All That Lives Must Die (44 page)

One never turned one’s back on so simple an opportunity.

Such a large tip! Indeed, how was Louis supposed to do business with such fools?

45
. Salt appears in many world religions as a bane to evil. Since ancient times, bowls of salt were placed by the door to keep the devil at bay (until he had counted every grain). It is used in contemporary religious rites such as the Traditional Latin Mass, exorcisms, and in the Shinto purification rituals of sumo wrestling rings prior to a match. The substance’s effectiveness has diminished since ancient times (if it ever existed). In Infernal parlances, the use of salt, especially when relating to business, is considered a grave insult because it infers that the insulted Infernal is so weak as to be affected by such a common substance.
Gods of the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 13, Infernal Forces
. Zypheron Press Ltd., Eighth Edition.

               51               

NO MORE JUST FRIENDS

Fiona staggered into the locker room, half-dead.

Mr. Ma had made them do calisthenics and reflex drills all afternoon.

It hadn’t helped when Fiona asked why they had been singled out for this punishment, and Sarah added that it was unfair because their parents spent fortunes to send them here and this wasn’t a prison camp, and Amanda had even asked why Teams Dragon and Wolf weren’t doing the same exercises.

By way of answering, Mr. Ma made the girls run around the coliseum five times, while the rest the team was dismissed.

The man was a sadist.

She would’ve been angry . . . had she the energy. As it was, she was barely able to stand and let the shower run over her body.

Fiona toweled off and sat on the bench by her locker.

Amanda came out of the shower a moment later, her towel tight about her body. Sarah followed, towel wrapped only about her head, unabashedly glowing and looking refreshed as if she’d just taken a light jog.

Conspicuously absent was Jezebel. No one had seen her since the new semester started, an entire week ago.

Amanda pulled away the hair plastered to her face, and followed Fiona’s gaze to Jezebel’s locker. “You think she’s okay? She didn’t look so great after the midterm match.”

“I don’t know,” Fiona replied.

“Jezebel is an Infernal,” Sarah said, “and she’s shrugged off damage that would have shattered a normal person’s bones. But she better get back soon.” She took out her blow-dryer and shook out her mane of red hair. “Team Scarab is down its strongest fighter.” She turned on the dryer and preened in front of a mirror.

Sarah was coldheartedly pragmatic, but correct.

If Jezebel never came back, Fiona better think up new strategies for how to win matches. By the rules, they had to get half the team to their flag to win. With seven on their team, was half three or four people, then? She bet Mr. Ma would round up to four.

And what about Eliot? It wasn’t exaggerating to say he might have a “fatal” crush on the Infernal. Would he get over her? Or would his darkening mood just get worse? Or maybe, if Jezebel never came back, it’d be the
best
thing for him.

Fiona glanced at Amanda and wondered if she’d ever tell Eliot she liked him. It was so obvious . . . even to Fiona, who—let’s face it—was no expert in boy–girl relationships.

On the other hand, if Amanda told him, and then Jezebel came back . . . who knows what the Infernal might do to her. Probably laugh. Or kill her.

Poor Amanda. Poor Eliot.

She had a feeling that no matter what, they were going to get hurt.

It was the same with Robert. Sometimes she wished he’d just go away. That sounded cruel, but it was true.

Anyway, she had Mitch now.

Sarah finished her hair: it shone and curled with expert precision in a completely relaxed and natural-looking way. She looked over at Amanda and her tangles, frowning, but not offering any advice.

“How do you know a boy likes you?” Fiona asked Sarah.

Sarah blinked. “With your looks and social connections, I wouldn’t worry.
All
the boys like you.”

Fiona blushed and started to get dressed, suddenly feeling a little too exposed.

“I mean,” Fiona continued, “say a boy likes you, you think, but you’re not sure how much . . . or what exactly his intentions are.”

“Oh . . . ,” Sarah said, “a coy one, then, is it? They’re the most dangerous of all.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Fiona noted that Amanda eagerly listened, soaking up any boy advice that might accidentally drift her way.

