All That Lives Must Die (8 page)

“Let chance decide,” Jezebel said. She reached for the platter on the table, selected the last golden scarab token from the pile—and flung it across the room.

Before Jeremy could protest, students scrabbled and pushed to get the token as it clattered across the floor.

Jezebel laughed as she watched boys and girls wrestle for the coin.

Eliot watched, too, and saw someone he recognized tossing aside students like he was an experienced wrestler. But the gold coin rolled away from him—kicked back and forth by the others.

This had to be the person who had called to Eliot earlier.

. . . and if he were on Team Scarab, Eliot knew he’d have at least one friend.

Let
only
chance decide? Eliot would see about
that
.

He twisted around, unzipped his backpack, and opened his violin case.

With one eye, he watched the scarab coin wobble along the floor, spinning, then kicked up, bouncing over the desks.

Eliot quietly plucked Lady Dawn’s strings.

The heat from his old infection burned along his wrist. He felt air move about him, and saw the coin jump to his notes—ricocheting this way and that—half random, but partially under his command now as well.

It drunkenly rolled toward the boy he knew—who dived for it!

Others leaped for the coin, too, dog-piling into a heap.

Eliot held his breath, hoping.

He quickly surveyed his team: Fiona, his ever-irritating sister; Amanda Lane, more of a social outcast than even himself; Jeremy and Sarah Covington, whom Eliot didn’t like one bit; Mitch Stephenson, a nice guy; and the Infernal Jezebel, who stared at Eliot and his backpack, leaning forward, one hand over her throat, fascinated.

. . . and one last teammate.

The boy stood from the pile of students, holding aloft the golden scarab.

He turned and faced them, grinning, blood on his split lip. His James Dean appearance looked out of place in a Paxington jacket instead of his normal leather one.

Fiona gasped.

It was Robert Farmington.

6
. Middle Realms (noun). Archaic usage refers to the Purgatory lands betwixt Heaven and Hell (sometimes Earth, depending on the context). Modern usage expanded to mean
all
realms between the Pearly Gates of Heaven and the First Fathomless Abyss of Hell (considered the upper and lower boundaries of the known worlds).
Lexicon Primus.
Paxington Institute Press LLC, San Francisco.

7
. Freshman team selection at Paxington originates from the gladiatorial arenas of the Roman Empire. Slaves who won their freedom could leave or continue as paid gladiators. Such free fighters would often participate in re-creations of famous battles, but unlike slave gladiators, they were allowed to form their own teams. The victorious teams were glorified throughout the Empire (much like modern-day sports teams), bearing names like Hunting Wolf, Golden Eagle, and the Bloodied Hand.
Your Guide to the Paxington Institute (Freshman Edition)
. Paxington Institute Press LLC, San Francisco.

               7               

THE FOOL’S OPENING MOVE

Henry Mimes changed names like other men changed their hats. Along with his nom de guerre shifts, he altered his personality, often becoming the Name.

Earlier this morning, he had been the Messenger. Now, though, as he stood close to Audrey in the private elevator that whisked them to the top of the Transamerica Building, he felt an impulse to try on the Big Bad Wolf.

Audrey wore a dark silk blouse and looked as she had in the old days, clad in similar cold colors, offsetting her alabaster skin. The Pale Rider. She and her sisters were the first of them to show greatness; she was the first woman he had ever called a “goddess.”

She ignored him.

Lovely? Yes. Even more important: unattainable. Audrey was as perfect as a woman could be.

Her diamond earrings cast a scattering of reflections over her shoulders and throat . . . her skin was so lustrous. One touch and he knew he could warm that stone-cold flesh. How lonely she must be.

His hand rose toward her.

But he sensed the lines of deadly force radiating from her.

Henry reconsidered and dropped his hand. Perhaps the Fool best suited today’s dismal occasion.

“Did you know,” Henry asked her, “that San Franciscans call the Transamerica Building—?”

“Pyramid,” Audrey corrected him. “It is the Transamerica
Pyramid
.”

“Quite right. They also call it the Great Alien Ring Toss. Others say it looks like an ice cream cone stuck into the earth.”

Audrey turned, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

So much for his attempt to lighten the Lady’s mood.

Henry dug into his pocket and retrieved his silver hip flask, unstoppered it, paused to savor the scent of a thousand flowers, and then took a nip. The liquor exploded through his thoughts, leaving curlicues of smoke and memory. He exhaled the vapors.

In truth, Henry’s mood needed lightening as much as Audrey’s did. He was attempting to think six moves ahead of the Council
and
the Infernal Board—a worthy challenge for any fool.

Or perhaps he was taking this affair with the twins too seriously?

He took another drink and offered the flask to Audrey. This was just for politeness’ sake. Never in a million years would Audrey join him. The sun and moon were more likely to unexpectedly eclipse.

Audrey mashed the
EMERGENCY STOP
button and took the flask.

How wonderful! Someone other than himself had done something surprising.

Audrey inhaled the bouquet, and her pupils dilated. “It would be less dangerous to carry refined plutonium through the city than real Soma.” She took a long pull, to Henry’s dismay, drinking nearly half. A rare blush spread outward from her neck.

