All That Lives Must Die (13 page)

“Tell him, Henry,” Aaron said. “The boy deserves a piece of the truth.”

“Hmmmm.” Mr. Mimes smiled. “Let me ask you one more thing, Robert. Forget Fiona for a moment. What do you think of Paxington?”

Robert snorted. “It’s okay if you like a bunch of stuck-up rich kids and wannabe sorcerers. And if you like book dust and being bored to death in some musty lecture hall. Sure, it’s
great
.”

“And gym class?” Aaron asked him.

“Cakewalk. I could take those guys without even trying. But like I said, I’m just glad I had to be there only for the one day.”

Aaron nodded to Mr. Mimes.

“Robert, my dear boy, I am pleased to tell you that your next assignment
is
Paxington.” Mr. Mimes gestured grandly about the half-finished loft. “And this is now yours, along with a generous allowance.”

“I don’t get it,” Robert said. “You want me to set up surveillance on the place? Telephoto lenses and stuff like that?”

Mr. Mimes’s ever-present smile faded. “I’m afraid not. This will undoubtedly be your hardest assignment. You’re going to go to Paxington. Really go. No more cheating. Musty books, boring lectures, gym class—all of it. You must go for the entire year, Robert. And you must pass.”

15
. Soma is a ritual drink associated with divinity among early Vedic and Persian cultures, thought to have been prepared from an (as yet) unknown rare mountain plant. Soma is analogous to the mythological Greek ambrosia—what the gods drank and what made them deities (which also appears to have addictive properties). While mortals have struggled for millennia to find the correct plant(s) to brew Soma, and others, most notably the alchemists of the Ancient China and Middle Age Europe, have tried to invent the famed Elixir of Life, none have succeeded. It remains an open question if the correct formula can be discovered—or if it
has been
discovered but does not have the desired effect on mortals.
Gods of the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 4, Core Myths (Part 1).
Zypheron Press Ltd., Eighth Edition.

               13               

JUST THE START

Eliot walked fast. The sun had already sunk behind the eucalyptus trees in Presidio Park, and the last thing he wanted was a moonlit walk with Fiona through a graveyard.

He just wanted to get home and have this day end.

“You think . . . ,” Eliot started. He had a hard time saying it: it was so stupid. “You think that was really Hell?”

“Yes,” Fiona replied. “It felt like the Valley of the New Year. Like a dream. But different from a dream, because you felt more awake there.”

Eliot nodded.

If their father was Lucifer, he had come from someplace, right? But Hell?

“So there must be a Heaven, too, right?”

Fiona ignored him as she rummaged through her book bag.

Maybe it didn’t matter if there was a Heaven or Hell, as Mr. Welmann had said . . . just that there was something else out there, a greater destiny waiting for him.

Or maybe he should stay focused on this world’s problems.

Like his hand.

Eliot flexed his fingers. They didn’t hurt anymore, but earlier, when he played “Julie’s Song” to stop those birds and the people at the fence, the pain had flared so bad, he had to stop. It felt like fire, burning him to the bone. All he’d been able to do for a full minute after that was hold his arm to his chest and let the agony pulse away.

Earlier this summer, a snapped violin string had cut his finger and it became infected.

Eliot, however, no longer thought this was a simple bacteriological infection. There was a connection between the pain and his music. Or maybe the connection was to Lady Dawn. Sometimes when he touched the violin, the infection in his hand felt normal, sometimes even better than normal . . . but sometimes when he played her, it hurt more, too.

Her? Why did people always refer to musical instruments with gender? And why female?

Lady Dawn. This was obviously a girl’s name . . . which made sense because he’d always had trouble with girls.

The violin was safely tucked in his backpack, and Eliot was in no hurry to take her out and experiment with what made him hurt and what didn’t.

“This is ridiculous,” Fiona said. She’d retrieved their Paxington required reading list. She shook the pages at Eliot. “Do you know how long it’s going to take us to get through all these?”

Eliot glanced at list. There had to be a hundred books, and only two—the King James Bible and
Bulfinch’s Mythology
—did he recognize from the references they’d seen in other literature.

The rest were probably things Audrey would never have let into their house because of Rule 55, the “nothing made up” rule, which covered books on mythology, legends, and fairy tales.

Despite this rule, however, he and Fiona
had
learned things—from snippets of overheard conversations, people on the radio, and bumper stickers. Things like,
HAVE FAITH IN GOD, THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT, SINNERS AND DEMOCRATS BURN IN HELL, AND WALK GENTLY ON MOTHER EARTH
.

“It’s like her entire plan to keep us ‘safe’ totally backfired,” Fiona said as if she were reading his mind.

“That’s why she’s sending us to Paxington,” Eliot said. “To fill in the blanks.”

