All That Lives Must Die (71 page)

70
. Cronos was offspring to the primordial entity and then self-proclaimed “ruler of the universe,” Ouranos. At the urging of his mother, Gaia, Cronos and all his brothers gathered to ambush their father. Only Cronos had the courage to do so. Even as he wept over his father’s body, the young Titan Cronos was proclaimed leader over the first generation of his kind.
Gods of the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 4, Core Myths (Part 1)
. Zypheron Press Ltd., Eighth Edition.

               85               

CEREMONIES

There was tension in the air. It made the hair on the back of Eliot’s neck stand. Something was about to happen—why else had Miss Westin canceled their last class and marched every freshman into the Grand Spring Ballroom? They all stood facing a podium . . . waiting.

From the grim silence that solidified around even the chattiest girls (Tamara Pritchard and her elite social circle)—Eliot knew this couldn’t be good.

Fiona stood next to him, arms crossed over her chest, looking annoyed and nervous and bored all the same time.

Where was Jezebel? Sealiah had said she would be back for the last day at Paxington. She had to know about the weird time effects in Hell.

The floor-to-ceiling curtains in the ballroom had been opened, and sunlight streamed through, warming Eliot’s face.

Why couldn’t he relax?

Everything had turned out okay. They had even made it through the school year (provided they passed the exam at the end of the summer).

And okay, sure, Mitch was gone, but he had been an Infernal who was out to draw Fiona into his world. That didn’t mean he deserved to die, though.

Amanda wasn’t dead, at least. He turned and spotted her at the back of the room.

She saw him looking, and glared back.

Miss Westin entered the room. She wore a white linen summer dress—which shocked Eliot after seeing her in nothing but those high-necked things all year. Her skin was the palest he’d ever seen. A spiderweb of blue veins traced her bare shoulders and neck. She smiled at the assembled students. Another first.

Mr. Dells, Ms. DuPreé, Mr. Ma, and a dozen other teachers Eliot had never seen before trailed in behind her.

Miss Westin went to the podium and faced them. “Salutations and congratulations,” she said. “I wish to extend my regards to those of you continuing at the Paxington Institute.” She took a deep breath. “And to those who will not, you did your best, and know that even surviving a single year at Paxington is an achievement to be proud of.”

She opened her little black book and gazed at it. “Will the following students come to the front of the room: Donald van Wyck, Lilly Orrins, Benito Harris . . .” She read off twenty-six names.

These were the students who had failed, been expelled, or were so injured they couldn’t continue on at school. Add to that the six dead on Team Soaring Eagle and the total came to thirty-two.

The students so called then walked or limped to the front of the auditorium. (Lilly had to be pushed up in a wheelchair.)

How humiliating. It wasn’t bad enough they weren’t graduating, but Miss Westin had to parade them up in front of everyone?

It had to be especially hard for Donald van Wyck, who had been expelled earlier in the year. They must have brought him back just for this ceremony.

Mr. Dells moved to them. He looked apologetic . . . but that didn’t stop the Gatekeeper from marching the more than two dozen ex-students to the door, ushering them through, and then escorting then across campus one last time.

Eliot wondered if Donald and the others were the lucky ones to be leaving. They could do whatever they wanted now—no more gym classes that could get you killed or maimed, and no more insane competition.

And yet, as Eliot looked back on this year he realized he’d learned so much about his music, his magic, his and the other magical families. Even Mr. Ma’s sadistic class had helped. If Eliot hadn’t been in shape, hadn’t been exposed to the cruelties of mock battle in gym—would he have survived the real war in Hell?

“Class catalogs and other information will be sent within the week,” Miss Westin continued. “Feel free to browse and prepare for next year’s courses. Registration materials will also be sent for those of you joining us for the summer session.” She removed her octagonal classes, and almost as an afterthought said, “And for the rest of you, enjoy your vacation.”

The surviving freshman class let out a collective sigh, and there were whoops of joy—and then they all broke into smaller groups, excitedly chattering to one another.

“We made it,” Fiona said with as much enthusiasm as if she’d just commented on the weather.

“Until next year,” Eliot replied.

