All That Lives Must Die (34 page)

“Geez,” Robert noticed Jezebel’s injuries. “What happened to you?

Jezebel shot him a withering glare. “Nothing that concerns you, mortal.”

Mitch cleared his throat. “Okay, sure she didn’t specifically say we
couldn’t
work together . . . but that’s splitting it pretty fine, don’t you think?”

“They’re such sticklers for following the rules at Paxington, it’ll work,” Fiona countered. “Trust me.”

“I guess,” Mitch admitted, sounding entirely not convinced.

“Then we’re agreed,” Fiona said. “We work together on this?” She made eye contact with each of them, trying to look and feel as confident as she could.

They nodded.

“Team Scarab,” Miss Westin said and made a note of the time in her book. “Enter the Midterm Maze—now.”

They scrambled through the open Picasso Arch and into the dark passage . . . twisting around, descending.

               38               

MIDTERM MAZE

Fiona and the others ran down the spiral passage and found themselves in a large cavern. The ceiling had dripping, teethlike stalactites. Pools of water on the cobblestone floor reflected the wavering light from torches on the walls. Between the flickering flames were arches with closed portcullis.

They spread out.

“Over here.” Robert said. “There’s a brass plaque by this gate. It’s got a question on it.”

“Here, too,” Mitch called out. He started reading it. “Seems easy enough.” He reached to touch it.

“Hang on,” Fiona told him. “Miss Westin called this the ‘Midterm Maze.’ We shouldn’t just pick one at random. We could get lost.”

“How does that work, then?” Sarah asked. “Is it best to find the longest path and answer the most questions? Will that get the highest score? Or are we supposed to find the shortest path?”

“Or maybe,” Amanda whispered, “we’re supposed to go until we chicken out and say were done.”

Yells echoed from the distant passages . . . someone far away screamed. Then it was quiet.

“Was that a wrong answer?” Jeremy whispered with a nervous laugh.

Fiona wondered what nasty surprises Miss Westin had engineered for them. “There has to be a clue to the
best
path,” she murmured.

“Or we just pick one at random,” Jeremy said, and strode toward that farthest gate.

“Wait.” Eliot withdrew Lady Dawn from his pack. “There
is
a way.”

Jeremy looked at Eliot with obvious jealousy. “I don’t think now be the time to break into song.”

Jezebel moved to Jeremy and held up one finger, commanding his silence. With a flick of her hand, she indicted that Eliot continue.

Eliot nodded to her and set his violin to his shoulder.

Fiona wondered what was going on between her brother and the Infernal. It was hard to tell if Jezebel liked or hated him half the time. All the glares and warnings for him to stay away . . . and then she did stuff like this. Maybe she was just being practical.

Or maybe it really was part of some Infernal plot to draw him closer to that side of their family. Fiona would have to keep a careful eye on this situation—especially with Eliot getting deeper into trouble.

Eliot set his bow on Lady Dawn’s strings and the air stilled.

The song was slow and steady and classically styled.

Fiona smelled chalk dust and the pages of old books and that weird pine antiseptic odor that permeated the Hall of Wisdom. She blinked, understanding that Eliot’s song was about class and them studying.

He turned, facing one arch, then another, frowning at each. His music shifted, even slower notes, sad too, and then an unexpected pizzicato phrase that sent Fiona’s heart skipping.

She felt a rush of shock and disappointment . . . exactly what she had felt when she saw that C on her placement exam.

Eliot quickly turned to the remaining arches. He then halted and wavered between the last two. He changed his music again: Faster, notes light and springy.

In her mind, she imagined that she’d gotten an A+ on that placement test. Fiona couldn’t help but grin.

She glanced at the others and they smiled, too.

Except Jezebel, whose gaze was firmly locked on Eliot. Jezebel looked softer, almost human as she watched him.

Jezebel then noticed Fiona staring, and her features hardened to alabaster.

Eliot halted.

The rest of the team snapped out of their trance.

“That one.” Eliot pointed to the farthest arch. “That’s the path that leads to the best grade. At least potentially.”

“That was my guess originally,” Jeremy muttered. He strode toward it.

They crowded about the brass plaque on the wall and read:

Order from the oldest to most recent these mortal magical families: Covington, Scalagari, Kaleb, Van Wyck, De Marco, Janis, and the Isla Blue Tribe.

