All That Lives Must Die (40 page)

His lips went numb. Then his face.

Jezebel stepped out of his reach. She took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood—his blood—off her perfect, smiling lips.

“Ghhahh . . . ,” was all he managed.

She watched him, her features cold and calculating.

Eliot tried to grab her and demand to know what she’d done, but he couldn’t raise his arms. His legs didn’t respond, either. He crumpled to the carpet.

Only when he lay immobile and helpless, did she finally approach. “I had to,” she said with a tremulous whisper.

He never heard the rest of her words, because the darkness swallowed him.

________

Eliot’s face throbbed as if he’d gone a few rounds sparring with Robert . . . leading with his nose instead of his fists.

His heart fluttered, and his pulse pounded rhythmically through his fingertips.

No, it wasn’t his pulse. His hands rested on the floor, feeling the
clack clack clack
of the train beneath him.

The
moving
train.

There was a handkerchief stuffed into his hand. It was white linen embroidered with a single lacy rose that bristled with a dozen thorns. Impressed upon the field of white were a pair of bloody lips. Jezebel’s lips. His blood.

He remembered.

Her kiss had poisoned him.

He got to his feet, wobbled, and slumped next to a window. The train was definitely moving—the
Poe Express
chugged through fields of red opium poppies as battles raged alongside and fires licked the sky.

No!

Eliot pulled himself from the lounge to the wet bar, staggering, and then to the back door of the rail car, pushing his way through and almost tumbling off the rear platform.

The effort had been almost too much. He slumped to the floor, his heart in his throat, almost passing out again.

But not before he saw her.

Growing smaller as the train accelerated, standing on the edge of the Great Glass Station House, watching him go, her chin tilted up in defiance and pride was Jezebel.

. . . tears spilling down her cheeks.

               46               

CONCLUSION MOST DIRE

Audrey wondered what it was about the male psyche that made them want to build everything so big.

She sat in the “intimate” living room of Aaron’s log cabin. The rafters were mammoth tree trunks that soared three stories. The sun filtered in through tiny square windows, making a mosaic of the twilight. Candelabras made of antlers hung there as well, their candles lit in anticipation of a long night ahead.

On a more human scale, down at ground level, three river-rock fireplaces roared with scented cedar logs. Audrey sat by herself, as close to the flames as she dared.

The Norwegian winters were very cold.

This was the house Aaron had hand-built, a log cabin in the remote forest. Part hunting lodge, part palatial fortress, his “man hut,” as Dallas called it.

Audrey glanced outside, through the triple-pane insulated windows. The sunset made the snowdrifts look bloodied.

Aaron sat across the room, host of this Council meeting, which meant that everyone had their own tray of liquor and a platter of sizzling barbecue. He was happy, bottle of vodka in one hand, a skewer of charred meat in the other.

Henry sat between them, uncharacteristically only nursing a martini.

Dallas sat close to Henry, giggling at his endless jokes. She wore a collar-to-tiptoe-length mink and little else. She reminded Audrey of a playful ferret, and she wondered if her sister took
anything
seriously anymore.

Kino stood across the room, away from the fires. His towering figure seemed dwarfed in the great room. His suit was white, and his skin was a shade paler than midnight. Both portents of ill fortune.

Lucia finally breezed in. “Apologies for my lateness,” she said, “but there is a storm front moving in, and Gardermoen Airport in Oslo has all these ridiculous rules.”

“I did offer you a ride,” Henry said with a hint of sarcasm.

Lucia frowned at him and settled into a leather chair, her pink dress flourishing about her. She stretched and curled her long legs under her body. “Where are the others?” she asked, looking about.

“Gilbert and Cornelius send their regrets,” Kino muttered. “We, however, still have a quorum.”

Lucia pondered this . . . just as Audrey had when first told.

Gilbert attended every Council meeting because he’d been Lucia’s loyal supporter. After their recent falling out, though, in both politics and the bedroom, Audrey wondered if his absence today was for personal reasons. On the other hand, Gilbert seemed more like his old self: a fighter and a king. If so, then his absence had meaning beyond some mere lovers’ quarrel.

And Cornelius . . . he had founded the Council in the fifth century, and had missed only three meetings: the night before the coronation of Charlemagne, when Archduke Ferdinand had been assassinated, and the evening of the Trinity nuclear bomb test.

Lucia sipped a flute of honey liquor and nibbled on a carrot stick, her eyes dark with concentration.

“Well,” Lucia said, “let us begin. Thank you for hosting, Aaron.”

Aaron raised his bottle in salute and took a deep draft.

Much to Audrey’s annoyance, Lucia found her tiny silver bell and rang it thrice, its tinkling notes grating on Audrey’s nerves.

