MORTAL COILS (106 page)

He
made Louis feel decidedly conservative in his diamond studs and Armani.

“How
can anyone think with all of this?” Louis waved his hand at the party raging
about them.

“There’s
more to celebrate than you know,” Oz slurred. “This just got posted on our
newsgroup.”

He
handed Louis a palm computer, sticky with caviar.

Stock
prices and headlines streamed across the bottom. Plastered in the center of the
screen, however, was:

   
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE. All heed, petition, and be judged. Narro, audio,
perceptum. This is a legal notice of status change. The League of Immortals
Council of Elders rules that Miss Fiona Paige Post be inducted into the Order
of the Celestial Rose. Master Eliot Zachariah Post has been transferred into
the Brotherhood of Immortal Heroes. Said changes are immediate and irrevocable.
Adulation and wonder at these glorious events! In accordance with the Pactum
Pax Immortalis no external parties may interfere with the legal, social, or
political affairs of the subjects, which now fall under the jurisdiction and
protection of . . .

“Bold
of the League, no?” Oz said.

Louis
didn’t, in truth, know quite what to think, so he donned his armored smile.
“Did you expect anything less?”

Oz
frowned at this casual reply. He had obviously come to extract information from
Louis, who had adopted the air of knowing all things related to his offspring.

“They
say that the girl actually fought Beal hand to hand . . .” Oz’s voice trailed
off and his face slackened as something new caught his attention.

Louis
followed his gaze and spotted Abigail striding purposefully toward them.

So
the Board had finally gathered for business—which from the look on Abigail’s
face might include something particularly nasty for Oz. Would the first order
of business be to remove Oz from the Board? So obviously weakened, Oz had been
a fool to show himself. Perhaps his vacated seat would even be offered to
Louis.

Oz
dumped the contents of his wineglass overboard. “You must excuse me, Cousin. I
appear to be dry.” He scurried off.

“Abigail,”
Louis said, and threw open his arms, as much a gesture of greeting as an
assurance that he had no desire to engage in combat.

She
wore ropes of gold that wound about her slender albino form. The ropes seemed
to twitch as if alive. Scarab beetles the size of baseballs nestled upon her
shoulders and waved their antennae aggressively at Louis.

She
presented a childlike smile, which he knew could mean anything from pleasure at
seeing him . . . to the prelude of a vicious bite.

Much
to Louis’s relief, though, she offered him her hand to kiss.

With
any other Infernal this would have been an invitation to take advantage. But
one did not casually entice a Destroyer (there was so much blood involved), so
Louis took her tiny hand and kissed it in the most gentlemanly manner.

“Rogue,”
she whispered, blushing slightly. “How I have missed you. We must make up for
lost time.”

“We
must,” Louis breathed, feeling his pulse race.

He
stopped himself. Aligning with dear little Abby was dangerous under any
circumstances, but doubly so now since he did not know the politics of the
moment. Until he understood better, such pairings could be more perilous than
usual.

He
changed the subject. “Have you heard the news?”

Abigail’s
smile deflated slightly and she sighed. “Oh, yes . . . that. The entire Board
is drunk with the irony of it.”

“Indeed,”
Louis stated, now fishing for details himself. “The League declaring the twins
as their own. Legally binding. As if that means anything.”

The
ship tilted and rolled upon a perfectly calm ocean.

Louis
glanced about and spotted the source of the disturbance: lumbering toward them
from the buffet tables was Lev.

Abigail
scowled at him and made a little shooing-away motion, which Lev ignored.

“Louis!”
Lev draped a massive arm around him. “It’s good to see you again, buddy.”

Louis
did his best not to flinch. Lev wore none of the signature jewelry about his
walruslike neck, although he did have on the same polyester jumpsuit that Louis
had seen him in sixteen years ago. From the thickening atmosphere, it seemed
that Lev had yet to wash the thing.

Lev
carried a silver platter heaped with hors d’oeuvres and steaming meat. He
stuffed his face with morsels from the tray, then remembered his manners and
offered the tray to Abigail.

She
took one fiber of meat, sniffed it, and tasted a tiny nibble. “A little gamy.
What is it?”

Mouth
full of food, and grinning, Lev replied, “Our former chairman of the Board.”

He
offered some to Louis.

Louis
held up a hand. “Thank you, but no. I only eat the ones I love.”

“Suit
yourself,” Lev said. “You talking about the League? Looks like they just helped
us figure out what we wanted to know.”

“I
agree,” Abigail said, lowering her voice. “Assassinating Beal and now legally
declared Immortal? What more proof do we require that they can break the
neutrality treaty?”

Dual
lineage.

That’s
what they were talking about. How thick of Louis not to see this before. He now
understood why all were so interested in his children. They were going to use
Eliot and Fiona to attack the League—and possibly more than that.

