All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [239]
“I know why he did it,” Fiona said. “He’d wanted to reorganize Team Scarab. Now he can go back and say there is no more Team Scarab. He and Sarah can transfer to a team with a better ranking. Smart—in a cold-blooded killer sort of way.”
“Jeremy is crazy competitive,” Eliot replied, “but he wouldn’t . . .”
He couldn’t finish that thought, because it felt like a lie. What wouldn’t Jeremy do to make sure he graduated? Suddenly Eliot wasn’t so sure he was beyond murdering them.
Fiona turned, the color rising in her cheeks. “We’re done,” she said to Eliot. “This mission to get Jezebel, I’m calling it. We’re down two people. I don’t care if Uncle Kino pounds us flat”—she nodded at the cliff and the lava fields beyond—“there’s no way we’re crossing that.”
“But we haven’t even tried.”
Eliot hated this: him pleading like he was her “little” brother. Like she was in charge of everything all the time. Why couldn’t she just believe in him?
Fiona pulled the rubber band off her wrist. She stretched it into a line, staring at it until it was so slender that it flickered, half invisible. She let go. The stretched band stayed elongated and she held it like a rapier.
She plunged it into the gate.
Bronze sparked and squealed, protesting. Fiona pushed all the way in, grunting from the effort. With both hands, she dragged her edge in a large circle, slicing the metal.
The bronze heated, became molten . . . and sealed behind her cut.
Fiona withdrew and stared as the last bit repaired itself. “Huh,” she said.
“You can’t force the Gates of Perdition open,” Mr. Welmann told her. “No one ever has, not even the Titans.”
“We’ll just see about that.” Fiona rummaged in her book bag and took out the silver bracelet Louis had given her. It lengthened and its links swelled to the size of her fist. She narrowed her gaze, focusing. The edges of the rusty metal tapered and sharpened to glistening razors.
She swung it at the gate.
The bronze shrieked and sparks fountained like fireworks. Fiona became a blurry outline against the light.
Eliot had to look away and blink furiously.
The light faded and he looked back.
Fiona stood there, chain in hand . . . a slender bracelet once more.
She sighed at this failure and scrutinized the fence on either side of the gate. The bones and concertina wire curved along the edge of the land—and then over—spines and rib bones sticking out from the cliff.
“Wouldn’t try that either,” Mr. Welmann remarked. “Those bones are some of the exposed bits of the World Serpent. Start messing with that . . . it might wake up.”61
They’d learned about the world serpent in Miss Westin’s Mythology 101 class. That thing was supposedly strong and venomous enough to kill even gods.
Fiona chewed her lower lip. She turned to Eliot. “I know you think you need to do this,” she whispered, “but it’s crazy. I’m not helping anymore.” She glanced at Amanda. “I’m hoping you’re not going to force us to come along.”
Eliot couldn’t look her in the eye.
How could she even think that? Sure, he may have not told them the entire truth to get them to come . . . but he wasn’t going to make any of them risk their lives.
“You know what I’m asking you to do,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” Eliot said. “I know. I’ll do it.”
He wasn’t sure what hurt more: Fiona’s accusation . . . or the fact that she was abandoning him when he needed her the most.
He unslung Lady Dawn and stepped toward the gate.
How to charm open something that looked like it could withstand a nuclear blast? Not with head-on force. The gate had shrugged off Fiona’s attempt.
This required subtlety.
Eliot strummed Lady Dawn and picked out the notes of the “Mortal’s Coil” nursery rhyme. He let the notes wander as he found his way to a new tune: a precise clockwork song with a metronome steady heartbeat. This was the song of the gate. Eliot heard the echo of the song in the gears and cogs, the wound springs, in every rivet and bolt. He picked his way over the notes, and felt blocks and tumblers—and with the tiniest of flourishes, he tickled one of those tumblers into place.
He smiled.