“We are talking about Mitch, then?” Sarah asked.

Fiona’s blush deepened.

“Well, he likes you. It’s obvious. Don’t be so thick.”

“He smiles at everyone,” Amanda added, “but the way he smiles at you . . . no one but you gets
that
.”

“Really?” Fiona suddenly felt out of breath.

“But that’s a problem,” Sarah said as she tied her hair up with a royal blue velvet ribbon. “You hinted there was something between you and Robert last summer?”

“That’s none of your business,” Fiona snapped.

“Don’t get your feathers ruffled.” Sarah patted the bench next to her. “It is my business. All of ours, in fact.”

Fiona sat.

“Mitch is a wonderful lad, and so is Robert,” Sarah said, “but if you pick one over the other, then what happens to the team? Would Robert want to get even with Mitch? At the very least, they wouldn’t be working
together
when we needed them to in a match, would they?”

Fiona wasn’t sure. Robert was above that sort of thing, wasn’t he?

And Mitch? He’d acted like nothing but a gentleman (which was part of the problem).

Fiona had a vision of the two of them dueling with sabers on campus. She shook her head to clear it.

“I’d never tell you how to run your personal affairs,” Sarah whispered. “Just be careful. We have three more matches to get our rank high enough to graduate. You might want to be nice to
both of them
. For a bit longer?”

Fiona didn’t know. That wouldn’t be fair to Robert; it might actually be dangerous for him. And it certainly wouldn’t be fair to Mitch. Or her.

“Let’s get some coffee,” Amanda suggested. “We can figure it all out together.”

“Coffee?” Fiona stood bolt upright. “I was supposed to meet Mitch at Café Eridanus half an hour ago!”

Fiona grabbed her Paxington jacket, hesitated, and then told Sarah, “Don’t worry. It’s just coffee.”

Sarah nodded, although she did not look at all convinced.

“See you!” Fiona waved to Sarah and Amanda and ran out of the locker room.

She burst out of the Ludus Magnus and almost ran over Mitch in the bone-encrusted entrance tunnel.

“Whoa!” He dodged her—without dropping the take-out coffee cups in his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” Fiona said.

“No harm.” He flashed his smile—that
special
smile that he had only for her (or so Amanda thought).

True or not, that grin warmed her more than any run around the coliseum or hot coffee ever could.

“I thought we were meeting at the café?”

“I was going to suggest we take another walk,” he said. “The café’s too crowded.”

“A ‘walk’ like last time?”

Mitch handed her one of the coffees and then offered her his free hand. “A walk
better
than last time. I’ve got a few surprises scouted out.” His smile intensified.

Fiona almost dropped the coffee. Her legs wobbled, but he didn’t notice.

“Sure,” she said, managing to sound causal—as if she took strolls around the world with boys who might like her every afternoon. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

He took her free hand in his and started down the winding path to Bristlecone Hall.

But after a dozen steps, nothing happened. They were just walking.

“Oh, I thought—”

“We are.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “But we can’t leave Paxington like that—some security feature. Mr. Dells had a talk with me about it.”

Fiona nodded. No one but students and staff were allowed on campus by foot or by car, and apparently there were restrictions on the use of magic, too, to cross its boundaries. As if Paxington were its own little country. She remembered how Dallas and Kino had waited for her outside the school gates, which made sense only if even the gods were forbidden from entering.

What kind of agreement did Paxington have with the League and the Infernals and the mortal magical families that let them operate with that kind of autonomy?

She turned her attention to the warmth flowing from Mitch’s hand into hers. He’d picked the long, roundabout way to the gate. Was that because he had
wanted
to hold her hand for the pleasure of holding it? Wanted, as she did, to make it last as long as possible?

She squeezed his hand back. “Hey, normal walking—just fine with me,” she said.

“You looked like you had a lot on your mind coming out of the coliseum.”

“Oh, the girls and I were talking about our last three matches—trying to come up with strategies to deal with our missing Jezebel.”