She handed the flask back and said, “I assume you have countless layers of trickery planned with regards to my children?”

Henry put on his best
How could you ever think such a thing? You wound me, woman
look, and then stammered, “If only you knew how much I care for Eliot and Fiona.”

“I know,” she said, “but sometimes, Henry, people would be better off without any of us ‘caring’ about them.”

She set a hand on his chest—the lightest of touches.

Henry wasn’t sure where this was going, for Audrey never casually touched anything. He backed into a corner of the elevator.

Audrey pressed closer and remained with him. Her fingers dug into his black turtleneck. “I sense your heart beating and feeling. You do care for them . . . as much as any of us can.”

She grasped a handful of his shirt.

The threads in the weave constricted about Henry’s ribs.

“As long as by ‘caring for Eliot and Fiona’ you mean you have
their
best interests in mind—and not
yours
.”

Henry started to protest, but found the air gone from his lungs.

“Did you know Fiona has learned the trick of cutting with string?” Audrey asked. “She has yet to discover that it can also be done with
many
strings at once . . . like woven cloth.”

Audrey pulled his shirt taut.

Henry had a sudden vision of Audrey ripping the shirt from his torso—like some stage magician trick—only this would not be trickery . . . and what would remain of his torso would fit though a martini strainer.

Audrey let go.

She tapped the
EMERGENCY STOP
button. The elevator continued up.

Henry recovered and straightened his turtleneck. He took one more swig from his flask.

The elevator doors parted, and cold fresh air blasted them.

They stepped onto the uppermost secret level of the Transamerica Pyramid.

The aluminum shutters on the angled walls were open, and mid-morning light streamed into the space. This level of the pointy part of the landmark building had been filled with dust bunnies before he’d had it renovated. The space had been redecorated with ultramodern velvet couches (designed in the 1960s, when there actually had been a vision of an ultramodern future).

Of course, the family was already here.

Lucia, Henry noticed first—Audrey’s sister, the Middle Fate, and sometimes called (although he thought with the greatest irony), Blind Justice. Then there was Gilbert, known first as Gilgamesh, whom Henry fondly remembered as the Once-King. Kino was next, the Guardian of the Underworld, dour and sour and unsociable as ever. And last was old Cornelius, what was left of the last of the Titans, the once mighty Cronos.

Lucia sat opposite the elevator, a strategic location where she could chastise those who came late. She wore a gray power business suit with bloodred pinstripes. It was conservatively sexy. The steel in her gaze communicated to Henry that she would tolerate none of his usual tomfoolery today.

So he would have to invent all-new tomfoolery for the occasion.

Gilbert crossed the room, a bottle of tequila in one hand, two glasses in the other. He poured Henry a tumbler, and one for himself. “Too auspicious a day to face sober, Cousin.”

Henry nodded and took the glass. Gilbert looked disheveled, his golden beard wild and dark circles under his eyes.

But when Henry sipped the drink, he found it disappointingly only iced tea.

Gilbert maintained pretenses, still silently on Henry’s side in this matter . . . part of their very, very long-range strategy. Henry was relieved to know that the First King Gilgamesh was still as smart as ever.

“Have you heard?” Gilbert gestured with his drink to a corner bathed in sunlight. “We have a
special
guest with us today.”

Henry squinted. Camouflaged in the radiance was Dallas.

Poor Dallas had been kicked off the Council last week, replaced with her older sister, Audrey. Lucia had thought her too soft. That was a mistake, Henry feared, that Lucia would one day pay for dearly.

Dallas wore a sundress of translucent sea green, high-heeled sandals, and carried a Versace clutch. The breeze made her dress and golden hair ripple.

Henry took a step toward her, irresistibly drawn to Beauty . . . but then noted the look in her eyes was pure liquid-nitrogen venom. She was, of course, here under protest at the behest of a Council’s summons. Henry understood it all in that instant—her part to play in their schemes and the intersibling politics—and checked his motion toward her.

The door to the emergency stairs banged open, and Aaron entered, lugging a duffel in one hand. He had marched up the forty-nine floors without breaking a sweat.

Aaron made a point of slamming the door. He dropped his duffel with a floor-shaking thud, shot everyone a glare, and then sat across from Lucia, propping his cowboy boots on the couch.

Tall, dark Kino spared him a deprecating glance. He then straightened the lily in the lapel of his black leather overcoat and turned to Audrey. “So good to see you, my dear. I think you shall be a voice of reason among this collection of fools.”

“One hopes,” Audrey replied as she settled next to Lucia.

“Shall we start?” Cornelius mumbled. “I believe everyone is finally present.”

Cornelius was on the floor. He wore an
I LOST MY HEART IN SF
T-shirt, shorts, and athletic socks embroidered with tiny cable cars pulled up to his knobby knees. Good for him. Playing the tourist, preserving his childlike sense of discovery, was likely what kept the oldest living thing alive.

