Authors: Unknown
“Yeah,”
Lev said. “I could listen to it all day.”
Ashmed
cleared his throat. “I propose that this song and the subsequent life-force
infusion of the carnival rides constitutes proof that young Eliot belongs to
us.”
Abby
interrupted. “A powerful mortal with the proper training could also do this.
Which leaves—”
“Eliot’s
temptation to prove it one way or the other,” Lev said. “We oughta move up the
timetable on that.”
Sealiah
nodded. “My agent is in position. She is ready to make her move.”
“Then
move,” Beal said more forcefully than he intended.
Sealiah
narrowed her eyes and replied, “It shall be done tonight. If successful, Eliot
will be tempted, pulled from the protective arms of the League, and delivered
to us—either as a dead mortal, or a very much alive Infernal.”
Beal’s
hand curled tighter about the detonator. It would be so much simpler to trigger
the delay mechanism, excuse himself from their presence, and take his chances.
Violence was always easier than subterfuge.
But
he had his own plans in motion for collecting Eliot Post, a plan involving his
now mortal father, Louis. Perhaps Beal could accelerate his timetable as well .
. . or better yet, delay theirs.
“One
fifteen-year-old boy,” Abby said, and twined her scorpion’s tail playfully
about her pinkie, “hormonally poisoned by near puberty and enticed by Sealiah’s
handpicked seductress . . .”
“Yeah,”
Lev muttered, “it’ll be a kick in the pants to see how he turns her around.”
“What
do you mean?” Beal’s hand loosened about the detonator. They knew something he
did not. “What chance can Eliot possibly have?”
“About
the same chance that Fiona Post had of surviving your temptation.” Sealiah
nodded at one of the displays.
Abby
clicked a button, and one video appeared on every screen.
Fiona
sat in a mirror maze. The place was on fire. She was on the floor near the open
heart-shaped box.
Abby
zoomed in and pressed another button. “Looking now with aetheric-spectral
filtering.”
Invisible
lines of force resolved on-screen, shimmering rainbows and shadows. Fiona’s hands
ran over them, then she teased a thread out from within herself.
“Gives
me the chills every time I see it,” Lev whispered. “Kid’s already almost a
pro.”
Fiona
attempted to cut the line of power from the chocolates . . . but she failed.
Naturally. Once attached, lines of addiction never loosened their hold.
But
Fiona didn’t give up.
She
pulled out a part of herself—the part where the chocolates had attached—and cut
that.
“Her
appetite,” Abby explained. “She could not overcome your power, so she cut away
her vulnerability.”
“That
took a lot of moxie,” Lev added.
Beal
watched the video replay, hardly believing what he was seeing. No one had ever
broken free of one of his temptations, especially after becoming addicted to
them.
“The
point is,” Sealiah continued, “that the weaker of the two children managed to
overcome your best effort.”
Beal
bristled at this. He wanted to cross the room and wrap his hands about her
lovely throat.
“Of
course,” he said. “And this is most welcome news, is it not? More proof of
their power?”
Ashmed
held up a finger. “Hold that thought. More on that in a moment. Fiona’s
disjunction of the chocolates and her resistance to temptation is actually
evidence that her genetic makeup favors the League . . . and yet, if she has
but a drop of Louis’s blood in her veins, it will ultimately corrupt her—”
“And
she will be ours,” Abby said as her eyes reddened with bloodlust.
“Let’s
be clear what we are talking about,” Sealiah said, setting her hands on the
table. She appeared so perfectly at ease that Beal felt, if only for a moment,
that he sat at the foot of the table and she sat at the head. That she ran this
meeting.
Sealiah
continued. “Our neutrality treaty, the Pactum Pax Immortalis, states that
neither family may harm each other bodily—even touch one another—or harm the
interests of one another. The legal language is air-tight.”
“Unless,”
Lev interrupted, “there’s mutual consent.”
“That
was the only loophole in the document,” Sealiah said, “ . . . until now. If one
or both children have dual lineages, they can inflict harm on anyone they
please . . . and we can use them to attack the League.”
Ashmed
reached for the remote and tapped another button. The displays played video of
Fiona and Eliot cornered by burning wreckage. “Here, the League’s flame eater
closes on them.”
Fiona
stepped forward. The audio was lost among the crackling flames, but it was
clear from her tone and stance that this young girl was actually issuing a
challenge.
She
took a step forward. The flame eater charged her.
Her
hands were a blur of motion as she and the flame eater fell upon one another.
Fiona
remained standing.
The
man fell away—cut in half.
“I
love that part,” Lev whispered. “Play it again.”
“Impressive,”
Abby whispered.
“This
is the kind of power we can amplify to our advantage,” Ashmed said. “Imagine
Fiona and Eliot, backed by our family, finding Henry Mimes in some dark
alleyway. What chance would even the Fool have to escape? What chance would any
of them have?”
