MORTAL COILS (76 page)

“Go
on,” Louis whispered. “Remember what we talked about.”

“I
think I’m old enough to decide what to do on my own,” Eliot said.

Louis
nodded at him. “So you are. But I believe your young Driver friend has yet to
tell you something.”

Robert
licked his lips. “You have to come with me, Eliot,” he whispered. “It’s Fiona.
She’s in the hospital . . . dying.”

59

FATAL
DIAGNOSIS

Eliot
stood at Fiona’s bedside and held her right hand. Cee was on the other side of
the bed, clutching Fiona’s left hand, careful not to tangle her IV lines.

His
sister looked as if she had been bled dry. Her arm was limp and ice-cold and
felt a good deal lighter than normal. Eliot had never in his worst nightmares
imagined that Fiona, so strong and active, could look so frail.

He
glanced about, hoping someone could tell him what had happened to her.

Robert
stood in the corner of the private hospital room, arms crossed and eyes riveted
on Eliot’s sister . . . all his bravado and coolness useless now.

Grandmother
stood at the foot of the bed, poring over the doctor’s notes.

If
Eliot hadn’t left Fiona this morning, maybe he would have been there when she
needed him—prevented this.

Grandmother
looked up. “This is not your fault,” she said drily to him, then her eyes
flicked back to the pages. “Your sister’s clinical diagnosis is severe
malnutrition and dehydration.”

“How
is that possible?” Eliot asked. “She’s been eating . . .”

Eating
those chocolates. Tons of them.

Had
they been poisoned? Eliot had always known there was something weird about
them.

Grandmother
ignored his question and continued to read the doctor’s notes. “Intravenous
rehydration and feeding tubes have been used, but to no effect. Her body
rejects food and water.”

That
couldn’t happen. Eliot knew that was cellular-level chemistry, not a conscious
decision.

“There’s
more to this than medical science,” Eliot whispered, “isn’t there?”

Cee
leaned over and touched his arm consolingly. “It’s best to focus happy thoughts
towards your sister, dear.”

Grandmother
turned to the hallway door. She dropped the notes on the bed—and a scalpel
appeared in her hand.

The
door opened and Aunt Lucia and Uncle Henry entered, both halting and staring at
Grandmother’s hand and the knife.

Eliot
was just as startled. Grandmother looked (if this were possible) even more
threatening than he thought she could.

No
one moved or spoke for a moment, then Uncle Henry whispered, “Please, Audrey.
We’re here to help this time.”

“How
typical,” Lucia said, narrowing her eyes. “Make sure you kill all who love
you.”

Grandmother
sighed. The scalpel disappeared.

Eliot
didn’t see where it had vanished to.

Lucia
moved to Audrey and hugged her. Grandmother halfheartedly returned the gesture.

Uncle
Henry nodded at Robert, then stood behind Eliot, setting his hands on his
shoulders. “We pieced together what has happened,” Uncle Henry told them, “and
came as soon as we could.”

“I
could strangle Dallas,” Lucia muttered, “for showing them the threads so early.”

“Fiona
had no choice,” Grandmother replied. “There was an external influence. If she
had not made the cut, she would not have even lasted this long.”

“Can
someone please tell me what this all means?” Eliot demanded.

Grandmother
pierced him with a stare, but Eliot mustered his resolve and didn’t blink.

“It
was as you saw,” Grandmother said. “That afternoon when Dallas showed you the
threads, we saw Fiona’s end. She has only a handful of hours left to live, and
there is nothing anyone can do to prevent that.”

Eliot
went numb. He couldn’t imagine life without his sister.

“This
may not be entirely true.” Lucia pushed the medical charts aside and forced
Grandmother to look at her. “We think we may have a way to save her.”

Grandmother
raised one eyebrow, for the first time showing a glimmer of interest.

“Yes,”
Uncle Henry said, “with the twins’ third heroic trial.”

60

AN
APPLE A DAY

Fiona
was air. She was dust and light and spread so thin her thoughts drifted.

Then
her mind settled into a heaviness that crushed her and made every breath a
struggle.

She
opened her eyes.

She
was in a strange bed. Grandmother stood to one side in the shadows. Aunt Lucia
stood on the other side bathed in the moonlight that streamed through the open
window.

Their
hands moved over the covers. Among the rumpled bedsheets were a tangle of
multicolored cotton fibers, plastic twine, leather thongs, glimmering silken
strands, and lines of gold. There were stranger things as well: threads of smoke
and shadow, and serrated razor wire.

Fiona
struggled to sit up and realized all this material came from inside her.

Grandmother
and Lucia had opened her up—her insides pulled out in piles. The two women
tugged at sections of the weave and tied knots. Every motion pinched and hurt.

