All That Lives Must Die (60 page)

Fiona was close enough to hear to this. “We’re not getting involved in any Infernal thing, if that’s what you mean. We just came to get you out of here.”

Jezebel snorted and dismissed Fiona with a single glance.

“I’d show a little gratitude,” Robert muttered, moving alongside Fiona. “We lost Amanda getting here.”

That got her attention.

Jezebel blinked. “The little girl? Lost? You mean—?”

“She died,” Fiona told her flatly. “Burned.”

“A human sacrificed in Hell. . . . I am sorry for her.” Jezebel looked away and took a deep breath, appearing for a split second like normal, flawed Julie Marks—then her features hardened. “But there is nothing to be done. We must see to our own lives now.”

“You want to save lives?” Fiona stepped forward, clenching her fists. “Then get back to the train station and help us find a way back to school.”

Eliot held up a hand to calm her.

“We came to get you,” Eliot told Jezebel. “We need you back at school . . . gym class and finals.” He faltered. “No . . . it’s not that . . . well, only a small part.
I
need you, too.”

Jezebel took a tiny step closer so they were almost touching.

He felt her heat and their mutual magnetic attraction. He wanted to take her in his arms—even if it cut him to ribbons.

“My hero,” Jezebel whispered, a slight edge of sarcasm to her honeyed voice. “If only things were so simple.”

Fiona set a hand on Eliot’s shoulder and pulled him back. “Okay, you tried. She said no. We’re out of here. We had a deal, remember?”

Eliot shrugged her off. He couldn’t leave. How could he after Amanda had died so he could get here? And how could he now that he stood before Jezebel?

But he
had
made a deal with his sister, and he knew how crazy it’d be to stay.

He couldn’t have it both ways. He had to decide.

Eliot had had to make this choice before. Back in Del Sombra, he had impulsively decided to go with the then Julie Marks—run away to Hollywood (which had been part of an Infernal trap).

And he’d made the wrong choice then, saved only because Julie hadn’t followed through with the plan.

As he looked at Jezebel, Eliot knew he
had
to make the right choice now, because no one was going to save him this time.

Jezebel stepped back three paces, before he could tell her anything, though. “I cannot help you . . . and none of you can leave.”

A hundred knights in the courtyard moved to encircle the steps. A dozen more knights appeared behind Jezebel, their rifle-lances at the ready.

Robert reached for his gun.

Mr. Welmann set a restraining hand on Robert’s arm and stepped between them. “I believe, young lady, you were going to take us to your Queen?” He glanced back at Fiona, giving her a warning shake of his head. “Might as well hear what she had to say, after coming all this way, right?”

“That’s just wonderful,” Fiona said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t do this,” Eliot told Jezebel.

With a gesture, she indicated that they come with her. The guards aimed their lances at them.

Eliot marched forward and Jezebel walked by his side.

“There is no choice,” she whispered to him, “for any of us. Be careful. Your next words may kill us all.”

62
. A universal symbol of beauty and romance, the rose has also been associated with power and secret societies formed to wield that power. Ancient Romans placed a rose on the door where secret societies would meet (the phrase
sub rosa,
or “under the rose,” means to keep a secret). Examples of such societies are the Order of the Celestial Rose (League of Immortals), the Knights of the Thorned Rose (Infernals), and the Holy Rose Hunters (vampire killers among the Mortal Magical Families ca. sixteenth century). Mythohistorians claim to trace these groups to prehistoric pagan cults, worshippers of fertility and warrior spirits, which may suggest a common root origin.
Secret Societies in a Secret World
. Lucy Westin, Paxington Institute Press LLC, San Francisco.

63
. The Tower Grave is said to be built from the bones of those who offended the Queen of the Poppies. Even for an Infernal, this seems unlikely, due to the sheer volume of materials required and the prehistoric, fossilized nature of the larger specimens. Rough calculations indicate construction began prior to the War in Heaven, and may have been started by entities older than the fallen angels. It must also be noted that the size of Sealiah’s Twelve Towers varies by account, seeming to swell and strengthen in times of conflict and constricting to modest dimensions in peaceful times (see also the mutable nature of the Infernal Realms, section 6).
Gods of the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 13, Infernal Forces
. Zypheron Press Ltd., Eighth Edition.