This was followed by a blank space on the plaque. “Kaleb,” Amanda and Sarah said together.
35
Amanda took a step back, blushing. Sarah touched the name.

The raised brass letters of “Kaleb” sank through the other letters, and settled to the top of the blank space. Sarah then pursed her lips, concentrating, and twined a lock of her red hair as she considered the other names.

“Oh, get on with it,” Jeremy hissed. “It’s Kaleb, Isla Blue, Van Wyck, Scalagari, De Marco, Covington, and then Janis.”

Sarah took a deep breath and held it, as if to keep the words she wanted to say to her older cousin contained. She quickly touched the names in the order Jeremy suggested. They sank and arranged themselves in a list.

As the last one fell into place, there was a
click
.

The portcullis noisily ratcheted up.

“Now what?” Robert asked.

“I believe I go through,” Sarah replied.

She sashayed through the arch, but as soon as she crossed the portcullis, it slammed down behind her.

They all jumped.

“Remember Miss Westin said we’d be graded individually?” Mitch whispered. “I think we each have to answer to get through.”

Fiona saw the ordered list of families on the plaque vanish . . . and the names return scrambled to the top portion, except the Janis family became the Clan Soto.

“Ah,” Jeremy said, leaning over her shoulder and noting this as well. “Nothing to it.” He rattled off the proper sequence.

Fiona touched the names, the gate rose, and she marched through—then the gate slammed shut after her.

Sarah exhaled, relaxing now that she was no longer alone on this side of the arch.

One by one they went through, Jeremy finishing last and following.

“So far so good,” Fiona declared.

The room they stood in was lined with brick and looked like the interior of a blast furnace, with scorch marks and patches white from extreme heat. Fiona didn’t like it . . . wondering if the place would fill with fire if they missed an answer.

No way. She couldn’t believe they’d really hurt students who failed. Miss Westin had to be psyching them out. That’s all.

Still . . . she had no intention of finding out.

There were three exit arches.

“So which way?” Robert asked Eliot.

Eliot nodded to the gate on their left.

Fiona examined the plaque by it. There was the impression of a tree with many branches, each with a tiny blank rectangle. At the base of the tree trunk like so many fallen apples lay jumbled the names of gods and goddesses.

This would be easy.

She directed Amanda how to arrange the names in the family tree of Immortals.

. . . even the Fates on their own separate branch.

The portcullis rose.

There was a commotion in the main cavern. The next group had entered. They scattered—each student running toward a different gate and question plaque, and each covering their answers so none of the others could see.

One boy from Team Eagle ran toward the gate that led to this room, but seeing them
all
inside, he halted, confused—and then turned away.

“Hurry,” Sarah rasped to Amanda. “Before the others understand what we are doing.”

Amanda moved through the arch, and the portcullis dropped behind her.

Fiona watched as the names in the brass trees fell to the bottom. “Aphrodite” faded, and “Loki” appeared in its place.

But Fiona knew them all still, and she helped the rest of her team through.

She paused just before she walked through. This was easy.
Was
it cheating?

She didn’t think so. As Jezebel had said, Miss Westin hadn’t prohibited them from pooling resources. Maybe no one at Paxington had thought about it because working together for a common good was an alien concept for them.

So selfish.

Team Scarab efficiently moved through four more passages and four more rooms.

There were questions covering the development of alchemy, the rise and fall of the now-extinct gypsy shamans in Eastern Europe (which was a trick question because they hadn’t covered that yet in class—but Mitch knew anyway), the Battle of Ultima Thule, and the Treaty of the Under-Realms.
36

As they entered the fifth room, however, Fiona noted it had but one exit—so they had to get the question on the brass plaque to proceed.

It was on the Angelic Alphabet.

Jezebel was the closest thing they had to an expert on the subject . . . but she puzzled a long time over the odd language which comprised lines, arcs, circles, and tiny squares.

Fiona had seen those letters before. Once in class—just a passing reference by Miss Westin, and also in that book Eliot had been so excited about this summer,
Mythica Improbiba
.

She also vaguely recalled some extra credit reading on John Dee, but she’d skipped the footnotes on all his variations of the invented languages of the angels.
37

“Very close to Infernal dialects,” Jezebel murmured. Concentration furrowed her brow. “But their grammar . . . so many rules.”

