MORTAL COILS (103 page)

It
had been hard ever since she severed her appetite; a little easier after

she’d
taken a bite of the Golden Apple—but still, she had to concentrate to feel the
warmth she knew was there for Robert, and the loyalty toward her brother. And
for Audrey? There was a sense of loss . . . and some hope that there might yet
be something between her and her mother.

All
these ambiguous feelings were for the “good” side of her family. What of her
father, Louis, and all the other fallen angels?

Fiona
knelt and rummaged through her book bag. Inside was her straw hat, swimsuits, a
waterproof camera, the yo-yo Uncle Aaron had given her—and there: a leather
pouch.

She
pulled it out and removed Beelzebub’s sapphire.

The
jewel had shrunk to the size of an egg. Fiona let it hang on its leather thong,
swaying over the water.

It
was beautiful. Hypnotically so. She gazed into its depths. It had hundreds of
facets, each one a precision cut, but without any pattern—a series of random
planes and angles that all puzzled together upon the surface of the stone. It
flashed with the blue of flickering flame, the wide-open sky, and endless
ocean.

It was
far more than just a priceless jewel. She carried it as a reminder that an
entire side of her family was still out there complicating her life.

What
would they do to Robert if they knew he and she were officially boyfriend and
girlfriend? His life would be in constant danger.

“What
are you going to do with that thing?” Robert asked.

She
dropped the jewel to the end of the leather cord. “I could just toss it into
the ocean. Let the fish take care of whatever evil is inside.”

“Not
a bad idea.” Robert’s eyes locked onto its sparkling facets.

It
would be easy to let go . . . forget about Louis and the others.

But
that would be like forgetting about a part of herself. Louis was her father.
Half of his blood pulsed through her veins. The fallen angels were her family,
too. She wasn’t going to deny that . . . but she wasn’t ready to embrace that
unpleasant fact yet, either.

She
popped the cord, caught the sapphire in one deft motion, and stowed it back in
her bag.

“I’m
not going to worry about it,” she told Robert. “At least, not today.”

Uncle
Aaron rolled out of the hammock. He glanced at the horizon. “The plane will be
here soon,” he announced.

Fiona
sighed. Her vacation was over. Uncle Henry’s Learjet would land on the private
airstrip in two hours and whisk her back to the real world.

She
leaned against Robert.

Together
they watched the horizon redden and turn brilliant with sunrise. Dolphins poked
their noses out of the ocean and called to them.

“Time
left for one more swim,” she said.

Robert
peeled off his shirt and jumped into the water. Fiona joined him, splashing and
laughing, and gave him one long kiss.

Audrey,
her brother, Immortals, and Infernal politics and schemes—all the realities of
the outside world—they were going to have to wait.

Fiona
had a feeling that trouble was on the horizon . . . and that she’d have to make
this vacation last a long, long time.

78

LIVING
WITH LIES

Eliot
slid the box onto the stack of other book-filled boxes. He opened the flap and
saw three volumes of St. Hawthorn’s Collected Reference of Horticulture. Where
had he put the other five in the series?

The
motel room was crammed—wall-to-wall and overflowing on dresser, bed, and
nightstands—with such boxes.

He
pushed his new glasses up the ridge of his nose. He didn’t think he’d ever get
used to them, but he had to admit his vision had indeed been blurry.

Eliot
blinked at himself in the mirror over the dresser and sighed. The wire rims
made him look younger and dorkier than he could ever have imagined. His journey
to nerd-dom was now complete.

Cee
shuffled into the doorway. “I’ve finished cataloging room six,” she said, her
hands trembling as they held a clipboard.

Eliot
closed the box. “That was the last one. I think we’re done for the night.”

“Night?”
Cee glanced outside. “It’s almost morning, sweetie.”

Eliot
joined her and looked outside. In the distance the buildings of downtown
Alameda, California, stood silhouetted against the lightening eastern sky. He’d
been so preoccupied he hadn’t noticed they’d worked through the entire evening.

No
one else had been here to distract him. Cee and Audrey had rented out every
room in this little roadside motel. It was where they had decided to store all
the things saved from the fire.

How
Cee managed to box and move it all, Eliot hadn’t figured out. It was as if they
had planned the move ahead of time.

All
their important books had been carefully cataloged, wrapped in paper, then set
in color-coded boxes. It had taken him and Cee the better part of five days to
get all unloaded, organized, and safely stored in two dozen rooms.

“I
think we’ve earned a little rest.” Cee patted his hand. “Why don’t you get cleaned
up and we’ll have breakfast at the diner.”

Eliot
nodded. One advantage of having the old place burnt to the ground was that
Cecilia wasn’t cooking. The diner down the street served scrambled eggs, sides
of crisp bacon, and gallons of fresh orange juice. It was heaven.

He
started to his dingy room to wash off the dust and the book smell— then halted.

Eliot
didn’t like being ordered around, even if it was by Cecilia. Ever since he’d
officially been welcomed in the League, he hadn’t liked anyone telling him
anything.