               73               

DUX BELLORUM

Fiona wondered if her brother had another supernatural talent beside his music, one where no matter how hard she tried, he got them both
deeper
into trouble.

And now it wasn’t just him and her anymore. It was Robert and Mr. Welmann. And it
had
been Amanda, too.

Fiona was going to have a long talk with Eliot about responsibility when they got out of here.

If
they got out of here.

They walked down a gigantic hallway you could’ve taxied a jumbo jet through—the arching walls made from skulls, all of them staring. Luminescent mushrooms sprouted from grinning mouths and eye sockets. It was super creepy.

Eliot strolled alongside Jezebel as if they were going to get some coffee at Café Eridanus.

His crush and the resulting lack of intelligence reminded her of the way she’d felt last summer for Robert.

Fiona cast a sideways glance at Robert. He pulled on his Paxington jacket, tucked in his shirttails, and smoothed his wild hair. He caught her gaze and smiled like everything was going to be all right.

She quickly looked away.

There was no sense mooning over
that
lost cause now.

She wished Mitch were here. What wouldn’t she give to hold his hand—and jump back home or some exotic location (anywhere not in the middle of a war zone).

She turned back to Eliot. He looked like a dope walking next to his girlfriend. Fiona felt a flash of jealousy, but decided to let him be. Wherever Jezebel was taking them, it wasn’t going to be the happy ending Eliot was hoping for.

The hallway opened into a room as large as a stadium filled with hundreds of guards (all with those deadly looking rifle lances). In the center on a raised dais was a throne of bones, held together with vines and sprouting blossoms.

Queen Sealiah sat there. She wore armor with scales beaten into the shapes of
phalaenopsis
orchid petals. On her hips were curved daggers, and a sheathed sword with a cracked hilt and ragged leather handle that looked oddly familiar.

But all this was secondary to Sealiah herself. Her hair was copper red and her skin the color of molten bronze. Her eyes flashed as if they were faceted emerald as her gaze swept over them.

And beautiful? She was way beyond beauty.

Fiona couldn’t compare her to any other person or even goddess she’d seen. Not even Dallas came close.

This was an Infernal queen in her lair. And like some big fat spider, Fiona sensed countless threads of power radiating to her from the land around them.

Despite the contempt she felt for this side of her family, Fiona knew she had to show respect, and keep her fear and ever-shortening temper in check, or this could be a very brief audience.

“Greetings to you, son and daughter of the Prince of Darkness,” Sealiah said. Her voice was liquid velvet. “Destroy everything you touch.”

Fiona didn’t understand the reference, but nonetheless she bowed her head. Eliot had the good sense to do the same.

But Fiona didn’t bow too low. She sensed that showing
too much
respect would be just as bad as not showing any (and she wasn’t about to take her eyes off the Infernal even for a second).

Jezebel fell to her knees and lay prostrated before her Queen. Jezebel, of all creatures—always proud and strong and never bending an inch—acting like a slave girl?

Eliot fidgeted and looked torn between wanting to pull her up and knowing this would be a breach of protocol.

It was so degrading.

Sealiah nodded at them, which Fiona guessed was a huge concession of respect, given the circumstances. The Queen rose and strode down to their level. She was a lot shorter up close—not even as tall as Fiona.

There was a smell from her, too: the perfume of every flower . . . with something toxic mixed in. Fiona tried not to gag.

Sealiah halted, scrutinizing them.

Fiona tried to meet the Queen’s gaze, but she had to look away. The depth of the Infernal’s stare was like her mother’s—but worse because there didn’t seem to be any soul reflected behind her eyes.

Could she be related by blood to something this evil? Miss Westin had lectured on the Infernals and told them the relationships between the fallen angels were not well understood by mortals. So Sealiah could be Louis’s cousin, aunt, or even his daughter. She and Sealiah could be sisters for all Fiona knew. Ick.

She didn’t imagine, however, that they’d have sleepovers or talk about boys anytime soon.

Eyes downcast, Fiona once more noticed the Queen’s sword. She
had
seen it before somewhere. Part of her wanted to reach out and touch it—but she squelched that wild impulse, knowing it would be suicidal.