“Yes, all present,” Lucia said, and smoothed back her hair, tying it up in a knot. She rang her tiny silver bell. “I hereby call the Council of Elders of the League of Immortals to order.
Narro, Audio, Perceptum
.”

Lucia set a hand delicately next to Audrey. “Can you give us an update on the twins? Are they well? How have they done at Paxington so far?” The illusion of her concern was nearly perfect.

“Of course,” Audrey replied.

Henry drifted from the center of the room to the open shutters for fresh air.

“All has been arranged with Miss Westin,” Audrey explained. “I’ve received word that Eliot and Fiona passed their entrance and placement exams.”

“I dislike the twins at Paxington,” Kino said, his lips compressing into a line.

“It is neutral ground,” Lucia replied, “open only to students and staff. It is the safest place from the Infernals. Besides, Eliot and Fiona may learn a thing or two.”

“It is Paxington’s neutrality that concerns me,” Kino told her. “Now is the time for
choosing
sides—the right side—
our
side! Paxington harbors those who would not join us, and over the centuries, they have grown strong within those walls. Why? To preserve the magical knowledge of the world? Are any of us that naïve? They await an opportune time to strike.”

Cornelius cleared his throat. “It is a possibility,” he said. “Their Headmistress, however, is the chief enforcer of the 1852 Treaty of the Under-Realms. She alone keeps the peace with the London Confederation of the Unliving. Move against her, and I fear that would be undone.”

Kino shook his head. “Even more reason for the twins not to be there: Her kind should never be permitted near a child.”

“Do not forget their Gatekeeper, Harlan Dells,” Aaron told him. “Quite the feat, dismantling his own bridge as he left us. One does not lightly engage in combat with the One Who Can Be in Many Places . . . not unless you’re proposing a full-scale war?”
8

Lucia rolled her eyes. “The Council is
not
debating this. Paxington keeps the mortal magical families complacent. Destroy their precious school, and they might unite, however unlikely, and threaten our power base. No, we require stability at the moment. After we deal with the Infernal issue . . . then we shall revisit Paxington.”

Kino sighed, but then nodded.

“What team are they on?” Henry asked, hoping to deflect the subject.

“Scarab,” Audrey replied.

“Hmm.” Aaron stroked his Genghis Khan mustache. “That’s a Covington heritage title. Must be one of those slippery characters in the mix. Not a bad thing: they’ll know how to handle the other students. I still dislike the whole point of their gym class, and that Mr. Ma.”

“You must get over your competitive streak with that man,” Henry told him.

“He and I have unsettled business,” Aaron muttered.

“In any event,” Audrey continued, “Miss Westin was recalcitrant to keep their identities hidden . . . but she eventually came around to the Council’s point of view.”

Henry saw in the distance, nestled next to Presidio Park, the Paxington campus: copper-capped spires, the clock tower, manicured lawns, and sparkling quad. A bank of fog rolled past, and the school was hidden again.

Kino was correct: Paxington had its drawbacks. But Audrey was also wise to place the children there. It served many purposes: training them in the realities of their world, keeping them on neutral ground, where they would have the best protection possible . . . as well as being advantageous to
Henry’s
schemes.

Henry had also approached the “recalcitrant” Headmistress of Paxington, the lonely and terrible Miss Westin. He adjusted the collar of his turtleneck and shuddered as he considered the price he had paid to engage her services.

“I am worried,” Lucia said, “over the lack of Infernal response to our declaration of the twins’ indoctrination. There’s typically
some
response from their Board—even if it is insulting negation.”

“It is the silence of collusion,” Kino said, and narrowed his eyes at Henry. “I have no doubt they are taking action against us.”

Aaron sat up. “On this I agree. We should act.”

“But what action can we take against the other family?” Cornelius asked. “Our own neutrality treaty blocks us.”

“We must cement the children’s loyalties to the League,” Audrey told them. “They are still young and impressionable. You must act to mold them before they are shaped by others.”

Kino steepled his hands as he considered this.

Henry saw an opportunity. “I suggest we show the twins how wonderful it can be to be in the League.” In a grand gesture he raised his hands to the sky. “So far—and I’m sure, Audrey, you had best of intentions—they have been saddled with nothing but rules and regulations.”

Audrey turned to him, and her short silver hair flashed like a halo. The look in her eyes, however, was anything but angelic.

“I offer my humble services to take young Master Eliot under my wing,” Henry continued. “Nothing overt, I assure you. Just the odd trip to the icecream parlor. Perhaps the occasional man-to-man chat so he has a proper role model.”

They all gave Henry a look.

“Oh, very well,” Henry said with a shrug. “I’m sure there are others better suited to being a role model. My point is still valid.”

“I agree,” Lucia said. “We have already done some thinking along those lines. Henry is a suitable choice as emissary to young Eliot.”

Henry wasn’t sure where Lucia was going with this. Her agreeing with anything he said set off alarm bells.

“Additionally,” Lucia continued, “Fiona will need someone to shepherd her, and convince her it is in her best interest to align with the League.” She looked pointedly at Dallas. “Someone with a similar youthful exuberance . . .”