MORTAL COILS (21 page)

In
comparison to the “other” family, the troubles of this family were mere
squabbles.

Audrey
replied, “Fiona is barely a woman. Eliot is on the cusp of manhood.”

“When
were they born?” Cornelius held a pencil over a notepad. “The precise time if
you would, please.”

He
was going to chart their stars. Audrey welcomed this delay. It would give her
time to think.

“Fiona
was firstborn,” she said. “Fifteen years to the day at eight thirty-four in the
evening, Paris time. Eliot entered this world ten minutes later.”

Cornelius
scratched his ear as he jotted a few figures. “Leos,” he murmured. “Many
planetary bodies in conjunction. The girl is the dominant of the pair. Very
strong. Both of them. The boy will be an artist.” He flipped through several
books and charts, pages fluttering under his touch.

“These
children are no threat,” Audrey said. “They have been isolated from the
families and from their potential. They are perfectly normal.” When she thought
about everything Eliot and Fiona had already given up, and now to have all
their sacrifices end here—it seemed terribly wrong.

“How
could they be ‘normal,’ ” Gilbert asked, “with such an extraordinary mother,
and such a fiend of a father?”

Henry
gave an indifferent wave of his hand. “To be fair, they are intelligent,
polite—but true, otherwise rather dull.”

“It
is not their age or their power that is the problem,” Aaron said. “It is their
lineage.” He pinned Audrey with his dark stare. “The fact that they are from
both families—that is the only issue here.”

“You
make a good point,” Lucia said. “What does it matter how they were raised? I am
sure you did a superlative job, Sister. But this comes down to our contractual
obligations and their blood.”

Cornelius
set his calculations down. “Their stars are aligned in a most confusing
pattern.” He nodded at Henry. “Even more so than yours, I’m afraid.”

“Stars,”
Gilbert muttered, “have never led me to truth. What does it mean, old man?”

“It
means they are in balance,” Cornelius told them, “scientifically equivalent,
poised to tip one way or the other.” He fumbled in his pocket for a box of
matches. He struck one and set fire to his calculations. “They will be a great
boon for one family.”

Gilbert
asked, “Then should we not exploit them?”

“If
a weapon can be so easily turned against you,” Aaron replied, “best to destroy
that weapon.”

“Should
we not first consider the treaty?” Henry asked. “If the children favor the
mother genetically, then they are ours to judge. The Council must enforce the
law. . . .” He let these last words trail off and glanced at Lucia.

This
was theater. Audrey sensed the veils of deception, layers piling one over the
other to smother the truth. What Aaron had said about their lineage and
Cornelius about their being in balance, however, stuck in her head.

Lucia
said, “What if they favor neither mother nor father? Some hybrid as Cornelius
suggests? What if they are balanced between the two families? What are our
legal options then? One family may not meddle in the affairs of the other. That
is the law.”

“Half
of one family, half of the other,” Cornelius mused. “A loophole?”

“Those
two could open a door for the other family,” Gilbert said. “They could use them
to legally meddle in our affairs. There would be new alliances, power shifts,
and possibly war.”

“All
they have ever wanted is the tiniest opportunity to wreak havoc upon us,” Aaron
added, and turned to Audrey. “Much more is at stake than two children.”

Lucia
stood and brushed the sand from her dress. “I am sorry, Sister, but the Council
must act for the good of the family, for everyone. The children must be
removed.” She hesitated, licked her lips, then asked, “Shall we put it to a
vote?”

They
were silent, waiting for Audrey to act . . . or not.

Audrey
knew this conclusion was already foregone, for her benefit so she would
perceive this as rule of law and not seek a vendetta.

Two
words turned over in her mind: blood and law. Concepts strong enough to kill
Eliot and Fiona . . . or perhaps strong enough to save them?

“So
then,” Lucia said with a dramatic sigh, “all in favor of removing Eliot and
Fiona Post—”

“Wait,”
Audrey said. “You cannot.”

Aaron
shifted, and his powerful legs tensed. He was ready to move, to fight if need
be.

“You
must allow the Council to vote,” Lucia purred. “No one, not even you, is above
the law.”

“I
agree,” Audrey said. “Even you, Sister, are not above it. You may not take
action against the children because of the law.”

Lucia
narrowed her eyes. “What trick is this?”

Cornelius
murmured, “Oh, interesting. I see your point, yes. Our treaty with the others.”

Henry
leaned back, crossed his legs, and smiled.

“You
wish to protect this family and preserve our neutrality with the others,”
Audrey said. “In fact the Council is legally bound to uphold our neutrality
treaty with them.” She took a step closer to Lucia—who backed away. “You, in
fact, are not allowed to interfere with the others because of that treaty.”

Aaron’s
face brightened. “There is a third possibility to their heritage.”

“Yes,”
Audrey continued, “if they favor their mother, then they belong to our family
and may not be influenced by the others. If they are part of each family . . .
then that raises many unpleasant possibilities such as a treaty loophole. But
if their genetics favor the others, then you may not touch them. They are
shielded by the same treaty you seek to preserve, Sister. You must first
determine what they are: ours, theirs, or something of both.”