Sealiah moved to stand before Eliot, and her gaze lingered long, a look Fiona had seen before on hungry dogs.

“So wonderful to finally meet you in the flesh, Eliot.”

He nodded, face flushing.

The Queen passed Mr. Welmann like he wasn’t there.

She stopped before Robert and stroked his cheek with a long fingernail. He inhaled deeply, shocked at her touch. “And Mr. Farmington,” Sealiah murmured. “An honor to have a true hero in our midst.”

Hero? Robert? Fiona had no idea what Sealiah was thinking, but she definitely didn’t like her lascivious smile as she looked Robert over—or her touching him.

Fiona cleared her throat.

Sealiah cocked an eyebrow at her. “Speak.”

Fiona managed to sound as respectful as if she were addressing the League Council: “I beg pardon, Your Majesty, but we’re not looking for trouble. We just came to get Jezebel and get her back to school.”

“Oh?” Sealiah strode back to her throne, sinking upon it with a great flourish. “You’re not looking for trouble? Then why do you look ready to do battle?”

Sealiah beckoned to Jezebel before Fiona replied, however, and said, “Rise, my protégée, and speak. What do you say to this request?”

Jezebel got to her feet. Even after degrading herself, she still looked regal and proud, without a speck of dust on her.

How did she do that? When Fiona couldn’t keep one lousy school uniform clean to save her life.

“Nothing would please me more, my Queen,” Jezebel said.

Eliot straightened and practically floated next to her at this.

“But,” she said, “I cannot. My place is fighting by your side.”

Eliot deflated.

“And even if you sent me,” Jezebel continued, glancing at Eliot, “I could not live. The Poppy Lands are torn asunder. My power ebbs. If I were to leave, I would perish before I could cross the train tracks.”

Every hint of an expression drained from Eliot’s features and he stared straight ahead, thinking.

Fiona
psst
’d at him and he looked back at her.

She shot him a glance that said:
Okay—we tried again—let’s go
.

The Queen’s previous amusement cooled and her features hardened. “We fight for our lives against an ancient enemy. If we lose, Jezebel will, if lucky, die. If not, she will be captured by Mephistopheles and tortured for all eternity.”

Eliot paled, but in a level voice, he asked, “What can we do to help?”

“Fight with us,” Sealiah told him, leaning forward. “If you battle at Jezebel’s side, our chances greatly improve. With your sister’s strength and that of your hero companion added to that, victory would be assured.” Her eyes gleamed, and Fiona saw a spark behind them now: the flickering green fires of bloodlust.

Whose blood, and whose lust, however, Fiona wasn’t sure of.

“Excuse me a second, Your Majesty.” Fiona held up a finger. “Eliot and I need to talk.”

She pulled him six steps back. Robert and Mr. Welmann joined them.

“I’m staying,” Eliot whispered to her.

Like she couldn’t have guessed
that
, and yet, that didn’t stop her from hissing back, “Are you crazy!”

Eliot shrugged.

“She’s right,” Robert said, looking physically pained to admit this. “I’m all for helping, but this side has its back against the wall. They’re going to lose.”

Eliot frowned and shook his head . . . but nonetheless looked uncertain.

Fiona had seen this before. Eliot knew he was wrong, but he was about to dig in his heels anyway and never give up.

She felt like slugging him, which actually had some appeal. She bet she could knock Eliot out, and then, as she’d promised herself, drag him back to San Francisco for his own good.

She glanced at the Queen and the hundreds of soldiers surrounding them. She wasn’t sure how well walking out of here was going to go over with the Flower Queen, though.

She had to take charge before Eliot redoubled his resolve and went beyond being a mere idiot—and became a
suicidal
idiot.

“We can’t help you,” Fiona told Sealiah. She nodded at Jezebel, and said, “I’m sorry.”

Jezebel gave her a curt nod. Not even a flicker of hate . . . as if she wanted them (okay, probably just Eliot) safe and far from here, no matter what it’d cost her.

Sealiah appeared unruffled.

Fiona didn’t like that one bit.

“Perhaps,” the Queen said as her predator smile reappeared, “I may offer some other incentive?”

“I
really
doubt it,” Fiona said.

Sealiah arched one brow and gestured. Two guards dragged a man forward. He was bound in silver chains and a metal band covered his mouth.

