All That Lives Must Die

SECTION IV. FRESHMAN MIDTERMS

Fiona walked alone down the street. She loved the blinking Christmas lights. In the early morning fog, they glowed like the ghosts of fireflies. There were no such lights on their house. That was covered by her mother’s Rule 52.

RULE 52: No Christmas, Easter, St. Valentine’s Day, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or any other religious or mass-market orchestrated celebrations that include the rituals of unnecessary gift-giving and/or decorations.

That’s what she and Eliot called the “no holiday” rule. They’d never had a Christmas tree or been on an Easter egg hunt, and they were forbidden to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day.

Her mother didn’t even like those holidays mentioned. What history was there between the League and the world’s religions to make Audrey dislike them so?

Fiona could pretty much guess what the Catholic Church would think of her father. .

Fiona frowned and focused her thoughts on a problem within her control-like why being popular was not what she had expected.

She was glad to be walking to school by herself this morning. As soon as she got to Paxington, all the students would want to small talk their way around what they really wanted to know: What was it like to be in the League? Did she know this god or that goddess?

Fiona had quickly learned she could use the League’s rules of secrecy to hide behind. She really didn’t know anything about the League. Nor did she know who most of its members were, with their ever-shifting aliases. She hadn’t even known her who mother truly was until a few months ago.

Still, it was nice that everyone wanted to get to know her.

Fiona had always dreamed of that kind of attention. Did it matter that it was only because of her League connections?

She knew the answer and shuffled her feet on the sidewalk.

Those people didn’t want to get to know her, share her problems or her feelings; they just wanted to be friends with a “goddess.” They just wanted to be friends with her fame.

Complicating this fame-and she was still mad at Jezebel for outing her without asking-was that now Fiona hardly saw the people she considered her real friends, like Mitch and Amanda.

And then there was Eliot.

He’d done his best to hide on campus. And lately, she didn’t even see him at home. He’d come home late from Robert’s, go straight to his room to read or practice with Lady Dawn (now with his door shut and locked). He spoke only in monosyllables. . if at all.

Eliot hadn’t even responded when she called him a Fuligo septica.[34]

This morning she’d wanted to talk to Eliot, waited for him to drag himself to the breakfast table, only to find that he’d already left the house.

Eliot getting up early had to be a sign of impending disaster. The way the universe was supposed to work was that he was always late for everything.

Fiona wondered if Eliot’s evasiveness had something to do with Jezebel.

In the last few weeks, the Infernal had been to school only two or three times-and then, only to turn in her homework before she vanished again. When Jeremy asked, she had told him to mind his own business, and that it was an “internal Infernal affair.”

Fiona almost stumbled into a man. She’d been so absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn’t seen him.

Blushing, she looked up to apologize-and stopped.

“You!” she said.

Louis wore a soft camel-hair coat, which on this foggy morning made his outline a blur. He stood tall and confident. His long dark hair was streaked with sliver. He had a smile that would have disarmed her. . had she not known him.

“Me.” Her father held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

Fiona’s blush of embarrassment turned into a flush of anger. “I’ve got nothing to say to you-not after you stole Eliot’s phone! And certainly not now.” She maneuvered around him and kept walking. “I have midterms today.”

Louis strode alongside her. “Have I told you lately how much you remind me of your wonderful mother? But yes, midterms, precisely what I came to discuss.”

He waved at the fog ahead and it curled and spiraled like the ocean surf. . hypnotic.

Fiona blinked.

“Stop it,” she hissed.

She touched her wrist and the rubber band there. Louis’s silver bracelet was still safely tucked into her bag. It seemed to have a mind of its own, and she no longer trusted it.

“Just leave me alone,” she said.

“I wanted to talk about your potential,” Louis said, ignoring her request, “within the League. . and outside of it.”

She scoffed. “You mean with your side of the family. No thanks.”

She thought about Jezebel, so effortlessly stunning and confident, and she also remembered how she really looked as an Infernal: those inhuman eyes and claws-a monster.

“We’ve been over this,” Fiona said. “The League’s declared me an Immortal-not Infernal. Everyone knows that.”

But something in her words rang hollow in her ears.

“Yes, I’ve heard. And how do you like your new fame at school?”

There was a sarcastic edge to his tone that made the back of Fiona’s neck prickle with irritation.

“How did you know. .?”

“I hear things. Like how you dealt with that trifling duel, so wonderfully ruthless and humiliating to the Van Wyck boy. A very Infernal thing. But as much fun as it might have been, you should have cut off his head. Now you have an enemy for life.”

Fiona slowed. Donald Van Wyck had vowed never to come after Team Scarab. Well, of course, except in gym-where she suddenly remembered there weren’t rules about first blood. . where he and the rest of Team Wolf could kill them.

The ire drained from her as she realized her miscalculation.

But what alternative was there? She wasn’t about to just kill someone.

Louis held out an arm in her path.

She halted, only now noticing she had almost walked off the curb into a busy intersection.

“Red light, my dear.” He waggled a finger. “Mustn’t jaywalk. What would your mother say?”

Fiona pursed her lips at this taunt. She shouldn’t let Louis get to her so easily. But he did. Just as Audrey always got under her skin. It must be a skill they teach parents.

Well, she couldn’t do anything if Louis wanted to walk on this sidewalk. It was a public place. She just wished he would shut up.

“Enough niceties, eh?” Louis’s smile faded a bit. “I came to warn you about midterms. Some Paxington students will do whatever they must to pass. . even cheat.”

Fiona dismissed this notion. She imagined Plato Hall, the entire class bent over their tests-all under the unnerving gaze of Miss Westin. There was no way anyone was cheating. The Headmistress had made a special announcement about her zero-tolerance cheating policy last week-all the time looking at Jeremy and Sarah Covington.

“Let them try,” Fiona said. “They’ll get caught.”

“But there are other ways to influence Paxington’s precious grading curve,” Louis murmured. “For my sake, please keep your eyes and ears open for danger. What harm could that do?”

“I suppose. . ”

Fiona got the feeling that Louis knew more than he was telling, and just as important, that his concern for her was genuine.

She sighed. “I want to believe you. I want to trust you. You’re just so. . untrustworthy! Why did you steal Eliot’s phone? He got into massive trouble.”

Louis’s smile entirely vanished and his gaze dropped to the ground. “Oh, yes. . that. It was the only way I could reach your mother. She is good at covering her tracks, and I needed to know where you lived.”

He took a deep breath and continued. “So when I saw Eliot’s phone. . I borrowed it.” Louis looked up, and there was none of the usual mocking in his eyes. “I had planned on returning it the very next time I saw him. . but that never quite happened. His phone, though, it had your address programmed into its tiny brain. That’s how I sent the Fabergé egg. I had hoped Audrey might remember how it was between her and me once. . and perhaps. .”

Louis shook his head, and his hand curled over his heart. “But I supposed she has already dashed the lovely thing into a million pieces, hasn’t she?”

Fiona didn’t have the heart to answer. She stared at him, which was enough to communicate all that had happened.

He stood mute.

She knew a little of how this must feel-not being able to be with the one you felt the most for. But she couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have that person utterly reject you.

“Maybe I could talk to her,” Fiona said.

Louis chuckled. “Oh no, my dear. Audrey would never hear of it. And I’m sure she would find some suitable punishment for speaking on the behalf of such a disreputable character.”

“But if you still love her-?”

“Some things are beyond the reach of even love,” he whispered. He hesitated, opened his mouth, stopped, but then finally said, “Just one more thing before I leave you this morning. About Eliot. The boy should not be alone. Things will be tricky for him. Stay close.”

Fiona believed that Louis truly cared for Eliot.

Quite possibly her, too.

And most especially Audrey.

They were so close to being a real family. . and yet it felt like they were light-years apart. Why was it so hard?

Yes, Louis was the Infernal Prince of Darkness, and yes, he was truly a monster with bat wings and horns and talons, and utterly disgusting. But he was also her father, wasn’t he? That had to count for something.

Louis leaned closer, gingerly took her chin, and tilted her head down. He kissed her on the forehead.

It felt like a warm autumn breeze, like sleeping on soft blankets, like. . like coming back to a home she had only dreamed of before.

Fiona looked up

Only the fog remained.

To her disappointment-and her relief-her father was gone.

Robert focused on the five two-by-fours he’d duct-taped together and set on cinder blocks. He knelt before them as if in prayer.

One such board, even two would have been easy to break if you were trained or even if you wanted to “brute force” it and bruise your hand.

Sure, it was a stupid test. In their sparring sessions, Aaron had disdained such tricks. “Breaking wood-fah! Useless. How many boards ever fight back?”

Robert struck.

The boards broke like eggshells.

He gathered the pieces and stacked them again, ten high.

He hit once more without hesitation.

The boards shattered-so did the cinderblock. The floor cracked, too.

Now that was more than a stupid test.

Robert flexed his fist and examined it. Red, but otherwise not a mark.

There was a lot more to Aaron’s lessons and Mr. Mimes’s Soma liquor than he’d first guessed. He knew he was part of some larger scheme they’d hatched-and he hated being used by them. . but he couldn’t complain about the results.

That had been the deal, too, when he was a Driver for Mr. Mimes. There’d been danger and intrigue, but a heck of a benefits package that included near total freedom and an unlimited expense account.

His gaze fell on the stack of books by his futon. He should have been reading and taking last-minute notes for today’s midterm. That stuff was so dry, though. So many dates and facts to memorize. Besides, he figured he knew everything he was going to. Five more minutes wouldn’t. .

Something was near. He sensed it in his apartment.

Robert whirled about, standing, and raised his hands. . and found Mr. Henry Mimes leaning against the wall.

“Shall I send a carpenter to fix that?” Mr. Mimes nodded at the broken floor.

“No, thanks,” Robert said, hiding his astonishment at yet another of Mr. Mimes’s miraculous entrances. “There’s leftover bamboo from the remodel. I can handle it.”

“As you wish.” Mr. Mimes stood and rubbed his hands. “I just popped by before school for an update on young Eliot.” He waved at the two-by-fours. “Can he cause such destruction, too?”

“No, but he’s coming along. You wouldn’t think it to look at him, though. Kid’s full of surprises.”

“So you’re teaching him everything? Boxing? Grappling? Knife and clubs?”

“All the basics,” Robert said.

Mr. Mimes suddenly looked serious. “But?” he said. “There was a ‘but’ in there?”

Robert shook his head. He didn’t want to rat Eliot out, but Mr. Mimes would get it out of him anyway.

“Eliot is really smart,” Robert told him. “The guy can learn anything he puts his mind to, but it’s why he’s learning that bugs me.” He frowned. “There’s more to it than just not getting his head bashed in at school.”

Mr. Mimes brightened. “A girl, I hope? Is she pretty?”

Robert chewed over those questions. “Kind of. I mean kind of a girl. Pretty? Yeah-she’s off the charts. He doesn’t talk about her, but I’ve seen him looking at her. . Jezebel the Infernal.”

Mr. Mimes tapped the tip of his nose, thinking.

“Eliot’s always been a little on the quiet side,” Robert said, “but now-geez. He mopes around in a constant funk. Not like any ordinary guy with an ordinary crush. This is different and darker. I’m worried that he might be drifting over to their side.”

“The Infernals?” Mr. Mimes laughed. “No, no, no, the symptoms you describe are that of any normal teenager. You think them extraordinary only because you yourself have never suffered those feelings.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Robert muttered.

Mr. Mimes looked him over. “Oh, I am sorry. I forgot. But keeping your distance from Fiona is essential at the moment. So much depends on it. Not least of all your personal safety.”

Robert was going to say thanks. . for nothing, but his mind stuttered about the “so much depends” part of what Mr. Mimes had just said.

What plans did he have for the twins? He bet nothing the League was involved in. And if the League was willing to throw Robert in prison for a hundred years, or burn him alive forever, or something just as nasty for him breaking some little rule like kissing Fiona-what would they do to one of their most trusted people who pulled a serious fast one?

Mr. Mimes stepped closer to Robert and set one hand on his shoulder. “Best not to trouble your mind with such things. Keep on your studies, stay in the shadows, watch and protect. . especially in light of Fiona’s new popularity. Remember, misdirection is most easily accomplished with a beautiful, shiny object.”

Robert nodded. He was used to taking orders. What choice was there? Cross Mr. Mimes?

Marcus Welmann’s famous last words echoed in his thoughts: “They’re more force of nature than flesh and blood. Lose sight of that, cross them once. . and you might as well try talking your way out of an tidal wave for all the good it’ll do you.”

But Robert was stronger now than Marcus had ever been. Strong enough maybe to stand on his own two feet and not take orders?

He buried that thought deep. Mr. Mimes had a way of guessing what you were thinking, especially when it involved him.

Mr. Mimes pulled out his silver flask and uncorked it. He took a sip and then handed it to Robert, saying, “For what ails you.”

Robert spied the liquid inside. Soma was what Mr. Mimes and Aaron had called it. The liquid gleamed like molten gold and reflected off the mirrored walls of the flask. In Miss Westin’s Mythology 101 class, Robert had learned a little about the drink.

“Mostly mythohistorical lies,” Miss Westin had said. But Robert had figured out two things. First, over time it turned normal guys like him into the equal of the gods. And second, it changed who they were, made them more assertive and dominant.

Both of which went along perfectly with his plans.

He tipped the flask into his mouth, drank deep, and drained it.

Robert’s mind exploded, and he could see every memory, every sensation, and every nerve down to the primitive animal level. A sulfurous fire burned his throat and stomach. Vapors blasted through his lungs. . and he exhaled, blinking away streaming tears.

“What’s in that stuff, man?”

“Sugar and spice for girls; snips and snails and puppy dog tails for you.” Mr. Mimes took the flask, frowning at its now empty state, and tucked it away. “But nothing illegal or even alcoholic, sadly. A few herbs, filtered water, the odd vitamin or two.”

As Robert regained his equilibrium, he asked, “So what do you want me to do about Eliot? I can introduce him to a lot nicer class of girl. Human, for starters.”

Mr. Mimes sobered. “I wouldn’t do that, Robert. I appreciate your concern, but if this Jezebel reciprocates Eliot’s affections, well, you would not want to deal with an Infernal woman scorned. That is on my list of the eleven most dangerous things in the universe-right after trying to balance a national economy by printing money.”

He leaned closer and whispered, “Besides, the Post children have a knack to twist fate to their own ends, regardless of what either Immortal or Infernal family desires, eh? Those two-by themselves-may represent an entirely new force for us to consider.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Robert asked, suddenly feeling protective of his friends.

Mr. Mimes stood straighter and brushed some imaginary dust off his silvery gray sports coat. “Oh, just silliness, a bit of random number mathematics I was toying with. Nothing at all for you to worry about.”

When Mr. Mimes said don’t worry like that, Robert really started worrying.

He filed that clue about the twins and them being a “new force” under stuff to follow up on later with his own investigations.

Mr. Mimes glanced at his watch. “Where does the time go?” he muttered. “I need to ask Cornelius. I must be off. So many things to attend to down in Costa Esmeralda.”

“That’s in Central America right?” Robert asked. “Near Panama?”

Mr. Mimes cocked his head, looking surprised at Robert’s grasp of geography.

“I rode through there once. Nice place. There some Mardi Gras or something you have to be at?”

“Something like that,” Mr. Mimes replied with a smirk. “In the late spring. You should visit.”

It must be a heck of a bash if Mr. Mimes recommended it. Robert made a note of that, too, filed away under Things to Do/Party/Spring.

Mr. Mimes paused. “One more thing, Robert. Midterms are today, are they not?”

“Sure. You got some more answers to Miss Westin’s tests for me?”

“Not quite. That was a one-time arrangement we made to get you inside Paxington. The rest is up to you, as I said. Besides, even I would not cross Lucy Westin on her home soil.”

“It’s cool,” Robert said, hiding his disappointment, and allowing his appreciation for Miss Westin to rise a notch. She intimidated even Mr. Mimes. “I’ve hit the books. I’ll pass.”

“Perhaps,” Mr. Mimes whispered. “But to be on the safe side. . pack your brass knuckles today, my boy.”

A handful of the popular girls circled Fiona. They nodded as they walked by, but this morning everyone was too nervous to talk to Paxington’s newest social pinnacle.

Fiona pinned the silver rose token to her jacket lapel. She’d started wearing it last week. It had been given to her by the League when she was inducted into the Order of the Celestial Rose. She still didn’t know what that was, but it was pretty, part alive, and part silver, and it smelled as fragrant as the day it’d been given to her.

The entire freshman class had collected outside Plato’s Hall. The doors were shut and locked, and a sign rested on the handles:

MIDTERMS TODAY

Wait Outside for Instructions

Fiona was as nervous as everyone else, but because she was a goddess, she didn’t feel she ought to show it, like that might reflect poorly on the League.

She paused by the Picasso Archway. The portrait had been painted to resemble a real archway that led to a courtyard where anatomically jumbled students listened to a lecture and took notes. It was fascinating, but it also gave Fiona the creeps. Like someone had taken those people apart and put them together. . wrong.

Fiona turned from it and smiled, hoping this masked the fact that she quavered inside. She wondered if she had time to go the girls’ restroom one more time.

Midterms were one third of her grade. Fail this, and she might as well not bother coming back tomorrow.

Where was Eliot?

She scanned the courtyard.

Team Wolf was in the far corner, and they all looked away when she glanced at them. Fiona was sure Donald Van Wyck was plotting something.

