MORTAL COILS (60 page)

She
stretched the rubber band to a taut line and shoved it at a nearby garden
statue. It sliced through the concrete cupid as if it weren’t there.

The
cherub’s head thudded to the floor, its childlike face staring back at her.

That
felt good.

If
she put her mind to it, she’d be able to cut through anything. No one would be
able to stop her. Not even imposing Uncle Aaron. Not even Grandmother.

That
thought stopped her cold.

No,
she’d never be able to cut anything alive.

She
knelt and touched the cherub’s face. “Sorry,” she whispered to it.

Her
stomach rumbled and her blood ran cold. She needed to eat.

She
tasted chocolate on her lips, but her truffles were long gone. Hadn’t she
decided she wouldn’t rely on them? She’d just need more and more to get the
same sugar rush.

Eliot
stopped tuning his violin and turned to her. “I’m ready.”

“Go
ahead. I’ll be right up.”

“You
okay?”

“Sure.”
Fiona stood slowly. “No problems. I just need a second.”

Eliot
nodded. “I’ll tell Grandmother you’re coming.” He hesitated as if he wanted to
say more, as if he could sense that she was in trouble. But then he turned and
ran up the stairs, his flashlight waving crazily through the dark.

One
day left to live—how could that possibly be right? Aunt Dallas thought it was
true, though. And when Fiona concentrated on what she had seen and felt
prophesied from the thread . . . she knew it was true, too.

She
really needed a truffle: one taste of chocolate cream, butter toffee, cherry
cordial . . . just one.

And
why not? Why be just plain old Fiona Post? Look-at-the-ground,
never-speak-up-for-herself Fiona Post. Wasn’t a little girl’s life at stake
tonight? Not to mention hers and Eliot’s.

Shouldn’t
she be doing everything in her power to be the best she could?

When
it came right down to it, wasn’t she being selfish to throw away the one thing
that made her strong?

And
if she only had a day left . . . why deny herself any of life’s pleasures?

She
took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do.

Fiona
plodded upstairs and outside into the alley—running to the Dumpster where the
building’s trash chute ended.

She
lifted the lid and clambered into the container.

She
gagged from the smell: diapers and barbecue, seaweed and a hint of gasoline.
She reeled back from the odors and almost fell out.

She
pressed her handkerchief over her nose and panned her flashlight back and
forth.

A
rat blinked back at her, unafraid, then went back to devouring a moldy jelly
doughnut.

What
was she doing? Rummaging through a Dumpster at night? Looking for something she
wasn’t entirely sure was good for her? Holding up the second trial . . .

But
she couldn’t stop, either.

Her
beam landed on a blood-red heart. It was covered with fast-food wrappers. She
grabbed the box, brushed off grease and mayonnaise, and cradled it to her
chest. She firmly secured the lid and tucked it into her book bag.

Perfect.

She
climbed down and brushed herself off.

A
shadow glided to the mouth of the alley and honked twice.

She
sprinted to Grandmother’s car—ready now to face death.

45

MADHOUSE

Eliot
sat jammed in next to Fiona as Grandmother raced down the street. Her car
(which neither he nor Fiona had ever seen) was a Jaguar XKSS. The midnight blue
marvel was mostly a curve of aerodynamic hood that stretched out in front of
the cockpit. Eliot wondered how Grandmother saw the road at all. There were
only two leather seats, and no backseat.

Where
were they going to put the little girl when they rescued her? Of course, he wasn’t
certain they’d even get that far tonight.

As
they rounded a curve, Eliot slid into his sister. Fiona elbowed him back.

She
smelled of eggs and grease. What had Fiona done in the few minutes he had left
her alone?

“Do
you know Perry Millhouse?” he asked Grandmother.

Grandmother
drove in silence. They bounced and slung up and around the rolling foothills.
The twilight made eerie silhouettes of the black oaks dotting the landscape.
Shadows stretched and thinned and crowded out the light.

“I
knew the man before he lost his mind,” Grandmother finally replied. “Now he is
an animal. No more.”

“But
why would he do such terrible things?” Fiona asked. “Kill people? Burn
buildings? Kidnap a little girl?”

“Do
not think of that.” Grandmother flicked off the headlights. The outline of the
road faded to a barely visible edge. “Think only of your task: find the girl
and get out. Do not cross his path if you can help it.”

“Yeah,
no problem,” Eliot whispered.

“If
you do,” Grandmother said, “do not hesitate to act. He will destroy you if you
let him.”

Eliot
glanced at Fiona. She looked as if she might throw up. He swallowed, suddenly
unsettled, too.

Grandmother
turned onto a dirt road. A sign lit with a dim forty-watt bulb read:

HALEY’S
TREASURES

Carnival,
Fun House, and Entertainment Resale Antiques!

