MORTAL COILS (87 page)

This
was precisely when her life was supposed to end.

No
. . . She squinted. It had ended. The original line had worn so much that it
got smaller and thinner and just disappeared. If not for this other fiber
sprouting around it, her life would’ve been severed.

She
gingerly touched this part. It felt like wood, glimmered like soft gold, and
was warm. There was a pulse, too, strong and regular.

That
had to be the doing of the Golden Apple. One life ended . . . and now this. A
new life? A second chance? Or something she didn’t yet understand?

Whatever
it was, it moved through the present and stretched out before her. She did
indeed have a future.

Both
curious and cautious, Fiona cast her eyes ahead, following the twining vine. The
fiber multiplied and fanned outward, cross threads inter-weaving; it became a
fabric that branched in many directions. Here and there she could see the vine
adorned with tiny leaves and apple blossoms.

What
did these many paths mean? That her future wasn’t set? She noted many dead ends
. . . and Fiona took those at their literal meaning. Many more, however,
continued on—all moving forward into the shadows.

She
tentatively moved her hand up to that part of the weave, feeling wood and brick
textures under her fingertips, tickled by champagne bubbles and smelling
perfume and hearing laughter.

Fiona
smiled. It felt like a party. She hoped so.

But
farther along, these sensations turned to ice. She felt pebbled asphalt and the
slick stickiness of blood . . . smelled brimstone and fire. She didn’t like
that part one bit.

Fiona
let go of the threads.

She
picked up her typewriter and papers and all of her books—just in case
Grandmother came in. She scooped her clothes into the hamper, then left her
room. She no longer wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

She
knocked on Eliot’s door, then went in—or, at least, tried to.

His
door was locked.

“Just
a second,” Eliot said from the other side, then unlocked and opened his door.
“Oh. It’s you.” He looked back to his bed. “Come in. Lock the door.”

Since
when did Eliot lock his door? Then again, Fiona had recently taken to locking
her door, too. They all had things to hide these days . . . and she didn’t
think that was such a good thing.

Nonetheless,
she closed and locked his door behind her.

He
sat on the edge of his bed and flipped back the blanket hiding his violin.
Fiona saw that the snapped string had been replaced. It looked as good as new.
She wondered where Eliot had gotten an extra string.

He
touched it once and then turned away, staring into space with a pained
expression, his hands folded into his lap.

Fiona
had a fair idea of what was going through his head: last night, the fog, all
those people screaming . . . and dying.

She
remembered how she had at first tried to rationalize what she had done to Perry
Millhouse. Fiona had been backed into a corner, had to

protect
herself, Eliot, and the girl. None of those things really changed that she had
killed a person.

But
when it came right down to it, she had enjoyed destroying that monster.

Eliot
would never feel that way, though. The people on the air force base weren’t
like Millhouse.

If
anything, during this last heroic trial, Fiona and Eliot were the monsters.

She
sat next to him on the bed and sighed.

“How
do you feel?” he asked. “Can you eat?”

“I
had some oatmeal this morning. It tasted like sawdust, but it went down and
stayed down. Some water, too.”

“What
about the apple? Do you feel any different?”

“Nothing
different. Just me.”

Eliot
nodded. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

He
didn’t sound too sure, and Fiona gave him a quizzical look.

“I
mean,” he said, “everything that’s happened to us since our birthday turns out
different than how it first looks. Presents that come with unintended
consequences—a new family I thought would care about us have instead been
trying to kill us—everything.” He rubbed his arm.

The
red line and bruises on his arm that she had seen last night were still there.
An infection? Poison? He should see a doctor.

Eliot
noticed her concerned look and turned away so she couldn’t see. “It’s nothing.
Just a scratch.”

“That’s
more than a scratch,” she whispered.

Fiona
stopped herself from saying more. Her brother sounded as if he was hiding
something—just as she had when she had been eating all those chocolates.

She
glanced at his violin. It looked normal, but something about it . . . the fiery
wood grain, the way she could almost hear the strings vibrate even though
nothing had touched them.

She
wanted to tell Eliot that maybe he should put it a way for a while. That too
much of a good thing probably wasn’t.

He
was so attached to the violin, though. She’d have to talk to someone else about
it. Maybe Uncle Henry. In the meantime, she’d watch that arm of his.

“Is
Grandmother back?” he asked.

It
was an obvious change-of-subject tactic, but she let it slide. Fiona shook her
head. “I guess we’ll have to go in to work.”

“Ringo’s
is closed for a week. Renovations.”

That
was unexpected but welcome news. She could give Robert a call. Maybe her life
could actually be normal—just for a few hours.

“Are
you going to hang out with Julie?”