She moved her eyes away, searching for her brother. Eliot didn’t exactly pop out of a crowd, but she should have seen him by now. He’d skipped breakfast again this morning and left early. Was it possible he’d chickened out and wasn’t coming?

“Hey,” Eliot whispered.

He hadn’t sneaked up on her; Fiona just hadn’t seen her brother and had almost walked right over him. She didn’t jump, but for a split second she was speechless, thinking she’d seen his ghost.

Eliot stood in the shadows. Something was darker about him, and not just the ambient light.

“Where were you?” she whispered. “I was worried.”

Eliot shrugged. He glanced at her silver rose pin and frowned.

She wanted to say so much. About needing to stick together because they were stronger. How when she studied alone, it was like she had lost half her brain. . well, maybe a quarter. How she had actually missed her brother these last few weeks-and what was he thinking always wandering off on his own?

But she could never say any of those things in public without dying of humiliation.

Why couldn’t Eliot say something? Why was it always she who had to do the talking? After all they’d been through together, he should just know how she felt.

“Let’s stick together today,” he whispered. “I have a weird feeling about this test.”

Fiona exhaled, relieved that no one had to admit to any stupid emotions-now of all times.

“Good idea,” she said. “I’ve got a funny feeling, too.”

Behind them, the archway clicked and slowly swung outward. Behind it was a doorway that so perfectly mimicked the arch in the painting, Fiona had to blink twice to make sure it had depth and was real.

Miss Westin emerged and glanced over Eliot and Fiona. “The Post twins,” she remarked. “What a pleasant surprise to find you on time for this exam.”

Fiona shivered. Beyond the now-open secret door was a passage of rough, wet granite that spiraled underground.

Miss Westin cleared her throat. “Your attention, students.”

Those in the courtyard who hadn’t noticed Miss Westin turned at the sound of her commanding voice and instantly stopped talking.

“Midterms are one third of your total grade,” she continued, “and there will be no makeups.”

Fiona swallowed and wondered what happened if you were sick today.

“There are three rules for today’s tests,” Miss Westin said. “First, your performance will be individually graded and mapped to a so-called bell curve as follows: For every one hundred students, there will be ten As, fifteen Bs, and fifty Cs.” As she said “C,” she looked as if she had just tasted one of Great-grandmother Cecilia’s home-cooked spinach casserole specialties.

“And, of course, the last twenty-five will be Ds and Fs.”

At this, the respectful silence of the gathered students crystallized into palpable terror.

And something else. . everyone glanced suspiciously at one another.

The camaraderie that Fiona had felt a moment ago for her fellow students-the fact that they had helped one another and studied side by side for weeks-all that vanished.

It was everyone for themselves.

No, actually, it was worse than that: It was everyone against everyone. Twenty-five of them were going to fail this test, largely determined by how the best students performed, because of that bell curve.

It was bloody unfair. . but there was no way Fiona was going to be one of those failing twenty-five.

As if a magnetic force had been turned on, the crowd of students shuffled apart from one another.

Fiona fought that feeling, though. She took a step closer to her brother.

“Second,” Miss Westin said, “students shall assemble as I call their teams before the midterm entrance.” She gestured to the now-open Picasso Arch. “This, however, is only to prevent bottlenecks during the examination.”

Fiona understood what Miss Westin said, but not what it meant. Bottlenecks during the exam? How could there be a bottleneck?

“Third,” Miss Westin continued, “answering a question incorrectly may be dangerous. I advise that you not risk guessing. If you do not know an answer, move to another path, or if you find yourself at a dead end, you may stop the examination by raising your hand and declaring yourself ‘done.’ You will be removed and your score tallied.”

These new facts sent waves of murmurs through the gathered freshmen.

Maybe because the notion of giving up was abhorrent to this crowd of overachievers. Or maybe, like Fiona, it was the idea of being utterly mortified by being “removed” from the exam in front of everyone.

Or just maybe it was because Fiona couldn’t imagine how putting down a wrong answer could be dangerous. . although she took Miss Westin at her word.

This test obviously wasn’t going to be a normal pencil-and-paper, multiple-choice type thing.

Miss Westin opened her little black book and ran a bony finger down the page. “Ah, yes,” she said, “first up-Green Dragon. Gather before the entrance now.”

Eight students pushed forward through the crowd.

Eliot and Fiona got out of their way before they got trampled.

Green Dragon had some big people on it. The boys looked like seniors-giants compared with Eliot. Even the girls were all a head taller than Fiona. They shot one another sidelong glances and elbowed each other for the best forward positions.

Fiona didn’t get it. Okay, sure, they were all competing for the same good grades. But the people on Green Dragon had fought together in gym class. Didn’t that count for anything? She couldn’t imagine being so rude to anyone on her team. . not even Sarah or Jeremy.

The Dragons nervously bounced on the balls of their feet as Miss Westin checked off their names in her book. She removed her silver pocket watch and made a note of the time.

“You may proceed,” she told them. “Good luck.”

They rushed the archway-pushed and shoved down the tight corridor, and then were gone.

The tunnel swallowed the sounds of their passing.

Fiona shivered.

Miss Westin flipped a page in her book and declared: “Team Scarab. Gather before the entrance.”

Adrenaline shot through Fiona. She wasn’t ready. She should have reread the Clan Canticles this morning. She definitely should have gone to the girls’ restroom one last time. Everything she had learned this semester seemed to be gone from her memory.

Eliot nudged her.

She turned on him, irritated.

Worry creased his brow as well, but amazingly, he looked ready to do battle. It was the same stoic concentration she’d seen when he fought those shadow demons in the alley.

Fiona snorted. Well, if he could keep his cool, then so could she.

Together they stepped toward Miss Westin.

The Headmistress gave them both a tiny nod of approval. Her gaze then darkened as it fell upon the rest of Team Scarab.

Behind them gathered Jeremy, Sarah, Mitch, Robert, Amanda, and last, Jezebel.

Jeremy and Sarah looked impeccable in their freshly pressed Paxington school uniforms. Both had their long hair pulled back tight and had looks of total focus on their faces. But they weren’t together like her and Eliot. They stood on opposite sides of the team, deliberately not looking at each other.

Amanda brushed aside her hair, spotted Fiona, and gave her a confident smile.

Fiona reciprocated the gesture, relieved that at least one other member of Team Scarab wasn’t putting friendship before grades.

Why was it an either/or choice? Fiona didn’t accept that to win this battle, one of her friends or someone on her team had to lose because of the grading curve.

Mitch and Robert simultaneously noticed her; Mitch grinned, Robert frowned-then they saw each other looking at her and quickly diverted their gazes.

She’d have to have a talk with Robert soon. This limbo state they were in relationship-wise was doing neither of them any good.

Fiona shook her head to clear those thoughts. She had to stay focused on how to help out her team while winning at the same time.

Jezebel limped up to join them.

She was, as ever, lovely and poised as a porcelain doll with perfect platinum curls. . but broken, too. One arm hung in a sling, and tiny drops of black blood seeped through. There was a bruise on Jezebel’s check (although somehow its placement actually enhanced her strange attraction).

For the first time, Fiona felt something close to sympathy for the Infernal.

To have to go through midterms injured like that. .

Fiona wondered what on earth could have done that to her. She wanted to go over there and offer her help.

There was no way, though, that proud Jezebel, Infernal Duchess of the Grand Whatsits was going to accept help from anyone, least of all her.

Eliot took a tentative step toward her, his face lined with concern.

But he halted when he saw her expression-just a quick glance at him, full of steel and venom and hurt-like if he took one step closer, she would either punch him in the face. . or cry.

Jezebel then looked purposely away.

Eliot sighed and stepped back.

Fiona wanted to say something to her brother, but what? How did you help someone who didn’t want help?

The answer to everything came to Fiona: not only how to help Jezebel-but everyone on the team-and Eliot-and herself.

“Hey,” she whispered, and motioned Team Scarab closer.

Jeremy sniffed, and the rest of them looked about unsure. None of them moved an inch.

“Come on,” she chided, and then in a low whisper so only they could hear: “I’ve got a way to boost everyone’s grade on this thing.”

“Oh, very well,” Jeremy said, moving closer, acting like he was doing her the biggest favor in the world.

The rest of them followed, except Jezebel, who remained on the outside of their huddle. Fiona had no doubt, though, that with her Infernal ears, she’d be eavesdropping.

“I think we should work together on this,” Fiona started.

“Just as I said,” Jeremy whispered to Sarah, scowling. Then to the rest of the team, he muttered, “Don’t you understand that be the one thing we cannot do? Help one person, as well meaning as that might seem, you hurt yourself. That’s the way this grade curve works, lassie.”

Mitch looked sheepish and chimed in, “I hate to admit it, but he’s right. It’s a mathematics thing. Not personal.”

“It might be ‘right’ by the numbers,” Fiona shot back, “but you’re missing the bigger picture.”

Jezebel inched closer.

“And what is that?” Sarah said, managing to sound sweet and condescending at the same time.

“We’ve all studied the same stuff in Miss Westin’s class.” Fiona leaned in closer. “But each of us has an edge in a different area. Me, Eliot, and Robert know a lot about the Immortals and the League.”

She had spent most of her time learning about her relations so far this year. A little obsessed, really. Robert had a bunch of firsthand experience. And Eliot? Fiona just assumed that’s what he’d been studying, too.

“The Covingtons and Mitch know tons about the mortal magical families,” she added. “Jeremy especially has firsthand experience with the Middle Realms. . ”

She added that bit to pander to his ego. She didn’t really count getting lost in the Valley of the New Year chasing some leprechaun as “experience.”

“Amanda has studied harder than anyone in the entire class,” Fiona continued. “She knows something about everything.”

Amanda looked down, blushing.

Fiona paused to glance over at Jezebel, who had her head turned away (but was obviously paying attention).

“So you’re saying we’re smarter together,” Robert said.

“Exactly,” Fiona replied. “We can help one another and, yeah, we’ll shift the grade curve. . but because we’re all going to get higher grades.”

Sarah tapped her lips thoughtfully. “As long as the others don’t chance upon this bit of trickery,” she whispered, “it might work.”

“Isn’t it cheating, though?” Amanda squeaked.

Jezebel finally joined them. “It is not,” she answered. “Miss Westin said we would be graded individually, but there was no specific prohibition against working together.”

“Geez,” Robert noticed Jezebel’s injuries. “What happened to you?

Jezebel shot him a withering glare. “Nothing that concerns you, mortal.”

Mitch cleared his throat. “Okay, sure she didn’t specifically say we couldn’t work together. . but that’s splitting it pretty fine, don’t you think?”

“They’re such sticklers for following the rules at Paxington, it’ll work,” Fiona countered. “Trust me.”

“I guess,” Mitch admitted, sounding entirely not convinced.

“Then we’re agreed,” Fiona said. “We work together on this?” She made eye contact with each of them, trying to look and feel as confident as she could.

They nodded.

“Team Scarab,” Miss Westin said and made a note of the time in her book. “Enter the Midterm Maze-now.”

They scrambled through the open Picasso Arch and into the dark passage. . twisting around, descending.

Fiona and the others ran down the spiral passage and found themselves in a large cavern. The ceiling had dripping, teethlike stalactites. Pools of water on the cobblestone floor reflected the wavering light from torches on the walls. Between the flickering flames were arches with closed portcullis.

They spread out.

“Over here.” Robert said. “There’s a brass plaque by this gate. It’s got a question on it.”

“Here, too,” Mitch called out. He started reading it. “Seems easy enough.” He reached to touch it.

“Hang on,” Fiona told him. “Miss Westin called this the ‘Midterm Maze.’ We shouldn’t just pick one at random. We could get lost.”

“How does that work, then?” Sarah asked. “Is it best to find the longest path and answer the most questions? Will that get the highest score? Or are we supposed to find the shortest path?”

“Or maybe,” Amanda whispered, “we’re supposed to go until we chicken out and say were done.”

Yells echoed from the distant passages. . someone far away screamed. Then it was quiet.

“Was that a wrong answer?” Jeremy whispered with a nervous laugh.

Fiona wondered what nasty surprises Miss Westin had engineered for them. “There has to be a clue to the best path,” she murmured.

“Or we just pick one at random,” Jeremy said, and strode toward that farthest gate.

“Wait.” Eliot withdrew Lady Dawn from his pack. “There is a way.”

Jeremy looked at Eliot with obvious jealousy. “I don’t think now be the time to break into song.”

Jezebel moved to Jeremy and held up one finger, commanding his silence. With a flick of her hand, she indicted that Eliot continue.

Eliot nodded to her and set his violin to his shoulder.

Fiona wondered what was going on between her brother and the Infernal. It was hard to tell if Jezebel liked or hated him half the time. All the glares and warnings for him to stay away. . and then she did stuff like this. Maybe she was just being practical.

Or maybe it really was part of some Infernal plot to draw him closer to that side of their family. Fiona would have to keep a careful eye on this situation-especially with Eliot getting deeper into trouble.

Eliot set his bow on Lady Dawn’s strings and the air stilled.

The song was slow and steady and classically styled.

Fiona smelled chalk dust and the pages of old books and that weird pine antiseptic odor that permeated the Hall of Wisdom. She blinked, understanding that Eliot’s song was about class and them studying.

He turned, facing one arch, then another, frowning at each. His music shifted, even slower notes, sad too, and then an unexpected pizzicato phrase that sent Fiona’s heart skipping.

She felt a rush of shock and disappointment. . exactly what she had felt when she saw that C on her placement exam.

Eliot quickly turned to the remaining arches. He then halted and wavered between the last two. He changed his music again: Faster, notes light and springy.

In her mind, she imagined that she’d gotten an A+ on that placement test. Fiona couldn’t help but grin.

She glanced at the others and they smiled, too.

Except Jezebel, whose gaze was firmly locked on Eliot. Jezebel looked softer, almost human as she watched him.

Jezebel then noticed Fiona staring, and her features hardened to alabaster.

Eliot halted.

The rest of the team snapped out of their trance.

“That one.” Eliot pointed to the farthest arch. “That’s the path that leads to the best grade. At least potentially.”

“That was my guess originally,” Jeremy muttered. He strode toward it.

They crowded about the brass plaque on the wall and read:

Order from the oldest to most recent these mortal magical families: Covington, Scalagari, Kaleb, Van Wyck, De Marco, Janis, and the Isla Blue Tribe.

This was followed by a blank space on the plaque. “Kaleb,” Amanda and Sarah said together.[35] Amanda took a step back, blushing. Sarah touched the name.

The raised brass letters of “Kaleb” sank through the other letters, and settled to the top of the blank space. Sarah then pursed her lips, concentrating, and twined a lock of her red hair as she considered the other names.

“Oh, get on with it,” Jeremy hissed. “It’s Kaleb, Isla Blue, Van Wyck, Scalagari, De Marco, Covington, and then Janis.”

Sarah took a deep breath and held it, as if to keep the words she wanted to say to her older cousin contained. She quickly touched the names in the order Jeremy suggested. They sank and arranged themselves in a list.

As the last one fell into place, there was a click.

The portcullis noisily ratcheted up.

“Now what?” Robert asked.

“I believe I go through,” Sarah replied.

She sashayed through the arch, but as soon as she crossed the portcullis, it slammed down behind her.

They all jumped.

“Remember Miss Westin said we’d be graded individually?” Mitch whispered. “I think we each have to answer to get through.”

Fiona saw the ordered list of families on the plaque vanish. . and the names return scrambled to the top portion, except the Janis family became the Clan Soto.

“Ah,” Jeremy said, leaning over her shoulder and noting this as well. “Nothing to it.” He rattled off the proper sequence.

Fiona touched the names, the gate rose, and she marched through-then the gate slammed shut after her.

Sarah exhaled, relaxing now that she was no longer alone on this side of the arch.

One by one they went through, Jeremy finishing last and following.

“So far so good,” Fiona declared.

The room they stood in was lined with brick and looked like the interior of a blast furnace, with scorch marks and patches white from extreme heat. Fiona didn’t like it. . wondering if the place would fill with fire if they missed an answer.

No way. She couldn’t believe they’d really hurt students who failed. Miss Westin had to be psyching them out. That’s all.

Still. . she had no intention of finding out.

There were three exit arches.

“So which way?” Robert asked Eliot.

Eliot nodded to the gate on their left.

Fiona examined the plaque by it. There was the impression of a tree with many branches, each with a tiny blank rectangle. At the base of the tree trunk like so many fallen apples lay jumbled the names of gods and goddesses.

This would be easy.

She directed Amanda how to arrange the names in the family tree of Immortals.

. . even the Fates on their own separate branch.

The portcullis rose.

There was a commotion in the main cavern. The next group had entered. They scattered-each student running toward a different gate and question plaque, and each covering their answers so none of the others could see.

One boy from Team Eagle ran toward the gate that led to this room, but seeing them all inside, he halted, confused-and then turned away.

“Hurry,” Sarah rasped to Amanda. “Before the others understand what we are doing.”

Amanda moved through the arch, and the portcullis dropped behind her.

Fiona watched as the names in the brass trees fell to the bottom. “Aphrodite” faded, and “Loki” appeared in its place.

But Fiona knew them all still, and she helped the rest of her team through.

She paused just before she walked through. This was easy. Was it cheating?

She didn’t think so. As Jezebel had said, Miss Westin hadn’t prohibited them from pooling resources. Maybe no one at Paxington had thought about it because working together for a common good was an alien concept for them.

