Authors: Unknown
Aaron
closed his eyes and tilted back into his seat, his anger draining. “Very well,
tell me again, Old One.”
“The
two subjects—” Cornelius said.
“Eliot
and Fiona,” Aaron interrupted. “They are not ‘subjects.’ They have names.”
Cornelius
looked embarrassed a moment, but recovered. “Of course, forgive my error. We
extended to Fiona an invitation to join the impressive Order of the Celestial
Rose and to Eliot the equally impressive Brotherhood of Immortal Heroes. When
they accepted, it constituted a binding legal contract.”
“Just
words,” Aaron murmured.
“No,”
Gilbert said. “Accepting the tokens of these offices is an act prescribed by
ancient law. No mortal or Infernal can touch these items . . . only an
Immortal.”
“So
they are Immortals.” Aaron stared into the distance. There was understanding in
his voice . . . but no joy.
Kino
sat next to him, leaning forward. “But there is the matter of the Infernal lord
Beelzebub.”
“I
witnessed them standing over his corpse,” Audrey said. “Just slain, with Fiona
holding the instrument of his death.”
“They
could not have done that if they were one of us,” Lucia said. “The treaty
encompasses all Immortals—in or out of the League. It is binding and absolute.”
“So
they could not have done both things,” Henry said, looking hopeful.
“Unless,”
Aaron whispered, “they are Immortal and Infernal.”
Cornelius
sat.
A
long stretch of silence unprecedented in the history of the League Council
followed. Within the hermetically sealed room, the quiet was maddening, and
Audrey wanted to scream. She imagined it was the pause before Armageddon.
Henry
finally broke the stillness. “So they are something new. Like the gods were to
Titans before them.” He cast an apologetic glance at Cornelius. “I’m sorry to
bring this up. I know how it pains you.”
Cornelius
held up his hands and looked away, but nodded, indicating that Henry should
continue.
“The
Titans had to be destroyed,” Henry said. “It was kill or be killed— but those
times were different.”
“Different,
yes,” Kino said. “We are in more peril now. We have not only Infernals to
contend with, but must stop a potential schism within our own family.”
A
war with the fallen angels could be cataclysmic. The League would only prevail
if they worked together. But Audrey knew if they divided . . . even over such a
noble cause . . . it meant their end.
Lucia
removed two alabaster scroll cases from her jacket. She shook out the vellum
sheets within and smoothed them.
Aaron
glanced at the titles of the documents, and the color drained from his face.
Henry
looked at the documents as well, closed his eyes, and sighed.
“Aaron,
old comrade,” Kino said, “you are right to be disdainful of our politics. It
has ever been the League’s greatest weakness. It makes us slow to act.” Kino
tapped on the two pages for emphasis. “This predecision circumvents all
politics and gives us the decisiveness . . . if it becomes necessary.”
“Or
would you have us debate this all over again if and when the critical moment is
upon us?” Lucia asked.
“You
know the might of the Infernal armies better than any,” Audrey whispered. “What
chance do we stand divided?”
“You
of all people,” Aaron said. “How can you advocate this?”
Audrey
felt as if she were being torn apart inside. “How can I stand by and not act?”
Lucia
took a silver fountain pen from her pocket, hesitated only a moment, then
signed both documents. “There. I’ve gone first. We must all sign, otherwise
there will be dissent within the League.”
“No,”
Dallas pleaded. “Please, Sister, don’t.”
“You
were warned,” Lucia said, leveling a lethal gaze at Dallas. “Breaking our rules
of decorum—”
Henry
intervened between the two women. “Let it pass, Lucia. We all feel for the
children.”
He
turned and examined the parchments. Tears welled in Henry’s eyes and fell
freely. He worked his mouth, trying to saying something . . . but could not
speak.
He
took the pen and signed both documents.
Henry
returned to his seat, set his face in his hands, and quietly wept.
Cornelius
signed next, wordlessly.
Gilbert
paused only to glance at Aaron, but then he, too, signed.
Kino
made his mark. He handed the pages and pen to Aaron.
Aaron
read every word, blinking furiously to keep his focus. He set the pages down.
“Audrey,
if this is what you want, I will do it. I know the strategy is sound, but in my
heart . . . I, too, have always sought to protect that which I love. But this .
. . this . . . I cannot understand.”
“Do
it,” Audrey gently told Aaron.
Pen
clenched tightly in his hand, Aaron finally relented and signed.
He
deflated and dropped the pages onto Audrey’s lap. He staggered to Dallas and
wrapped his arm about her to steady them both.
All
eyes turned to Audrey.
Trembling,
she took pen in hand.