Much
more.

He
had to carefully think through all the ramifications. And how to best use them
to his advantage.

Ashmed
joined them, curling one arm through Abby’s.

Louis
had been so deep in thought that he had not seen Ashmed approach. The Architect
of Evil wore a charcoal gray suit and a sterling silver tie. Certainly
underdressed for a party, but perfect for radiating the necessary authority at
a Board meeting.

Ashmed’s
style was timeless, though, subtle and effective. He had been careful to remain
one step away from the center of power and thus had few enemies. The time was
right for him to become chairman of the Board, if that was what he desired.

“Louis,”
he said, clasping Louis’s hand before he could retract it. The handshake was
mechanical, and he released Louis—but not before he gave him a squeeze of power
to demonstrate his superiority. Ashmed nodded to Lev.

Louis
continued to smile, but his mind raced.

How
friendly they all were. How wrong this all was. There should have been at least
a brawl by now. Was it the allure of war and total destruction that had pulled
the clans together?

Change
was in the air: perhaps the end of the old world and the beginning of a new
mortal realm dominated by them. For some reason this notion made Louis ill at
ease.

“We
are ready to convene the Board,” Ashmed told them. “Louis, I would like you to
join us.”

“Of
course.”

Abigail
and Lev exchanged a knowing glance.

“I
better grab some food and a couple of drinks,” Lev muttered. “A guy could
starve while everyone talks.” He left them.

Abigail
smiled at Louis, graciously withdrew from Ashmed’s arm, then also departed.

Louis
started after her, but Ashmed touched his shoulder. “A moment, Cousin,” he
whispered. “Someone else wishes a word with you.”

He
pointed to a curtained gazebo set on the opposite side of the Olympicsize pool.

“Take
care,” Ashmed said, then walked away, leaving Louis to ponder his vague
warning.

Louis
was relieved. He had expected some confrontation. It was unnatural to be among
his kin for so long without spilled blood. Still, such an obvious trap to walk
into, and yet, he yearned to prove himself.

He
had taken precautions for this eventuality. He was armed, armored, and was he
not the Master Deceiver? Charlatan extraordinaire?

He
strode over the teak deck to the gazebo, every step his confidence building.

Let
this waiting aggressor try to lay a hand on him. He laughed, delighted with
himself.

Louis
slowed, however, three paces before the parted curtain of the gazebo. He
smelled the overwhelming scent of vanilla and poppies.

The
shapely silhouette of Sealiah appeared in the opening. “Come in. There is
business to discuss.” Her tone was chilled malevolence.

There
was history between them: millennia of romance and blood and all-out war.
Before Louis had found true love, he and Sealiah had danced in an eternal orbit
of hatred and lust.

Sealiah
was one of the few who could surprise him. Louis should have suspected this
subterfuge was hers, though; she was the most obvious of his kin to have reason
for a vendetta. Had he not killed her precious Uri?

At
least this would not be boring.

He
took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The
green velvet curtain of the gazebo fell closed behind him. Upon a table covered
with red linen, a candelabra with six silver candles shone.

Sealiah
stood on the far side with a girl attendant. Sealiah wore lace finery that
looked part wedding gown, part nightgown, and all allure. Her girl was cloaked
in black, which contrasted with her platinum locks and pale skin.

Louis
saw no runes upon the wooden floor or the curtains. He sensed nothing in the
shadows. Still, what other purpose could Sealiah have for calling him other
than a trap?

Her
attendant was a lovely thing, though. Distractingly so. She was

more
blond and beautiful than Sealiah preferred her servants, and too perfect to be
entirely human. Perhaps she was the trap?

He
had seen her before, but the specifics of when and where eluded him. He tilted
his signet ring and let the cabochon diamond scan her for later study.

Louis
gave the Queen of the Poppies the slightest of bows—not out of disrespect, but
rather because he had no intention of lowering his guard before her. The
ultimate compliment.

“Destroy
everything you touch,” Louis said.

“Lies
and salutations, Cousin,” Sealiah offered.

Something
rustled under the table.

Louis
smiled, but tensed, and his left hand snaked to the sheath that held Saliceran.

“Let
us be quick with this.” Sealiah narrowed her eyes. “My blood heats at the mere
sight of you, Louis.”

What
could Louis say that would not provoke her? He was not fool enough to deny that
he killed Uri, so instead he simply stated, “He died well.”

This
was true enough.

Uri
died trying to double-cross Louis on her behalf. What more could the giant of a
puppy desire?

Sealiah
sighed and seemed to relax a tiny bit. She nodded to her assistant. “Jezebel,
show our cousin what we have brought him.”

The
girl dragged from under the table a plastic animal carrier. Within the darkness
of the container, a pair of yellow-gold eyes blinked at Louis.