So selfish.

Team Scarab efficiently moved through four more passages and four more rooms.

There were questions covering the development of alchemy, the rise and fall of the now-extinct gypsy shamans in Eastern Europe (which was a trick question because they hadn’t covered that yet in class-but Mitch knew anyway), the Battle of Ultima Thule, and the Treaty of the Under-Realms.[36]

As they entered the fifth room, however, Fiona noted it had but one exit-so they had to get the question on the brass plaque to proceed.

It was on the Angelic Alphabet.

Jezebel was the closest thing they had to an expert on the subject. . but she puzzled a long time over the odd language which comprised lines, arcs, circles, and tiny squares.

Fiona had seen those letters before. Once in class-just a passing reference by Miss Westin, and also in that book Eliot had been so excited about this summer, Mythica Improbiba.

She also vaguely recalled some extra credit reading on John Dee, but she’d skipped the footnotes on all his variations of the invented languages of the angels.[37]

“Very close to Infernal dialects,” Jezebel murmured. Concentration furrowed her brow. “But their grammar. . so many rules.”

Mitch peered over her shoulder but quickly moved back, shaking his head. “Way out of my league,” he whispered.

Eliot moved to her side and asked, “Do you mind?”

“If you think you can,” Jezebel snorted, “be my guest.”

Eliot set his palms over the raised symbols as if it were Braille, closed his eyes, and traced their edges.

“I have it,” he whispered to her. “I’ll need your hands.”

She looked at him and then her hands, confused. “I. . I don’t know. . ”

“Here.” Eliot gently took them and moved them over the letters.

She inhaled sharply-but before she could say anything, he was helping her move the scrambled letters like the pieces of a jigsaw.

Jezebel’s eyes widened. Her colorless cheeks tinged pink.

Fiona took a step back. It felt weird. . almost intimate to see the two of them, hands atop one another.

Eliot finished. He quickly removed his hands and without a word took a step back.

The portcullis rose.

Jezebel looked at the deciphered passage-and then covered her eyes as if she’d just stared into a flashbulb.

The text, apart from looking like a geometry problem, didn’t look like anything legible to Fiona.

An English translation, however, emerged at the bottom of the brass plaque:

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary, the Devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.[38]

“How did you do that?” Jezebel whispered to Eliot.

“You better go on,” Eliot told her. His eyes were darker than usual, the color of blue smoke. “I’ll need to get the next person through.”

Jezebel moved to the other side and watched intently as Eliot helped the rest of the team.

Fiona noted that Eliot didn’t touch anyone as he had Jezebel, rather just instructed them where to place the odd geometric letters.

Eliot went through last and told them, “I think there’s only one more question ahead.”

“About bloody time,” Jeremy replied. “Men weren’t meant to be underground like so many rats.”

“No worries,” Fiona said, trying to sound confident. “One more gate. We get through and we’re finished.”

“Come on.” Robert grabbed a torch off the wall and led the way.

The tunnel angled up, zigged and zagged, and then a light appeared far down the passage.

It was blurry and dim, but definitely the same fog-covered sunlight she’d seen earlier this morning. And there was no gate!

They broke into a trot.

Fiona’s heart raced. They’d done it. Made it through the entire maze-got every question right! They’d all get As and show the rest of the class what teamwork could accomplish.

The light brightened, and Fiona found herself blinking as she ran out onto grass.

She whooped and cheered and whirled around.

. . but her victory dance spun to a stop.

They were inside the Ludus Magnus.

The jungle gym loomed before her. It was taller now, eighty feet high. She saw the balance beam she had crossed a few weeks ago had spiked weights that swung back and forth so you’d have to dodge. The chain-link fences had barbed wires woven through them. And higher, there was a sloped bridge of solid ice, dripping in the overcast sky-impossibly slick.

They’d made the course harder.

Eliot jogged up to her, skidded to a halt, and took in the sight.

“This is wrong,” she whispered.

“Very wrong,” he said, and nodded to the far side of the coliseum.

Team Green Dragon had gathered there. They spotted Fiona and Eliot and moved toward them. . a slow trot, and then a faster run.

And just emerging around the opposite side of the jungle gym was Team Wolf. . Donald van Wyck at the head of his pack.

Mr. Ma was nowhere in sight.

“This is not good,” Robert said, joining them.

Jezebel limped up next to Eliot. “As you said. . there was one more part of the test to pass.”

“How can that be?” Sarah asked. She stood with them in a line, facing the other teams. “There can’t be three teams on the field at once.”

Van Wyck called as he approached, “Has to be a mistake, huh? Green Dragon and Wolf matched against Scarab?” His pale face split into a wicked grin, and he turned to the Dragons. “Whatever shall we do about it?”

The Captain of the Dragons was a boy who looked like a weight lifter. “Rules are clear,” he said. “If there’s a Dragon flag, we’re going to get to it-and stop our opposition from getting to theirs.”

Van Wyck halted and turned to the jungle gym.

The Wolf flag unfurled next to the Dragon’s. . and on the opposite corner, the Team Scarab banner appeared, rippling in the wind.

All the joy Fiona had felt a moment ago curdled. She remembered Van Wyck’s promise never to hurt anyone on her team-except in gym class, where violence was encouraged. . and lethal violence allowed.

Jeremy and Mitch trotted up last, joining the rest of Team Scarab on the field.

“We won’t play,” Fiona told them. “They can’t do this.”

“They are doing it,” Jeremy declared, “whether we play or not, dearie.”

Mitch said nothing, but moved to Fiona’s side. A ball of white-blue light appeared and smoldered in his clenched hand.

Fiona’s mind floundered. There were outnumbered, outpowered, about to get pounced on and torn to bits.

Eliot was unfazed. He took out Lady Dawn and set the instrument on his shoulder. “I’m ready to fight,” he told her. “Tell us what to do.”

Eliot’s unwavering confidence snapped Fiona out of her panic.

“Okay,” she told them. “I’ve got a plan-listen.”

Just then, however, Van Wyck took out Mr. Ma’s starting pistol.

If that was supposed to scare Fiona, it wouldn’t. That thing fired only blanks.

But he didn’t point the gun at her; instead, he aimed it into the air and-with the remaining three fingers on his hand-fired.

Team Dragon and Team Wolf sprinted toward Eliot and the rest of Team Scarab.

Eliot wasn’t scared. He was ready to fight.

Robert had taught him how to stay cool and not burn through his adrenaline reserves when they’d sparred. He’d also learned when to move quick, strike, and finish an opponent before they knew what hit them.

The other teams spread out and slowed, making sure Team Scarab couldn’t escape.

One worry: Eliot had learned to fight only one-on-one.

How did you protect yourself against sixteen enemies at once? Or protect everyone else on your side?

Especially Jezebel. She looked like she’d already been through one major battle today.

For all Eliot knew, that could be true. Had she crossed some battlefield in Hell just to get to Paxington for midterms? He wished she’d open up and tell him.

Too much thinking. They had to take the initiative-or lose it.

“Fiona?” he whispered. “What’s the plan?”

She tore her gaze from the onrushing teams. She blinked, and her features screwed with intense concentration. “Right-the plan is to get to the jungle gym and our flag.”

Robert whispered, “You’re actually going to play this stupid game?”

“It be the only way,” Jeremy told him. “End the match, and then there’s no fighting allowed.”

“If that’ll stop Dragon and Wolf,” Mitch countered.

“At least on the gym, we’ll have some cover,” Sarah said, panic creeping into her voice.

Amanda’s hands were at her throat, too scared to add an opinion.

Fiona turned to Eliot. “Get us some cover to cross the field.”

Eliot nodded. He understood what she asked of him.

He might hurt the others. Or worse. But Van Wyck was out for their blood. Eliot had to defend himself and his teammates. . whatever that took.

“Leave them to me.” His voice sounded hollow and cold and not his at all.

Eliot tapped his bow on Lady Dawn’s strings, the opening of “The March of the Suicide Queen,” and skipped a third of the way into the piece-where shrieking notes built to a crescendo: the entrance of the cannoneers.

He cast three shadows upon the grass, and through them wheeled forth cannon pushed by crews in mud-spattered blue uniforms with white bandoliers.[39]

Their appearance from nowhere stopped the charging Dragons and Wolves dead in their tracks.

Van Wyck, after only a heartbeat to assess the situation, shouted, “Scatter! Quick! Circle around!”

The cannoneers lit the fuses while they sang:

Keep the powder dry

there’s little more dire

Watch your step, laddie

lest your boots a’mire

Stuff the wad with care

load the grapeshot, squire

Damn the devil back to hell

and let the cannons fire!

Flame and thunder belched from open metal maws.

A girl on Team Dragon motioned as a cannon ball arced toward her. The black iron blurred translucent and passed through her and into the earth.

Elsewhere, though, lawn exploded twice and cratered, and dirt showered into the sky.

Two on Team Wolf were blasted backwards-landed, bounced, and slowly crawled off. . out of the fight for now.

Eliot worried how badly they were injured, but nonetheless played on.

His cannoneers tried in vain to reposition their artillery as the rest of Dragon and Wolf flanked them.

Well, Eliot could change tactics, too.

“Get ready to run,” he whispered to his team.

Only now did he look at his teammates. They watched the other teams, arms raised defensively. . except Sarah and Jeremy, who stared at Eliot, astonished and openmouthed.

It was almost worth it to see their faces.

Eliot sank back into his music and played “The Symphony of Existence”-the part where you died and some spirits wandered aimlessly in limbo, forever lost.

Cannons and crews faded to shadow.

The air thickened as veils of haze collected into tendrils and then condensed into impenetrable fog.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he told them.

“Go, go!” Fiona urged.

Eliot heard their padded footfalls over the grass.

He did his best to keep the fog from closing on them, but the music was elusive and slippery. . and the air filled with glowing eyes, outstretched skeletal hands, curling ropes of vapor. . and drifting bodies that moaned.

Eliot paused and looked up.

Lost in the pea-soup-thick fog, he heard Van Wyck cry out, “Make fire. Call the winds. Anything to get rid of this stuff! And watch out for ghosts!”

Several of his Wolf teammates called back, unafraid.

It was only a matter of time before they undid his efforts. Every one one of them had magic. Eliot had to escape while he had a chance.

He started toward the jungle gym-but stopped, seeing that behind him was Jezebel.

She stood still, head cocked as if trying to pinpoint every sound whirling about her: spirit and flesh.

She hadn’t run with the others.

He took one step closer, hoping, his head spinning about one possibility. “You. . you stayed?” he whispered. “For me?”

But the instant Eliot said it, he knew that was wrong.

Her eyes snapped open, jade green so intense, they seemed to smolder, and then her beautiful lips parted in a mocking smile.

“Young Prince Eliot Post,” she said, “so like his father, ever the hopeful romantic.” Her smile turned into a snarl.

Eliot’s face burned. He’d thought she cared enough to stay with him, endangering herself to do so. How did she always do this to him? Make him think she liked him, when she. . what? Hated him?

But Eliot also burned on the inside. . from the attraction he felt for her even now. In the middle of a pitched battle, surrounded by death and students who wanted to kill him, Eliot wanted nothing more than to embrace and kiss her.

This feeling sang in his blood and called to something in her blood. Something on fire. Something that moved and pounded and pulsed in time to her pulse.

Something diabolical.

Jezebel’s eyes widened. “Stop,” she breathed. “Do not. You do not understand.”

Eliot tried to heed her words, but found himself stepping closer. He could smell her cinnamon and vanilla perfume.

“Then explain,” he demanded in a hushed voice.

“You feel my. .” Her gaze dropped and she flushed. “I do care,” she murmured. “But you feel my blood not because. . because. . of that, but because I give myself to the hate that burns within.”

That stopped Eliot.

He blinked, indeed now feeling the screaming rage mixed with the passion swirling between them.

Eliot thought he understood. What he’d mistaken for an attraction. . was not quite right. It was animalistic, primitive, and unstoppably building within her.

But it wasn’t lust. It was bloodlust.

“You’re going to fight them,” he said. “All of them.”

“My injuries will only slow you. I choose to stand my ground.”

“They’ll tear you apart. I won’t let you.”

She laughed. “You still know nothing. I have been holding back. This seemed prudent, as Miss Westin and I had an agreement. But that pact was under normal circumstances. . and this is very much not normal.”

Eliot felt her heat intensify, pulsing in waves.

Jezebel’s claws extended and fangs filled her mouth.

Mr. Ma had called it the “Infernal combat form.”

He took an instinctive step back. “Don’t do this,” he said. “Please.” He held out a hand, beckoning her to him.

“Run. Eliot,” she said. “Run while you can.” Jezebel’s voice deepened and darkened and seemed to echo from within a great space. “Run before my rage blinds me. Before I consume all the living flesh that dares corrupt my dreadful presence!”

The air about her moved and charged with static. Her shadow spread outward in a black circle.

Jezebel’s claws dripped venom that hissed as it burned the sod. The faint blue-green veins under her skin bulged and twisted, some sprouting free as vines that twined with budding orchids. Delicate horns curled from her head, and snow-white bat wings ripped through her T-shirt-all swelling and unfolding, until she was twice his height.

She continued to grow, and Eliot stepped back, trying to see. . losing her in the fog, making out only a winged silhouette towering thirty feet over him.

This was really Jezebel, Protector of the Burning Orchards and Duchess of the Many-Colored Jungle of the Infernal Poppy Kingdoms-terrible and magnificent.

Eliot felt hate flood and burn through his blood.

Was this what she truly was? Some fallen angel so far removed from the girl he thought he’d known?

He sighed, realizing his hate wasn’t for her. It would physically hurt Eliot to hate her. What she looked like didn’t matter.

She was willing to sacrifice herself for them. Maybe it was a rage-filled Infernal motivation, but she was going to throw herself at their enemies-vanquish them or, in turn, be vanquished.

Eliot wanted to join her. That’s why he felt the anger burn within. He wanted to be like his father, like her: Infernal, horrific, glorious-and destroy everything he touched.

Then reason returned and his blood chilled. . and he was ordinary Eliot Post once more.

Team Dragon and Wolf were closing in.

Fiona and the others would need him.

He ran for the jungle gym.

Eliot caught up to his teammates one story up on the jungle gym. They were on a landing and faced the balance beam bridge.

The beam was a single handsbreadth wide. There was no railing. Spiked steel balls swung over it, so to cross without getting your skull bashed in and then knocked off, you’d have to time it just right.

“Where’s Jezebel?” Fiona asked. She looked concerned, confused, and relieved that Eliot was alone.

Eliot shook his head, unable to explain, still trying to cool his blood.

He didn’t have to say anything, though. On the field, there was a thunderous roar and screams. Streaks of fire lit the fog, and a giant silhouetted shape moved.

“The Infernal combat form,” Jeremy whispered in awe.

“She’s buying us time,” Robert said.

Fiona gazed into the murk and bit her lower lip. “Okay-we have to go now. No more debate.”

Eliot looked away from his sister. Jezebel was strong, but she faced two teams. With her injuries, he wasn’t sure she could stop them all. . or even survive. He wished he had stayed with her.

“Let me go first.” Sarah set a foot on the balance beam. “I’ll clear the way.”

Fiona frowned, but nodded and motioned her ahead.

Sarah pulled back her hair and tied into a knot. She walked onto the beam as graceful as a ballerina.

She approached the first deadly pendulum. . took a deep breath, and then stepped into its path.

Eliot and Robert both involuntarily started toward her.

“No,” Jeremy warned. “Donna break her concentration.”

Sarah faced the spiked ball rushing toward her, one slender hand held to ward it off.

There was no way she’d stop it. The steel ball was as big as her head.

Her face was a mask of pure focus.

Inches before the ball struck Sarah-it burst into a cloud of confetti and fluttered to the ground in a thousand flashing colors.

“Bravo!” Jeremy cheered.

Of course. The Covingtons were conjurers, able to sometimes transmute one thing into another.

Sarah continued along the beam, confident now, pausing only to alter the deadly steel weights into more confetti, a splash of water, and a shower of tiny glittering garnets.

Robert, Fiona, and Mitch then crossed, using the now dangling lengths of chain for balance.

Amanda hesitated before the beam. Eliot thought she was going to chicken out, but she glanced back at him, turned, and stepped forward-not looking back.

Then Eliot went. It was like crossing the stone bridge from Uncle Henry’s island to the Council’s amphitheater. He moved without fear and found himself stepping onto a bamboo platform on the opposite side.

This new landing had ropes that ascended into the fog.

Jeremy was right behind him.

“Up!” Fiona told them-then she whirled around.

Donald van Wyck and four bruised members from Dragon and Wolf teams clambered onto the deck on the far side of the beam. They glared at Team Scarab across the distance.

Eliot looked behind his opponents to the field below.

The Infernal combat form of Jezebel took to the air, white bat wings beating in a vain attempt to fend off a pillar of fire on one side, a whirlwind on the other. Three students lay motionless on the ground, tangled in masses of flowering vines.

Eliot reached into his pack for his violin. He wouldn’t stand by and just watch her be hurt.

Fiona clamped a hand on his shoulder. “No way,” she whispered, and then as if knowing his thoughts, said, “The best way to help her now is to get to the flag. End the match.”

Eliot tore his gaze from the battle and nodded.

A boy from Green Dragon with military-cropped hair ran across the beam.

“He’s a Kaleb,” Jeremy whispered. “Don’t let him get close.”

“I’ve got him.” Fiona plucked the rubber band from her wrist. “Go!”