They
all nodded, except Beal.
They
were moving too fast and would get to Eliot first. He had to stop them.
“There
is but one problem,” Beal said.
The
Board turned to him.
“We
rolled for terms. All here agreed to three temptations to thoroughly test the
twins. While I would love to advance things”—he shrugged—“the dice have
decided.”
It
was the one thing the family never argued over. Once you rolled, the terms of
the deal were set. No one welshed after rolling.
True,
that was what he was trying to do via Louis, but his scheme skirted the razor
edge of a technicality. Louis was mortal. Their rules no longer applied to him.
Lev
sighed. “That was what we were discussing when you came in: what to do for
their third temptation?”
Beal
flicked the safety back on the detonator and slipped it into its hidden pocket.
A new plan had taken root in his mind.
“As
I watch these videos, I recall their first trial. It appears the twins are more
powerful together. Providing Sealiah’s attempt fails”—he nodded appreciatively
in her direction—“I propose that we use the third trial to both test and
separate them so they are easier to bring in.”
Ashmed
tapped his lower lip contemplatively. “How precisely do you propose that we do
these things simultaneously?”
“The
Valley of the New Year.”
“Ah,
yes.” Ashmed stared at some faraway space.
“That
will take time to set up,” Abby stated. “All the doors to that place were
closed when the Satan departed.”53
“Is
there a better way to lose oneself?” Beal asked. “Has the Valley ever failed to
separate loved ones, family, or friends? And even if the twins manage to stay
together . . . they will at least be out of the League’s reach.”
“I
agree,” Ashmed said. “The Valley has the added bonus of making them forget.
They will be all the more ready for us to mold.”
“I
know where to start.” Lev stood and shrugged so the many pounds of chains about
his throat shifted. “I know a guy who paints doors. I’ll get the ball rolling.”
Beal
observed his cousins. This had been the strangest Board meeting
53.
Lucifer, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, and others are often mistaken as synonymous
with Satan. Satan, or more precisely “The Satan,” was originally a rank of
significance in the celestial order of angels before the Infernals’ fall from
grace. The Satan led the fallen angels for millennia until he became irritated
with their civil wars and left to explore realms unknown. The title, since
retired, remains unclaimed. Gods of the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume
13: Infernal Forces, 8th ed. (Zypheron Press Ltd.).
he
had ever attended. There was neither fighting nor political maneuvering (save his
own).
Something
had changed. The Post twins represented a new family dynamic. They had always
schemed and fought among themselves for power . . . but for the first time they
were planning together.
Could
these children unite them?
Beal
considered, and his blood warmed to the possibility of the twins leading them
(secretly controlled by him, of course) against the Immortals . . . under a
banner of war.
53
A
DAYDREAM IN THE LIFE OF ELIOT POST
Eliot
chewed a slice of four-cheese pizza.
He
and Julie sat under a eucalyptus tree in Franklin Park having a picnic lunch.
It was overcast today in Del Sombra so the heat wasn’t too bad, and the wind
blew away from the Oro Recycling Plant so there wasn’t any stink.
It
was just him and the prettiest girl in town with leftovers from Ringo’s. Life
was good.
She
poured grape juice into a plastic cup and offered it to him.
Eliot
took a sip—almost coughed the stuff out his nose.
Julie
giggled. “I’m sorry. That’s some of Ringo’s house pinot noir. I should have
warned you.”
The
warmth of the red wine spread through Eliot’s chest. “No problem. It’s cool.”
There
was of course a rule for alcohol.
RULE 62: No distilled spirits, beer, wine, or other ethyl-alcohol-based
intoxicants. Most notably restricted are the use of fermented materials in
combination with singing or dancing (see RULES 34 & 36, respectively).
Exceptions limited to medical uses as prescribed by a qualified physician.
Eliot
took another sip and managed not to choke this time. The stuff tasted horrible.
It didn’t matter, though; he had to look cool in front of Julie no matter what.
Julie
poured herself a cup and sipped along with him, draining hers. The wine stained
her lips blood-red.
She
looked great today, but not dressed the way she normally did for work. She wore
tight, faded jeans, flip-flops, and a T-shirt with a flying scarab and the word
JOURNEY printed on it.
Eliot
thought it a funny coincidence; he had just called Fiona a scarab the other
day. He would never have guessed that Julie was into entomology, too.
Her
hair wasn’t so neatly curled this morning. It just kind of hung loose and
framed her face. She brushed it back behind one ear. The simple gesture made
his heart race . . . or maybe it was the wine.
They
could relax because there was no work today. When Eliot had shown up at
Ringo’s, Julie had been outside waiting for him. Ringo’s was closed. A sign on the
door explained the place was being renovated.
It
was odd that no one had told them about it earlier, but he wasn’t about to
question a day off alone with Julie—and most important, with no Fiona,
Grandmother, or Cee looking over his shoulder.