MORTAL COILS (74 page)

Of
all the places in the world she could go, Eliot’s dingy, little run-down
apartment, smack in the middle of boredom on earth, might just be the safest
place, after all.

Would
his family even listen to her, though, a spy for the enemy? And if Sealiah was
so scared of them . . . shouldn’t she be, too?

She
wished she had had time to think this all through. Eliot would be back home by
now. If she was going to try this crazy plan of telling the truth, she’d have
to do it quickly.

Julie
wiped off her lipstick. She decided: back to Del Sombra it was.

Maybe
it was Eliot’s song making her think crazy, but she’d give the truth a chance .
. . even if it killed her.

Julie
trotted back into the parking lot. A group of guys by the bar spotted her and
called out, but she ignored them. She was getting out of here just in the nick
of time. It would’ve been all too easy to slip back into old ways. And look
where that had landed her.

She
hurried to the Duster, not making eye contact with the bar creeps.

She
heard them walking after her.

She
opened the driver’s-side door, got in, and slammed it shut. In the rearview
mirror, she saw the three of them stop . . . whisper to each other, then back
away, almost running to the bar.

Julie
exhaled. Too close.

Funny,
she thought she’d smelled the leather of their jackets. But they hadn’t got
that close, had they?

She
held up her hand. It shook. She tried to make it stop. That’s all she needed
now was to get pulled over by a cop for driving like a drunk.

A
slender hand clamped onto her arm.

“No
need to tremble, my pet,” cooed a velvet voice.

Julie
jumped.

Sitting
next to her, perfectly still and silent, was Sealiah, Queen of Poppies,
Mistress of the Many-Colored Jungles, the Lady of Pain. She wore snakeskin
pants and an oversize black biker jacket. The smell of reptile leather and
perfume was overwhelming.

Julie
turned and pulled on the door handle.

Sealiah
yanked her back—nearly pulling her arm out of its socket. With a blur of
motion, the door’s lock smashed down into a blob of metal.

“There
has been quite enough running for one evening, I think.” Sealiah released
Julie’s arm.

Julie’s
parents had made her watch nature documentaries when she was a kid (partially
to compensate for all the school she skipped). She remembered what happened
when a lion or pack of hyenas caught up to a gazelle. The animal would scream
and kick, but then it gave up, eyes glazed over . . . and it would let them eat
it still alive. As if some part in its brain started turning off the lights
before it fully checked out.

That’s
where Julie was at this exact moment.

Trapped.
About to die. Strangely calm.

Or
was that Eliot’s hope still inside her? She snorted a laugh. As if one silly
emotion could help her out of this mess. She had been such a fool to believe.

“Much
better,” Sealiah said. “I’m glad you’ve decided to be reasonable. I have just a
few questions.”

“Yes,
ma’am.” Be polite. Mama always told her politeness would take her further than
her looks.

“I’m
not angry. I admire your spirit.” Sealiah stared at Julie a moment, examining
her, then asked, “I want to know why you left. By all reports, you already had
our young Eliot Post for the taking.”

Julie
dared not lie. “Yes, ma’am, I did.”

“A
girl like you wouldn’t have been scared. There were no League agents present.
Why depart at the moment of your victory?”

Sealiah
lifted Julie’s chin with one pointed fingernail.

Julie
had no choice but to look into her emerald eyes. Sealiah was beautiful. Her
features reminded her of a predator cat, sleek and dangerous.

“I
. . . I couldn’t do it to him.”

“Surely
you did not fall in love. I know you are smarter than that.”

Julie
struggled to keep her feelings to herself. She didn’t want to share them with
this monster. The words came nonetheless, pulled from her unwillingly.

“He
gave me something,” she whispered.

Sealiah’s
hand drifted between Julie’s breasts.

Julie’s
heart beat fast and erratic as if it were being torn from her chest. She gulped
in air, but it didn’t help.

“I
can hear it,” Sealiah whispered. “A song just for you. Powerful magic. Oh, yes,
an extraordinary gift.” She withdrew her hand and wiped it on her pants. “Did
you know that people can go their entire lives, and most actually do, without
ever feeling that? I am almost jealous, child.”

Julie
folded her arms protectively over her chest.

Sealiah
set her hand on Julie’s arm again, holding it lightly, but her pointed nails
dimpled the flesh. “So I don’t blame you. If I were you, I might’ve tried the
same thing.”

“Really?”

“I
can see that you did your very best with Eliot. Who could have ever imagined he
would be so clever.”

Julie
felt hope again. She heard Eliot’s music inside her. “So I can—”

“Go?”
Sealiah’s hand tightened on Julie’s arm. “Of course not. I said I understood. I
did not say that I was an utter fool.”