Eliot grabbed a rope and pulled himself up, hand over hand-a feat that a month ago would have been impossible. Robert was next to him on an adjacent strand. Mitch, Jeremy, and Sarah were behind them. Amanda struggled, but at least she was trying.

Fiona knelt and with one quick thrust severed the foot-thick balance beam.

The Kaleb boy and the timber fell into the fog.

Van Wyck pursed his lips and nodded to his teammates-one of whom vanished. The rest of them backed down. They’d have to find another way around.

Eliot climbed up onto the edge of straight runway. It was thirty feet long, five wide, and made of worn planks.

This gave him pause.

There was no trap to block their way. . just a wide path that led to a wrought iron circular staircase.

At least there were no obvious obstacles.

Robert got up next, and together they helped the others climb.

Eliot and Robert, though, actually had to pull Amanda up. She clung to the rope stubbornly, her hair in her face but her mouth set in a grimace of determination.

Fiona joined them and marched forward.

“Wait. . ” Mitch set a hand on her forearm. “It’s too easy.”

Eliot reached into his pack and strummed Lady Dawn.

The air along the path wavered. Spiderweb-fine wires appeared, resonating in sympathy with his violin.

These wires crisscrossed up and down and side to side, so it’d be impossible to pass. They were so thin, they’d have tripped over them-so razor sharp, they’d certainly have been sliced.

“What’s Mr. Ma trying to do to us?” Amanda set her hand to her throat.

“Apparently,” Sarah replied, “amputate a few arms and legs.”

Eliot wondered if Sarah was serious or just trying to scare poor Amanda.

“I’ll cut them,” Fiona said.

“You might not see them all,” Eliot countered.

He withdrew Lady Dawn and plucked three crisp notes.

Every wire twanged in sympathetic vibrations-and each one snapped, under so much tension that as they broke the air “cracked.”

Sarah hadn’t been kidding about amputation. Whoever engineered this had upped the stakes of gym class.

Robert took a careful step forward. “All clear. Should be easy from here on-”

Van Wyck and six more students swung through the fog on ropes and landed before them, on the far side of the runway.

He grinned as he approached Team Scarab.

“Finally,” Van Wyck said. “No more running. We settle this.” He snorted. “Although contrary to my best efforts, it appears we are evenly matched.”

“They just want a fight; they’re not even trying to win,” Fiona whispered. “The way to the flags is right behind them.” She looked to Robert and Jeremy and told them, “So we three will give them their fight.”

Then she glanced at Eliot, Amanda, Mitch, and Sarah. “And you guys get to the flag.”

Eliot started to protest.

But Van Wyck and the others charged.

Robert rushed to meet them. Fiona was right behind him. Jeremy, however, hesitated, and slinked to the edge of the runway.

Robert leaped, hitting Van Wyck and two other boys. They all went down in a heap of arms and legs. Eliot caught a glint of brass held in Robert’s hands as he punched one boy so hard, he broke the boards of the runway underneath.

Fiona skidded to a halt, both fists held out before her-her rubber band stretched between them.

Two girls and one boy stopped before her, confused, not knowing how to approach without getting cut.

Jeremy, meanwhile, touched the seasoned wood of the runway. The outer boards creaked and groaned and split away-the braces and supports beneath extending shakily outward along with them.

He turned and winked at them. Then, laughing, he jumped in the melee pile with Robert.

“Go!” Sarah urged. “He’s made a way around.”

Eliot jumped to the extended path. It was only a foot wide, and shuddered under his weight.

He held out his hands to Amanda (making sure he was braced).

She gulped, but jumped into his arms.

Mitch and Sarah leaped onto the boards as well, and they all ran past the fight.

A boy from Green Dragon pulled free of Jeremy’s grasp, whirled, and jumped into Eliot’s way.

The boy teetered, slightly off balance. He was twice Eliot’s size.

Eliot made a fist. . shifted his center of gravity lower and hammered his fist upward, using his leg muscles to add to the force.

He felt the bone in the boy’s jaw crack.

The boy toppled, dazed, but managed to grab the edges of the board.

Eliot leaped over him and kept moving-

— until the entire jungle gym wrenched to the right.

Eliot dropped to all fours to keep from falling off.

Amanda toppled, but Eliot’s hand shot out and grabbed her.

The combat form of Jezebel crashed into the structure, snapping platforms, chain link, and oak support beams. One snowy white bat wing was on fire; the other bent and broken. In either massive taloned hand wriggled a member of Team Wolf, screaming as if their souls were being ripped from their flesh.

Two other opponents clung to Jezebel’s back. They blasted her with lightning, leaving craters of smoldering blackened flesh. Arcs of electricity played along her spine.

She stumbled, shattering the corner of the jungle gym to splinters.

The back part of the runway broke.

Eliot rocked forward. With one hand he gripped the plank; with the other he held on to Amanda, and they both stayed on.

Jezebel roared and tumbled to the ground.

Eliot felt his stomach fall with her. His fear and dread crystallized into raw determination, however. Eliot stood, pulling Amanda up with him. There was nothing he could do for Jezebel now except end this by winning.

He ran.

Sarah and Mitch followed his cue and they raced for the stairs.

Behind them, Van Wyck shouted, “Stop them. Quick, you fools!”

Eliot mounted the wrought iron staircase, circling up and around the spiral, practically dragging Amanda behind him.

He emerged on the top of the gym. Clouds raced alongside him. Hurricane winds whipped about and stung his eyes.

He spotted their flag-a fluttering black length and a flash of scarab gold.

Eliot ran for it. . and with an outstretched hand, grabbed a fistful of silk.

So did Amanda. She shouted a primal victory scream.

Mitch and Sarah crashed into them, not bothering to slow down, grasping the flag as well.

A gunshot rang out.

The winds ceased.

The shuddering jungle gym stilled.

Van Wyck scrambled up the stairs and stopped. Rage colored his face as he saw them and realized that against all odds, Team Scarab had not only survived his cheating two-against-one grudge match. . but they’d won.

Fiona stood on the field of the Ludus Magnus with Team Scarab. She shifted nervously. This wasn’t over yet.

Everyone on her team had made it. . well, except Jezebel, who lay on a stretcher ten paces away, being treated by Mr. Ma.

The instant she’d seen Mr. Ma, Fiona suspected he had let Donald van Wyck do this. How else could a student engineer such a colossal two-against-one cheat in the middle of midterms with everyone watching?

Had Mr. Ma colluded in this scheme? Or had he just looked the other way? She’d probably never know.

One thing she was sure, though: Mr. Ma wouldn’t have shed any tears if Team Scarab had lost.

It was strange looking at them. Mr. Ma was so dark and Jezebel so pale. He was old and wise. . while Jezebel would likely be forever young and, just as likely, forever irresponsible.

She was a total mess, her chest and arms bandaged. Fiona didn’t know why she hadn’t been carried off in the ambulances with the other seriously injured players.

At least, to Fiona’s relief, there’d been no casualities during this mismatch.

Mr. Ma helped Jezebel sit upright and whispered to her. She nodded while Mr. Ma shook his head. He then helped her stand, which she shakily managed, and then he escorted her to stand with the rest of Team Scarab.

“Bloody glorious work back there,” Jeremy said to her.

“Yeah,” Robert added, “uh, very nice.”

Jezebel nodded to them, apparently too hurt even to come up with her normal condescending replies. She locked eyes with Eliot, but neither of them said a word to each other. Jezebel limped away from Eliot and stood next to Amanda.

Behind them was the jungle gym. . well, what was left of it. The area had been cordoned off with yellow HAZARD tape. Half had been demolished in the match. Parts were on fire. A dozen workers in hard hats chainsawed and bulldozed over the rest because it had been declared unsafe by Mr. Ma.

She thought this ironic, since it’d been engineered to be “unsafe” in the first place.

At the far end of the field, Miss Westin spoke to Harlan Dells. The Headmistress had her back turned to the students. Mr. Dells faced them, however, his eagle eyes on every student. From his narrowed glare, it was clear how displeased he was.

Miss Westin turned and strode toward them.

Fiona tensed and felt like she might be sick.

The other students being treated for minor cuts, burns, and broken bones also got to their feet and quickly shuffled toward their teams.

Teams Dragon and Wolf stood facing Team Scarab.

Green Dragon was down two members. They stood stoic with eyes fixed straight ahead.

Team Wolf was down three members, and Donald van Wyck’s head hung low.

“Breaking rules at Paxington is never tolerated,” Miss Westin said as she walked between the teams. Her words were like stones dropped from a great height; each felt like it thudded into Fiona’s stomach.

Miss Westin glanced at the carnage behind them, and then turned to scrutinize them, taking her time, allowing her silence to smother their thoughts. She inhaled a deep breath, seeming to decide something, and let out a great sigh.

This struck Fiona as odd because she’d never seen Miss Westin sighing. . and now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her breathing.

“But before we talk of rules. . and punishment,” Miss Westin continued, and nodded to Mr. Ma as he joined her, “Mr. Ma and I have discussed this so-called midterm match and have come to a decision.”

Fiona stood taller, proud that Team Scarab had not only survived two-to-one odds, but won.

“I declare this match invalid,” Mr. Ma said.

“What?. .” Fiona whispered, her high spirits deflating.

“No supervisors,” Miss Westin said. “An inappropriate match.” She cast a haughty glance at Jezebel. “Illegal metamorphosis.”

Jezebel tilted her head in defiance.

“But,” Fiona countered, “. . that’s not fair.”

Miss Westin wheeled toward her. “Fair? Life is not fair, Miss Post. Ever. Not for mortals or young goddesses. Be thankful you learn this lesson when the stakes were merely your team’s rank and their lives.”

This sounded like something Audrey would say. Merely our lives at stake? What more could be at stake?

Fiona wanted to shrink back, but she fought the impulse and remained standing tall. What she really wanted to do was give Miss Westin a piece of her mind. And yet Fiona sensed something important in the Headmistress’s words. . so she kept her mouth clamped tight.

A slight smile rippled over Miss Westin’s pale lips as she watched Fiona’s internal struggle. And then, seeing her student hold her temper, the Headmistress nodded.

“Team Scarab,” Miss Westin continued, “for their valiant efforts, however, will be given a ‘non-grade’ for the match. Their midterm grade will be based wholly on their individual accomplishments in the Midterm Maze. . which I note are miraculously identical scores of A-minus.”

Fiona took that in, stunned, but quickly recovered.

Okay, so they wouldn’t get the win, but it wouldn’t count against them, either, in gym. She could live with that. Still, that left Scarab in a precarious position of having one win, one loss, and a draw.

It was, however, nice that they’d gotten an A on their midterm. Eliot had really pulled off a miracle in the maze, and yet, it irked her that it was an A-. What was the minus for?

She knew better, though, than to let out even a squeak of a complaint in front of Miss Westin.

Fiona shot a quick warning glance to the rest of her teammates-especially bigmouthed Jeremy Covington.

Miss Westin turned to face the other students. “Team Dragon.”

The Dragons stood at full attention.

“You were slated to compete against Team Scarab,” Miss Westin said. “I accept that you were led astray by unscrupulous influences, so we shall record the loss of this match on your gym record.”

The Green Dragon students stiffened as if struck.

The huge boy who was the Green Dragon Team Captain ran a hand over his crew cut and answered, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Miss Westin then strode to Team Wolf, slowly pacing before them.

They looked as if they were about to be executed, shuffling feet, the color draining from their faces; one girl looked as if she were hyperventilating.

“Team Wolf,” Miss Westin said. “We shall also mark you down as a loss for this match.” She halted before Donald van Wyck.

He looked up, but reluctantly, as if he had no choice in the matter, and whispered, “May I speak, Headmistress?”

“No. I have spoken to your family,” Miss Westin told him. “They lobbied quite vigorously on your behalf, but you sealed your fate when you diverted Mr. Ma’s attention and arranged this demonstration of your ‘superiority.’ Pride, arrogance, and underestimating a worthy opponent-these are among your many failings.”

Van Wyck remained standing, but his shoulders slumped.

If Fiona hadn’t hated him so much, she would have felt some pity.

“These personality traits we might have addressed and corrected here at Paxington, given enough time,” Miss Westin continued. “But broken rules? That I will not abide.”

She turned her back to him.

“You are hereby expelled.”

Donald van Wyck looked up, eyes wide. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He glanced helpless to his teammates, but none of them would look his way.

Harlan Dells moved to his side and set one massive hand on his shoulder.

Van Wyck looked at Fiona, eyes pleading.

Maybe she should say something.

No-he’d tried to kill her, Eliot, and everyone on her team. Fiona’s glare sharpened. He was getting off easy.

Miss Westin nodded to Mr. Dells, and the Gatekeeper marched him off the field.

Fiona watched until they vanished into the tunnel.

Miss Westin withdrew her tiny black book and made a note within.

“There,” she said. “I believe that ends this matter. Students, you are dismissed.”

The Dragons and Wolves skulked off the field.

As they left, Jeremy whooped and danced a celebratory jig. He hugged his cousin Sarah.

Robert and Mitch exchanged a more reserved high five.

Fiona should have felt like celebrating, too. Instead, she was wary, as if something else bad were about to happen.

Eliot stepped next to her and whispered, “I wonder if we’ll see him again.” He gazed at the dark tunnel through which Donald van Wyck had left.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I hope not.”

Had they won today? Or made an enemy for life? Or with his Van Wyck necromancy. . had they made an enemy for eternity?

Fiona’s attention turned as she saw timid Amanda Lane approach Jezebel, working up the courage to speak.

Fiona marched over to them and heard Jezebel reply, “I need no mortal’s assistance.”

The Infernal glared at Amanda, who took a step back.

Jezebel glanced at Fiona, and in a less threatening tone, said, “No help. Thank you.” She picked up an abandoned Paxington blazer off the grass and snugged it about her shoulders-wincing. A dot of blood seeped through.

“There is only one place that can help me,” Jezebel murmured. “Home.” She limped off the field.

Robert and Mitch joined Fiona and Amanda, and they watched her stalk off.

“Is she going be okay?” Robert whispered.

“I don’t know,” Fiona said. “But I know there’s nothing we can do for her-not when she’s so. . I don’t know what she is.”

Mitch shook his head as he watched Jezebel leave. “Don’t let her get to you. We did good today.”

Fiona felt a twinge of irrational anger toward the Infernal. She wasn’t sure why. Jezebel had made it possible for them to win the match. Maybe even saved all their lives by nearly throwing hers away. And yet. . something was so wrong about her.

Fiona turned to ask Eliot if he had a clue.

But Eliot was nowhere on the field.

Eliot tried not to think about what he was doing. . but that wasn’t his best thing.

Getting into trouble, Fiona would say would’ve been his best thing.

Rescuing the damsel in distress, Robert might tell him.

Or perhaps as Louis would declare, Rushing in where angels fear. .

But this was none of those things. Eliot followed Jezebel because he had to. Something inside him pulled him along the sidewalk, a magnetic force he was helpless to resist-but something also repelled him from her and held him back from rushing to her side and wrapping his arms about her broken body.

Jezebel walked ahead of him half a block. She had someone’s oversized Paxington jacket on. She half stepped, half stumbled along, and then paused to lean against a building.

Other people didn’t notice. Tourists with Chinatown maps, a bunch of older women complaining about the President, and a policeman on bicycle-none of them offered to help or even ask if she was okay.

Of course, if they had tried, Jezebel, the Protector of the Burning Orchards and Handmaiden to the Mistress of Pain, might have torn their throats out. . so it was probably some primitive human instinct for self-preservation that made them shy away.

Self-preservation instincts that apparently Eliot lacked, because he had slipped out of the Ludus Magnus when he overheard Amanda and Fiona talking to Jezebel, and her adamant refusal for help.

He knew she’d never let anyone help her. Just as Eliot knew that she desperately needed help.

Eliot was determined to make sure she was okay. Even if that meant sneaking out ahead of her, lurking in the shadows, and then following her like some creepy stalker.

Although he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Make sure she got home okay, he guessed-make sure she got there without bleeding to death in some gutter along the way.

Why was she so stubborn?

She trudged ahead, south one block down Webster Street, east one block along Golden Gate Avenue, and then zigging back south. If she kept going, they’d end up in the Mission District.

The sun broke through the fog and painted the streets with lines of light and shade.

Eliot drifted into the shadows to stay unnoticed.

Jezebel mirrored his steps, clinging to the darkness.

Eliot let her get a bit ahead as he waited to cross busy Van Ness Avenue, and then hurried just as the stoplight changed.

As he set one foot into the street, however, it felt as if he plunged into warm running water. It didn’t slow him as normal water would, but it felt very different from the space he’d been in.

As he crossed back onto the sidewalk, the sensation vanished.

Eliot stopped and looked around, perplexed.

Then he spotted the difference: The crosswalk was in sunlight. . and he stood once more in the shadows.

Although the fog softened everything, the edge where light met dark was razor sharp to his eyes.

Everyone on the sidewalk went out of their way to step around the shadows, like they were too cold. None of them looked at Eliot either as he stood in the shade. They strode past him, ignoring him as they did Jezebel.

Eliot stepped into the path of a girl walking a Yorkshire terrier.

The tiny dog’s head snapped up and it barked, startled, at Eliot. It hadn’t seen him.

Eliot had an urge to kick the miniature canine. He didn’t like dogs.

“Sorry,” Eliot whispered.

