All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [232]
“Rotten luck,” Jeremy said, reading over Eliot’s shoulder. “I suppose our dear Jezebel will have to fend for herself.” There was genuine disappointment in his voice.
“But there’s another way,” Fiona said. She stared at Eliot. “And you’re going to try it, aren’t you? No matter how dangerous it is.”
“I am,” he said. “Even if it is the long way around.”
“What do you mean ‘dangerous’ and ‘long way’?” Amanda asked, her fingers worrying together.
Fiona held up a hand to forestall questions, got her cell phone, and dialed. She handed it to Eliot.
“She said she’d give us a ride if we ever needed one,” Fiona told him. “But you’re going to have to ask her.”
Eliot scanned the number and name just before the phone connected.
“Hi? Aunt Dallas? It’s Eliot and Fiona. We kind of need a lift.”
Fiona rolled her eyes at this colossal understatement.
“Really? Thanks. Where? I can explain on the way. Oh, uh, okay . . . well, Uncle Kino’s graveyard. The Little Chicken Gate.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, so Eliot continued, “I need you to keep quiet about it. Yes—I’ll explain everything. Outside the BART station on Market Street. Okay. Thanks again. Bye.”
He handed the phone back to Fiona.
“She’s picking us up in five minutes,” Eliot said.
“And taking us where?” Robert asked, looking concerned for the first time since agreeing to go.
Eliot swallowed, and then replied, “The Lands of the Dead.”
68
NOT A TIME TO BE COY
Fiona tried to scrunch down low so no one would see her as Aunt Dallas turned her 1968 VW van into Presidio Park.
Talk about embarrassing. Even in San Francisco, the van got looks. It was painted in tie-dye swirls, and over that were plastered decals of cherry and peach blossoms. It looked like the van had tumbled through an orchard and then thrown up rainbows. It also left a litter of real flowers in its wake.
Dallas kept well below the posted speed limit as they wound along the streets, creeping past a funeral in progress.
Fiona didn’t see any of the roads Uncle Kino had used . . . and wondered if she’d ever have found her way back to the entrance of the Lands of the Dead by herself.
She glanced to the front passenger’s seat, where Dallas had insisted Eliot sit (much to Jeremy’s disappointment). Eliot scrutinized every tree and tombstone, leaning forward and searching.
Fiona hoped Eliot survived this attempt at heroics, and that he survived Jezebel. All by herself, that girl was more treacherous to her brother’s well-being than any gym class or duel.
Fiona shifted in her seat.
By some unfortunate quirk, she sat next to Jeremy and Sarah on the middle bench of the van. Jeremy slid into her at every turn, no matter how slight.
Behind them, Robert stretched out, and Amanda had wedged herself in a corner of the backseat.
When Aunt Dallas had picked them up, both Covingtons had greeted her with great formality—even though Dallas looked like a college drop-out in her cut-off shorts, flip-flops, and a top that was little more than a handkerchief and spaghetti straps. Of course, thanks to Miss Westin’s Mythology 101 class, they knew she was the goddess Clothos, sometimes called Mother Nature, and a dozen other equally impressive names throughout history.
Aunt Dallas had smiled at Sarah . . . not so much at Jeremy (who couldn’t take his eyes off her tanned skin).
When she saw Amanda, however, Dallas made much over her, running her fingers through her tangled hair as if she were a beloved pet, and somehow smoothing out the mess and restoring its fiery luster. Amanda had hugged her, briefly but fiercely.
Robert bowed and muttered a greeting. Dallas had ordered him to sit in the very back. This chilly exchange had to be due to the fallout from when Robert quit working for Uncle Henry. Apparently, employees of the League were only rarely terminated (in the nonlethal sense of the word).
And Dallas’s greeting of Fiona . . . well, there were no embraces or smiles. Dallas hadn’t