“More like
we
get to make up for
her
mistakes.”

They turned the corner. The entrance to Paxington should have been just down the street, but he couldn’t see it yet—not that Eliot had any desire to go back to school today. He just wanted to rest after this too-long, dangerous, and completely weird day. Still, it was fascinating that the entire campus was close: tucked in some in-between place in the middle of San Francisco.

A black cat sat in a doorway, staring at them. When Eliot met its amber gaze, the cat looked away, preened itself, then left, tail flicking in irritation.

“Maybe,” Eliot said, “it doesn’t matter anymore who, if anyone, is to blame. What’s the point? We’ve got homework to do tonight. We should concentrate on that.”

“It should matter,” Fiona said. “Why are you always so eager to please her?”

“Me? You’re the prenatal
Vombatus ursinus
.”
16

Fiona pursed her lips and slowed. She knew exactly what he had meant—that she was tied to Audrey like some suckling baby. Not adult enough to make her own decisions.

“At least,” she said. “I’m big enough to come out of the pouch.”

Eliot halted in his tracks. That wasn’t playing fair. Vocabulary insult was about clever etymologies and double entendres, not simple putdowns like that.

And besides, he was only an inch or two shorter than she.

Eliot didn’t feel like playing vocabulary insult. He walked ahead of her.

Fiona trotted up to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Whatever,” he said.

Eliot glanced across the street, still not seeing Paxington where it should be—then in a flash, the alley aligned and tunneled to fill his vision. Eliot got a glimpse of the café and older students chatting at tables under a blue canopy decorated with a river of glowing stars, sipping coffee, and reading books or scrolls. Beyond this he saw the gate. Mr. Harlan Dells was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, smirking as if he had eavesdropped on him and Fiona.

Streetlights flickered on, and Eliot blinked.

The slice of sideways reality extending into Paxington vanished.

Seeing his new school reminded Eliot there were plenty of other things to worry about besides a reading assignment. That would be the easy part.

“What are we going to do about gym class?” he said. “It looks like a person could get seriously hurt.”

Fiona marched alongside him awhile before she answered. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch your back.”

“So you think
I’m
going to need watching? You think I’m helpless?”

“No.” She glanced at him, and then at his backpack. “Far from it.”

There was a tentative quality to her voice that Eliot had heard only rarely . . . as if she was scared.

Eliot quickened his pace. He didn’t want to think about why his own sister would feel that way about him. It wasn’t like
he
had conjured a fog filled with the dead or made the sun rise early on command. That had been the music, out of control—not him.

“I just meant that we’re a team,” Fiona said. “And people on a team watch out for each other. That’s all.”

They rounded a corner, turning onto their street. Even though it was still a block away, Eliot spied the highest window in their house. A candle burned there, a beacon for them. Cee must have lit it.

“I don’t think Jeremy or Sarah Covington are concerned about being team players,” he said.

“At least they know how things work at Paxington,” Fiona replied. “We can learn from them. I’m more worried about that Jezebel.”

The Infernal. The Julie Marks look-alike.

“You’ve got that stupid look on your face,” Fiona said, “like you think she’s going to date you.” She shook her head. “Listen, she’s dangerous. We just walked back from the brink of Hell—that’s where people like that come from. She’s evil. Stay away from her, okay?”

Eliot stopped and crossed his arms. “We’re part Infernal, too. Does that mean we’re evil?”

“We’re Immortals,” Fiona told him. “The League said so.”

“Then why did Kino make such a big deal about telling us we might have a choice? Why drive us right to the Gates of Perdition and ditch us? He was obviously trying to scare us into choosing his side.”

Fiona considered this.

“Maybe . . . ,” she said, and she started walking again.

“Don’t worry about Jezebel,” Eliot told her. “It’s not like she’s even noticed me.”

“True,” Fiona said with a hint of sarcasm.

She didn’t have to agree so easily. “So, what’s the deal with you and Robert?” Eliot shot back.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Sure it is. He’s on our team now, isn’t he? I thought you two were, I don’t know, closer.”

Fiona sighed. “We were. But now I don’t know what to think. He got into trouble because of us before. Because of me. If he gets noticed by the League . . . you know what they’d do to him.”

They turned off the sidewalk and mounted the stairs of their porch.

Cee opened the door and beckoned them inside. “Come in, my darlings! Congratulations! We ordered Chinese to celebrate your first day, and we wouldn’t want it to get cold.” She trembled with excitement. “I’m so glad you passed all your tests.”

Eliot glanced at Fiona, sharing a quizzical look. Cee already knew how they did on their tests?

Of course they knew. Audrey would have called Miss Westin.

They followed her inside, and Eliot detected the savory scents of Mongolian beef, five-star golden shrimp, and pot stickers.