The girl smiled and moved on, jerking the dog along-not really wanting to interact with him, but at least seeing him.

Eliot slinked back into the shadows.

Weird.

He could live with weird, though; he had for a while. And today he preferred to be in the shade. To be unremarkable. Invisible almost.

He followed Jezebel like that for another block, keeping to the dark, and then they turned onto Hyde Street.

She was headed downtown. Buildings towered over them and the sidewalk was red brick. The people here had to enter the shadows (or end up walking in the street), and as they did, they shuddered, pulled up their collars, and sped along to the next patch of sunlight.

The only exception was a velvet black cat that sat on a trash can, watching Jezebel, him, and then its amber eyes locked back on to her-crossing in front of, and almost tripping, her.

Jezebel hissed at it.

The animal hissed back and scampered across the busy street-ignoring traffic-making it to the opposite side.[40]

Jezebel watched it go, then walked fast, turning onto Market Street ahead of him.

Eliot followed, but Jezebel was gone.

There was a bus stop, but there were people still waiting. There was a theater she could have ducked into. And just in front of it, stairs that angled under the street: A BART station.

That had to be it.

He hurried down the steps into a vast open space well lit with flickering fluorescents. There were token vendors, automated turnstiles, bike racks, and information kiosks directing people to all the places the Bay Area Rapid Transit system could take them.

It was deserted.

There were three escalators to the next level. One had an OUT OF ORDER sign and yellow warning tape draped across it. The tape dangled, torn.

Eliot went to it and saw the escalator was still. It was dark down there.

He took a deep breath-not quite sure he was doing anything remotely smart, but knowing he couldn’t stop now. He crept down the motionless escalator. The edges looked disturbingly like metal teeth.

He emerged onto a wide hallway. Only every fifth fluorescent light overhead was lit.

Eliot’s eyes adjusted to the gloom. A yellow stripe divided the white tiles where people were supposed to wait well away from the sunken tracks of the BART train.

As above, there was no one here on this level. No train, either.

And still no Jezebel.

Had he made a mistake and lost her? Jezebel could have spotted him and broken that tape on the escalator to throw him off her trail.

A single black dot caught his attention. It was tiny, but obvious on the white tile. It called to him, sounded like a perfect note plunked in his mind.

He glanced once more down the platform and then crept to the spot.

Eliot reached out and touched it. The spot was liquid, tarlike-half-congealed. It smelled of vanilla and cinnamon and rust.

Blood. Her blood.

She had been here.

The question was, where had she gone?

She hadn’t been so far ahead of him that a train could have come, picked her up, and left without him hearing.

He spied another drop of blood. This one was by the tracks.

His gaze continued, and he spotted a third drop on the far side of the train tracks. . right under a shadow. The shadow looked just like the dozen others on the far side of the train tracks. . only it fell directly under one of the fluorescent lights overhead.

Eliot moved to look at it from another angle.

It looked like any other shadow, translucent, and flickering with the same frequency as the lights. Only there was nothing between it and the light to cast it.

This shadow fell directly between two concrete squares, and as Eliot turned his head back and forth, he caught a glimpse of more: a darkness that stretched beyond the flat plane of the wall.

A doorway.

If that’s where Jezebel went, he’d follow. Maybe she was hurt and had crawled in there to rest or hide from more of those things that had jumped them in the alley outside Paxington. Or maybe she had gone in there like some wounded animal to die.

Eliot held his breath and listened for any rumble that might indicate a train. He heard only his heart thudding.

With extreme care, he crept past the yellow safety line. Eliot then eased over the edge onto the channel with the train tracks.

He swallowed and gingerly stepped across the electrified third rail-pressed himself against the cool concrete by the fake shadow.

If a BART train came by now, he’d get pasted.

Eliot inched to the shadow. So close, it was easy to see how it extruded deeper into the wall, a passage that sloped at a steep angle. There were stairs and handrails. He twisted closer to looked straight into it; there was a flicker of amber light at the end. . a very long way down.

He hesitated on the threshold.

Some part of him screamed that if he went down there, he wasn’t coming back. Ever.

As surely as he knew this could be a one-way trip, though, he also knew Jezebel needed him. Like every daydream he’d ever had: The hero charged in to save his lady in peril, no matter what.

More realistically. . he knew Jezebel-or more accurately, the part of her that was still Julie Marks-was the key to unraveling the Infernal plots circling about him. She still cared for him. She was still his friend. . and possibly, hopefully, more.

He pushed into the darkness.

Eliot reached and pulled his pack around. He undid the top flap and opened Lady Dawn’s case. He wanted her handy. When things got this weird, they usually got dangerous, too.

He moved down the stairs.

As he neared the bottom, Eliot smelled moisture and brimstone and mold. He saw red and gleaming gold.

There was a rumble in the distance and a train’s whistle-that wasn’t a single shrill note, but rather a collection of tortured human screams. It got louder. It cut through him and twisted his insides. Eliot wanted to clap his hands over his ears and curl into a ball.

But he’d heard this noise before. In Kino’s Borderlands. . at the Gates of Perdition.

His father’s words came back to him: “We are monarchs of the domains of Hell, the benevolent kings and queens over the countless souls who are drawn there to worship us.”

Countless souls.

Knowing what the sound might be, though, didn’t make it any less horrific, but Eliot was able to set it aside in his mind. He could be scared and keep moving forward.

He got to the foot of the steep stairs and peeked around the corner.

A room stretched as far as he could see, another train station, but not like upstairs. This place looked like it was from the late nineteenth century. Red and gold tiles covered the floor and had a million cracks, as if the place had survived the Great San Francisco Earthquake of 1906. . or maybe it hadn’t and had sunk down here. Columns of carved teak and inlaid ivory stood like a dead forest. There were stained glass windows (bricked up on the other side) and tarnished silver candelabras set out here and there, flickering with smoking candles.

The screams grew to a crescendo, and bright light flashed from within a tunnel and filled one end of the station, illuminating a crisscross of train tracks.

Billows of steam blasted forth, and a train engine appeared, chugging, wheels screeching to a long agonizing halt.

The main cylinder of the engine glowed red. Black smoke billowed from twin stacks. Three coal cars were pulled behind this, and after them were passenger cars with rich wood paneling and gilt scrollwork that curled about picture windows. Red velvet curtains framed those windows and hid the interiors.

Eliot squinted at the first passenger car and saw lettering in ornate silver cursive: Der Nachtzug, Limited.[41]

With one last massive sigh, the engine came to a full stop and the tortured voices fell silent.

Jezebel stepped out from behind one of the columns. She’d been waiting there for the train. She staggered and barely made it to the first passenger car. She hung her head and leaned against it.

An old porter emerged. He bowed before Jezebel and then set down a tiny step. He took her hand and gently helped her up and onto the train.

Jezebel had said there was only one place where she could get help for her injuries: home. Eliot hadn’t taken her literally when she said that. He thought she’d head to an apartment in the city.

. . Not actually return to Hell.

The old porter glanced about the station, looking for other passengers.

Eliot ducked back into the stairwell.

Now what?

Three options occurred to him.

Eliot could let her go. Jezebel had to know what she was doing. But hadn’t she said her clan was fighting a war? He had a feeling she was headed into even greater danger.

The second option was to talk to her, try to get her to stay. There had to be someone here who could help her.

Of course, that would involve Eliot actually speaking to her and her responding in a rational manner. That never seemed to happen. Whenever they interacted, it seemed to be charged with emotion. . and anger.

That left the last option: Go with her and help her.

That thought turned to ice inside Eliot.

Go to Hell on purpose?

The locomotive hissed. Its wheels squealed to a slow start and sparked along the tracks.

Louis had said Sealiah was Jezebel’s mistress. . and that she was Queen of the Poppy Lands of Hell. Poppy Lands. Eliot wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.

He decided not and turned back.

At the top of the staircase, light and shadows flashed: A BART train had entered the normal human station.

Normal. Human. A world he was feeling more and more apart from.

Besides, hadn’t he really decided when he ventured down here? To find out more about the Infernals and their plans? Wasn’t he committed to helping Jezebel? That was the right thing to do-no matter where it took him.

Eliot ran back.

The train picked up speed, cars accelerating past his view.

He ducked his head and sprinted after the last car as it raced toward the tunnel.

His hand caught the railing-he leaped-swung himself up and onto the swaying floor.

There. He’d done it.

Now he really was a hero rushing to the aid of his lady. . the consequences be damned. Maybe, this time, literally.

Fiona and the others walked through the deserted corridors of Paxington. It was eerie. They were the only ones there. Everyone else must still be taking midterms.

She felt like she’d been through war, and couldn’t even imagine what finals would be like.

Her footsteps echoed on the flagstones. The lords and ladies, gods and angels painted on the nearby murals seemed to disapprove of her for making so much noise.

“I thought it was great,” Amanda whispered, breaking the spell of silence. “We creamed them.” She smiled, but it was short-lived.

Sarah rolled her eyes.

“She’s right,” Mitch said. “We should be celebrating, not moping around like we’ve been to a funeral.”

“Could we at least make that a wake?” Jeremy asked, perking up.

Fiona tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it.

Why not? There was cause to celebrate. They’d all gotten As (well, okay, A-s) on their midterms. They’d done it as a team, too-not giving in to the prevalent “win at any cost” attitude of Paxington.

What was dragging her down?

She glanced over her shoulder: Robert lagged behind.

He glanced at her for a fraction of a second-their eyes locked-then he looked away, shifted his backpack, and rummaged through it. . falling farther behind the group.

Only Robert never fell behind. Was this a magnanimous gesture? Acknowledgment that he knew Fiona and he couldn’t be around each other?

“Hey.” Mitch gently jostled her elbow. “I thought maybe I could use that rain check and have our coffee date now?”

Fiona blinked, not understanding.

Then she remembered that after the field trip to Ultima Thule, she and Mitch had been going for coffee-before they got seriously distracted rescuing Eliot in that “side” alley from an army of shadow creatures.

How typical was that?

And Fiona also recalled that Mitch had called it a coffee date then, too.

Was the emphasis on the coffee-as in two students going to grab something to drink and go over homework? Or was the emphasis on the date? As in a boy-and-girl type thing? (And still technically forbidden by Audrey’s Rule 106.)

“I don’t know,” Fiona whispered. “After everything that happened this morning, maybe we should lie low for a while.”

“If you never let yourself have any fun,” Mitch teased, “you’re going to end up as dried out as Miss Westin.”

He grinned. Fiona could never resist it and found herself smiling, too.

Besides, she’d never heard anyone make fun of Miss Westin. She half expected the Headmistress to appear, standing behind them all this time-glaring right through them like they didn’t exist.

But Miss Westin wasn’t there.

And Mitch’s smile could have lit a pitch-black room.

“Okay,” she said, ducking her head in a half nod. “Coffee it is.”

She was careful not to say this was a coffee date. . not yet anyway.

Jeremy angled toward them. “Aye, coffee with a wee nip o’ whiskey would hit the-”

Sarah and Amanda stepped in front of him, Sarah elbowing him in the ribs as the two of them jostled Jeremy back from Mitch and Fiona.

Sarah quickly whispered to her cousin.

Jeremy shrugged, then gave a conspiratorial nod to Mitch.

“We’re heading to the library,” Sarah said, a little too loud. “Must return a few books.”

She and Amanda pushed Jeremy. Fiona heard him muttering: “The library? Gods! Couldn’t you think up a better excuse?”

Fiona would have to thank Amanda and Sarah later. The last person she wanted tagging along was Jeremy Covington.

And Robert? She glanced back over shoulder.

Robert was gone.

She and Mitch crossed the silent campus, seeing only a few older students, who looked more harried than they did. Fiona didn’t want to think about what senior midterms were like.

Harlan Dells waited for them at the front gate as if he had never left his post. He nodded to Mitch and gave a tiny bow to Fiona.

“Congratulations,” he said as calmly as if they had just taken an ordinary paper-and-pencil test. “A-minus. Most impressive.” He added with a chuckle, “Mr. Ma will spend all week rebuilding his pet monstrosity obstacle course. I believe he is quite. . cross.”

Fiona wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh, thanks,” she tried.

Mr. Dells’s laserlike gaze flickered over her head and then returned, his expression cooling a bit.

“You two have a wonderful time.” He opened the gate for them.

Fiona turned toward the direction he’d looked. In the shade of a cedar tree along the path to Bristlecone Hall sulked the unmistakable silhouette of Robert Farmington.

Mitch saw, too. “Did you want to ask him to join us?” His tone was polite, but he managed to say it such that it was clear he was only being polite.

She couldn’t believe it. Robert following them? Was he jealous? Spying on them? Fiona thought they were getting over this.

She wandered through the gate and into the alley. “He’s not joining us,” she said, clenching her jaw.

Fiona tried to smother her mounting anger. She didn’t want to show that side of herself to Mitch.

She couldn’t stop Robert from watching her. He was quick, and all Drivers were trained to track by the League. He’d be there in the shadows while she and Mitch sat and sipped coffee at the Café Eridanus.

He was going to ruin it for them.

“It’ll be fine,” she said.

Mitch read her expression and glanced back at Robert. His smile reappeared. “We can do much better than ‘fine’ today.” He held out his hand. “Trust me.”

Fiona forgot her anger, suddenly curious but also wary. Her hand hesitated halfway toward him. “What are you going to do?”

“Give us a little space,” he replied. “It doesn’t always work-only when things are perfect. . and only if I’m with the right person.”

He stared deep into her eyes and took her hand.

Mitch’s skin was soft and warm, but there was an underlying strength, as well. He pulled her gently along, three steps down the alley and around the corner-only it should’ve taken more than three steps to get there-and they turned onto the sidewalk.

There was the sensation of extra motion, like when you step on an escalator or moving sidewalk-then a sudden halt.

She stumbled. Mitch steadied her.

Fiona blinked. They weren’t near Presidio Park as they ought to be. They were still on a sidewalk, but the road now twisted and turned, switch-backing down a steep hill among picture-perfect gardens and houses.

This was Lombard Street. .

. . which was halfway across the city.

“How’d-?”

Mitch held up her hand, still twined within his. “Magic,” he whispered. “A gift a few in my family have. . which seems to be working much better with you along. At heart, I guess, I’m nothing but a show-off.”[42]

Fiona grinned, not completely understanding, but nonetheless thrilled at what had just happened.

It was more than just moving miles in a single step. And it was more than holding hands with Mitch (although that was nice). It was that she’d left Paxington and all the stress and worries behind. Not just physically. . but in her head, too.

Apparently, the universe had other plans: A counterbalance to her rare moments of happiness. . because a few blocks away, she heard the rumble of an all-too-familiar Harley Davidson racing toward them (a motorcycle crafted by Uncle Henry to go faster than the speed of sound).

Mitch cocked his head, also hearing. “Robert hasn’t given up.”

“In more ways than one,” she muttered to herself.

Mitch tugged on her arm. “Want to try again?”

“Can we?” Fiona replied.

Mitch gestured ahead, and they strolled together down stairs, past pots of Christmas poinsettias and ferns. His forehead creased with concentration as they crossed into shadow-

— and turned. The sun was brighter and higher overhead. The sidewalk was now paved with pink bricks, and on her right was a wide canal filled with sailboats. There were bridges and hotels and restaurants everywhere.

“We’re in Texas,” Mitch explained, exhaling as if he had just lifted a great weight. “Would you care to find someplace to sit?”

She squeezed his hand. “Let’s go farther.”

Mitch considered her a moment, his grin widened, and he squeezed her hand back. “Very well. Let’s tempt fate.”

He gripped her hand harder, as if he was afraid she’d slip free. Maybe there was some chance that this was dangerous-that if he let go, Fiona might land someplace between steps. Or maybe he just wanted to hold her.

She gripped his hand just as tight.

She wasn’t afraid. . although her blood pounded. . and it wasn’t her all-too-familiar anger, either. This was excitement and elation, and maybe a dash of infatuation.

Fiona leaned in closer to him as they turned into the shadows, stepped-

— through darkness for a moment, so cold and empty, she found it hard to breathe. Like she’d frozen solid. But then they stepped out-

— and the light had dimmed and turned gray. Skyscrapers reached for the clouds; there were six lanes of patched asphalt filled with cars on her right. People were everywhere, none of them looking their way.

Mitch seemed perfectly at ease, knowing exactly where he was and where he wanted to go. He kept her hand in his and led her around the corner, where she spotted a piece of sidewalk art: large red three-dimensional letters, L and O balanced atop a V and E.

“Is this Manhattan?” she whispered.

He nodded and pulled her to a hot dog vendor on the corner.

“You take yours with mustard?” Mitch asked, fishing out his wallet. “Or relish? Or plain?”

Fiona finally had to let go of his hand.

“Mustard, please,” she replied, eyeing the hot dogs suspiciously as the vendor pulled them out of a steam cabinet. Cee didn’t let this kind of “preprocessed poison” into her kitchen.

Mitch paid for two dogs with mustard and two lemonades.

To be polite, she took a bite of the thing.

It was delicious.

She took three more bites, then felt full. That had to be the continuing side effect of her severed appetite.

“Another?” Mitch asked, giving her a paper napkin.

She dabbed her mustard-smeared mouth. “No, thanks. This is good for now.”

Mitch offered his hand. “Let’s see Central Park, then.”

Fiona took it and they strolled down the Avenue of the Americas.

“You’ve never said anything about. .,” Fiona started to say. “I mean, ever since Jezebel told everyone. .” She stopped, remembering there were rules about her talking about her League side of the family in public.