Eliot
winced and looked even more miserable. “She’s gone,” he whispered. “Had to
leave town . . . and I don’t think she’s coming back.”

“Oh.”

Fiona
wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing. It had been obvious that Julie
liked her brother. But just as there was something different about Eliot’s
violin, there was something strange about Julie, too. Something Fiona had never
liked.

She
wanted to tell her brother that it would be okay. He’d get over Julie. After all,
they were tough; they’d survived everything the League had thrown at them.

Of
course, there was the small matter of what surviving had cost them. Like the
pawns that had crossed a chessboard, they’d changed. Or would they always be
the League’s pawns?

Fiona’s
fist clenched until the knuckles whitened, her anger easily welling to the
surface of her thoughts. She deliberately exhaled and relaxed her hand.

The
phone in the dining room jangled.

Fiona
and Eliot jumped to their feet.

“That
has to be Grandmother,” Eliot said.

“I
bet the Council’s decided,” Fiona said.

They
bolted to the door. Eliot fumbled with the lock, Fiona opened the door, and
they exploded into the hallway. Scrabbling for purchase on the hardwood floor,
they raced for the phone.

Cee
ambled steadily toward it, however, and picked up the receiver before they got
there.

“Hello?
. . . Good morning, Mr. Farmington. Yes, Fiona is right here. Is this a
business or personal call?”

Robert
was calling for her?

If
it was business, that would mean something was up with the Council. Maybe
they’d decided she and Eliot needed another trial. Robert always seemed to be
the bearer of bad news.

If,
on the other hand, he said this was a personal call, then Cee might just hang
up on him. RULE 99: No personal calls.

Robert
answered Cee. What he said exactly, Fiona couldn’t tell; his voice was barely
audible from where she stood.

Cee
laughed, though, and blushed (Fiona hadn’t even known her great-grandmother
could still blush), then she handed the receiver to her.

Eliot
hovered nearby, curious.

“Hello?”
Fiona said breathlessly.

“How
are you, baby?” Robert sounded cool and relaxed, as if he were basking on some
beach, sipping a drink.

Fiona
had the urge to check herself in a mirror. How silly. She composed herself.
“I’m fine. What did the Council decide?”

He
hesitated. “Nothing yet . . . but something new has popped up.” He sounded a
little less cool now, and a bit of urgency crept back into his tone. “Can we
meet?”

The
way he asked—so direct, so insistent—it caused a warmth to spread across
Fiona’s chest. She stepped away from Eliot and Cee, cupping the receiver closer
to her mouth. “I think so. What about?”

“I
can’t say over the phone. It’s not a secure line.”

She
didn’t exactly know what that meant, but she trusted Robert knew what he was
talking about.

“Okay.
Where? When?”

“I’ll
cruise by the corner of Midway and Vine in ten minutes.” After a pause and the
hiss of dead air, he then whispered, “Come alone, Fiona. What I have is just
for you.”

The
heated excitement she had felt a second ago chilled.

Fiona
glanced at Cee and Eliot, who stared back at her expectantly. Surely Robert had
meant to come alone—as in “don’t bring Grandmother or Cee.” He couldn’t have
meant not to bring her brother. It wasn’t as if this were a date, was it?

She
didn’t dare ask. Not with Cee hanging on her every word.

Fiona
wasn’t sure how she felt about Robert’s wanting to meet her when the Council
was deliberating her and her brother’s fate. As much as she wanted to be with
him alone, under the circumstances it somehow seemed improper. Besides, she
couldn’t ditch Eliot. Not in his current depressive funk.

“Fiona?
You still there?”

“Yeah,
still here. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Cool,
baby. See you then.” He hung up.

Fiona
stared at the receiver. Since when had he started calling her “baby”? She
didn’t like that.

“Well?”
Eliot asked.

“We’re
going for a walk. You better bring your pack—just in case.”

The
look of intense curiosity upon Eliot’s face hardened. He understood: this might
be dangerous . . . and he might have to play his violin again. He considered a
moment, nodded, and ran back to his room.

“A
walk, where?” Cee asked, wringing her hands.

Fiona
didn’t answer; instead, she marched into the kitchen.

Cee
followed. “Do you need me to fix you a snack first, darling?”

Fiona
got into the refrigerator, pulled open the vegetable crisper, and grabbed a
bunch of asparagus. Looped about the stocks was a purple rubber band.

She
remembered how she had used a similar band to cut through Millhouse—his limbs
falling away from his torso in opposite directions.

She
blinked away the unpleasant memory, grimaced, and grabbed the rubber band.

Fiona
turned to face Cee, experimentally stretching the cold rubber into a taut line.
“This is nothing serious, but Eliot and I need to go alone.”