Parents entered the ballroom, hugging their sons and daughters, clasping hands, and enjoying the moment. Apparently the Paxington rule about only students and instructors allowed on campus had been lifted today. The Scalagaris were easy to spot in their tailored suits and chiseled Italian features. There were some of the Dreaming Families here as well—Pritchards and Rhodes and De Marcos, all sporting Rolexes and looking literally like a million bucks.

Eliot wished Audrey or Louis were here to share this. Okay, his mother and father would probably kill each other on sight—that was beside the point.

But even the Covington clan had a gathering here today—old men in kilts, and all of them laughing uproariously at Jeremy as he told a joke.

Fiona’s jaw clenched as she saw him; her hands curled into fists . . . but she said nothing.

She’d been so withdrawn since they’d come back from Hell. In fact, since Sealiah had declared Eliot an Infernal Lord, Fiona had said the absolute minimum to him, like:
get out of the bathroom
, and
move
and
we’re going to be late
, and other various grunts that had meant yes or no.

Dante Scalagari broke from his family and moved to them. He straightened his sports jacket. “Congratulations,” he said, “both of you. I’m here for my cousin, Gina, but I couldn’t help but intrude when I saw you. That first day of school, I thought you wouldn’t make it. Now you’re the talk of the entire school!” He smiled and actually looked impressed.

Eliot was about to explain that technically they hadn’t graduated yet. They still had to pass Miss Westin’s makeup final. Instead, he just said, “Thanks,” wondering what would impress a Scalagari upperclassman.

“Going to Hell and back to rescue a team member?” Dante continued. “You two are legends now.”

Eliot and Fiona shared a look of shock. That was all supposed to be secret.

Then Eliot spotted Jeremy laughing across the room.

Of course. Jeremy would’ve told everyone and probably claimed that
he
led them heroically to Hell himself—defending them at the Gates of Perdition at great risk to his life.

A group of girls came up to Fiona, surrounded her and gushed congratulations. They wanted to hear absolutely everything that happened in the Lands of the Dead.

Eliot silently stepped back and felt as if he’d melted into the shadows.

Dante and the girls maneuvered around Fiona as she protested, but then she relented, saying it was no big deal and then telling them all about Elysium Fields.

Eliot let her. It might cheer her up.

It didn’t matter that Eliot was socially invisible once more. Apparently even though he was a school “legend”
he
had somehow nothing to do with their adventures.

Good. This time he was grateful for it. He would watch Fiona in the limelight and
not
have to answer a bunch of awkward questions.

It was as if nothing had changed.

He looked at his hands, and realized that nothing
had
changed. There were no claws. No scales. And he wasn’t going to be growing bat wings anytime soon, either, or suddenly becoming a superstrong six-story tall monster. The title of Infernal Lord was just that, a title.

So there was no big deal about winning a piece of land in Hell . . . besides being able to free Jezebel.

He looked around. Where was Jezebel?

He saw Sarah Covington staring at him—the only person in the room who noticed he was there. She looked at her loudmouth cousin and then back to Eliot, and rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Eliot then realized that one other person was missing. Robert.

Robert was probably the only one who even had a clue how he felt. Fiona hadn’t said a word to him after the battle. Robert hadn’t said much to her, either. When they’d all returned, Robert had told Eliot he needed “to take a ride.” He’d walked straight away from the BART station and they hadn’t seen him since.

Eliot called him from home, but just got a recorded message saying that number was out of service.

The ballroom doors opened, spilling light into the room.

A girl entered.

The way the light hit her, and from where Eliot stood, he could just see her silhouette.

Heads turned . . . a few at first . . . and the people who saw her trailed off in their congratulations. More people looked . . . until everyone stared at her and the ballroom was silent.

She sashayed in and the crowds parted for her.

Miss Westin and the other teachers looked astonished, and then their expressions soured into serious disapproval.

Then Eliot got a good look.

Jezebel. It
was
her, but not like he’d ever seen her before.

She was in her Paxington uniform . . . sort of. Instead of loafers, though, she wore thigh-high, high-heel boots of coffee-colored leather. Bronze studs curved from her ankle and spiraled about her leg. Fishnet stockings highlighted the hint of flesh that showed between those boots and the hem of her pleated skirt. A wide belt cinched her waist and covered half her bare midriff. The gleam of an emerald swayed in her pierced navel. She
did
have on the standard Paxington jacket with its distinctive school crest on the lapel, but instead of the white dress shirt, she had on a black T-shirt with a poison green radiation symbol stenciled with the words
ATOMIC PUNK
.