It was Louis.

Fiona blinked and looked again. It was her father.

“Let him go,” she and Eliot said together.

“Louis is my prisoner.” Sealiah walked behind their father and yanked on his chain, pulling him to his knees. “We will do as we please with him.”

Eliot unslung his guitar.

Fiona found that her bracelet was loose in her hand.

Around them, hundreds of knights leveled their rifles.

“Cool it, kids,” Mr. Welmann whispered. “There are other ways to make deals—especially with them.”

Fiona didn’t get what he meant, but Eliot seemed to because he nodded, stepped forward, and asked, “So, you’re saying if we fight for you, you’ll let our father go?”

“I do not know about ‘letting him go,’ ” Sealiah said with a theatrical wave of her hand, “but I will let him live, which is better than the fate that awaits him if Mephistopheles wins.”

Fiona locked gazes with her father—he couldn’t speak because of the gag—but something in his eyes said that there was a lot more going on here, and a lot more at stake than just his life.

“No deal,” Eliot said.

The guards around them crowded closer.

Sealiah smile deepened and fang tips protruded. Bloodred claws appeared from her fingertips.

“Then,” she purred, “we are at an impasse. Unless you wish to roll for terms?”

Louis gave Fiona and Eliot an almost invisible nod of his head yes.

Understanding dawned on Eliot’s face. “You mean dice?”

“Yes,” Sealiah said. “Just name the terms you wish.”

“My terms . . . ?” Eliot pondered. “I’ll fight for you—for Jezebel’s sake,” he said, “but I want you to let my father go immediately.”

Sealiah tapped her full lips, thinking, and her claws retracted. “Agreed, as long as he is willing to fight for my side as well.”

Louis gave a lamentable sigh.

“And,” Eliot said. “You let my sister and my friends go back.” He looked at them. “If, that’s what they want.”

“If you win the roll,” Sealiah said. “Of course.”

“Wait, I’m not agreeing to any of this,” Fiona protested.

Sealiah held up her hand indicating silence, and Fiona thought she better shut her mouth.

Eliot had a plan—what precisely she wasn’t sure—but if she lost her temper now, things would get bloody fast.

“And if I win,” Sealiah told Eliot, “you fight for me and also pledge your life and soul with an unbreakable oath.”

“No way!” Fiona shouted.

The thought of her brother bowing and scraping before this creature was too much. She started forward, her bracelet chain in her hand, growing and lengthening, links sharpening to circles of razor.

Could
she even fight Sealiah and her knights? Would the
Pactum Pax Immortalus
neutrality treaty between the fallen angels and the League prevent her from interfering? Or was she enough her father’s daughter . . . enough Infernal, to cut the Queen’s head off as she had Beelzebub’s?

Maybe it was time to put that to the test once more.

Eliot turned to her—and the look on his face stopped her dead in her tracks.

His eyes were cold and dark and resolute. Despite everything they’d been through, he looked like, for once in his life, he knew
exactly
what he was doing.

On the other hand, Eliot always—and she meant always, without fail—got them into
more
trouble.

But that look . . .

She finally blinked. “Okay,” she murmured. “Just don’t screw this up.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” he told her.

Fiona figured it couldn’t hurt to let Eliot try whatever it was he had up his sleeve—because if it didn’t work, she planned on getting out of here anyway, Eliot in tow, even if that meant cutting down everything in her way.

“I offer you one in six odds,” Sealiah told Eliot.

“Even odds.” Eliot said. “Or no deal. Take or leave it.”

Sealiah shrugged as if this were a trivial matter. She passed one hand over another, and as if by sleight of hand, a small white cube appeared. It was a six-sided die, with tiny symbols on its faces.

She descended the stairs to meet Eliot and offered it to him.

He accepted the die and examined the sides. Etched onto the faces was a scrimshaw head-eating-tail snake, two prancing dogs, three crossed scimitars, four stars, five hands (each making a different rude gesture), and six ravens on the wing.

“Odd or even?” Sealiah asked.

“Even, if your Majesty pleases.” Eliot turned the die so six scrimshawed black birds faced up.

Eliot closed his hand and shook the die. He concentrated, blew on his fist, and cast the die onto the steps.