Waves
of nausea washed over Fiona and she drew in a deep breath to scream.

But
then there wasn’t a weave anymore, only Grandmother and Lucia straightening her
bedcovers, smoothing the sheets with practiced hands.

A
nightmare?

She
didn’t think so. That was the same weave she had seen in the mirror maze. The
same fabric of life she had examined before . . . she what? Blacked out?

She
hadn’t expected to wake up, she remembered that much.

Fiona
touched her throbbing forehead.

“Did
I fall?” she asked.

She
looked around, her eyes finally able to focus.

An
anxious-looking Eliot stood next to Grandmother and he tried to crowd closer.

It
annoyed Fiona that her brother hadn’t been there for her earlier. Nonetheless,
she reached for him, and he took her hand.

Cee
was right behind Eliot, smiling, and wringing her hands. “We thought we’d lost
you, my dove.”

Grandmother
glared at her and Cee stepped back.

Fiona’s
heart skipped a beat when she spotted Robert in the corner of the room.

He
looked uncomfortable, arms crossed over his chest. He gave her a little salute
. . . as if everything were normal, as if she were in this hospital room
because she had a hangnail. His eyes gave him away, however: bloodshot and
nervously glancing toward Uncle Henry.

Uncle
Henry settled on the foot of the bed and crossed one leg over the other,
completely at ease in this weird situation.

That
both Uncle Henry and Aunt Lucia were here chilled Fiona. Did that mean the
Council was about to do something to them again?

“What’s
going on?” Fiona asked.

“If
the child is well enough to ask,” Uncle Henry said, “then I suggest we tell
her.”

“We
have shored up your strength,” Lucia explained gently.

“I
. . . I think I saw that. The weave.”

Lucia
and Grandmother exchanged a glance, then Grandmother said, “Very good. Then you
know that when you cut yourself before, you damaged the pattern.”

Fiona
nodded.

“You
severed your appetite,” Lucia continued, “when you freed yourself from . . .
external influences.”

The
chocolates, that’s what they were talking about. Fiona’s hand rose to her
throat.

“I
had to,” she whispered.

“Of
course you did,” Grandmother said. “No one questions that decision. But there
were consequences.”

“Appetite
in excess is disastrous,” Lucia said. “But no appetite is—”

“Fatal,”
Grandmother said without emotion. “Your body now refuses to take in food or
water.”

Eliot
tightened his grip on her hand. Fiona could see he was scared, too.

“It’s
going to be okay,” she told him.

The
situation, however, was far from “okay,” but Fiona wasn’t about to show the
fear taking root in her. Instinctively she knew that showing weakness in front
of so many family members would be a mistake.

“That’s
what Dallas was trying to show to me the other day,” she said. “My thread—the
one leading into the future was short. Less than a day left.”

Fiona
looked about the room for Dallas, the woman who might be her aunt or might
possibly be her mother. She disappointingly wasn’t here.

“No
longer a day,” Grandmother said. “Six hours, perhaps less.”

“We
have given you the strength, at least,” Lucia said, “to stand on your own for
the remaining time.”

Cee
whimpered, but thankfully didn’t start crying. If someone started crying now,
Fiona wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her tears in check, either.

“This
sucks,” Fiona said.

“An
accurate summation,” Uncle Henry said, and flashed a smile. “But worry not. We
have a plan.”

Henry
pressed his palms together as if cupping some invisible sphere. He twisted his hands
back and forth, feigning concentration, then astonishment. With a great
flourish, he revealed a Granny Smith apple, which he presented to her.

“Thank
you, Uncle Henry, but I’m not hungry.”

“Really,
Henry,” Lucia said. “Try, for once, to have a modicum of tact.”

Henry
shrugged and took a bite of the apple.

“The
way they’ve come up to help us,” Eliot whispered, “is our third trial.”

There
was an edge to Eliot’s voice, warning her that whatever it was, it wasn’t going
to be as easy as eating some stage-magic conjured fruit.

“It
is no ordinary apple that you will need,” Lucia said, “but a Golden Apple.”

Fiona
looked to Eliot, but he just shrugged. Fiona turned back to Lucia. “Is that
like a Golden Delicious?”

Lucia
sighed. “You really have kept them in the dark about everything, haven’t you,
Audrey?”

Grandmother
tilted her head so she seemed to look down upon her

sister.
“Apparently, not enough in the dark . . . or they would not be in this
predicament.”

“Ladies,
please, bicker later.” Uncle Henry tapped his wristwatch. “The sands of time
slip away.”

“You
are correct for once, Henry.” Lucia smoothed out her dress and turned back to Fiona.
“The Golden Apples you seek are not to be found at your local farmer’s market.
These apples have great life-giving powers. So prized are they that wars have
been fought over them.”