To
be clear, though, he had never liked being ordered around . . . he’d just never
questioned it as he had now.

Was
that because he’d been declared an Immortal Hero, or was it just part of
growing up?

He
marched back to Cee. “Where’s Audrey?”

Eliot
had wanted to ask “Where’s my mother?” but he couldn’t quite say that. He had
had a hard enough time not calling Audrey “Grandmother” anymore. That he had a
living mother (let alone a father, too) was still taking some getting used to.

“I
thought she was going to be around,” he said. “That we were going to be more of
a family.”

“More
of a family?” Cee looked puzzled. “We have always been family. It is not
something you could have more or less of, my darling.”

Eliot
frowned at this obvious diversion. “Just where is she, Cee?”

“Come,
walk me to my room.” Cecilia slipped her arm through his, and Eliot helped her
amble along the covered sidewalk. “Your mother is dealing with League matters.”

This
was news. When Eliot had asked Cee before, for all he had got was a vague
“away” or “busy.” Cecilia’s guard was down . . . so he pressed for more.

“The
Council is back in session?”

Cee
nodded. “Your mother’s sister Dallas has stepped down, and another had to fill
her spot. No surprise with that one. I never understood

how
one with so much power could be so irresponsible.” Cee touched her lips,
appearing shocked at the boldness of her words.

Eliot
tried to look Cecilia in the eyes, but she would not meet his gaze. “Does that
mean Audrey’s going to be away all the time? That there are going to be just as
many secrets as there were before?”

Cee
sighed. “There will always be secrets, my dearest Eliot. It is a constant of
the world in which we live.”

Wait.
Eliot rewound their conversation. Cecilia had said “your mother’s sister
Dallas.” If Cee was his great-grandmother, wouldn’t Aunt Dallas and Aunt Lucia
be her daughters along with Audrey? Wouldn’t she have said just plain “Dallas”
or “my Dallas”?

He
had long suspected that Cecilia was not really his great-grandmother, but it
wasn’t something he wanted to dwell upon. She was the only one who had ever
showed any real affection for him or Fiona.

Which
was only more evidence that she wasn’t related to the Post family.

She
was bent with age, always trembling, her shawl wrapped tightly around her neck.
She didn’t look like Audrey or Uncle Henry or any of the others, her features
more rounded, wrinkled . . . more human.

Why
would Audrey let her pretend she was a relation?

“Who
are you?” Eliot whispered.

Cecilia
stopped trembling and smiled. “I am someone who will always be your Cecilia, my
dove. I will love you more than any ever could.”

“So
you’re not—”

Cecilia
touched his lips with one finger, silencing him. “Do you truly wish to know?”

“The
truth is always best, at least, that’s what Louis said.”

Cee
laughed and it sounded like dry leaves. “The Infernals and their damned irony,”
she muttered. “Is truth always good for you? What if it brings pain and ruin?
Have you never lied to protect someone’s feelings?”

She
leaned closer.

Eliot
suddenly smelled the ocean and smoke. He felt wind on his skin. He imagined
that he stood on the steps of an ancient temple and Cecilia stood before him,
gazing into a pool of water, a burning bunch of sage in one hand, and a crooked
twig in the other. She was younger, his age, with raven hair that fell to her
waist.

He
blinked and the image vanished. Old, trembling Cee stood before him, patting
his arm, with her usual bleach-and-soap scent.

For
once Eliot’s curiosity wasn’t in control of his thinking. He was tired of
dealing with the truth. Maybe it was okay to just let a person love you, not
ask questions, and accept his or her affection for the rare gift it was.

He
and Fiona had lived with lies for fifteen years. It hadn’t been such a bad
thing; it had protected them from the families . . . maybe even saved their lives.

Lies
obviously served some purpose other than evil.

It
was a slippery concept. Eliot wasn’t sure he understood all the ramifications
of this “beneficial” lying, but he was sure that he loved Cecilia, and that he
wanted to continue doing so.

“Okay,”
he whispered. “Great-Grandmother.”

Cee
gave him a shaking hug, and he hugged her back.

She
then pushed him gently away and opened the door to her room. “Come for me in
half an hour. We’ll then have a nice breakfast together.”

“Sure.”

He
gave her a wave and went back to his own motel room.

It
was dingy and dusty, and he didn’t feel like being cooped up, so he grabbed his
backpack and went outside again.

The
sun hadn’t risen, and from the dull gray-pink tinge on the horizon, Eliot
figured it wouldn’t be full daylight for another twenty minutes.

He
climbed a fire ladder to the gravel-strewn rooftop of the motel. The view was
of a dozen billboards, the glowing signs of fast-food restaurants, and
mist-shrouded hills. Eliot wanted to collect his thoughts and breathe air that
didn’t smell like rotting paper.

He
missed his old life. Not the boredom, being kept in the dark, or the bullying
parts, but the people. He’d likely never see his friend Johnny from Ringo’s
again. Robert was supposedly hiding somewhere. Fiona was on vacation at Uncle
Henry’s invitation. And Julie? She was probably in Los Angeles already settled
into her new life—better off without him.