“Ever since she told everyone about your mother? Atropos?” Mitch shrugged, but offered no further comment.

Suspicion gnawed at Fiona. Had Mitch insisted on their coffee date today because of her new social status? Like everyone else, was he attracted to the League’s power?

“It’s just that everyone treats me differently.”

He laughed softly. “Oh, your paparazzi?”

“They’re not fans, so much,” she countered. “They just hang around and ask about my relatives.”

Mitch made a noncommittal murmur.

She wasn’t getting anywhere with this. Mitch was either being evasive or dense, or, astonishingly, he really didn’t care about her League connections.

Fiona just had to know-so she blurted out, “Doesn’t it make a difference to you who my family is?”

Ahead were the trees and rolling lawns in Central Park. There was a huge dog show in progress: hundreds of people and just as many yelping canines.

“Ugh,” Mitch said. “Not exactly what I was hoping for.” He gripped her hand and tugged her toward a shadow. They crossed the plane of darkness-

— and this time, when they stepped out it was dark. . but a normal nighttime dark.

As her eyes adjusted, she saw they stood upon wide flat stones. On the horizon were the crisscrossing silhouettes of spires and columns and the broken spans of once mighty bridges. Farther, there was a jagged outline of a pyramid. Wind whipped through this place, crying like a wounded animal. It chilled her.

“The Gobi Desert,” Mitch whispered. “This city has never been found by any archaeologist. It was here before the Xia Dynasty. Been buried and uncovered by desert sands countless times.”

“It’s so dark,” Fiona whispered back. “I wish I could see.”

“Dark is why I brought you here.”

Mitch gestured over their heads.

It was a moonless night, and more stars filled the sky than Fiona had ever dreamed possible. The band of the Milky Way dazzled her with colors she’d never seen at night.

“Miss Westin talks about the Middle Realms,” Mitch said. “How great they are. But I think this world has wonders to match anything out there. . especially with the right person.”

Fiona got dizzy looking straight up in the dark, and she leaned against Mitch almost without thinking about it. . as if this was the most natural thing in the world for her to do.

He pulled her slightly closer to him. “I don’t care,” he whispered.

Mitch was warm, and shielded her against the cold night air.

“Don’t care about what?” she asked.

“Your family,” he murmured. “You asked before if it made a difference to me. You’re probably wondering if that’s the reason I wanted to go out with you.” Mitch was so close, she felt his breath rush along her neck. “It’s not.”

Fiona’s heart pounded and she found it impossible to concentrate on the stars. “Why, then?”

He hesitated. She felt his heart beating, just as fast, next to hers.

“It was that first day,” he said, “at the placement exams. When I saw you. . I knew.”

Fiona shook her head, not understanding.

“My family’s magic lets us look at people, and sometimes we get a glimpse of what’s inside-a person’s soul-if you believe in that sort of thing.”

Fiona became very still, remembering that first day, how scared she been, but resolute to do her best.

“What did you see?” she asked.

“A right person,” he whispered, “. . for me.”

She knew what he was talking about, because she’d been thinking the same thing: She and Mitch fit together. Two puzzle pieces, ones she’d thought were different shapes and colors, and never in a million years supposed to be put together, but when she’d turned them this way and that, suddenly they aligned, and she realized they were supposed to be together all this time.

Mitch leaned back against a wall, and his hand found hers.

Fiona snuggled up against him, warmed by his body, not wanting to be anyplace else in the entire universe at that moment.

They held each other and watched the stars until the sky warmed in the east.

The Night Train entered the tunnel. The chugging screams from the engine echoed undiminished. Standing on the rear platform, Eliot choked on the brimstone-laden smoke that swirled in the train’s wake.

He cupped his hand to see through the window into the last train car.

The gas lamps on the wall were turned down to flickers, but there was enough light to see no one else was inside. Perfect.

He entered the car and eased the door shut.

It smelled of rose water and cigar smoke. It was quiet, too; the only suggestion of the train’s thunderous passage were faint clacks under his feet.

Eliot fumbled for the valve on the lights and turned them up.

There were tables with green felt tops and trays of poker chips. Black velvet wallpaper covered the walls, and intricate mahogany curls framed a fresco on the ceiling: a cloud-fringed view of Heaven. . with an exodus of angels leaving their friends behind. Many angels left behind wept or beckoned to those leaving, but the departing ones had their backs turned to them in disgusted indignation.[43]

Eliot swallowed, looking for his father in the painting.

Something else caught his attention, though: in the train car ahead-the lights brightened.

Eliot turned down the lights and retreated to the back door. He slipped onto the rear platform, holding his breath.

Outside, the train continued to screech through the dark of the tunnel, but there were things in the darkness answering that screeching now.

Eliot reluctantly closed the door and crouched to hide.

The lights in the last car turned up again, and Eliot saw it was the same old man who’d helped Jezebel board. The man was bent with age. He had a black cap and uniform with gold braids on the shoulders. He wore white gloves, and on his belt was a tiny brass clockwork mechanism.

Eliot had misjudged the size of the man. He was not hunched over from age, but because his head would otherwise have bumped the ceiling.

The man cast about, mumbling. He sniffed the air, looked behind a table, then turned-only just remembering to turn down the lights as he left.

Eliot exhaled with relief (and because he was running out of air). He waited until the lights in the second and third cars also dimmed, and then he crept back inside.

That had been close.

Eliot collapsed into an upholstered chair at a poker table.

He had to find Jezebel and talk to her. Or should he keep following her and learn more before he made his move? In truth, he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

He should have. But when it came to Jezebel, he was finding it harder to think and too easy to let his emotions drive him.

That’s the way it’d been with his music. . all passion in the beginning. He reached into his pack and reassuringly touched Lady Dawn. Only now did he have even a little control. And how many people had he hurt in the process of learning that? How many times had he almost been killed?

It wasn’t a fair comparison, though. Lady Dawn, despite her namesake, wasn’t a real girl.

Then again, technically, neither was Jezebel anymore.

His eyes fell upon the poker chips on the table. They gleamed with inset rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. There were plastic-wrapped decks of cards, too. And there were dice-dozens of pairs of dice: ivory, some clear red plastic, others black iron.

He unthinkingly reached for them. He could let chance decide what he should do next. .

The door to the rear platform opened-slammed shut.

Eliot jumped up and turned.

The old man in uniform stood behind him, his arms crossed over his chest. “Ticket, young man?” he demanded.

Eliot backed up, almost falling over his chair. “I. . I didn’t-”

The old man leaned over him, and a jagged smile broke his face. “Just pulling your leg, sonny.”

He offered a hand to shake, but there was no way Eliot was touching him, so he stepped back out of reach and politely nodded.

“So,” Eliot asked, “you don’t need a ticket to ride?”

“Oh, you most definitely do.” The man’s bushy white eyebrows arched. “But not for the trip going in. . ” He winked. “It’s the return trip that’ll cost.”

A chill shuddered up Eliot’s spine.

The man set his thick fingers on the tiny typewriter apparatus on his belt. “Name?”

“Uh. . Eliot Post.”

The man froze. “Not Master Eliot Zachariah Post, by any chance?”

Eliot nodded.

“A thousand pardons, sir.” The man eased to one knee and bowed so low that his bones creaked. “Allow this lowly Ticket Master to welcome you aboard Der Nachtzug, Limited Express to the Outer Domains of Hell, O Mighty Infernal Lord.”

Eliot wasn’t comfortable with this genuflection. “Sure. Thank you. Uh, get up, please.”

The Ticket Master obeyed. His expression was one of utter respect, and he rubbed his gloved hands together. “How may this most unworthy one be of service? A drink? A companion, perhaps?”

Eliot wasn’t about to disagree with someone mistaking him for a real Infernal Lord. . especially someone who was big enough to flatten him with one fist. And besides, Eliot might be able to use this case of mistaken identity to his advantage.

“How about some information? Can you tell me what stop is-?” Eliot searched his memory. Louis had shown him an image of Jezebel in his ring, and her Queen Sealiah, and then he’d mentioned the name of the realm she ruled. “-the Poppy Lands?”

The Ticket Master flinched. His gaze darted to the front of the train.

“Stop after next, young Master.” He swallowed. “After the Slag Mountain Station in the Blasted Lands.”

Eliot followed his gaze up the train, seeing nothing. “Is there a problem?”

“The Protector of the Burning Orchards is also on board,” the Ticket Master whispered. His rubbing hands stopped. “Her clan and your father’s. . I wish there to be no trouble.”

There was already trouble. Eliot was on a train to Hell. There was no guarantee of him getting back. No one knew where he was. How Jezebel reacted when she finally discovered him tailing her. . that, at least, might be trouble he could delay.

“There won’t be any,” Eliot told him, “as long as she doesn’t find out I’m here.” He tried to sound elegantly threatening just as his father sometimes could.

The Ticket Master took an involuntary step back.

Eliot felt bad, so he added, “If you don’t mind, please.”

“It shall be as you say.” His hands smoothed over one another again. “If you require anything”-he gestured to a silver noose hanging on the wall- “pull that. I will come.”

The Ticket Master then bowed and bowed again, backing toward the door, and left.

Eliot sighed with relief. . but then started to worry. What if the Ticket Master found out he wasn’t really an Infernal Lord? Did they let just anyone ride this train? He bet not.

Light flashed from the cars ahead, closer and closer-then sunlight streamed through the windows. This light was the color of blood and so bright that Eliot had to squint and blink away tears to see outside.

The landscape looked like a newly formed planet Earth. There were rivers of lava and exploding volcanoes. It rained fire and ash. Clinging to raftlike islands of rock were screaming people-fighting one another for space.

Air-conditioning whispered on within the rail car, blowing cool air on his face.

He reached toward the window, but had to halt because it was too hot.

The train plunged into darkness-another tunnel-and then emerged in desert where it continued to rain smoldering ash. Meteorites fell from the sky, too. In the distance, zeppelins crashed, blossoming into fire. Eliot counted one, two-then three airplanes plummeting from the black clouds, crashing and tumbling into flaming wreckage.

He stared, horrified, eyes wide, unable to move.

The Blasted Lands. . aptly named.

The Night Train raced through this terrible place, faster than the falling jets. One tiny bit of wreckage on the track, though, and that would end the breakneck ride.

There was no debris on the tracks. Even the falling ash seemed to avoid it. It was a clean line of crushed gravel and iron rails that ran through the desolation.

A single red mountain sat among distant ashen dunes, and pink-tinged whirlwinds screamed about it.

As they got closer, Eliot saw the mountain wasn’t natural; rather, it was piles of old cars, steel girders from bridges, countless tin cans, cut-up oil tankers, and miles of unraveled wire-all corroded and melting into piles of rust.

The train slowed. Their track joined dozens of others, and then the Night Train entered a huge metal station roundhouse. They eased to a stop with a scream and a hiss.

There were dozens of trains here. Most were junk heaps, billowing black smoke and barely able to pull themselves along the track. One, however, was a sleek silver bullet that levitated over the tracks.

“Slag Mountain!” The Ticket Master cried, walking alongside the cars. “Five minutes, Lords and Ladies! Apologies, apologies-but there is an unbreakable schedule to keep. Slag Mountain! The Blasted Lands! All depart who so wish. Abandon all hope.”

Shadows and shapes left the cars ahead. Eliot sat alone in his chair, trying to look invisible.

After five minutes, there was a tug from the engine, and they moved again.

There was more desert and desolation, and fierce winds tore at the land. Hot air balloons and gliders and kites and even people tumbled in the tornadoes that passed.

The Night Train slowed as it crested a hill, and then tilted downhill and accelerated. Streams of muddy water flowed, then there were tiny twisted trees, and then meadows and thicker forests that became overgrown with ferns and hanging moss and fungus that grew in the gloom.

As before, the train tracks remained clear, cutting through otherwise impenetrable jungle.

Occasionally a shaft of light pierced the canopy. . but it was not sunlight, rather a gray half twilight.

The Ticket Master returned, bowing as he closed the door behind him.

“Your stop is next, young Master,” he told Eliot. He hesitated, then added, “The Duchess is near the head of the train in our most luxurious quarters, naturally. If it is still your intention to depart, I suggest you wait until the train is leaving. . to minimize any potential conflict.”

“Thanks,” Eliot said.

“If you do not mind me asking, are you here because of the war?” The Ticket Master’s gaze fell to the carpet. “Queen Sealiah and your father’s clan have always had the most delicate of. . relations, but I never envisioned the twice-fallen Prince of Darkness daring to align himself against the House of Umbra.”

House of Umbra? The name made Eliot’s breath catch. Umbra was the darkest portion of a shadow. . like those shadow creatures that had attacked him and Jezebel in the alley?

Eliot didn’t like the Ticket Master’s sudden interest. He twisted around to get a better look at the man’s eyes. Something glittered in them, sharp and dangerous.

The Ticket Master lowered his gaze even more.

Eliot felt an unfamiliar heat build within him.

“How easy it must be to get information along your route,” Eliot said. “And how many must ply you for such trinkets of truth. But I wonder how easy it would be with your tongue removed from your head?”

Eliot blinked, startled at the ferocity of his words. It was as if someone else had said them.

The effect, however, was immediate. The Ticket Master bowed so low, he touched the floor with his giant hands.

“I beg your forgiveness, young Master. The House of Umbra pays for any information pertaining to the Poppy Lands with whom they have sanction to wage open civil war. All know this.”

Eliot was once again in way over his head, but at least the Ticket Master had laid out the major players: Queen Sealiah of the Poppy Lands on one side, the House of Umbra and Mephistopheles on the other.

“Silence can be rewarded, as well,” Eliot said. “Consider discretion an investment should Queen Sealiah prevail, eh?”

Eliot marveled at how much he sounded like his father, and was worried by it, too.

“Thank you, young Master Post.” The Ticket Master rose. “So it shall be.”

The train slowed and entered a station the size of an aircraft hangar made from panes of frosted glass like a hothouse.

“Your stop, sir,” the Ticket Master said.

Eliot slipped out the back. The air was so humid, he could barely breathe. It smelled of decay and freshly turned earth.

After a moment, the train started again to move. Eliot jumped off.

As he landed, his fingers lightly brushed the dirt. As when he had felt the earth of the Blasted Lands, reaching through the Gates of Perdition, it felt alien. . but as desolate as that place had been, this earth felt full of life to the bursting point.

Eliot spied motion beyond the frosted glass of the station house, a figure whose stride he knew well: Jezebel.

He followed her.

Outside, there were more buildings, and one that looked like a stable, but they’d all been boarded up and abandoned.

The smell of the air was like Jezebel’s perfume: vanilla and cinnamon and a hundred other exotic spices. It was like trying to inhale underwater, only instead of drowning, Eliot felt intoxicated.

A road of worn gray stone wound between hills and through the jungle. On a distant hill, fire flashed. Eliot had seen this before: cannon. The echoing thunder confirmed his suspicion. There was the retort of gunfire and the curling smoke from a hundred rifles that illuminated swords and spears and claws.

It was war. So close.

Was this what Jezebel had to go through every day to get to school?

Eliot no longer saw her.

He’d been a fool, sightseeing while she’d moved on.

He jogged down the road.

As he rounded the first curve, jungle gave way to a field of tall grass and red opium blossoms.

Part of the field, however, had been burned, the soil turned over, and heaps of salt scattered upon it. In those places were shadows-crisscrossing where they had no business being cast.

Eliot was afraid. Not for his own safety, but for Jezebel’s.

There was no sign of her anywhere, and from his vantage, he could see the curve of the road for miles. There was no way she could have gotten so far ahead of him. Something had happened to her.

He ran-but made only a few strides before a crushing force hit him from behind, lifted him off the road, and into the tall grass, rolling over and over with him.

Something smashed against the side of his head.

Eliot shrugged off the weight on his chest, scrambled to his feet, and raised his fists.

Jezebel lay before him, her hair tousled over her face.

Next to where she’d pinned him was a pulverized rock. Eliot touched his head, and pebbles of granite fell free.

“You hit me?” He rubbed his head. There was no blood. . but his skull should’ve been crushed from that blow.

“You!” Jezebel whispered, brushing her curls aside, her eyes wide.

His anger vanished as he saw that her bandages had sloughed off in their tumble. Her wounds from earlier today were only pale scars on her arms and shoulder.

She stood and smoothed out her tartan skirt.

“You’re better,” he breathed.

“The land,” she said. “Every Infernal is connected to their land. . and it to them. It is the source of our strength.”

She came to him and touched his head. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were one of them,” she whispered. Her fingers combed through his hair. She was Julie Marks once more: eyes blue and pale and her face soft and all human.

But her touch turned rough as she examined him. “That rock should’ve killed you,” she growled. “So you are truly Infernal, after all.” Her face hardened and her eyes crystallized, becoming the color of raw emeralds. “Why did you follow me?”

“To help?”

“You came to the Poppy Lands to help me?” She laughed.

But her laugh died as the grass withered and turned to dust, and shadows sprang up in their place.

From this darkness, a shape pulled itself free: as in the alley, a Droogan-dor with pointed limbs and needle teeth. But unlike in the alley, this shadow creature was bigger. . the size of a car. Cold radiated from it that chilled Eliot’s soul.

“Still the fool!” Jezebel took his arm and drew him closer, hissing, “They’ve seen you. You’ve doomed us both!”

Eliot watched the Droogan-dor push itself out of the shadows like some sticky birthing. . unable to comprehend the geometry of the situation-until his brain unfroze.