Julie’s
hope dimmed to a faint ember, not completely extinguished, but it would never
blaze again as it had when Eliot had first played her song.

“No
need to take such a somber attitude. I like you. I’ve come to give you the easy
way out.” Sealiah opened the glove box, removed a leather wallet, and unfolded
the flap. Inside was a length of rubber tubing and a syringe.

Julie
stared at it, horrified. “No . . . ,” she whispered.

“It
is the best. I saw to its procurement myself.”

“I
. . . I can’t.” Julie tried to pull away, but Sealiah’s hand was immovable and
her nails drew blood.

“There
are harder ways, my dear. Much harder. I shall not be so generous again.”

Julie
stopped her struggles and touched the syringe. It was ice-cold.

No.
Never.

But
she couldn’t take her hand off the thing, either. It would feel so good. It
would take away the pain, make her forget . . . just for a while.

“This
is something you must do for yourself,” Sealiah said. “I cannot help. There are
rules about these things.”

56

Just
as before . . . Julie would kill herself. Cross my heart and hope to die.

She
let the truth of the situation settle about her like concrete. She had set the
terms of their agreement—binding no matter what the outcome. She had gambled
for her life and soul . . . and lost both.

She
picked up the tubing. Like the half-eaten gazelle, she would have to check out.
The easy way or the hard way, but she was going.

Mechanically,
she tied off her arm. The veins bulged.

She
hated herself for being weak, for not even trying to be strong in the last
moment of her life.

There
was still some hope . . . wasn’t there?

She
should fight . . . She should . . .

One
pinprick.

“There,”
Sealiah whispered. “That’s a good girl.”

Eliot’s
song faded. Numbness washed over Julie, and Sealiah drew her closer.

Drowning
in euphoria, Julie squeezed the last tears from her living eyes. Her heart
slowed. As blackness took her, she felt the Queen of Poppies take her and rock
her to sleep.

56.
The angel Sealiah was responsible for teaching agriculture to humanity. When
she fell from grace, she made a gift of poppies to mortals and taught all their
nefarious uses. She has dominion over all who sin with and die from such
opiates. Gods of the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 13: Infernal
Forces, 8th ed. (Zypheron Press Ltd.).

58

A
CURE FOR THE BLUES

Eliot
could see the Bavarian façade of the Oakwood Apartments ahead, but he dawdled.
He didn’t want to stay outside, but he didn’t want to go home, either.

It
felt as if someone had taken a spoon and scooped out his insides. Julie was
gone.

Clouds
rumbled overhead, rain fell in patches, and light broke through here and there.

Why
had she asked him to go with her if she hadn’t meant it? Was it possible she
was just playing with him the entire time?

He
shuffled through a pile of shattered safety glass on the sidewalk. It looked as
if a car window had got busted out.

On
the other hand, maybe it was best not to know why Julie had left without him.
Instead, Eliot wondered if something might have forced her to leave early. She
could be just as broken up about it as he was. It was as if fate had kept them
apart.

He
slipped into a daydream, one where he found clues to where she had gone,
puzzled out the mystery, and fought the bad guys—

Eliot
stumbled into a man on the sidewalk.

“Oh,
sorry, sir.”

“They
are called the blues, young man.”

Eliot
looked up, surprised. He recognized the voice . . . although not the man who
had spoken.

This
person was as tall as Grandmother, slim, but somehow managing to block the
entire sidewalk. He was an older gentleman. His black hair

was
streaked with silver at his temples, combed back, and flowed over his
shoulders. He wore black slacks and a cornflower blue shirt that matched the
twinkle in his eyes. He had expensive alligator-leather shoes and a camel-hair
overcoat.

“You
might as well be playing a funeral dirge upon Lady Dawn. Your face is so long
it practically drags on the sidewalk.” The man drew his hand over his chin,
pretending it was ridiculously elongated.

Eliot
recognized him. It was homeless Louis, now transformed. “You look . . .”

Louis
smiled at Eliot with brilliant white teeth. “No longer like an alcoholic bum
urinating on himself in the corner of an alley? Selling his blood by the pint
to pay for fortified spirits to blot out the indomitable pain of life?”

“I
was going to say, you look good, sir,” Eliot said.

“Well,
thank you.” Louis’s smile faded a bit. “You should watch where you’re going.
You could have wandered into the street and been flattened by some careless
driver.”

Funny
. . . but now that Eliot thought about it, he hadn’t seen a single car or
person since he had left the bus station. It was as if everyone in Del Sombra
were on vacation.

“I’m
sorry for running into you. I was thinking about someone else.”

“Never
apologize twice for the same thing. It transforms politeness into weakness.
There is nothing to apologize for. You are a young man with deep thoughts, an
admirable trait.”

“I
guess so.”