Mitch peered over her shoulder but quickly moved back, shaking his head. “Way out of my league,” he whispered.

Eliot moved to her side and asked, “Do you mind?”

“If you think you can,” Jezebel snorted, “be my guest.”

Eliot set his palms over the raised symbols as if it were Braille, closed his eyes, and traced their edges.

“I have it,” he whispered to her. “I’ll need your hands.”

She looked at him and then her hands, confused. “I . . . I don’t know. . . .”

“Here.” Eliot gently took them and moved them over the letters.

She inhaled sharply—but before she could say anything, he was helping her move the scrambled letters like the pieces of a jigsaw.

Jezebel’s eyes widened. Her colorless cheeks tinged pink.

Fiona took a step back. It felt weird . . . almost intimate to see the two of them, hands atop one another.

Eliot finished. He quickly removed his hands and without a word took a step back.

The portcullis rose.

Jezebel looked at the deciphered passage—and then covered her eyes as if she’d just stared into a flashbulb.

The text, apart from looking like a geometry problem, didn’t look like anything legible to Fiona.

An English translation, however, emerged at the bottom of the brass plaque:

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary, the Devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.
38

“How did you do that?” Jezebel whispered to Eliot.

“You better go on,” Eliot told her. His eyes were darker than usual, the color of blue smoke. “I’ll need to get the next person through.”

Jezebel moved to the other side and watched intently as Eliot helped the rest of the team.

Fiona noted that Eliot didn’t touch anyone as he had Jezebel, rather just instructed them where to place the odd geometric letters.

Eliot went through last and told them, “I think there’s only one more question ahead.”

“About bloody time,” Jeremy replied. “Men weren’t meant to be underground like so many rats.”

“No worries,” Fiona said, trying to sound confident. “One more gate. We get through and we’re finished.”

“Come on.” Robert grabbed a torch off the wall and led the way.

The tunnel angled up, zigged and zagged, and then a light appeared far down the passage.

It was blurry and dim, but definitely the same fog-covered sunlight she’d seen earlier this morning. And there was no gate!

They broke into a trot.

Fiona’s heart raced. They’d done it. Made it through the entire maze—got every question right! They’d all get As and show the rest of the class what teamwork could accomplish.

The light brightened, and Fiona found herself blinking as she ran out onto grass.

She whooped and cheered and whirled around.

. . . but her victory dance spun to a stop.

They were inside the Ludus Magnus.

The jungle gym loomed before her. It was taller now, eighty feet high. She saw the balance beam she had crossed a few weeks ago had spiked weights that swung back and forth so you’d have to dodge. The chain-link fences had barbed wires woven through them. And higher, there was a sloped bridge of solid ice, dripping in the overcast sky—impossibly slick.

They’d made the course
harder
.

Eliot jogged up to her, skidded to a halt, and took in the sight.

“This is wrong,” she whispered.

“Very wrong,” he said, and nodded to the far side of the coliseum.

Team Green Dragon had gathered there. They spotted Fiona and Eliot and moved toward them . . . a slow trot, and then a faster run.

And just emerging around the opposite side of the jungle gym was Team Wolf . . . Donald van Wyck at the head of his pack.

Mr. Ma was nowhere in sight.

“This is not good,” Robert said, joining them.

Jezebel limped up next to Eliot. “As you said . . . there
was
one more part of the test to pass.”

“How can that be?” Sarah asked. She stood with them in a line, facing the other teams. “There can’t be
three
teams on the field at once.”

Van Wyck called as he approached, “Has to be a mistake, huh? Green Dragon
and
Wolf matched against Scarab?” His pale face split into a wicked grin, and he turned to the Dragons. “Whatever shall we do about it?”

The Captain of the Dragons was a boy who looked like a weight lifter. “Rules are clear,” he said. “If there’s a Dragon flag, we’re going to get to it—and stop our opposition from getting to theirs.”

Van Wyck halted and turned to the jungle gym.

The Wolf flag unfurled next to the Dragon’s . . . and on the opposite corner, the Team Scarab banner appeared, rippling in the wind.

All the joy Fiona had felt a moment ago curdled. She remembered Van Wyck’s promise never to hurt anyone on her team—
except
in gym class, where violence was encouraged . . . and lethal violence allowed.