He pulled Lady Dawn from his pack.

“Don’t worry, we’ve fought hundreds of these things before,” he reassured Jezebel.

Jezebel grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back into the tall grass. “But not in Hell. Here they are stronger.” She let go of him, and her hands became venom-dripping claws.

“It’s just a-”

The words died in his throat. The just-freed creature was now the size of an elephant, with ten pointed crablike limbs.

The Droogan-dor lunged at them.

Eliot instinctively flicked his fingers over his violin strings. There was an earsplitting twang.

The air between him and the creature blurred with energy-cracking the thing’s exoskeleton, splitting open the ground and making its front legs stumble.

Jezebel darted in and clawed its eyes.

The Droogan-dor reared back, screaming, shaking its upper body, pushing forth two new heads from the holes Jezebel had carved out.

It pulled free from the cracks in the earth.

Jezebel was right: This wasn’t like the things they’d fought in the alley. It was growing, as large as a bus, getting bigger as more shadows adhered to it.

It stabbed at Jezebel.

She dodged and rolled. Its claw left an impact crater where she’d stood.

“Run, Eliot!” she cried. “I’ll delay it.”

“Not this time,” he murmured. This wasn’t like a gym match, where all you do is get the flag and end the battle.

Eliot drew out his violin’s bow and tossed aside his pack.

He played “Julie’s Song.” It was sweet at first, then turned dark and sorrowful. He kept playing because he knew it would change into the weapon he’d need. He played and remembered her smile, how her human laugh had sounded like tiny sleigh bells, and how he had played her song that summer day. . and made the sun rise early just for her.

The Droogan-dor screamed, rearing back, flailing its needlelike legs at him, but not daring to come closer to the music.

Eliot was on the right track. He had to focus, couldn’t be afraid. He had to make the song right.

But the right notes felt very far away. Neither light nor hope nor love belonged in this place. It was like forcing oil and water to mix.

He stayed and he played. He had to. For her.

The Droogan-dor snorted, shook its heads to overcome its aversion, and charged Eliot. It was a dozen pointed limbs and tons of black armor rushing headlong to crush him.

And still Eliot played. . with nothing but hope to shield him.

Jezebel watched, horrified, her mouth agape.

Eliot felt the connection: it all poured from him-no distance could keep him away and no darkness could prevail against his unwavering hope.

Sunlight streamed from the cracks in the earth, from his eyes and fingertips, and made the very notes from Lady Dawn waver in the air like heat.

The Droogan-dor’s wailing pitched to a panicked ultrasonic cry. Its exoskeleton bubbled and steamed and popped, and it disintegrated into dust and ashes before Eliot’s feet.

The song ended and Eliot fell to his knees, spent.

The light went out and the darkness rushed in like a cold tide.

There was a soothing, gentle rocking motion. Somewhere far away, Eliot heard his name called by the sweetest southern-accented voice imaginable.

Eliot. . Eliot, honey, snap out of it.

The gentle rocking became urgent.

“Eliot!”

Pain lashed across his face, sharp and electric. His eyes flew open in time to see Jezebel raising her open hand for another slap.

He blocked her swing and caught her. Wrapping his fingers about hers, he got up and didn’t let go.

“I’m fine,” he whispered. There was an edge in his voice that he hadn’t intended.

Jezebel stared at him, then at their intertwined hands. She wasn’t angry as usual; rather, her forehead wrinkled with worry.

Eliot touched her captured hand lightly. . then released her.

“We have to move,” she said, and nodded across the road.

Eliot blinked, trying to see what she meant, still recovering from his performance. His eyes focused, and he instantly understood: The fight was far from over.

The battle on the distant hills had spilled into the meadow. Hundreds of knights in thorn-spiked plate mail slashed at a handful of giant Droogan-dors, impaling the creatures upon lances; cannon fired puffballs of fungus that exploded and showered spores that took root and dissolved all in their path; legions of foot soldiers armed with lanterns and flaming oil sprayers made lines of light in the gloom. . but the creatures from the House of Umbra were too strong. They stabbed and crushed everything within reach.

“They shift shape so easily,” Eliot murmured. “Why are they so strong now?”

Louis had told him Infernals normally had only two shapes, one humanoid, the other a “combat” form.

“The Droogan-dors have no shape to begin with.” Jezebel glanced about. “And as for their strength. . all creatures of the dark are stronger in Hell, strongest of all on their lands.”

Lands. She meant the domains of Hell.

Was Eliot, son of the Prince of Darkness, a creature of darkness stronger here, too?

He gazed once more at the battle. Where the shadow creatures killed and advanced, the land changed. Grass and flowers died. The bare earth dried and cracked, and jagged spikes of black rock grew in their place.

Like the place was becoming another land.

“You said you’re connected to land,” Eliot said, “but the connection goes both ways, doesn’t it? The land is connected to you?”

“Yes,” she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him along. “We can discuss it while we’re running for our lives.”

She pulled him through the fields, running parallel to the road, still on “her” side, where the land was full of life, where Eliot guessed she’d be the strongest.

Farther ahead, though, the road wound about more hills. . upon which more battles raged.

Eliot halted, stopping Jezebel her tracks. “Wait a second,” he said. “Where are we going?”

“Doze Torres.” She yanked him back in her direction. “My Queen’s castles. We shall be safest there.”

Eliot didn’t budge.

He scrutinized what lay ahead, not liking what he saw. In some battles, Queen Sealiah’s forces outnumbered the shadows three to one and pushed them back. In a few cases, her forces lit the fields on fire to drive the shadows away (at best, a delaying tactic). But in the majority of the battles, it was an even match. . with lots of casualties on either side.

Eliot wasn’t sure what happened to the souls of the dead when torn apart by shadow creatures-if they ceased to exist, regenerated, or just lay there in pieces for all eternity.

He was pretty sure, though, he knew what would happen if he got torn into tiny pieces.

“That way’s too dangerous.” He drew Jezebel closer to him. “The safest path is back.” He pointed over his shoulder. He could just see the top of the train station’s glass spires.

“No,” she insisted. “I cannot leave. I must fight.”

“No, you don’t,” he told her. “Come back with me. We’ll get you a dorm room at Paxington. The Droogan-dors would never dare come there.”

“Where I’d be safe?” Jezebel dropped his hand, and her face turned cold. “Where I would slowly die?”

Eliot looked at her. That was no lie-but he was light-years from understanding what she meant.

“The land,” she said, growing annoyed with him. “You saw the connection.”

He nodded, starting to get it. When the Droogan-dors won, they took the land and made it Mephistopheles’. And logically, the more land that Infernal Lord had, the stronger he became. . while Queen Sealiah lost her land and grew weaker.

“What happens if you lose?” Eliot whispered. “Lose all the land?”

Her hand rose to her throat. “There would be no more Jezebel. At best, the soul of Julie Marks would belong to Mephistopheles. But in all likelihood, as a Duchess of the Royal House of Poppies, I would be destroyed.”

Eliot refused to accept that. His father had lost all his lands and not been destroyed. . but he was the Great Deceiver, and a full-blooded fallen angel. Jezebel wasn’t.

“Okay,” he said, “that’s it, then. I’m staying and fighting.”

“No, no, no.” She pursed her lips. “We’re only going to the castle so I can be safe and you can get an escort out of here. I won’t let you die for me.”

He crossed his arms. “I’m not leaving you.”

Cannon fire lit the nearby ridge, and bioluminescent puffballs whooshed overhead, lighting the sky like ghostly meteors-impacting and exploding on the opposite side of the valley with flashes of pastel lights, illuminating the solid wall of onrushing shadow.

Jezebel balled her hands into fists. “You-are-so-stubborn!” she said through gritted teeth, and she shook her platinum curls.

She grabbed his hand and raced back the way they’d come. “Fine. The train, then. My orders definitely do not cover this.”

As they ran, her wounds bled once more. Was it the sudden motion? Or was it because Queen Sealiah was losing?

Eliot risked a glance back.

Knights upon giant centipedes charged downhill; monster bats screeched overhead, dropping lines of phosphorescent napalm-and rushing down the opposite hill against these forces, a tide of dark, full of limbs and jagged maws and a thousand unblinking eyes.

Eliot turned and ran faster-and slowed only once they got inside the great glass station house.

“How long?” he panted. “Until another train?”

“We do not wait,” Jezebel replied.

She went to a wrought-iron pillar and opened a call box. Inside was an ancient phone. She turned a generator crank and spoke into the fixed microphone: “Ready the Poe. No delays.”

Jezebel replaced the earpiece and closed the box. She then moved to his side, seemed to deflate, and rested her forehead on his shoulder. “I was going to tell you you’re a fool,” she said, “but I think you already know that.”

Eliot held her lightly.

She let him, leaning closer. “I. . I just can’t believe you came for me,” she whispered. “I tried so hard to push you away. Why didn’t you go?”

Eliot tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. They were a shade of blue-green he hadn’t seen before-part Jezebel, part Julie.

He wanted to tell her that from the moment he first played her song, learned what she was inside and out and what she could be, he had loved her.

But until he had come to Hell to save her, even Eliot hadn’t quite realized that. He just didn’t have the words. . so he opened himself to her, let her look through the windows of his eyes into the depths of his soul.

Jezebel stared deeper and deeper; she held her breath, and held him, her hands clutching his jacket tighter.

The moment was broken as an engine chugged and strained against inertia, pulling three rail cars from the roundhouse.

She released him and took a step back; her hands, however, still rested lightly on his chest as if she couldn’t let go.

The train and its cars were all polished brass and gleaming rosewood. As it pulled in front of them, hissing steam, Eliot smelled lilacs and a hint of sulfur.

A bald porter emerged, set down a step, and bowed before Jezebel. With a flourish, he waved them both into the car. “Destination?” he asked.

“Market Street BART station, San Francisco, the Middle Realm of the Earth,” Jezebel commanded. “And relay my wish to the conductor to make no stops along the way.”

“It shall be as you command.” The bald porter hurried off.

Eliot followed Jezebel into the rail car.

The wall panels of the car were silver dust mirrors veined with filigrees of gold. The ceiling was Tiffany stained glass with lilacs and dragonflies, but along the edges were mushrooms and crystalline millipede motifs with tiny real bones. There were bloodred silk lounges, and a desk with modern computers and phones, and along the wall a bar with cut crystal decanters. In the back were red curtains, slightly parted, and within he spied the ruffle of a round bed.

“All the conveniences one could desire,” she told him.

There was velvet in her voice. It was nice. Not a lie per se. . just something wrong nonetheless that heightened Eliot’s awareness.

She shut the door, moved closer, and her hand pressed against his chest, slowly running up and tracing his contours with her nails.

About them, dozens and hundreds of reflections of him and her all mirrored their touching. The air within the rail car turned hot.

Yes. . something was very wrong; at least the rational encyclopedic part of Eliot’s mind was screaming that to the rest of him (and being ignored).

Her fingernails slipped inside his shirt and scraped along bare skin. It was electric.

Eliot set a hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer.

Jezebel sighed. “If only. .,” she whispered.

“What do you mean?” Eliot asked.

“I mean,” she said, taking a deep breath, “you may be perfect, Eliot Post, Son of Darkness, but you’re not the only one capable of sacrifice for”-she struggled with her next words-“the ones they care for.”

Eliot crinkled his brow, confused.

She leaned closer and kissed him. It was soft; then she pressed harder, her lips urgent.

Eliot caressed her and tasted honey. He drowned in that sensation, dizzy, only with her while the rest of the universe vanished.

There was a stab inside his cheek. Like a needle. It was lightning fast, the prick gone as fast as the sensation had registered.

Heat and pain lanced through his mouth and then his throat, pumping down the vein in his neck.

Eliot staggered back, one hand making a choking motion about his throat, the other brushing across his lips. . and coming away bloody.

His lips went numb. Then his face.

Jezebel stepped out of his reach. She took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood-his blood-off her perfect, smiling lips.

“Ghhahh. .,” was all he managed.

She watched him, her features cold and calculating.

Eliot tried to grab her and demand to know what she’d done, but he couldn’t raise his arms. His legs didn’t respond, either. He crumpled to the carpet.

Only when he lay immobile and helpless, did she finally approach. “I had to,” she said with a tremulous whisper.

He never heard the rest of her words, because the darkness swallowed him.

________

Eliot’s face throbbed as if he’d gone a few rounds sparring with Robert. . leading with his nose instead of his fists.

His heart fluttered, and his pulse pounded rhythmically through his fingertips.

No, it wasn’t his pulse. His hands rested on the floor, feeling the clack clack clack of the train beneath him.

The moving train.

There was a handkerchief stuffed into his hand. It was white linen embroidered with a single lacy rose that bristled with a dozen thorns. Impressed upon the field of white were a pair of bloody lips. Jezebel’s lips. His blood.

He remembered.

Her kiss had poisoned him.

He got to his feet, wobbled, and slumped next to a window. The train was definitely moving-the Poe Express chugged through fields of red opium poppies as battles raged alongside and fires licked the sky.

No!

Eliot pulled himself from the lounge to the wet bar, staggering, and then to the back door of the rail car, pushing his way through and almost tumbling off the rear platform.

The effort had been almost too much. He slumped to the floor, his heart in his throat, almost passing out again.

But not before he saw her.

Growing smaller as the train accelerated, standing on the edge of the Great Glass Station House, watching him go, her chin tilted up in defiance and pride was Jezebel.

. . tears spilling down her cheeks.

Audrey wondered what it was about the male psyche that made them want to build everything so big.

She sat in the “intimate” living room of Aaron’s log cabin. The rafters were mammoth tree trunks that soared three stories. The sun filtered in through tiny square windows, making a mosaic of the twilight. Candelabras made of antlers hung there as well, their candles lit in anticipation of a long night ahead.

On a more human scale, down at ground level, three river-rock fireplaces roared with scented cedar logs. Audrey sat by herself, as close to the flames as she dared.

The Norwegian winters were very cold.

This was the house Aaron had hand-built, a log cabin in the remote forest. Part hunting lodge, part palatial fortress, his “man hut,” as Dallas called it.

Audrey glanced outside, through the triple-pane insulated windows. The sunset made the snowdrifts look bloodied.

Aaron sat across the room, host of this Council meeting, which meant that everyone had their own tray of liquor and a platter of sizzling barbecue. He was happy, bottle of vodka in one hand, a skewer of charred meat in the other.

Henry sat between them, uncharacteristically only nursing a martini.

Dallas sat close to Henry, giggling at his endless jokes. She wore a collar-to-tiptoe-length mink and little else. She reminded Audrey of a playful ferret, and she wondered if her sister took anything seriously anymore.

Kino stood across the room, away from the fires. His towering figure seemed dwarfed in the great room. His suit was white, and his skin was a shade paler than midnight. Both portents of ill fortune.

Lucia finally breezed in. “Apologies for my lateness,” she said, “but there is a storm front moving in, and Gardermoen Airport in Oslo has all these ridiculous rules.”

“I did offer you a ride,” Henry said with a hint of sarcasm.

Lucia frowned at him and settled into a leather chair, her pink dress flourishing about her. She stretched and curled her long legs under her body. “Where are the others?” she asked, looking about.

“Gilbert and Cornelius send their regrets,” Kino muttered. “We, however, still have a quorum.”

Lucia pondered this. . just as Audrey had when first told.

Gilbert attended every Council meeting because he’d been Lucia’s loyal supporter. After their recent falling out, though, in both politics and the bedroom, Audrey wondered if his absence today was for personal reasons. On the other hand, Gilbert seemed more like his old self: a fighter and a king. If so, then his absence had meaning beyond some mere lovers’ quarrel.

And Cornelius. . he had founded the Council in the fifth century, and had missed only three meetings: the night before the coronation of Charlemagne, when Archduke Ferdinand had been assassinated, and the evening of the Trinity nuclear bomb test.

Lucia sipped a flute of honey liquor and nibbled on a carrot stick, her eyes dark with concentration.

“Well,” Lucia said, “let us begin. Thank you for hosting, Aaron.”

Aaron raised his bottle in salute and took a deep draft.

Much to Audrey’s annoyance, Lucia found her tiny silver bell and rang it thrice, its tinkling notes grating on Audrey’s nerves.

“I call this session of the League Council of Elders to order,” Lucia announced. “All come to heed, petition, and be judged. Narro, Audio, Perceptum. I move to skip last meeting’s minutes and proceed directly to the Balboa business.”

“Second the motion,” Henry said with a wave of his hand.

They all nodded their assent to skip the minutes.

“Thank you, Henry,” Lucia said. “I believe we were discussing whether to support the current dictator, Balboa, in his civil war or overthrow him and install a democratically elected leader of our choosing.”

“Democracies are so tedious,” Henry said.

“And ultimately just as corrupt,” Kino added.

Aaron set his bottle aside and looked serious. “But I dislike this Balboa. He kills for pleasure. He is a beast that must be put down.”

Kino shrugged to Aaron, the closest thing to assent Audrey had seen from him. Curious. Had the two made overtures to peace? That was a highly unusual move for Aaron.

Dallas shifted in her furs. No longer a member of the Council, she wasn’t allowed to speak without permission. She was here only to report on her efforts with Fiona-a topic Audrey was far more interested in than the fate of one little Central American country.

“We remove Balboa,” Audrey said. “I have already made up my mind.”

Lucia sighed. “We do prefer to debate the issues before we vote, darling Sister.”