He and Fiona dropped their bags and raced upstairs.

On the dining table were white cardboard boxes overflowing with noodles and rice, steaming vegetables and dumplings. Eliot and Fiona grabbed plates and piled the food high.

Eliot devoured one entire plateful, went back for seconds, and then finally looked up.

Cee watched him and his sister with rapt attention. “Tell me everything,” she said.

Eliot wanted to tell her about the exams, how Paxington was hidden in plain sight, the duel they saw, and the students he’d met. It was all so different—scary and wonderful . . . mostly scary.

But what to tell her about Uncle Kino, their drive to Hell, getting ditched, and then Mr. Welmann’s—the dead Mr. Welmann’s—timely rescue?

Cee knew about school already. She might even know about Uncle Kino.

But the stuff Mr. Welmann had told them about what happened to the dead . . . that somehow seemed like a secret.

He glanced at Fiona.

She’d had eaten only a few morsels off her plate and was in the process of pushing the rest around. She looked up. She narrowed her eyes slightly to let him know they had better keep that information to themselves . . . at least until they had a chance to figure it out.

“It was great,” Eliot told Cee. “But we’re beat and we have tons to read tonight.”

“There’s this list of books,” Fiona chimed in. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

“You were late,” Cee said. “We weren’t sure what happened to you.”

Eliot felt like he’d been stuck with a pin, and he sat up straight.

Cecilia’s words were wrong. On one level, they were just normal words like he’d heard a bazillion times before from her . . . but there was also an undertone: reflected mirror images of words, shadow words, whispered backwards and upside-down words.

They were
lies.

Cee knew exactly where they had been.

Eliot didn’t know how he knew—but he was sure she wasn’t telling the truth.

Why would Cee pretend not to know? Just to get more information out of him?

Well, two could play that game. Eliot’s gaze returned to his food, and he prodded a dumpling with his chopsticks. He didn’t answer her question; instead, he asked, “Have you heard anything from our father? I mean, since Del Sombra? I thought he’d have called or written . . . or something.”

“Of course not,” Cee said. “There’s not been a single word from the scoundrel. And we’re lucky for it.”

Eliot discerned only the truth from her words that time.

“But he is going to show up again, isn’t he?” Fiona asked.

Cee licked her lips, gently patted Fiona’s hand, and replied, “I know he is your father, my dove. You must have feelings for him, but best to let them go.”

A shadow appeared in the stairwell, and Audrey spiraled down from her upstairs office. She carried a cigar box in the crook of her arm. “Good,” Audrey said, “you’re finally home.” She settled at a table and poured herself a cup of green tea. She took a sip, all the while watching them, and then said, “I’m very proud of you both for passing the entrance and placement examinations.”

That wasn’t what Eliot had expected. He and Fiona had received Cs on that placement exam. Well, he got a C+. In this household, the
only
passing grade was an A.

“I spoke with Miss Westin,” Audrey said. “She was impressed with you . . . considering the challenges we had with your homeschooling.”

“Challenges?” Fiona dropped her chopsticks.

Before Fiona could start protesting, though, Audrey cut her off. “I see you have the reading list.” Audrey nodded at the pages near Fiona. “Two sets of those books are being delivered by courier this evening. I didn’t want either of you to wait another instant to make up for lost time.”

Fiona reddened.

Audrey continued, holding out her hand to forestall her. “I know what you’re going to say—the lies, the deliberate obfuscation of our family’s history, and how it is ‘not fair’—and then I would tell you it was for your own good, and life is never fair, and that we should focus on our present duties. So, let us imagine we’ve already covered that well-trodden territory, so I may give you your gifts.”

Fiona blinked.

Eliot didn’t understand. Their dangerous journey today seemed almost par for their new lives. And the mountain of reading they’d have to do seemed right, too. But Audrey accepting a C on tests? Even being proud of them? And now presents on a day that wasn’t their birthday?

That
was just plain weird.

Audrey said to Cecilia, “Go prepare dessert.”

“Oh yes, yes.” Cecilia said, and backed toward the kitchen. “Yes.”

“And,” Audrey called after her, “do not
add
anything to it.” She turned back to Eliot and Fiona. “It’s ice cream and cake from the Whole Foods Market.”

She opened the cigar box she had carried down. Audrey removed two cards, setting one before Fiona, and then Eliot.

He stared into the card’s gleaning stardust platinum surface. It had raised numbers and in capital letters, his name:
ELIOT Z. POST
. He’d seen these before, working at the pizza parlor, but he never believed he’d have a real credit card himself.

Audrey handed him a ballpoint pen. “Sign the back,” she said. “That’s very important.”

Eliot obeyed, and then handed the pen to his sister. Fiona looked dumbstruck.