“I call this session of the League Council of Elders to order,” Lucia announced. “All come to heed, petition, and be judged.
Narro, Audio, Perceptum
. I move to skip last meeting’s minutes and proceed directly to the Balboa business.”

“Second the motion,” Henry said with a wave of his hand.

They all nodded their assent to skip the minutes.

“Thank you, Henry,” Lucia said. “I believe we were discussing whether to support the current dictator, Balboa, in his civil war or overthrow him and install a democratically elected leader of our choosing.”

“Democracies are so tedious,” Henry said.

“And ultimately just as corrupt,” Kino added.

Aaron set his bottle aside and looked serious. “But I dislike this Balboa. He kills for pleasure. He is a beast that must be put down.”

Kino shrugged to Aaron, the closest thing to assent Audrey had seen from him. Curious. Had the two made overtures to peace? That was a highly unusual move for Aaron.

Dallas shifted in her furs. No longer a member of the Council, she wasn’t allowed to speak without permission. She was here only to report on her efforts with Fiona—a topic Audrey was far more interested in than the fate of one little Central American country.

“We remove Balboa,” Audrey said. “I have already made up my mind.”

Lucia sighed. “We do prefer to debate the issues
before
we vote, darling Sister.”

“My mind is decided,” Audrey repeated.

Lucia threw up her hands in frustration. “Do you understand that beneath the soil of this country, right where Henry has perched his little refinery, is more light crude oil than in the entire Fertile Crescent? That in thirty years, we shall ‘discover’ it and change the socioeconomic balance of the world? Besides filling our coffers, it will give humanity the cushion they will need to ease into a non-petroleum-based infrastructure and prevent a worldwide economic disaster?”

“Not with Balboa in charge,” Audrey said. “He has already sent geologists looking for gold in the region. He will discover the porous rock formations long before we want.”

Lucia’s mouth fell open; then she recovered and asked, “And how did you learn this?”

Audrey spread her hands, her fingers delicately moving as if over the weft and weave of some invisible pattern. “I
looked
, Sister,” she said, a cutting edge of steel to her voice.

Lucia pursed her lips and shot her back an irritated
Of course I knew that
look.

Aaron snorted a laugh. “Motion to vote, then. We kill Balboa.”

Henry sighed. “Ah well, I shall miss my golf games with the man.”

Kino nodded.

“Fine,” Lucia said. “Let the record show, we sanction the death of V. C. Balboa. Aaron, please see to the details, would you?” She smoothed the fabric of her dress. “Next item on the agenda: Eliot and Fiona.”

They all turned toward Dallas and Henry. The sun had set, and in the dimming light, the two were silhouetted by flames.

This is what Audrey had come to discuss—why she’d maneuvered her sister off, and had maneuvered herself onto, the Council.

Her children. Their fates. To defend them, if possible . . . and if not both, perhaps one of them could be saved.

She felt cold inside. Absolute zero cold.

She had to be. She had to think her way through this, for if she felt anything . . . blood would be spilled. And despite her certainty that oceans of blood
would
flow one day . . . that could not be today.

She
prayed
not today. She just needed a little more time.

Dallas broke the crystalline silence that hung in the air. “So I should talk?” she asked, dripping with sarcasm. “Now? Why, I’m not sure I have it all straight in my head.”

“Do not play games with this Council,” Lucia murmured.

Dallas stood and sneered at Lucia. “You’re no fun.”

She practically danced to the center of the room and cleared her throat. Fire illuminated her on all sides. She smiled. “Fiona is with us. More than ‘with.’ I think one day she’ll be
leading
us.”

Dallas turned to Audrey. “Oh, and you should see how she looks! She could be on the cover of
Teen Vogue
.” She laughed. “And the best part, she doesn’t even know it. Beauty and modesty—the rarest of combinations.”

She paused, touching a finger to her lip, thinking over the self-directed irony of her words.

Audrey hissed an exasperated sigh.

“We care nothing for such silliness,” Kino interrupted, folding his arms over his chest. “The only things that matter are her deeds and moral center. Assuming she has one at all.”

Dallas snorted. “You wouldn’t call it silliness if you saw her cleaned up, old prune.”

Tension crackled between Kino and Dallas—which vanished as she flashed her dimples at him. Even the Keeper of the Dead could not stay mad when she fought dirty like that.

“And as far as her moral center is concerned,” Dallas continued, “it is far more intact than any in this room. She protects the weak, fights evil, and has a certain . . . je ne sais quoi, a character that reminds me of the days when Zeus fought for this family, instead of against it.”

Kino stroked his chin. “Interesting . . .”

“We look forward to reading your full report,” Lucia told her.

“Oh, was I supposed to write this down?” Dallas asked, batting her eyes.

Lucia gave her a stony glare, which was wasted because Dallas turned and flounced back to the fireplace.