Her hair was straight and platinum blond, but streaked with black. She wore heavy eyeliner that made her blue-green eyes seem large and luminous.

Her features were no longer that perfect porcelain, either; they were human. Not the Julie Marks he had known, but part Julie, part Jezebel, and something entirely new. A hairline scar traced down from her temple to the corner of her mouth.

Her lips slipped into an easy smile as she saw him. It was the same dazzling hundred-watt smile he had fallen in love with, full of joy in life and the promise of what Eliot hoped might be a happy ending to their drama.

Jezebel walked toward him—a crooked stride that was hypnotic. She then stopped before him, beaming.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Eliot murmured to her.

“Then don’t say anything,” she told him, the faintest hint of her old Southern accent back in her voice. She drew close, wrapped her arms about him, and kissed him.

He held her and kissed her back, slow at first, but tasting her—feeling her poison spreading through him—not numbing like that last time on the Night Train; it tingled and burned and was a honeyed drug he couldn’t get enough of.

But he pulled away, coming up for air . . . and she set a hand on his chest and pushed gently back.

“There is good news and bad news, my liege,” she whispered. “Which would you like to hear first?”

Eliot hesitated, trying to wrap him mind around her calling him
my liege
after an entire year of her calling him a fool.

He supposed, technically, there was some sort of feudal relationship if he owned the land she lived on. It felt weird already, though, that she had kissed him and been so friendly, considering their new—what? Business relationship?

But that had been his plan, hadn’t it? Claim the land that Jezebel had been tied to and then set her free?

He took a step back and collected himself. “Uh, good news, I guess,” he said.

She licked her lips. “Miss Westin is giving me a chance to graduate. Even after missing the last semester.”

Eliot then noticed that almost everyone stared at them—especially Miss Westin, whose gaze was heavy with displeasure.

“The bad news,” Jezebel continued, and frowned, “is that to do so, I have to make up all my classes at summer school.
All
summer long.”

“Then you’re staying here?”

She nodded. “Sealiah has paid for everything: tuition, room and board, books, but . . .” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “It is now for
you
to decide if I stay at Paxington and continue on next year, or if I am to return with you now.”

Eliot lifted her chin. Her eyes were the color of aquamarines, and there wasn’t a trace of humor or falsehood in their depths. She wasn’t joking.

How was it his decision what she did? And return with him where?

“I’d never tell you what to do,” he said. “It’s your life. What do
you
want to do?”

Jezebel twisted from his hand. “As I said, it is for you to tell me. You are now the Lord of the Burning Orchards. I’m a part of those lands.” She added in a sad whisper so soft that he barely heard: “I belong to you.”

Eliot shook his head. “Nobody ‘belongs’ to anyone. Okay—forget that. It’s probably some weird Infernal custom. I’ll just set you free.”

She looked at him with a mixture of frustration and adoration on her face. “Oh, Eliot, it doesn’t work that way. No one can be set free in Hell. Ever.”

This was too much. There was no way Eliot was going to
own
another person. He was about to argue further, but sensed someone behind him.

“I hate to interrupt,” Fiona said, sounding very much like that was precisely what she wanted.

He turned and saw Fiona locked in a hate-filled stare with Jezebel.

Jezebel met Fiona stare for stare, and flashed her a smile.

“If you’re done embarrassing yourselves with that tacky liplock,” Fiona told her, “I need my brother back.”

Jezebel’s hand snaked around Eliot’s neck. “Oh, I don’t think we’ll be done for a long time. Why don’t you occupy yourself in the meantime with your
own
boyfriend?” She feigned a concern expression. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. You chased one of your boyfriends off . . . and the other one’s dead.”

Fiona turned white. She growled through clenched teeth, “Shut—your—mouth.”

Eliot extracted himself from Jezebel and stepped between them. To Jezebel, he said, “Don’t. We’ll talk later.” He turned Fiona. “You have my full attention. What’s up?”