Lucia’s
pale skin flushed and she glared at Audrey. “Very well then. Bring them. Let us
see Eliot and Fiona Post. Let them be judged.”

14

THREE
HEROIC TRIALS

The
room in Uncle Henry’s mansion where Fiona and Eliot had been left was bigger
than an entire floor of their apartment building. Fiona looked up at the
ceiling: twenty feet high and covered with a mural of clouds and cherubs that
either played a game of hide-and-seek or lay in ambush for one another.16, 17

Sunlight
streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows on the southern wall. Beyond, the sea
churned and layers of stratocumulus streamed across the horizon. Eliot stood
there next to a table covered with food and a tea service. He picked at the
morsels and stared outside.

Fiona
studied the portraits on the walls: lords and ladies with frilled collars and
velvet cloaks that belonged to another age. Yet they belonged in this place,
too. They had strong jaws and smooth skin; about their eyes were laugh lines;
some had ears that stuck out like Eliot’s. They were relatives.

Their
painted stares, however, were too fixed upon her, so Fiona looked away and
crossed the room to Eliot.

16.
Cherubs were not originally thought of as an angelic order. In ancient
Assyrian-Babylonian works they are depicted as large birds, bulls, or sphinxes
with human faces. They are first mentioned as angels in the Old Testament,
guarding the Tree of Life with flaming swords. Only in recent history have they
been depicted as harmless and childlike. Gods of the First and Twenty-first
Century, Volume 2: Divine Inspirations, 8th ed. (Zypheron Press Ltd.).

17.
Once glorious with four eagle wings, sword of living flame, Beelzebub of the
Cherubic Order rebelled against the Light and fell with his brothers into
damnation. Father Sildas Pious, Mythica Improbiba (translated version), c.
thirteenth century.

“How
can you eat?” she asked.

He
washed down a mouthful of sugar-dusted orange with a cup of tea. “We missed
dinner. It was a long trip.”

Fiona
conjured the details of that trip from memory, but it was a blur . . .
everything except the driver who had opened her door. No one had ever opened a
door for her before or offered a hand to help her out. He had smelled of
leather and cloves, and she remembered his smile. It was a nice, uncomplicated
smile. She had felt a magnetic pull from her center to his. “Robert,” Uncle
Henry had called him.

Eliot
set his tea down. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.
But it doesn’t make any sense how we got here.”

“It
makes perfect sense, if you break Newton’s First Law.” Eliot picked up a finger
sandwich, inspecting its contents: salami and provolone.

“And
you’re okay with that?”

He
shook his head. “No way. But when I think about it, the only logical answer is
that something is wrong with me, like I’m dreaming . . . or crazy.”

Fiona
grew cold despite standing in the warm sunlight. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

“So
am I.”

Fiona
was scared not because of the strange journey, but rather the reason for it.
Why were they here?

“It’s
like we were kidnapped or something,” Eliot said.

“Grandmother
and Uncle Henry in that standoff. I thought she was going to—”

“Use
that knife?”

“Yeah.”

“Do
you think,” Eliot asked, “like Uncle Henry said, she killed Mr. Welmann?”

For
Fiona’s whole life she had felt threatened by Grandmother, although she had
never so much as raised a hand against her or Eliot. But seeing her holding
that knife, Fiona knew Grandmother knew how to use it (for more than slicing
birthday cake). She knew she had used it, too.

Footsteps
echoed along the adjoining hallway and Uncle Henry appeared in an archway. “I
hope you’ve had a chance to eat,” he said, crossing the room. His walk was
smooth and liquid as if he had somehow absorbed part of the room’s polished
marble and burnished gold.

“Where’s
Grandmother?” Eliot asked.

“Waiting.
Shall we join her? Do you need to use the bathroom?”

He
had asked them when they had left Del Sombra. Did he think they were little
kids whose bladders exploded when they got excited?

She
glanced at Eliot; he shook his head. “We’re fine,” she said, managing to sound
polite.

“Good,”
Uncle Henry said. “Are you frightened?” It was a simple question, one with no
judgment.

“It’s
a little strange,” Eliot offered.

Fiona
held her head high and looked Uncle Henry straight in the eyes just as she had Mike
earlier today. “I am.”

“I
am glad you can admit it,” Uncle Henry replied. “You are strong and honest like
your mother. That’s good because you are about to meet more of the family.”

Fiona
felt her confidence drain. “More?” she whispered.

Uncle
Henry looked at her and Eliot, seeming to decide something, then said, “They’re
going to test to see if you belong with us.”

“And
if we fail this test,” Eliot asked, “we go home?”

“No,”
Henry said flatly.

The
chill spreading through Fiona crystallized into a lump of ice in her stomach.

Without
further explanation Uncle Henry strode toward the hallway. “Come, there is no
turning back now.”