by Eric Nylund
Had this been his fault? Certainly part of it had. If they hadn’t come to Hell, Amanda would be alive, that’s for sure. Sealiah would’ve lost the war, though, which meant Jezebel would’ve been dead-or worse. And Mitch. . wasn’t it better that they found out about him?
Either way, no matter what he would have done, someone lost.
And either way, one of the Infernals gained something: either Eliot helping Sealiah, or Fiona unknowingly falling in love with Mephistopheles.
“It’s not your fault,” Fiona whispered, guessing what he was thinking. “It’s theirs.” She nodded at the Queen and Louis. “The Infernals have used us from the start.”
“Yeah,” Eliot whispered back. “Maybe.”
“They are evil,” Fiona said. “We have to stop them.”
He nodded.
And yet, Eliot wondered how different the Infernals were from the League. The Immortals manipulated them; they manipulated the entire world. What had happened in Costa Esmeralda had to be the tip of the iceberg.
“Eliot,” Louis called. He made a come-hither gesture and pursed his lips tight to indicate some urgency.
“I better go see what he wants. Are you going to be okay?”
Fiona considered a moment. “No,” she said. “But I’m not going to do anything rash. This is going to take a lot of thinking to figure out.”
Eliot reached out and gave her elbow a squeeze. The corner of Fiona’s mouth worked into a microscopic smile, then faltered and collapsed.
Something inside Eliot wanted to take his sister’s hand and run as far and fast away from this place as he could. Everything was changing around them. Literally. The land thawed and grass pushed up from the earth. The sun shrank to a golden orb. Iron gray thunderheads lightened and spread across the sky in a silver layer of overcast.
There was more. He felt it. But he couldn’t understand any of it yet.
“Eliot,” Louis called.
Against his better instincts, Eliot jogged to his father.
Robert met him halfway. “How is she?” he asked. “I didn’t know it was him.”
He meant Mitch, or rather, Mephistopheles. Every trace of Robert’s cool was gone. He looked worried and guilty and more than a little angry that he had supposedly delivered the winning blow in this war. . and lost Fiona in the process.
“It looked like he was going to. .” Robert’s forehead creased. “I didn’t know what he was going to do. I just knew that I had to stop him.”
Eliot wondered for a split second-if Robert had known it was Mitch, would he have stopped and let him take Fiona? Or would he have still thrown the sword and killed him? No-he dismissed that idea. Robert didn’t work like that.
“Fiona will be okay,” Eliot told him. “She just has a lot to think about.”
Robert took a step toward her.
“I wouldn’t talk to her yet, though. Seriously.”
Robert considered that, nodded, and wandered off.
Eliot finally got to Louis, who arched an eyebrow at how long it had taken him. He motioned for Eliot to stand before him, and Louis set his hands on Eliot’s shoulders and angled him at Sealiah.
The Queen gave rapid orders to her knights: “Release any souls in thrall-those loyal to Mephistopheles grind up to replenish the land-send runners for engineers and gardeners-strengthen our borders or we may lose the edges.”
Louis cleared his throat.
Sealiah turned and regarded Louis with distain.
“You,” she murmured, “. . are still here. Why?” Her gaze softened as she took in Eliot. “And my young Dux Bellorum who coaxed out the sun out and won the day. Worry not. Our Jezebel shall be reconstructed, lovelier than ever.”
“I believe you said something about the ‘spoils of war’?” Louis said.
Her face grew cold. “Did I?”
“As one of your generals,” Louis said, “I claim my share in land.”
Sealiah laughed. “Why not wish for the moon, Louis? You barely fought. It was Eliot, Fiona, and Robert who deserve the glory.”
Louis shrugged. “Nonetheless, I played my part as your Dux Bellorum. It matters not the state of my cowardice or the quantity of blood spilled. I was here. I participated. I claim my right.” His sly smile returned. “Unless you wish to renege? I could take my dispute to the Board.”
