MORTAL COILS (89 page)

Robert
grunted and the seams of his leather jacket ripped.

A
low hiss came from the door that grew into a thunderous roar of rushing wind.

Robert
wrenched the door open.

A
vortex of air and fog and snow swirled about them. It settled and left the
atmosphere still and crisp. Eliot could see his own breath.

He
and Fiona stepped closer for a better look.

The
door did not lead to the back of the Last Sunset Tavern, nor did it lead
anywhere outside . . . at least not outside to sunny California.

Beyond
the doorframe there were snowdrifts and a frosted forest. It was night. Aurora
wavered among twinkling stars, painting the sky with violet and silver. Nestled
within the forest sat a village, its church spires and rooftops decorated with
Christmas lights, Japanese paper lanterns, and a thousand candles. Eliot heard
people singing and laughing, horns blaring, shrieks of pleasure, rebel yells,
and breaking glass. Fireworks shot into the air and exploded into blossoms of
spark.

Eliot
smelled spiced apple cider and fresh gingerbread, but shivered as he took the
chilled air into his chest.

Fiona
shivered, too.

Robert
removed his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“The
Valley of the New Year,” Robert explained. “It’s a never-ending party. They’re
stuck forever, just a few seconds before midnight on December thirty-first.”

“Who’s
stuck?” Eliot whispered. He kept his voice low because he was afraid the people
in the village would hear him . . . and something told him that wouldn’t be
such a good thing.

“They’re
folk who have lost their way, fallen out of time,” Robert whispered back. “It’s
a place where the forgotten ticks and tocks collect—going back and forth, forth
and back, never quite the present or the future.”

“How
did Louis end up there?” Fiona asked. She edged toward the door, reached out,
and caught a few snowflakes.

“Louis
visited a long time ago. He liked it . . . always wanted to find a way back.
Everyone likes it.” Robert licked his lips and glanced about the room.
“Wouldn’t you children like to go in and see for yourselves?”

Eliot
would. He had an urge to make a snowball and plaster his sister in the back of
the head. He imagined them running and sliding through the drifts. They could
join the party. That cider would taste good. It would be great to just relax
for a few minutes.

But
how long would a few minutes be where time didn’t move?

Fiona
started for the door, and Eliot set one hand or her arm. “Careful,” he
whispered.

She
shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “That was strange. I wanted to go inside
. . . or outside, or wherever that is, and see it for myself.”

They
looked at one another, communicating their concerns with a single glance.

This
was very wrong. All of it: the Valley, their father being there, this tavern,
Uncle Henry’s car, even Robert . . . the way he was acting and talking.

They
turned to Robert. He wasn’t there.

He
stood behind them now. Eliot couldn’t see him clearly. The fluores-cent light
overhead was out, but plenty of light streamed through the doorway. That should
have illuminated the room, but Robert seemed covered in shadows.

Eliot
got the impression that he wore an overcoat. That made sense

because
it was so cold in here, but he hadn’t seen him bring one in, and he sure hadn’t
been wearing it under his leather jacket.

“You
called us ‘children,’” Fiona said, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“Well,”
Robert replied, clearing his throat, “you are a little younger than I am, my
dear.”

“Why
do you want us to help Louis?” Eliot asked. “Last night you told me to stay
away from him. That everything he said was a lie.”

Behind
Robert, the door to the bar rattled in its frame.

“Your
father will always tell you the truth, my boy. Always.” Robert quickly turned
and assessed the shaking door. “I think, however, the time for talk has run
out.”

A
fist pounded on the door. “Open up!” someone shouted on the other side. “Right
now, buddy!”

Robert
stepped closer to Fiona, and Eliot saw he indeed wore a trench coat of fine
camel hair . . . just as Louis had the other night.

The
door splintered and fell in. Three men in leather vests pushed through. One
carried a baseball bat, one a jagged knife, and one a shotgun.

The
man brandishing the bat growled, “We’re here to make sure nobody double-crosses
Mr. Buan.”

“With
all the grace and impeccable timing one has come to expect from hired help,”
Robert said.

The
three men looked puzzled.

Robert
quickly whispered to Eliot and Fiona, “I will take care of this.”

Robert
glanced at the stacks of boxes and beer kegs and made a dramatic motion with
one arm—his camel-hair coat trailing behind in a flourish. He didn’t touch any
of it, but the entire pile tumbled: an avalanche of aluminum and crashing,
smashing bottles and cardboard that buried the three men and covered the door
to the bar.

Robert
turned back to them. “We don’t have much time. My hand is forced in this
matter. Here’s what I need you to do.”

Fiona
had her rubber band stretched between her hands. She relaxed as Robert
approached, but just slightly.

