasn’t like the others; it was graceful and gentle. This voice was familiar, but Carlos’s mind, overwhelmed by the situation, couldn’t connect the dots.

    There was a thud as his mother was released, falling to the ground, and the woman gasped for air, coughing.

    “Sorry, Isabel,” the same person apologized, their tone apathetic, “but you’re not needed anymore.”

    “The contract...you...y-you can’t terminate it,” Mama protested hoarsely. The woman grunted in pain as she was kicked, and Carlos’s mother landed before him.

    She didn’t look good at all. There were red marks around her neck, and Mama was on the verge of tears, clutching her injured stomach. She didn’t glance over at Carlos, perhaps afraid that if she did, she would give him away.

    “Oh, Izzy,” the gentle voice said patronizingly, “I can do whatever I want.”

    A pale hand grabbed at his mother’s black locks, pulling the woman up by her hair. Carlos could see the shadow of the person leaning in closer, letting go of his mother’s hair to pull an arm around her, embracing her as they most likely whispered something to Mama. And then-

    One of those pale hands...went through his mother’s chest...and came back out...on the other side.

    Carlos merely blinked at the spray of red that came his way, and then pressed a hand to his face at the sudden wetness there. He stared at the red that stained his trembling hand.

    “Ah,” he said.

    Mama was choking, blood bubbling passed her lips, and her warm brown eyes were losing their light. The woman clawed at her killer’s hands as she was slowly eased down to the ground, with the same gentleness that a mother would use to place her baby in its crib.

    Carlos saw his mother’s corpse, saw her dead eyes and the cavity in her chest where her heart should have been. The little boy was gripped with fear. Mama was dead, and he would be next. Carlos shivered and clutched at his locket, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see Mama lying there, bloody and broken.

    He didn’t want to be here. He needed to leave, but how could he? Carlos was trapped under the desk, forced to wait for the moment that the bad men would either leave or find him.

    Wait. No, that wasn’t right. Carlos tightened his hold on the locket.

    The locket had been a gift for his birthday a few weeks ago. It was circular and silver, decorated with the stars and hourglass of Aideca’s crest. Daddy had given it Carlos and said that as long as Carlos wore it, Carlos’s heart and the hearts of the people would beat together in a beautiful harmony.

    Then Mama had taught Carlos magic, a special magic to use with the locket when he was in danger or wanted to escape from somewhere.

    Carlos gripped the locket so tight, tight enough that he cut his fingers on the rough trimming. He whimpered at the pain, and when he did, he saw the shadow of his mother’s killer pause.

    Slowly, a pale hand came under the desk, reaching for Carlos, but before it could grab him, the young prince hurriedly pressed his locket to his lips and muttered, “Acedia.”

    And then he was gone.

👑

“I need to see him!” Garcia’s voice barks.

    Carlos’s eyes fly open and he sits up in time to see Adviser Garcia throw open the doors to his bedroom. The man is steaming mad as he stomps inside, his small moustache twitching in disgust. Lucille follows behind him. She looks exhausted.

    Garcia isn’t a very tall man, but he isn’t short either. With his black hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin, the adviser is the textbook example of the average Aidecan. Lucille, on the other hand, is the complete opposite with her honey curls and porcelain complexion. She’d mentioned once that she came from a country far away, over the wall that surrounded Aideca and across the sea.

    The sorceress attempts to calm Garcia by placing a hand on his shoulder. “Now, look. You’ve scared the poor boy, Garcia.”

    Garcia shrugs her off, fixing Carlos with a glare. “Up, boy! We need to talk.”

    Carlos flinches but complies, shoving his blankets away and getting out of bed. He scoots his feet into his green slippers and rubs his eyes. The king stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, then says, shrugging his shoulders, “You needed something?”

    Garcia’s face reddens. “Yes,” he says carefully. “I see that you didn’t go to your lessons today. May I ask why?”

    “I didn’t want to,” Carlos replies.

    “Lazy boy!” the adviser snaps. “I should have Basio take his cane to you!”

    “Don’t be so hasty, my lord,” Lucille soothes. “He’s a symbol, remember? What would the servants think if they heard of His Highness getting struck by a crotchety old man?”

    “I know that,” Garcia grumbles, looking away from her. “That doesn’t mean I can’t entertain the thought.”

    “You’d do best not to,” the sorceress reminds him sharply, eyes darkening. “Many men fall prey to the Devil once such thoughts enter their minds.”

    Garcia bristles, puffing up like a distressed bird, and then deflates, letting out a cough. He’s seemed to lost all of his fire. “You need to go to your lessons, Carlos,” he says finally. “We can’t have rumors spreading if you don’t.”

    “All right,” Carlos agrees.

    His adviser is taken aback. “Just like that?” he sputters, squinting. “You’re not usually this agreeable.”

    “I’m not in the mood to argue with you, sir,” Carlos explains. And he isn’t. His argument’s with Garcia always end one way; Garcia wins.

    “Well, fine. That’s one thing settled,” Garcia crosses his arms over his chest, looking pleased with himself.

    “Garcia,” Lucille clears her throat. “The audience?”

    “Right, right!” Garcia waves her away. “There’s a group of soldiers, you see-worrisome lot, always sticking their noses where they don’t belong-that want an audience with you.”

    “An audience?” Carlos asks dully. “Why do they want an audience with me?”

    “The common people aren’t aware of how little power you have. We need to keep it that way. And if making an appearance with a few soldiers and granting or denying them a few requests does that, then so be it,” Garcia continues.

    “And what do I get out of this?” Carlos raises an eyebrow, frowning.
    “Er, the chance to play king?” Garcia offers weakly.

    “No, thanks,” Carlos shakes his head. “That kind of thing doesn’t excite me. It seems pretty boring.”

    "What do you want, then?” Lucille asks. She gives Carlos a look. “I’m sure that if it is...within Garcia’s power, then he’ll grant you a wish. A reward for your good behaviour at the audience.”

    “Yes, yes!” Garcia readily agrees, clapping his hands together. “Granted, you have to be good, okay? Then I’ll give you something. A new toy, a pre-released book. Name it, and it’ll be yours.”

    Carlos looks to the floor. He’ll be forced to go to the audience no matter what, but thanks to Lucille’s intervention, he’ll even get something out of it. It’s not a bad deal.

“Ok,” he says.