MORTAL COILS (101 page)

DECISIONS

Eliot
and Fiona took shelter from the sun in a scalloped alcove. There was a marble
bench, a view of the sparkling Aegean Sea, and a statue next to them of a man
with an elephant’s head.

Eliot
smiled at it and gave it a little wave. It might be some distant relative for
all he knew.

Uncle
Henry had offered them opulent rooms in his estate to wait, but it felt better
out here in the fresh air.

“How
long do you think it will take?” Fiona asked.

Eliot
shrugged. The League Council might never decide if they belonged with this side
of the family. How could they when Louis, the Prince of Darkness, was their
father? How could they when they shared genetics with a monster such as
Beelzebub?

He
told none of this to his sister, though, because the only thing he could
predict about his family was . . . that they were unpredictable.

“It’s
not fair,” Fiona muttered, “just leaving us here while they talk. We should be
there.”

“Like
anyone on the Council is going to listen to us.”

Fiona
nodded and sighed.

Just
around the corner was a tiny rock island. That’s where the Council’s
amphitheater was—where they had first met Lucia and Aaron and all the others,
and where they had started their heroic trials.

“Audrey”
was there now, speaking on their behalf.

After
a lifetime of thinking of her as “Grandmother,” Eliot couldn’t

switch
gears and start thinking of her as “Mom.” He’d settled on calling her simply by
her name until he sorted out his feelings.

Plus,
what was all that talk about her “severing maternal ties”? Fiona seemed to
understand that better than he did, but wouldn’t talk about it.

In
fact, he had never seen his sister so quiet.

He
studied her. When they had arrived, Uncle Henry’s staff had been waiting. They
found a dress for Fiona, some silk thing that left her arms bare. One man had
helped pin up her hair. She looked more like a girl than Eliot had ever
realized she could . . . even, possibly, approaching pretty.

After
what they’d been through, he knew they had both changed. He felt as if he sat
next to a stranger.

Fiona
caught him staring. “What?” she demanded.

When
he didn’t immediately answer, she fussed with her dress, suddenly looking like
the old Fiona, uncomfortable and irritated in anything she wore.

“Can’t
speak?” Fiona asked him. “Case of pneumatolith? No surprise with all the stuff
you put up your nasal passages.”

Pneumatolith
meant “rocks in the lungs.” Not a bad insult, especially with the implied slur
of nose picking. But all the Latin roots made her try at vocabulary insult way
too easy.

“You
need to brush up on your knowledge of taphonomic cranial processes,” he told
her. “Obviously, though, kind of hard to think with your condition.”

Fiona’s
forehead crinkled as she started working that one out.

She’d
get the word. Taphonomic came from taphonomy—the study of making fossils. Hence
with “taphonomic cranial processes,” he was basically calling her a “rock
head.” Added bonus points for the “hard to think” quip.

By
his insulting his sister, life felt normal again, just for a moment. No gods.
No fallen angels. Nothing stranger than his and Fiona’s trying to get on each
other’s nerves.

“Good
one.” Fiona pursed her lips as she formulated her counterinsult.

But
before she could say anything a shadow fell on them.

It
was Audrey. She looked as commanding and detached as ever. Something was in her
gaze, though. A bit of tenderness? Or just the wind in her eyes?

“It
is time,” she told them. “Come.”

Eliot
jumped to his feet. Butterflies rioted in his stomach, but he wanted this
over—one way or the other.

Audrey
reached down and straightened the collar of his polo shirt.

Uncle
Henry had given Eliot clothes, too: a black shirt, navy blazer, and khaki
slacks. All new and fitting perfectly. It was a completely alien experience
after wearing Cee’s homemade clothes all his life.

They
walked along the covered path. On one side sprawled Uncle Henry’s palatial
estate with its Ionic columns and French windows, and on the other side the
ocean churned and seagulls soared effortlessly.

“We
have questions,” Eliot told Audrey. “About the family, about you, and about
us.”

“We
have all the time in the world for that now,” Audrey replied.

Did
that mean the Council had decided in their favor? Or was this just some new
delaying tactic?

Audrey
stopped. She examined their suspicious faces. “I’m sorry you had to go through
this. The trials . . .” She looked away. “Everything.”

Eliot
had never heard her say she was sorry. He felt for her. Why, he wasn’t sure,
because they were the ones who had been lied to all their lives. But Audrey . .
. his mother, must have suffered, too.

He
took her hand and squeezed it.

His
mother returned the gesture.

Fiona
sighed, then also took Audrey’s hand.

They
walked together until they came to the span of stone that arched from Uncle
Henry’s estate to the island off the coast. The bridge was un-mortared stones
that curved up and over whitecaps and sharp rocks.

Unlike
the first time he had crossed this perilous bridge, Eliot hardly gave it a
thought as he walked over.

He
stepped off the opposite side onto dark sands.

Fiona
and Audrey followed right behind him.