Sealiah’s red lips turned white. “Name the domain from our conquered enemy,” she said. “But try not my patience, Deceiver.”
“I would never dare such a thing,” Louis replied with a nod. “I claim. .” He cupped his crooked chin, thinking. “Just an acre or two from the Hysterical Kingdom-far from here, I assure you. The Mirrored City?”
Louis’s gaze traveled to the ground and he licked his lips. He bent over and found a mass of twisted, charred cloth at their feet. “The small bit as well,” he said to her. “After all, it was mine to begin with.” He shook the tangle out and ashes filled the air. Eliot thought it might have been the remains of a black velvet cloak. Mephistopheles’? It was hard to tell.
“Done,” Sealiah declared. “But take great care, Louis, not to push your city limits farther into the Hysterical Kingdom. . which is now mine.”68
Louis bowed low-but not so low that he took his eyes off her.
Sealiah blinked and turned back to her knights.
Louis cleared his throat again and gestured to Eliot, as if presenting him to the Queen for the first time.
Sealiah seemed to understand this and smiled.
Eliot shifted, uncomfortable under her smoldering gaze.
Sealiah said, “And what treasure do you wish, my young noble born?”
“What do I want? I don’t-”
Louis poked a sharp fingernail into Eliot’s back.
Eliot stood straighter. That hurt, but it’d been a clear warning. Something was going on here that he did not understand. . something Infernal.
What did Eliot want? Sealiah had already told him she would heal Jezebel. That’s what this had all been about: him and her. Right?
But it wouldn’t just be him and Jezebel; she would always be Sealiah’s protégée-her slave, actually.
Eliot felt sorry for Jezebel. He loved her, too. But the magnitude of political intrigue and her Infernal ties meant that they could never have a normal boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. If Sealiah ordered her later to stab Eliot in the back, he wasn’t sure Jezebel could refuse.
Why was it so complicated?
He was missing something, though, right in front of him. He could feel it just out of his mental reach. . at his fingertips. . in the air around him. . in the dirt under his sneakers.
Yes, the land.
He cocked his head back to his father. “Why did you want land?”
Louis smile seemed to melt from its usual mocking crookedness to something genuine. “Land is everything.” He gave a theatrical wave of his hand. “If I were you, I would pick a Dolorous Archipelago on the Mirrored Sea, next to my city.”
“Quiet your wagging tongue, Louis.” Sealiah’s hand rested on the pommel of Saliceran. “Or I shall cut it out and feed it to my dogs.”
Louis shut his mouth with an audible clack of teeth.
“You do not want land, Eliot,” Sealiah told him as if he were a child about to stick his finger into a light socket. “It’s a tremendous responsibility, one that would be impossible to manage while you were at school.” She tapped her lower lip, considering. “Why not let me give you a mansion in San Francisco? One with swimming pools, game rooms, a kitchen, and a full staff?”
She sounded worried. Eliot had definitely stumbled onto something.
“Or a yacht,” Sealiah continued. “Or a real, living band and a recording deal. You would be the next big thing. The whole world would flock to your concerts.”
While Eliot had grown to appreciate having a band to play with, the thought of tens of thousands of people in an audience made his stomach churn.
What was he missing? Was what it about land that had eve
ryone so worked up?
He knew it’d look strange, but was drawn to the earth, so he knelt and touched the dirt. There were worms and beetles and tiny bell-shaped flowers with blue veins that uncurled in the soil.
He remembered when he had touched the dirt through the Gates of Perdition-when Uncle Kino had ditched him and Fiona there. That earth had been dead, lifeless for a billion years. . but there had been a “malleable” quality to it. It was hard to explain, just a feeling that he could make something out of it if he put his mind to it.
What Louis had said about land came rushing 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. Without land, we would be the lowest of the low.”
“So,” Eliot said, “if you own land in Hell, you’re the king or queen of it? You control the souls there?”
