He pushed into the darkness.
Eliot reached and pulled his pack around. He undid the top flap and opened Lady Dawn’s case. He wanted her handy. When things got this weird, they usually got dangerous, too.
He moved down the stairs.
As he neared the bottom, Eliot smelled moisture and brimstone and mold. He saw red and gleaming gold.
There was a rumble in the distance and a train’s whistle-that wasn’t a single shrill note, but rather a collection of tortured human screams. It got louder. It cut through him and twisted his insides. Eliot wanted to clap his hands over his ears and curl into a ball.
But he’d heard this noise before. In Kino’s Borderlands. . at the Gates of Perdition.
His father’s words came back to him:
Countless souls.
Knowing what the sound might be, though, didn’t make it any less horrific, but Eliot was able to set it aside in his mind. He could be scared
He got to the foot of the steep stairs and peeked around the corner.
A room stretched as far as he could see, another train station, but not like upstairs. This place looked like it was from the late nineteenth century. Red and gold tiles covered the floor and had a million cracks, as if the place had survived the Great San Francisco Earthquake of 1906. . or maybe it hadn’t and had sunk down here. Columns of carved teak and inlaid ivory stood like a dead forest. There were stained glass windows (bricked up on the other side) and tarnished silver candelabras set out here and there, flickering with smoking candles.
The screams grew to a crescendo, and bright light flashed from within a tunnel and filled one end of the station, illuminating a crisscross of train tracks.
Billows of steam blasted forth, and a train engine appeared, chugging, wheels screeching to a long agonizing halt.
The main cylinder of the engine glowed red. Black smoke billowed from twin stacks. Three coal cars were pulled behind this, and after them were passenger cars with rich wood paneling and gilt scrollwork that curled about picture windows. Red velvet curtains framed those windows and hid the interiors.
Eliot squinted at the first passenger car and saw lettering in ornate silver cursive:
With one last massive sigh, the engine came to a full stop and the tortured voices fell silent.
Jezebel stepped out from behind one of the columns. She’d been waiting there for the train. She staggered and barely made it to the first passenger car. She hung her head and leaned against it.
An old porter emerged. He bowed before Jezebel and then set down a tiny step. He took her hand and gently helped her up and onto the train.
Jezebel had said there was only one place where she could get help for her injuries: home. Eliot hadn’t taken her literally when she said that. He thought she’d head to an apartment in the city.
. . Not actually return to Hell.
The old porter glanced about the station, looking for other passengers.
Eliot ducked back into the stairwell.
Now what?
Three options occurred to him.
Eliot could let her go. Jezebel had to know what she was doing. But hadn’t she said her clan was fighting a war? He had a feeling she was headed into even greater danger.
The second option was to talk to her, try to get her to stay. There had to be someone here who could help her.
Of course, that would involve Eliot actually speaking to her and her responding in a rational manner. That never seemed to happen. Whenever they interacted, it seemed to be charged with emotion. . and anger.
That left the last option: Go with her and help her.
That thought turned to ice inside Eliot.
Go to Hell
The locomotive hissed. Its wheels squealed to a slow start and sparked along the tracks.
Louis had said Sealiah was Jezebel’s mistress. . and that she was Queen of the Poppy Lands of Hell. Poppy Lands. Eliot wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.
He decided not and turned back.
At the top of the staircase, light and shadows flashed: A BART train had entered the normal human station.
Normal. Human. A world he was feeling more and more apart from.
Besides, hadn’t he
Eliot ran back.
The train picked up speed, cars accelerating past his view.
He ducked his head and sprinted after the last car as it raced toward the tunnel.
His hand caught the railing-he leaped-swung himself up and onto the swaying floor.
There. He’d done it.
Now he really was a hero rushing to the aid of his lady. . the consequences be damned. Maybe, this time, literally.
Fiona and the others walked through the deserted corridors of Paxington. It was eerie. They were the only ones there. Everyone else must still be taking midterms.
She felt like she’d been through war, and couldn’t even imagine what
Her footsteps echoed on the flagstones. The lords and ladies, gods and angels painted on the nearby murals seemed to disapprove of her for making so much noise.
“I thought it was great,” Amanda whispered, breaking the spell of silence. “We creamed them.” She smiled, but it was short-lived.
Sarah rolled her eyes.
“She’s right,” Mitch said. “We should be celebrating, not moping around like we’ve been to a funeral.”
“Could we at least make that a wake?” Jeremy asked, perking up.
Fiona tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it.
Why not? There
What was dragging her down?
She glanced over her shoulder: Robert lagged behind.
He glanced at her for a fraction of a second-their eyes locked-then he looked away, shifted his backpack, and rummaged through it. . falling farther behind the group.
Only Robert never fell behind. Was this a magnanimous gesture? Acknowledgment that he knew Fiona and he couldn’t be around each other?
“Hey.” Mitch gently jostled her elbow. “I thought maybe I could use that rain check and have our coffee date now?”
Fiona blinked, not understanding.
Then she remembered that after the field trip to Ultima Thule, she and Mitch had been going for coffee- before they got seriously distracted rescuing Eliot in that “side” alley from an army of shadow creatures.
How typical was that?
And Fiona also recalled that Mitch had called it a coffee date then, too.