“My mind is decided,” Audrey repeated.

Lucia threw up her hands in frustration. “Do you understand that beneath the soil of this country, right where Henry has perched his little refinery, is more light crude oil than in the entire Fertile Crescent? That in thirty years, we shall ‘discover’ it and change the socioeconomic balance of the world? Besides filling our coffers, it will give humanity the cushion they will need to ease into a non-petroleum-based infrastructure and prevent a worldwide economic disaster?”

“Not with Balboa in charge,” Audrey said. “He has already sent geologists looking for gold in the region. He will discover the porous rock formations long before we want.”

Lucia’s mouth fell open; then she recovered and asked, “And how did you learn this?”

Audrey spread her hands, her fingers delicately moving as if over the weft and weave of some invisible pattern. “I looked, Sister,” she said, a cutting edge of steel to her voice.

Lucia pursed her lips and shot her back an irritated Of course I knew that look.

Aaron snorted a laugh. “Motion to vote, then. We kill Balboa.”

Henry sighed. “Ah well, I shall miss my golf games with the man.”

Kino nodded.

“Fine,” Lucia said. “Let the record show, we sanction the death of V. C. Balboa. Aaron, please see to the details, would you?” She smoothed the fabric of her dress. “Next item on the agenda: Eliot and Fiona.”

They all turned toward Dallas and Henry. The sun had set, and in the dimming light, the two were silhouetted by flames.

This is what Audrey had come to discuss-why she’d maneuvered her sister off, and had maneuvered herself onto, the Council.

Her children. Their fates. To defend them, if possible. . and if not both, perhaps one of them could be saved.

She felt cold inside. Absolute zero cold.

She had to be. She had to think her way through this, for if she felt anything. . blood would be spilled. And despite her certainty that oceans of blood would flow one day. . that could not be today.

She prayed not today. She just needed a little more time.

Dallas broke the crystalline silence that hung in the air. “So I should talk?” she asked, dripping with sarcasm. “Now? Why, I’m not sure I have it all straight in my head.”

“Do not play games with this Council,” Lucia murmured.

Dallas stood and sneered at Lucia. “You’re no fun.”

She practically danced to the center of the room and cleared her throat. Fire illuminated her on all sides. She smiled. “Fiona is with us. More than ‘with.’ I think one day she’ll be leading us.”

Dallas turned to Audrey. “Oh, and you should see how she looks! She could be on the cover of Teen Vogue.” She laughed. “And the best part, she doesn’t even know it. Beauty and modesty-the rarest of combinations.”

She paused, touching a finger to her lip, thinking over the self-directed irony of her words.

Audrey hissed an exasperated sigh.

“We care nothing for such silliness,” Kino interrupted, folding his arms over his chest. “The only things that matter are her deeds and moral center. Assuming she has one at all.”

Dallas snorted. “You wouldn’t call it silliness if you saw her cleaned up, old prune.”

Tension crackled between Kino and Dallas-which vanished as she flashed her dimples at him. Even the Keeper of the Dead could not stay mad when she fought dirty like that.

“And as far as her moral center is concerned,” Dallas continued, “it is far more intact than any in this room. She protects the weak, fights evil, and has a certain. . je ne sais quoi, a character that reminds me of the days when Zeus fought for this family, instead of against it.”

Kino stroked his chin. “Interesting. .”

“We look forward to reading your full report,” Lucia told her.

“Oh, was I supposed to write this down?” Dallas asked, batting her eyes.

Lucia gave her a stony glare, which was wasted because Dallas turned and flounced back to the fireplace.

“Henry?” Lucia said. “What of Eliot? How did he react to the gift of the corporation and his new responsibilities?”

Henry stood and smiled.

Something was wrong. Audrey spied his still-full martini glass. His eyes were narrowed with an uncharacteristic concentration.

“Oh, I wish I could call the lad my own.” He bowed to Audrey. “Such a good boy with a sterling conscience.”

“So he accepted the chairmanship?” Kino asked.

“Well, no, not precisely.”

“Either he is running Del Mundo Pharma Chemical on our behalf,” Lucia said, leaning forward, “or he is not.”

Kino huffed. “Perhaps even this honorary position was too much responsibility for the boy, a sure indication that chaos runs through his blood.”

Audrey made no move. In truth, she wanted to know the outcome of Henry’s experiment as much as the rest of them. Was Eliot more her son. . or his father’s?

“It most certainly was not ‘too much’ for him,” Henry said. He approached Lucia and handed her a file folder of glossy photographs. “The exercise was to see if Eliot could do something to improve the refinery-to keep it literally from sinking into a pool leaking financial resources and toxic wastes.”

Lucia’s face went blank as she shuffled through the photos. “What am I looking at, Henry?”

Kino came closer and looked as well, then passed the photos to Audrey.

Audrey scrutinized the aerial photographs. The land was green and lush as land was when the world was new. The only features that marred this Eden were a four-lane freeway and a sprawling complex of stainless steel and green plastic buildings, which from ten thousand feet looked like an open flower.

“That is Del Mundo Pharma Chemical,” Henry told them.

None of them could do that. Or more accurately, those who might were unwilling to put so much at risk to do so.

Her Eliot had power. . and apparently no compunctions against unleashing it. What had this cost him?

Audrey ran her fingertips over the picture. This had a hint of the diabolical, though. The Infernals and their land. . their connections were always closer than any of the others, but that connection had ever remained in their Lower Realms. . not on Earth.

Was it possible for an Infernal to claim land here? Bring Hell to the living?

Minutes ticked by as they examined the photographs: acre after acre of impenetrable jungle, spotless white beaches, and an improbable five-kilometer spiral of river that disappeared into a sinkhole.

“So. .,” Henry continued, “I would say he passed my little challenge.”

“He solved the problem,” Kino whispered, “but the way he did so, it is not our way. When it is discovered-”

“It will not be.” Henry waved his concern away as if it were a buzzing mosquito. “Not like that. I made sure the face of the Madonna appeared on a Del Mundo Pharma Chemical stucco wall. The locals have already proclaimed it and the clean land a ‘miracle.’ ”

Audrey read the faces of Kino and Lucia: They were uncertain about Eliot.

“But,” Lucia said, “he did not stay to run things.”

“Too committed to his studies at Paxington, I’m afraid,” Henry offered.

“I like not that both twins are still so firmly entrenched at that school,” Lucia said. “How have they done on their midterms, Aaron?” She turned to him. “Have you heard yet?”

Aaron stood and grinned. “Eliot and Fiona-their entire team-all received As!” He smashed one fist into his open hand for emphasis. “And destroyed Ma’s precious obstacle course in the process. Ha!”

“A-minuses,” Audrey corrected.

“Still,” Aaron said, “they used teamwork to achieve that grade. And that is a trait of this family.”

“Could it not have been solely Fiona’s influence?” Lucia asked.

“Paxington.” Kino said this word as if it had a sour taste. “I do not trust anything that happens there. How can we, when no League member is permitted on campus?”

“Nor any of the Infernal clans,” Henry countered.

“Technically neither of those statements is true,” Lucia told them. “Any student who passes the entrance and placement exams may go to Paxington. Both Eliot and Fiona are from the League. The Infernal protégée, the Handmaiden to the Mistress of Pain, also attends Paxington.”

“We should have taken that place long ago,” Kino muttered.

“Perhaps you would storm the gates,” Henry said, “as Harlan Dells defends his wall, fights, and dies in his many incarnations as he did in the old days against the giants? Or perhaps you would test pernicious Miss Westin-who can become shadow and mist and summon her hordes from the darkness? Or would you challenge the unbeatable Ma? Even though killing him would mean death for us all?”

Aaron flinched at those names.

Kino scowled.

“We’re getting off topic.” Lucia tapped the pile of Henry’s photographs. “Have we come to a consensus on Eliot’s inclinations?”

Henry shook his head. “I move that we continue to watch Eliot. Personally, I find him quite fascinating.”

“How long can we watch?” Kino took a step closer to Henry. “Until it is too late? Until he is one of them?”

Audrey observed Aaron, but the man did not stir. He simply watched Kino and then Henry, unmoved by this debate that could decide if Eliot lived or died.

This was one more thing that was off today. Aaron had always jumped to Eliot’s defense before.

“What do you think, Audrey?” Lucia asked. “You know the boy better than any here.”

“I think. .”

What she thought was largely irrelevant. These facts were inconclusive.

But what she felt-that was another matter entirely. When she imagined her Eliot, she saw him in shadows now.

“I think a brief recess would be beneficial.” She stood. “I find it too stuffy in here.” Audrey stared into Lucia’s eyes as she said this, and her gaze softened. It was a silent plea; she had to leave this room, the heat, and the swirling thoughts of the others.

Lucia sighed. “Very well. Thirty minutes.” She shook her tiny silver bell.

Audrey had to be alone for a moment. . to think. . to find a way to logically avoid coming to the same conclusion that Kino had: that Eliot was drifting to the other side.

As part Infernal-part Immortal, Eliot could bypass the neutrality treaty that kept the families from murdering one another. They’d already seen this was possible: Fiona had decapitated Beelzebub.

The opposite had to be true: If Eliot went to their side, became an Infernal Lord. . he would be able to kill Immortals.

Their discretion now would save countless lives later. But that meant her son had to die.

Audrey crunched over the ice-crusted snow into the woods. The spruce and pine were dense and deep and full of gloaming shadows.

This was what she wanted: to be alone, and cold, and in the dark.

She had to think things through with great care. . and with no dangerous emotional responses.

Audrey extended her arms and felt everything hanging in balance in the weave of the world. It wasn’t just Eliot. He was a catalyst, but it all teetered: alliances and treaties, the entire League, and the fate of every creature in this realm.

The smallest action at this point-even her feeling the surface of the weave-could potentially tip it all one way or the other.

And she instinctively knew that once that happened, such an imbalance would accelerate, every thread would pull against the other and tangle and snap and snarl. . and then the only way forward would be to cut it all to shreds.

She let her arms drop.

It started to snow; the flakes made a million downy impacts about her.

Henry had, of course, tried to come with her on this walk, but she’d firmly declined his offer of jabbering company. He was part of the problem, too.

As Audrey arranged her thoughts to encompass more factors, she realized that Henry might be a real problem.

Henry. . and Aaron. . and even Gilbert.

Henry was charming, and always scheming, and ever elusive. He was holding something back about Eliot and his transformation of the Del Mundo Pharma Chemical plant. And there was the matter of his no-longer-in-the-League Driver, Robert Farmington. Henry had somehow finagled him into Paxington. . as his spy?

Audrey had been keeping tabs on Mr. Farmington, at first thinking he was at Paxington to keep track of Fiona. But now Eliot was going to his apartment almost every day after school. There was more to Henry’s agent, and she would have to investigate further.

Her conclusion, however, was the same: Henry was taking a too-personal interest in the twins.

To what end? Certainly not to help the Infernals, but it seemed he wasn’t really helping the League’s interests, either.

She considered questioning him directly, but that had never done any good. Henry was too slippery.

She set him aside in her thoughts and moved on to the next factor that made little sense in all this-Aaron.

He had initially taken such great interest in Eliot and especially Fiona. But now? He seemed to be maintaining a distance from them. . or at least made it appear that way.

And then there was Gilbert, the Once-King, who was not here today. He, too, had been such a supporter of the twins. Why abandon them now? Gilbert had never walked away from a fight.

Unless he had chosen to fight on another unknown front?

Yes. Henry, Aaron, and Gilbert-all three of them were in this, working together. That was a dangerous possibility: brains, strength, and courage allied.

But again, to what end? It was unlikely they would move against the will of the League. They all had signed the Warrants of Death, in case one of the children turned Infernal.

Audrey felt a choking in her throat, and her hand covered her heart.

She was feeling. Despite her cut maternal ties, emotions churned inside her, acidic, boiling, so deep and powerful she dared not let them take control.

She squeezed her eyes shut and banished them. . but not entirely.

Her thoughts remained clouded.

There was doubt now. Where was her sense of right and wrong? What happened to the certainty that her children should die, if necessary, to prevent war between Immortals and Infernals?

She had known exactly what the possibilities were the moment she realized was she pregnant. . and who the father was.

Audrey took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled, regaining a bit of her icy control.

Eliot and Fiona had grown up all too quickly. Their roles within the families would soon be determined-a continuation of order within the League or a place in the Infernal clans, where they would be used to shatter the long peace.

That was the only factor to consider. The only reason to embrace Fiona and Eliot-or to destroy them. The choice and consequences were all clear.

Why, then, was this so hard?

Wasn’t it utter insanity to consider any other options?

Audrey then realized that she-as with everything else surrounding the twins-was also in balance. All she had to do was tip one way or the other. . life or death for her children, ignore her feelings or embrace them. . and the entire weave of the world shifted.

Which way?

Her front pocket buzzed, startling her. Her phone.

Who would dare call now? Henry, trying to cajole her into further discussion? Lucia, wanting her back. . but it wasn’t time yet to reconvene. Or Cecilia with some new emergency at home?

Feeling a flutter of precognitive alarm, she pulled out the slender black phone. . but hesitated. The icons indicated there was no service here, no satellites overhead to bounce a signal.

So how was her phone ringing?

Warily, she pressed the TALK button. “Hello?”

“Audrey, my darling. .”

It was Louis.

The control Audrey had so carefully collected shattered at the sound of his voice. It was rich and dark, and without a trace of remorse for his countless deceptions.

“Did you get my gift?” he asked. “I do hope you remember Venice. It meant so much to me.”

As if she could ever forget. . the only time anyone had ever fooled her so completely.

“I know you’re still there,” Louis continued. “I hear you breathing. Ah, you’re still angry at me. I don’t blame you. Tell me, though, what did you do with that egg? Dash it upon the floor? Throw it in the Dumpster?” He chuckled. “You know it was priceless. At least, in sentimental value.”

“Yes,” she finally answered. “To all your questions.”

That was not entirely true. Yes, the egg’s sentimental value was beyond measure, as was its monetary value. And while she had thrown it in the trash, after the children and Cecilia went to bed, she had retrieved it.

It was foolish to remember their time in Venice.

“My dear,” Louis cooed. “I wonder how we can care so much for each other, and yet find so much pleasure at this torture? Why we cannot speak about how we feel? But”-his tone brightened-“that is not why I called.”

Audrey gritted her teeth. He was toying with her! Making a game of her emotions.

Her hands balled to fists. No. She would not let him get the better of her.

Audrey did not understand how he was connecting, but she suddenly understood where he had gotten her number: Eliot’s stolen phone.

As if reading her mind, Louis said, “I want to talk to you about the children. First, this business about Eliot’s phone. Don’t blame or punish him. He is a lamb among a pack of wolves. Borrowing his phone was only so I could reach out to you.”

Audrey took a deep breath and felt a bit of her control return. While every word Louis spoke was a potential lie. . this was a rare opportunity to find out what he was up to.

And how she could stop him.

“Speak plainly, Louis,” she said. “What is it you want?”

About her, the snow fell thicker and the temperature plummeted.

“I. . I do not know,” he said.

For the first time, Audrey heard a hint of uncertainty in his voice, something possibly even bordering upon sincerity.

“I find myself oddly unmotivated by self-interest,” Louis mused. “Or rather, I’m more interested in finding a way to protect Eliot and Fiona while gaining all the usual advantages. It is most curious. Besides you, I have never even considered the well-being of another. . ”

“You want to protect Eliot and Fiona?”

Audrey voiced this as a question, but it was not entirely directed at Louis.

A long time ago, she, too, pondered what was best for them without any other considerations. That was sixteen years ago. She had loved them all. The dream of a family, her and Louis and the children, it was still a possibility then-something resembling a normal life-the twins not in constant danger, not forever tested, and not inevitably marching toward bloodshed and war.

She had had hope-

— until she realized what and who Louis was, that his love for her, despite all his promises, was a charade.

For no Infernal had ever truly loved. And certainly none had ever loved an Immortal.

All contrivance.

“No, Louis,” she whispered. “I don’t believe you’re capable of thinking about anyone’s well-being but your own.”

“The obvious assumption.” He sighed. “I had hoped you would risk believing otherwise.”

Audrey moved her thumb over the END button.

She had to terminate this conversation before he tricked her again.

For some reason, however, her hand froze.

She hoped. . what? That she’d been wrong so long ago? That creatures such as they, whose families had been enemies for centuries, held apart from bloodshed, and by the most tenuous of treaties, could actually feel for one another?

“Don’t go,” he said. “Please. .” Louis struggled with his words as if each weighed a ton. “I had to tell you that, no matter what, I. . love you, Audrey. The children, too. Against all reason, I love you.”

There was no mockery in his tone. His words were clear and unadorned. It was the truth. At least, she so wished to believe it was the truth from him.

It felt as if a hundred daggers plunged into her heart, and her blood flowed out of the rivers.

She pressed her thumb on the END button and dropped the phone into the snow.

Audrey sank to her knees and let out a tiny gasp.

Accursed weakness!

Only Louis could do this to her. She was still so vulnerable to him. Why had she not killed him when she had the chance?

She gazed up into the night, watched the spirals of falling snow stretching to the infinite, and let tears spill down her cheeks.

A moment of truth. For Louis. And for her.

With her emotions freed, she realized that, severed maternal ties or not, as impossible as it was, she loved her children and wanted them both to live.

No matter if the cost was every soul in every realm.

And there was one other thing she knew.

Louis loved her still. . and she loved him, too.