Eliot pushed closer to rescue her from all these impossible-to-answer questions.
Jezebel cleared her throat and said, “You’ve never heard of her family before?”
Everyone turned to her.
“Oh, you are all such idiots!” Jezebel continued, a sneaky grin creeping across her face. “Don’t you know? She’s a goddess.”
The students stood stunned and looked back at Fiona, examining her, some nodding, others mouths open.
Fiona couldn’t believe she had said that.
Jezebel knew? Of course, if she was working with the Infernals-they knew. And no League rules prevented
“Fiona Post,” Jezebel said with theatrical flair. “The daughter of Atropos, the Eldest Fate, the Cutter of All Things.”
Fiona started to protest, but everyone began talking at once, suddenly fascinated with her.
Jezebel, with those three words,
And, having gotten over the initial shock of this deepest secret uncovered, feeling the admiration and instant popularity from all the students. . Fiona thought that maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.
Until she saw Eliot.
Fiona tried to move toward him-but Tamara Pritchard and group of her girlfriends cut her off.
Completely ignored by the other students, he skulked away. The expression on his face was one of wounded pride. . and something else. . something dark.
Eliot left campus but didn’t walk home. He picked a direction at random-crossing two busy streets, down an alley between houses, and then angled north until he smelled the ocean.
He took this route so Fiona wouldn’t be able to catch him. Not that she was trying. She had been swamped by students-all asking questions and looking at her as if they’d just seen her for the first time, enamored by her presence.
Eliot hadn’t been able to stand it.
He tromped down a staircase and onto a smaller street, where the houses had tiny co-op gardens for front lawns. It was November and the squash and peas had long been harvested. A vine-strangled scarecrow with button eyes stared at him.
This afternoon had been nothing but one disaster after another. It started when Van Wyck had called Jezebel Team Scarab’s “succubus.”
Eliot had studied enough in Miss Westin’s class, and read the “Tale of the Amber Vixen” in
He’d let Van Wyck’s casual, non-vocabulary insult get to him.
Eliot paused to admire an antique white car parked a half block away. It was one of those long-nosed things from the 1930s. It was sleek and the silver trim gleamed like liquid mercury.
He shuddered, dismissing the sudden chill from the encroaching fog, and he moved on.
Eliot should likewise have ignored Van Wyck’s rude comment, but he’d seen himself as a knight riding to the defense of a lady’s honor.
Jezebel was no lady, though. She was Infernal and certainly capable of defending herself.
Eliot had been no knight, either.
He would’ve used his music, and who knew what would have happened. While his power seemed to increase every time he played, his
But then the worst thing was that Fiona had stepped in and fought
Eliot wasn’t buying her “Team Captain” excuse. She was trying to protect him, her little brother.
It was humiliating.
And to top it all off, Jezebel spilled the beans about Fiona being an Immortal.
Fiona’s social status had gone from nobody to instant celebrity.
They’d all made so much over her. Nobody even made the connection that he might be an Immortal, too. Maybe if he’d stuck around to bask in her glow, someone would’ve noticed-but he hadn’t been able to stomach all those fawning people.
Eliot glanced about. He’d lost sight of the bay. He was surrounded by old warehouses, and nothing looked familiar.
Great, add to his list of things gone wrong today: getting lost.
He reached for his cell phone. He’d use the global positioning to find out where he was. . only Louis had stolen his phone, and Audrey had declared him too irresponsible to be given another.
He sighed. Could this day get any worse?
As if in answer, Eliot spotted that weird white car, parked ahead on the corner.
What were the odds of seeing two identical antique cars within a block? And even more astronomically impossible-what were they odds of two long vehicles like that finding parking spots in San Francisco?
Eliot marched toward it, suddenly angry.
Whoever it was-Immortal, Infernal-it didn’t matter. He’d demand to know what they wanted. He was tired of not being able to stand up for himself.
As he got closer, he saw the silver figure on the car’s hood: a woman with wings swept back and arms held forward. His eyes slid off the snow white surfaces, unable to find any angular features.
He blinked, strode up, and rapped on the driver’s window.
A window in back
“Eliot.” Uncle Henry’s voice drifted from inside. “Get in.”
Eliot relaxed a notch. He didn’t trust Uncle Henry; he always seemed to be up to something, but he had tried to bend the League’s rules for him and Fiona. And although Eliot would never guess at the motives of a god, he believed Henry actually liked him.
The back door opened and Uncle Henry sat inside, wearing a white linen suit that matched the white leather interior. He smiled. “I was looking for you. . but I sensed you needed time with your thoughts.”
“Yeah.” Eliot shrugged. “Not so much anymore, though.”
He glanced down the impossibly smooth length of this car, remembering how Robert had destroyed Henry’s last limousine, the black Maybach-crashing it into Beelzebub.
“Do you like it?” Henry asked. “She is my 1933 Rolls-Royce. We call her Laurabelle. I’ve given the girl a tad of engine and body work so she could keep up.” He patted the car lovingly.
“She’s great,” Eliot said. “Could you give me a lift home?”
“Unquestioningly. If you don’t mind a
“As long as it’s not like last time-Uncle Kino drove me to the edge of Hell.”
Henry tilted his head. “No. It’s not far. And it’s nothing dangerous.”
Eliot believed him. He got inside and sat opposite, facing Uncle Henry.
The Rolls-Royce accelerated and the streets became a blur-and then they were speeding though rolling hills of gold.
“So how are you?” Uncle Henry said. “Tell me everything-absolutely everything.”
Eliot did. He sketched his school year so far: the exams, gym class, his girl troubles (although he was vague about who and what Jezebel was), how Fiona was now Team Captain, and how Eliot seemed to be the social equivalent of a flaming leper.
Uncle Henry nodded and made sympathetic noises, but asked no questions.
Outside, coastal waters flashed. The road then plunged into green shadows.