“Henry?” Lucia said. “What of Eliot? How did he react to the gift of the corporation and his new responsibilities?”

Henry stood and smiled.

Something was wrong. Audrey spied his still-full martini glass. His eyes were narrowed with an uncharacteristic concentration.

“Oh, I wish I could call the lad my own.” He bowed to Audrey. “Such a good boy with a sterling conscience.”

“So he accepted the chairmanship?” Kino asked.

“Well, no, not precisely.”

“Either he is running Del Mundo Pharma Chemical on our behalf,” Lucia said, leaning forward, “or he is not.”

Kino huffed. “Perhaps even this honorary position was too much responsibility for the boy, a sure indication that chaos runs through his blood.”

Audrey made no move. In truth, she wanted to know the outcome of Henry’s experiment as much as the rest of them. Was Eliot more her son . . . or his father’s?

“It most certainly was not ‘too much’ for him,” Henry said. He approached Lucia and handed her a file folder of glossy photographs. “The exercise was to see if Eliot could do something to improve the refinery—to keep it literally from sinking into a pool leaking financial resources and toxic wastes.”

Lucia’s face went blank as she shuffled through the photos. “What am I looking at, Henry?”

Kino came closer and looked as well, then passed the photos to Audrey.

Audrey scrutinized the aerial photographs. The land was green and lush as land was when the world was new. The only features that marred this Eden were a four-lane freeway and a sprawling complex of stainless steel and green plastic buildings, which from ten thousand feet looked like an open flower.

“That
is
Del Mundo Pharma Chemical,” Henry told them.

None of them could do that. Or more accurately, those who might were unwilling to put so much at risk to do so.

Her Eliot had power . . . and apparently no compunctions against unleashing it. What had this cost him?

Audrey ran her fingertips over the picture. This had a hint of the diabolical, though. The Infernals and their land . . . their connections were always closer than any of the others, but that connection had ever remained in their Lower Realms . . . not on Earth.

Was it possible for an Infernal to claim land here? Bring Hell to the living?

Minutes ticked by as they examined the photographs: acre after acre of impenetrable jungle, spotless white beaches, and an improbable five-kilometer spiral of river that disappeared into a sinkhole.

“So . . . ,” Henry continued, “I would say he passed my little challenge.”

“He solved the problem,” Kino whispered, “but the way he did so, it is not
our
way. When it is discovered—”

“It will not be.” Henry waved his concern away as if it were a buzzing mosquito. “Not like that. I made sure the face of the Madonna appeared on a Del Mundo Pharma Chemical stucco wall. The locals have already proclaimed it and the clean land a ‘miracle.’ ”

Audrey read the faces of Kino and Lucia: They were uncertain about Eliot.

“But,” Lucia said, “he did not stay to run things.”

“Too committed to his studies at Paxington, I’m afraid,” Henry offered.

“I like not that both twins are still so firmly entrenched at that school,” Lucia said. “How have they done on their midterms, Aaron?” She turned to him. “Have you heard yet?”

Aaron stood and grinned. “Eliot and Fiona—their entire team—all received As!” He smashed one fist into his open hand for emphasis. “And destroyed Ma’s precious obstacle course in the process. Ha!”

“A-minuses,” Audrey corrected.

“Still,” Aaron said, “they used teamwork to achieve that grade. And that is a trait of
this
family.”

“Could it not have been solely Fiona’s influence?” Lucia asked.

“
Paxington
.” Kino said this word as if it had a sour taste. “I do not trust anything that happens there. How can we, when no League member is permitted on campus?”

“Nor any of the Infernal clans,” Henry countered.

“Technically neither of those statements is true,” Lucia told them. “Any student who passes the entrance and placement exams may go to Paxington. Both Eliot and Fiona are from the League. The Infernal protégée, the Handmaiden to the Mistress of Pain, also attends Paxington.”

“We should have taken that place long ago,” Kino muttered.

“Perhaps you would storm the gates,” Henry said, “as Harlan Dells defends his wall, fights, and dies in his many incarnations as he did in the old days against the giants? Or perhaps you would test pernicious Miss Westin—who can become shadow and mist and summon her hordes from the darkness? Or would you challenge the unbeatable Ma? Even though killing him would mean death for us all?”

Aaron flinched at those names.

Kino scowled.

“We’re getting off topic.” Lucia tapped the pile of Henry’s photographs. “Have we come to a consensus on Eliot’s inclinations?”

Henry shook his head. “I move that we continue to watch Eliot. Personally, I find him quite fascinating.”

“How long can we watch?” Kino took a step closer to Henry. “Until it is too late? Until he is one of them?”

Audrey observed Aaron, but the man did not stir. He simply watched Kino and then Henry, unmoved by this debate that could decide if Eliot lived or died.