“Land,” Sealiah replied, “is what defines an Infernal Lord. And yes, the souls belong to you. . but the damned are far more trouble and time than they are worth.”
Fiona wandered back to where they stood.
“What’s going on?” Fiona asked, concerned. She must have sensed the same “something” about to happen as Eliot had. The change in the land, and more than that, the change about to happen in Eliot.
He almost had all the pieces put together. What he wanted. How to save Jezebel. And, unfortunately, a string of consequences that he was sure he would have to pay for later.
“I can claim any piece of land?” he asked the Queen.
“Eliot,” Fiona said, a warning edge to her voice. “If you’re doing what I think you’re doing-”
Sealiah held up one hand indicating that Fiona be quiet.
Louis’s grip on his shoulders tightened, and Eliot was glad for the extra support as he felt his knees tremor. He was about to do the smartest and bravest thing-and possibly also the stupidest thing-he’d ever done.
“You may claim any land that belonged to the enemy,” Sealiah corrected. Her tone was deadly serious.
“But,” Eliot countered, “Mephistopheles conquered all these lands-right up to your Twelve Towers. So every piece of land here belonged to him.”
“That is technically accurate,” Sealiah said.
Eliot inhaled and then let out all the air, trying to steel himself.
The land. The power. The souls attached to the land. All dominoes set up and directed toward one inevitable conclusion-one that if he set in motion could not be undone.
But what else could he do? Not take the chance?
Not be the hero he’d always dreamed of?
No. He had to do this.
“Then,” Eliot said, “I claim for my part in this war as your Dux Bellorum the realm of the Burning Orchards.”
Sealiah’s gaze held steady, but the slightest flicker of irritation crossed her eyes. “You have that right.”
If Eliot had that land, he’d control all the souls therein. . including Jezebel’s, the Duchess of the Burning Orchards. He could set her free.
“No,” Fiona whispered, horrified. “Eliot, you can’t. That’d make you one of them.”
“There’s no other way,” he said.
Fiona’s features hardened. She looked at him as she had looked at their father, like Sealiah-like he was the enemy.
Sealiah crooked a half smile. “You have all that you could ever wish for now,” she said. “Well played, Eliot Post. . our newest Infernal Lord.”
68. Tectonic Theory of Infernal Dominions. The word tectonic normally pertains to either (1) construction or building or (2) relation to, causing, or resulting from structural deformation of the earth’s crust. Infernal tectonics incorporates both definitions. The mythohistorical record provides evidence that the borders of Infernal Lords’ domains expand and contract with their masters’ power. The nature and reality of those realms are plastic, subject to the personal tastes (some would argue the psychosis) of their rulers; their borders, however, are not. These boundaries are subject to the counterpressure exerted by surrounding Infernal lands. Additionally, which realm borders which is not fixed, but dependent on political treaties, alliances, and vendettas. See additional entries on the higher-dimensional nature of the Infernal spaces for details. Gods of the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 13, Infernal Forces. Zypheron Press Ltd., Eighth Edition.
SECTION VIII. GRADUATION
82 SECOND TIME IN THE HEADMISTRESS’S OFFICE
Light streamed through the wall of windows and lit the black-and-white checkerboard floor of Miss Westin’s waiting room. It was ordinary sunlight, but Fiona winced at it. She wasn’t used to real light yet.
Eliot sat on the padded lounge next to her. He squirmed in his school uniform, but then smoothed out the wrinkles and look halfway comfortable.
Fiona shifted uneasily in her uniform, too. Even one of Madame Cobweb’s custom-fit creations felt wrong on her today.
Then again, everything felt wrong this morning.
She scooted away from Eliot and got out her phone. She checked the time: five minutes before their appointment. They were early for once.
Although this one time, she wouldn’t have minded being late. Very late.
She checked the time again, though, just to be sure, because she didn’t trust any clock since they’d been in the Poppy Lands. Fiona thought they had been there a day-two days, tops-while they got the railroad tracks fixed and then rode that creepy Night Train back to the Market Street BART Station.
