All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [303]
73. Wendy sews on Peter Pan’s shadow after he has lost it in J. M. Barrie’s The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up. —Editor.
88
THE STORM THAT NONE SURVIVE
Dallas looked from her penthouse suite across the winking lights of nighttime Manhattan.
It was dazzling. Like herself.
She had dressed to the nines for the occasion in a slip of a black thing, sequined stockings, and five-inch stiletto heels. But she had had a lifetime of this glamour—several lifetimes, in fact . . . and was ready to leave it behind.
Grow up? Not a chance. She had grown up before, and it wasn’t her.
But the time to change to something else had come.
She turned the card over and over in her hand . . . as if she flipped it enough times she would see the secret message on it, explaining it was just a bad joke.
It had arrived by special messenger this morning—a goshawk that had perched on her balcony, screeched once at her, left the card fluttering to the floor, and then had flown off to slaughter pigeons.
The card was engraved with curlicue calligraphy that was nearly impossible to read.
Lucia sent it—to annoy her—to worry her—to make her cry.
She understood why her older sister, Audrey, was so cruel. She had strategic reasons.
Lucia was cruel, not out of necessity, but because it made her feel powerful and others around her weak. Dallas supposed that was a strategy as well.
She sighed, wondering if all sisters tortured one another so, and then read the message again:
You are summoned before the Council of Elders, the Temple of Whispers, immediately and forthwith to receive instructions. We meet at dawn. This is NOT a request.
Dallas had already heard what had happened to Eliot and Fiona. She knew Lucia wasn’t going to “instruct” her on anything. First she’d grill her on how she’d escorted the twins through the Lands of the Dead. (Kino would absolutely die.) They’d talk about her “lack of responsibility,” assign some punishment, but ultimately, they’d do what they always did and dismiss her as inconsequential . . . and then move on to what they really wanted to talk about: how Eliot had gone over to the other “side.”
It had all spun completely out of control.
And while Dallas could take care of herself and any League meddling, Eliot and Fiona could not.
She had gotten a glimpse into the psyches of the twins. They were young and yet they understood more about the truth of things than most Immortals.
Fiona would take responsibility for the entire world if they let her. It could crush her. But Fiona knew the League needed a real leader—not a bureaucracy. If they didn’t kill her first, she might one day be that leader.
Eliot, on the other hand, just wanted enough freedom to figure out who he was. Poor kid. He believed that there was neither clear-cut good nor evil when it came to Immortals and Infernals . . . just individuals with their own agendas.
There might be some truth to that, too.
Certainly their father had helped—perhaps for his own selfish reasons, but nonetheless he had helped them . . . while many in the League would love to see both twins dead in the name of political stability.
Dallas wasn’t sure of anyone or anything anymore.
She crossed the room, her high heels clipping over the marble.
She considered many in the League her family . . . but that didn’t excuse their bad behavior and paranoia . . . the preservation of their power at any cost . . . or that their next move might be to murder her youngest nephew.
She tossed the Council summons into her fireplace and pressed a button on the wall.
Flames whooshed to life and consumed Lucia’s note.
There would be complications and consequences for that little rebellion. No one simply defied the League . . . and no one quit the League of Immortals once a member.
Across her vast living room, clapping echoed off high walls covered with Picasso paintings.
“Bravo!” Henry cried.
Dallas didn’t turn. It was no surprise that he had entered her sanctum without knocking (she had, after all, extended him an open invitation), but for some reason this time, the violation of her privacy