Ahead,
Eliot heard a great number of voices. As they mounted the hilltop, he halted at
the sight of the amphitheater—filled with two hundred people . . . all of whom
fell silent and turned to stare.

Now
he was frightened.

It
wasn’t only the Council who were here to decide their fate. It looked as if the
entire League of Immortals had come to watch them be judged.

Under
the scrutiny of so many, he felt tiny, awkward, embarrassed, unsure, but then
he stared back at them—just as boldly and standing as tall as he could. Let
them judge him.

They
were the strangest collection: every race was present, men and women, old and
young, beautiful and ugly, the poor and the fabulously

rich.
There were farmers and kings, some completely nude, others wrapped in furs as
if they were freezing. Most, however, looked like people he might meet
anywhere. Normal. Almost. They still had that look—as if they stood over you,
peering through a microscope at your every flaw.

Eliot
took a deep breath. He glanced at Fiona. She looked scared but defiant, as
well.

They
strode down the stairs through the silent crowd. The temperature chilled with
every step, until it felt as if it were freezing, and they stood in the center.

The
Council sat on blocks of stone—Aunt Lucia in a flowing red dress; Uncle Aaron
looking serious, arms crossed; Cornelius, who didn’t look up from his notes and
tablet computer; Gilbert, whose golden hair seemed to glow; Aunt Dallas smiled;
and one dark, tall Council elder in a top hat who looked as if he had eaten a
few lemons.

Uncle
Henry was nowhere to be seen.

No
one moved or spoke.

Eliot
took a small step closer to his sister, and they stood together, shoulder to
shoulder.

He
swallowed and addressed the Council. “We’ve passed your three heroic trials.”
Eliot’s voice was small, but amazingly steady. “Souhk has been vanquished.”

“Amanda
Lane has been rescued from Perry Millhouse,” Fiona said.

“And
we retrieved the Golden Apple,” Eliot finished.

“We’ve
waited long enough.” Fiona nervously pulled at the rubber band on her wrist.
“Fifteen years of not knowing who we were or where we belong.”

Audrey
set a hand on their shoulders. “On behalf of Eliot and Fiona Post, I hereby
petition the Council to accept them into the League of Immortals.”

Aunt
Lucia gazed at Eliot and Fiona, then over the entire amphitheater. “Despite
certain absences,” Lucia replied, “we have a quorum, and we shall so consider
this petition. Please join us sister and be witness to our judgments.” She
motioned to the stone block on her right.

Audrey
gave Eliot and Fiona a quick, reassuring squeeze and joined the Council.

Uncle
Henry appeared at the top of the stairs. “A thousand pardons,” Henry said to
the audience, ignoring several angry stares, and waving to those who smiled. “A
few last-minute and completely unavoidable details

to
attend to.” He bowed before Eliot and Fiona. “Hello, children.” He settled onto
the last stone block on Aunt Lucia’s left and attempted to smooth his wrinkled
tuxedo.

Aunt
Lucia’s glare was one of practiced annoyance—as if she had had to put up with
this for thousands of years.

She
plucked a tiny bell from the folds of her dress and rang it thrice. Sweet
silver tones echoed throughout the theater. “I call this session of the League
of Immortals Council of Elders to order. All come to heed, petition, and be
judged. Narro, audio, perceptum.”

Eliot
wondered if the Council accepted him and Fiona as their own, would life get
easier? Or would there be new tests and adventures?

And
if they didn’t accept them?

Eliot’s
hand itched, the poison burning up the vein in his arm. He wished he had Lady
Dawn.

Aunt
Lucia turned to Fiona. “Miss Fiona Paige Post. You have shown yourself to be a
fearless warrior, unyielding in the face of extreme adversity. For that, and
for imbibing the Golden Apple, we pronounce you . . . goddess.”

She
presented Fiona with a silver rosebud.

The
flower opened as Fiona took it. It perfumed the air with scents of lilac and
honey and shimmered with diamond-dust pollen.

“I
so invite you to join your cousins in the Order of the Celestial Rose,” Lucia
said.

“It’s
beautiful,” Fiona whispered. “Thank you.” She curtsied. “Yes, I definitely
accept.”

Eliot
breathed again; he hadn’t realized he’d stopped while Lucia declared his sister
part of the League.

Dallas
bounded to Fiona, hugged and kissed her, and escorted her back and made her sit
with her. Aaron came to her side as well and clasped her hand.

Fiona
looked flustered, delighted, and then her eyes found Eliot’s and she was
suddenly unsure of her new happiness.

He
was alone now.

Lucia
turned to him.

“Master
Eliot Zachariah Post.” Lucia’s authoritative voice quieted all. “You have
demonstrated cleverness and clear thought in the face of chaos and imminent
death, as well as unflagging loyalty to your sister. For that, and all your
other exalted deeds, we pronounce you . . . Immortal Hero.”

Eliot
smiled, but it froze on his face.

Hero?
Not a god like his sister?