All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [221]
“Ablate the portals,” Gilbert ordered.
Aaron twisted a dial and the windows darkened.
“Counter aetherics,” Gilbert said.
Aaron tapped on the laptop computer. “Circuits warming; channels alpha through gamma all in the green.”
“Initiate sound cancellation.”
Aaron nodded.
“That’s it, then,” Gilbert said, and both men exhaled and seemed to finally relax.
Aaron grabbed one the silver bottles of sake, popped the lid, inhaled its steaming contents, and downed the thing in a single draft.
“We sulk about like children hiding from their elders,” Aaron muttered with great sarcasm. He opened another sake. Although from this bottle, he took only a sip, and then set it aside because he knew—despite his bristling—these drastic precautions were indeed warranted.
“Tell us about Costa Esmeralda, Henry,” Gilbert said.
His coconspirators leaned forward and listened.
So Henry told them what had occurred yesterday in Central America—everything that he and his spies had observed: Fiona’s reaction during her Force of Arms class, and Eliot’s and Robert’s charge to her rescue.
Aaron’s fists clenched harder as Henry related how Fiona had stood up to a Soviet T55 main battle tank, cut it down, and survived the resulting explosion.
Both men shared worried glances as Henry related the raw destructive force that Eliot had unleashed with his guitar.
Aaron let out a long whistle. “They’ve progressed further and faster than I would’ve predicted,” he said, and tugged on his long mustache.
“Than anyone,” Henry agreed.
“But how do they feel?” Gilbert asked. “Is the League’s plan to make them sympathetic to their cause working?”
“Eliot doubts the League and their intentions,” Henry told him. “A wise thing for any teenage boy to question authority. So, unless I have completely misread the situation, he is where we want him.”
“I have a concern,” Gilbert whispered. “There had been a hundred witnesses. . . .”
“In fact, an entire church full of them,” Henry replied.
“And you took care of it?” Aaron asked. His eyes narrowed.
“Oh, relax.” Henry patted his hands together. “Even I would not do such a thing to protect our secrets.”
Aaron looked unconvinced.
“Besides, there was no need,” Henry said.
Gilbert quirked an eyebrow. “A hundred ‘God-fearing’ people saw our nephew destroy several city blocks—and there’s no need?”
“Well, ‘god-fearing’ is exactly the point.” Henry reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.
Aaron clamped a hand on his arm. “Must you always play the Fool? We’re breathing almost pure oxygen.”
“Oh . . .” Henry smiled. He had, of course, not forgotten; he just enjoyed rattling Aaron. “Where was I—oh yes, those hundred people did indeed see Fiona and Eliot. They believed them two angels sent to deliver them from evil.”
Gilbert and Aaron sat perfectly still.
“The implications are chilling,” Gilbert whispered.
Aaron scoffed. “A coincidence,” he said, “that this happened on the footsteps of some Catholic church. Nothing more.”
Gilbert raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Let us not waste our time with such superstitions, gentlemen. What of Fiona? Where is her heart on these matters?”
“That’s the rub,” Henry said. “Fiona has strong convictions and is not easily swayed. She is balanced among numerous forces . . . and suitors. Even I would not dare predict the mind of a lady in such a situation.”
“Then we still have time to take action.” Aaron stood halfway, remembered where he was, and stopped before he bumped his head. He looked like a caged animal. “We must convince her.”
“In point of fact,” Henry replied, “we are out of time.”
“The Infernals?” Gilbert asked.
“Indeed,” Henry said. “My contact at Paxington has informed me that a letter has been sent. The Fallen Ones make their move for the children . . . today.”
“You tell us this now?” Aaron said, his eyes widening. “We must do something!”
Henry could practically feel his cousin’s pounding pulse within the tiny bubble. “No—it is precisely why we cannot take action,” he said. “We are bound