Everything
hung in balance now. Annihilation from their enemies. A civil war that could
break the League.
It
was her fault this had happened, and her responsibility to make this right. She
had brought Eliot and Fiona into this world.
How
odd, a week ago she had vowed to kill any who threatened her children. She had
severed her ties of love, yes, but there remained maternal duty and vigilance,
one of the most ancient of familial instincts.
What
had so radically changed her perceptions?
Eliot
and Fiona had. When she had seen them standing with their father—the most despicable
and cowardly Louis Piper, the Great Deceiver— she had finally realized they
were his children as well, part diabolical and, for all she knew, legitimate
heirs to the Prince of Darkness’s Infernal domains.
Or
could they be more than mere god or angel? Could they be something different,
the heralds of a new age? An Age of Enlightenment . . . or one that signaled
the End of Days?
The
League had to be prepared for either contingency.
So
why could she not sign?
How
she wished they were simply Eliot and Fiona Post, still living in the apartment
where she could teach them and be near them, protect them, and watch them grow
up like ordinary children.
That
was a futile dream, though; it had always been.
If
there was a way—any way—for them to survive, she would do everything in her
power to give them that chance. She knew, however, they would have to balance
upon a razor-edged path between the two families to accomplish this.
She
could deny it no longer. She set the point of the pen on Fiona’s contract. A
dot of ink welled upon the vellum.
“Only
if it becomes necessary,” she whispered. “Only if absolutely necessary.”
She
made her mark, an infinity symbol and a line through it.
Then
to the document with Eliot’s name.
She
heard his music somewhere, tremulous and pleading, but it faded. It must only
have been her imagination . . . or perhaps her guilty conscience.
“I
am so sorry.”
She
signed his contract as well.
All
that remained was to fill in the date and the contracts would become legal and
binding—an irrevocable declaration from the League of Immortals.
That
time might never come, but if they needed this terrible power, it would be
ready.
For
the first time in millennia, tears blurred Audrey’s vision and made the room
swim before her. She held them back, though, blinked, and her gaze fell to the
document’s hideous title:
WARRANT
OF DEATH
82
ONE
LAST BIRTHDAY SURPRISE
Fiona
hefted a cardboard box and slammed it onto the lift gate of the moving van.
“I
hate this,” she told her brother.
“Me,
too.” Eliot wiped the sweat from his face. “Cee said no movers, though. She
doesn’t trust them.”
“Figures,”
Fiona muttered.
Eliot
had greeted her the moment she stepped off the bus. He’d been moving boxes.
Stacked in the parking lot of the motel were hundreds and hundreds of them. Six
moving vans sat with open panels, waiting to be filled.
There
was no one else here so, of course, Fiona had to help. She hadn’t even had a
chance to change out of her good vacation clothes.
She’d
only been gone five days, but Eliot seemed like a stranger—and it wasn’t just
his new glasses (which made him look older and distinguished). He was quiet, as
if he had a million new secrets to keep.
He
still annoyed her, though. That hadn’t changed. Just being near him, the heat
from his body added to the sweltering last-day-of-summer temperature.
“Where’re
my clothes again?” She peeled the tape off a box.
“Not
there,” Eliot said, irritated. “Cee has every box coded. The stuff from your
room is marked with green circles.”
Green
circles, red stars, black checks—why couldn’t they just have written her name
on them?
Eliot
hopped off the lift gate. He held out a hand to help her down.
Fiona
ignored it and jumped down on her own.
She
brushed off her new dress, one Robert had bought for her, but only managed to
smear dirt over the beautiful batik pattern. She sighed. Cee with her homemade
soaps was sure to ruin the fabric.
Robert.
She wished he were here.
He
hadn’t dropped her off. He said he had to “lay low” for a while. With the
Council still mad at him, she didn’t blame him.
He
told her that he’d catch up with her in a few days . . . but Fiona wondered if
she would ever see him again.
Eliot
searched through the piles, found a box, and pulled it toward her.
How
Cee had ever gotten most of the books out of Oakwood Apartments before the
place had burned to the ground, Fiona couldn’t figure.
“This
one is yours.” Eliot dragged the box next to her.
Fiona
ripped it open. Sandwiched between several dusty books was her antique globe.
She ran a hand over the world’s wrinkled surface and smiled.
She
was glad her globe had made it. She would’ve missed it. It had represented her
desire to travel to new places. That wish had come true . . . with more
unexpected consequences than she had ever dreamed possible.
“Here,
look.” Eliot pulled out Marcellus Masters’s Practical First Aid and Surgical
Guide from the box. “Cool, huh?”
He
looked as if he had found buried pirate treasure.