“What’s
going on?” she demanded. “We’ll need answers before we do anything.”

Robert
made a “calm down” gesture with his hands. “Answers you shall have, my dear.”
He crept closer and cautiously put one hand on her arm, smiling the entire
time.

He
held the smile before him like a shield . . . a smile Eliot had seen before.
“Louis!?”

Robert
turned to Eliot and his smile warmed. “An eye for the details, I see. It serves
you well.”

Robert
spun Fiona around and roughly shoved her—so hard she flew into the air—through
the open doorway, and she tumbled onto a snowdrift.

She
sputtered and screamed, outraged, and started to get up.

Eliot
took two steps toward her.

Robert
grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back. He slammed the door shut on
Fiona. The brass doorknob fell onto the concrete floor.

Eliot
shrugged off Robert’s hold, ran to the doorknob, and shoved it back into the
wall, turning it back and forth.

There
was no lock mechanism, though. It was just a bunch of cracked brick.

“That
won’t work,” Robert assured him.

Eliot
wheeled around. Blood pounded in his temples. “Who are you? Robert? Louis?
Someone or something else?” Eliot reached into his pack for Lady Dawn.

Robert
clamped a hand on his arm. He was stronger than Eliot, a great deal stronger,
and he pulled Eliot’s arm away from the violin.

Robert’s
eyes widened as he spotted the red line of infection running up Eliot’s
forearm. “Ah, that is an occupational hazard for true musicians, I’m afraid.
Problematic . . . but fixable.”

Eliot
stared at his face. He looked so much like Robert . . . but he talked like
Louis, and he knew about the violin’s snapped string hurting him.

If
it was Louis, why the pretense? Why not just come to him and explain what he
needed? Eliot would’ve listened.

But
Fiona wouldn’t have.

And
if Grandmother found him—Eliot could only imagine what would happen if she and
Louis were in the same room.

Robert
cocked his head, listening intently. “Shhh.”

There
were footsteps outside the storage room, lots of men, on every side, and husky
whispers. The exit door banged as if kicked—but it held.

“I
sense a thousand questions boiling your brain,” Robert said, “but there is no
time. We must act.”

“But
Fiona.” Eliot turned to the painted doorway. “If you think that place will hold
my sister, think again.”

“Yes,
she can cut, I know. But it will take a good deal of cleverness to find what to
cut to leave the Valley.”

“Why’d
you push her in?” Eliot demanded.

“Because
I had to.” Robert roughly let go of his arm. “I made a deal.” He said this as
if it explained everything. Robert dug into his pocket and handed Eliot car
keys and a cell phone. “Come with me.”

Robert
then marched to the door of the refrigerated compartment. He opened it and
entered, beckoning Eliot to follow.

Eliot
turned back to the painted doorway. He touched it—just brick now—but he
imagined Fiona was on the other side searching for a way back.

He
had to stay and figure a way to get her out . . . but how with so many people
obviously intent on hurting him?

He
looked at his pack and saw Lady Dawn. He could summon the nightmare fog. But
even then, he might not find a way to Fiona. Robert—Louis—or whatever he really
was, was the only one who knew for certain how to open that door.

Robert
stood on the threshold of the freezer. “Coming?”

Would
Fiona be okay in that cold? Would she survive long enough for Eliot to get back
with help?

Eliot
hesitated, uncertain.

“Trust
me,” the person who looked like Robert said. “This is the only way out for us
all. I have never lied to you. Nor will I start now.”

Eliot
believed his words, but ironically, that didn’t make him trust him any more.

A
shotgun blast thundered and a dozen tiny holes appeared in the back door.

Eliot’s
options were shrinking by the second. He took a deep breath and followed Robert
into the freezer.

Robert
ran to the door in the back of the frosty compartment. It was caked with so
much ice it would take a pickax to get through.

Robert
kicked the door off its hinges.

Blazing
sunlight streamed inside, dazzling Eliot.

“There’s
the car.” Robert pointed.

Eliot
squinted. A beat-up Lincoln Town Car with primer-painted fend-ers sat where
Robert had parked the Maybach.

“Go!”
Robert urged.

The
car had the same smiley-face antenna ball Eliot had seen earlier. Apparently
this car wasn’t what it had appeared to be, either. He looked at

the
keys clutched in his hand, still unsure if it was the best thing to leave
Fiona.

“We
will be able to help one another,” Robert whispered, “but you must go—or I will
not live to see the end of this day.” He gave Eliot a gentle, but firm, shove
into the sunlight.

Eliot
blinked and immediately saw a group of men rounding the corner of the building.
They brandished pool cues and broken beer bottles.

Robert
ran toward them.

Gunshots
rang through the air. Robert convulsed, continued running toward the men, and
leapt, taking down three.