(inquire
at office)

(OPEN
9AM to DUSK)

“If
Millhouse operates anywhere near Diablo State Park,” Grandmother whispered, “it
is here. He enjoys such places.”

In the
distance loomed the shapes of cargo trailers and carnival rides that in the
gloom looked like metal dinosaurs.

Grandmother
cut the Jaguar’s engine, shifted into neutral, and rolled toward the chain-link
fence.

“But
what is Millhouse?” Eliot whispered. “Part of the family? Something like Souhk?
Just a crazy guy?”

“None
of those,” Grandmother said. “He took something, and it changed him.”

“What?”
Fiona asked. “And what did it change him into?”

Grandmother
frowned, thinking, then told her, “He took some fire. That is all you need to
know right now.”

Eliot
didn’t understand. Fire? Why did someone need to steal fire? You just struck a
match or turned on the stove and you had fire.

The
car stopped.

Eliot
knew he had to get out and save that little girl’s life, but he felt stuck to
the leather. He was scared.

Grandmother
turned to him. Her hand lifted off the wheel as if to reach out to comfort him,
but then it dropped back.

“I
have raised you both to be polite, gentle, and thoughtful,” Grandmother
whispered. “But you cannot be those things. Tonight you may have to kill.”

Eliot’s
skin crept with gooseflesh.

Fiona
shook her head.

“The
Council has declared this a test of blood,” Grandmother said, trying to sound
conciliatory. “They will have engineered it so there will be no choice:
someone’s life will be taken. So grasp the initiative, and if it comes to it,
make sure the life taken is not yours.”

“There
has to be another way than killing,” Fiona whispered.

Eliot
knew they would find a way. They did it with Souhk. They could do it here,
tonight . . . somehow.

Grandmother
considered them in the dark. “Stay to the shadows.”

Fiona
opened the door. “Come on.” She grabbed Eliot’s hand.

Normally
this would have violated their brother-sister-never-touch-me agreement, which
had been in place since they had been toilet trained. But tonight, Eliot let
her.

“I
shall be here,” Grandmother said from the dark. “Waiting.”

Eliot
waved to Grandmother, unsure if she saw.

Fiona
marched ahead, leading him to the fence. There was a rustle, then she pulled
apart a portion that had apparently already been cut.

Four
lamps atop telephone poles flickered to life. A sickly glow washed over the
lot.

The
scrapyard was set up like a real carnival, albeit a rotten,
never-used-in-the-last-thirty-years carnival. Beyond this were cargo trailers
stacked precariously, and along the far fence stood behemoth thrill rides—the
Zipper, the Whiplash, Avalanche, Spinout—all rusting and long dead.

The
lights overhead seemed bright, but by the time the illumination filtered to the
ground, shadows pooled everywhere.

Eliot
and Fiona wandered inside and kept to the darkness.

They
paused by a merry-go-round with brass calliope tubes sprouting from its center.
Snarling horses with chipped and fading paint chased one another. They gave
Eliot the creeps.

“What
do you think Robert meant by ‘slasher’ movies?” Eliot whispered. “You think
Millhouse has fire and knives?”

Fiona
shrugged.

Had
the Council known they’d never seen a movie before? That to understand urban
myths, you probably had to have contact with the world? By keeping them “safe”
and isolated, Grandmother might have cut them off from the very information
they needed to survive.

“He
said something about kids dying at summer camp,” Fiona said. “I didn’t get that
reference. Maybe it’s some sort of fairy tale meant to scare people.”

Eliot
nodded and wondered how the people in those “slasher” movies survived.

They
came to a lane of gaming booths. There were shooting galleries, baseball
pitches, plastic clowns with open mouths and squirt guns, rope ladders, and
beer-bottle ring tosses.

“So
what’s the plan?”

“I
don’t know.” Fiona shot Eliot an irritated glance. “Just keep your eyes open
and stop talking so much.”

“Those
trailers in the back,” Eliot whispered. “I bet that’s where Amanda is. You
could lock someone up in there.”

“Or
the sales office.” Fiona looked around, uncertain where exactly that might be.
She reached into her book bag and popped a chocolate into her mouth.

“You’re
eating those things now? Are you crazy?”

Fiona’s
face bunched and she looked unsure. “Yeah,” she muttered around a mouthful. “It
helps me.” She threw up her hands, exasperated. “Okay . . . let’s check the
trailers.”

They
turned to backtrack through the gaming lanes—but halted. A glow flickered to
life thirty paces away, blocking their path.

It
was a tiny flame, but so intense that Eliot had to blink as his eyes struggled
with the illumination.

The
fire came from a silver lighter, polished so that it reflected the light.

Holding
it was a dirty hand with torn nails.

And
attached to the hand was a man in a blue-gray jumpsuit.