All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [233]
Fiona tried to explain that Madame Cobweb’s custom creation was dirty (as in blasted to tatters by an exploding tank) but Dallas hadn’t listened.
Once the greetings were over, though, Dallas turned to Eliot and said, “Tell me what this is all about. And don’t skip any details—especially about this girl.”
No one had mentioned anything about a girl. Somehow Dallas just knew.
Eliot took a deep breath and told his story: who exactly Jezebel was—even how she’d been Julie Marks, died, went to Hell, and then got recruited by the Infernals to tempt him.
All light and happiness drained from Dallas’s features as she listened.
Eliot explained that back in Del Sombra, Julie could have brought him over—but she didn’t. Then she got punished and changed by the Infernals into one of them . . . although this last bit, Eliot admitted, was a guess on his part.
He went on telling Dallas that Team Scarab needed Jezebel to win the next match and their finals.
Dallas then turned her attention back to the road as it turned deeper into forested graveyards. The asphalt became covered in eucalyptus leaves, shadows crisscrossed their way, and the breeze stilled. It looked like no one had traveled down here in months.
The van whooshed through the leaves and the way became a dirt path that wound through trees and crowded headstones that leaned at odd angles.
The road branched, one way back to Presidio Park, and one way blocked by two posts with a chicken wire gate hung between them. A rooster perched upon a faded sun had been carved on one of the posts.
“Wait inside,” Dallas ordered them.
She got out and examined the posts, and then got on her knees and looked up at the gate.
Jeremy leaned forward to get a better look (and not at the gate).
Fiona elbowed him.
Jeremy slammed back into the seat. “No harm done, dearest Fiona,” he said, gasping. “Just observing the local scenery.”
Behind them, Amanda gagged with disgust.
Dallas stood, hands on her hip, and touched the gate. With a squeak, the chicken wire door swung open.
A breeze swirled eucalyptus leaves into the air—blinding them to the outside world.
Dallas opened the driver’s door and climbed in.
The leaves ceased their motion and dropped immediately to the ground.
Fiona got that “elevator sinking” feeling she was beginning to associate with shifts in space, although it looked as if nothing had changed.
Dallas swung her knees around to face Eliot. “Before we go any further,” she said, “there are things I must tell you, and one thing I’ve got to get straight from you, nephew of mine.”
Eliot swallowed. “Sure.”
Fog covered the sky and the sun dimmed.
“Heroes are always tromping off to Hell,” Dallas whispered, “but only the ones with a good reason return to tell the tale.”
Eliot squirmed in his seat.
He was hiding something. Eliot was lousy at keeping secrets. They both were. Why bother to develop such a talent when Audrey had seen through every fib they’d ever told in their adolescent lives?
“For every Orpheus or Ulysses or Dante who came back,” Dallas continued, “there were hundreds looking for knowledge, or eternal youth, or just very uncool treasure seekers”—she cast a sidelong glance at Jeremy—“and those guys never get out.”
It was Jeremy’s turn to squirm now.
Fiona pressed her lips into a straight line. This was ridiculous. She and Eliot had faced monster crocodiles and Infernal lords. Sure, a trip to Hell wasn’t going to be easy—but they could handle it.
“We’re not little kids,” Fiona said.
Dallas held up a finger to silence Fiona.
Fiona (quite involuntarily) shut her mouth.
“So, clue me in, Eliot,” Dallas said. “Tell me there’s more to this than passing a gym class.”
“Well,” Eliot replied, his voice dry, “if we don’t pass gym, we don’t graduate our freshman year at Paxington.” His gaze dropped to his lap.
Dallas lifted his chin so he couldn’t look away. “There’s a time when it’s cool to be coy,” she whispered. “This ain’t one of them.”
“Okay,” Eliot said. “. . . I