But the time on Earth?
They’d been gone fifty-eight days. More than eight weeks.
Mr. Welmann told her before they left that time worked differently for the dead, and it worked very differently for the damned dead.
Great for them.
For the living, though-namely her, Eliot, and Robert-they’d missed most of spring semester, the last two matches in gym class, and finals. . which was why Miss Westin had called them up to her clock-tower office.
Fiona had no doubt the Headmistress was going to fail them. She could see her chewing them out and then having Mr. Dells march them off campus and slam the gates shut on them.
She checked the time, scared that it’d somehow slip away from her again.
Four minutes to go.
She looked at her text messages. Nothing new. . just that last message from Mitch-how he told her he had some family business to take care of (technically, not a lie).
She felt a twinge and something hollow where her stomach used to be as she remembered how he had taken her on magical walks. . how she’d loved his company then. . and that last moment together in Hell. . and everything that could’ve been between them.
Before her ex-boyfriend had planted a sword in his back.
She pushed that thought aside. She had to focus on the disaster that was about to happen.
What was Audrey going to say when they got kicked out? And the League of Immortals? Their two new star members were going to flunk their first year.
Of course, Audrey hadn’t even been home when they’d come back. Cee had been all over them, tried to feed them, coddle them, and then she’d told them that Audrey had heard what had happened. She’d gone to the League Council to decide what they were going to do.
Decide what they were going to do, that is, without her or Eliot’s input. As usual.
She cast a sidelong glance at her brother. Time, however, hadn’t been the only thing that had gotten away from her in Hell.
She’d lost a part of Eliot down there.
Okay-first off, she acknowledged that them missing school wasn’t entirely his fault. There was no way he could have known about that time-in-Hell thing.
And it wasn’t his fault that Amanda had exploded. No one could have seen that coming, either.
She swallowed, feeling as if she were still drowning in guilt about that, though.
But Eliot had made the choice to take a piece of the Infernals’ lands and become the lord of that domain. No matter how small his land
was. . that still made him an Infernal Lord.
He’d gotten exactly what he set out to get: his evil, backstabbing, sort-of girlfriend was now free of Sealiah. Eliot would be able to handle her as well as he could control a runaway nuclear chain reaction with a pair of pliers and a screwdriver.
He was in way over his head.
And what was he going to tell Audrey? Hi, Mom. Guess what happened while we ditched school? I joined your enemies, the fallen angels.
And there he sat, looking as smug as if he’d just won seven rounds of vocabulary insult. His hair, uncut all year, was all curls and cowlicks, but he was finally able to pull back. Despite the astonishing and astronomical odds against it, Eliot almost looked cool.
Crazy. This entire situation.
Maybe Uncle Henry could help her slip Eliot some quick electroshock therapy to bring him back to his senses.
But really, what did it mean to own land in Hell and be called an Infernal Lord? It was just a title, right? He couldn’t really be one of them.
The door to Miss Westin’s office opened and the pale boy who had ushered them before emerged. He bowed. “Good Lady and Master,” he said. “Please, the Headmistress will see you now.”
Fiona’s heart pounded in her throat. She was like a little kid again about to be punished for leaving her clothes on the floor. How did the adults in her life always do that to her?
Eliot got to his feet.
There was no way she was going to let him be the brave one, so she stood, got ahead of him, and led the way.
Fiona remembered Miss Westin’s office as being long-but today it seemed like it had stretched to the length of a football field as they walked past dozens of Tiffany lamps, acres of walnut paneling, a hundred different doors (which Fiona was sorely tempted to bolt through). There were all those oil painting and class photographs, too.
She spotted one picture that made her stop in her tracks. Eliot did the same, and they stared at a group of freshmen.
Among the hundred or so students were Tamara Pritchard, David Kaleb, and even, much to Fiona’s chagrin, Jeremy and Sarah Covington.