Fiona omitted their discussion of the boy–boy–girl dynamics of Team Scarab, and how her personal relationships could potentially sink their team’s ranking.

Mitch nodded. “Jezebel missing isn’t a huge problem. Not anymore. Every team in second semester is down at least one person. Dropouts, injuries—happens every year.”

The walked past the pedunculate oak called the Hangman of London. Its giant shadow crossed their path, and fog blew through its twisting branches. It reminded her of the misty graveyards that led to the Borderlands.

Fiona definitely preferred the sunshine these days. She took a sip of the coffee to warm her. It was perfect: lots of cream and no sugar. Just how she liked it.

“If teams get too small, people get reassigned,” Mitch continued. “I have an aunt who’s a Paxington alumna, and she explained it all to me.”
46

“You mean they could break up Scarab?”

What if she and Mitch, Robert, Amanda . . . or Eliot got reassigned to different teams? How could she ever compete
against
any of them?

“No worries. We’re only down
one
. And theoretically, Jezebel could show up any time. If she doesn’t, it’s more likely Scarab will pick up a straggler from another team.”

Then maybe Jezebel going missing could turn out to be a good thing. As an Infernal, she was the strongest person on their team, but that didn’t make up for being a monster. Not to mention the effect she had on Eliot.

The sun broke through the fog as they emerged near Bristlecone Hall, and they strode along the cobblestone path to the front gate.

It might all actually work out for the best. Fiona playfully swung her arm with Mitch’s.

Mr. Dells opened the gate. “Have a wonderful day, kids.” His laserlike gaze, however, carefully tracked Mitch as they left.

“We will,” Fiona told him.

As they approached the end of the thoroughfare, Mitch whispered, “Here we go. Hang on.” His smile vanished and intense concentration crossed his face.

There was vertigo, a flash of light, and a step—

—and the concrete sidewalk they were just walking upon was a path of granite strewn with pebbles and dust.

The air was clean and fresh and cold. Fiona blinked to adjust to the brighter light; she saw that they were on a mountain path. Flags and streamers fluttered along the precipitous edge. Titanic granite ridges jutted into a startling blue sky, and
below
them roiled clouds.

“Listen,” Mitch whispered.

Fiona cocked her head. In the distance echoed bird cries.

A flock of cranes broke through the clouds—hundreds of flashing wings and gray-blue feathers streamed up toward them, and then over their heads.

“It’s their spring migration,” Mitch explained. “They go right over the top of the Himalayas. Reminds me of what we do at school. All of us trying to get to the top.”

Fiona watched the flock flap through the thin air, higher and higher.

“Every year,” he said, “they struggle to get over this mountain. Some don’t. Some die. Are we the same? It’s great we’re learning, but why? Graduate with honors? Be like our parents?”

The flock crested the ridge. The cranes called out once and then glided effortlessly, silent, exhausted, and vanished.

“I definitely don’t want to be like
my
parents,” Fiona replied.

That would be a choice between her emotionally distant mother, and her father, who was . . . what? A monster? At best, a liar and thief.

“Not knowing what I want to be is part of the reason I’m at a Paxington,” she said. “I need to get my bearings and figure a few things out.”

That wasn’t the entire truth, though. Fiona had something to prove at school, too: that she was as good as anyone else—not only at school, but at the League as well.

“I guess,” Mitch said. “I just wish they gave us some breathing room in our schedules.” He exhaled. “Speaking of breathing”—he pulled her along—“we should move. It’s not good to be at this altitude for too long without oxygen.”

They trudged along the path, Fiona started feeling a bit dizzy now, and they rounded a ledge and into shadows—

—and stumbled over roots and underbrush, and a flock of butterflies took to the air, making a storm of confetti-like flutterings.

“This way,” Mitch said, pushing branches out of their way.

Fiona struggled to breathe the now heavier, moist air. She got her bearings and saw the faintest of trails snaking through the jungle. There were stone heads as big as houses and overgrown with hundred-year-old tree roots. Those idols stared at her with blind sockets.

Ahead was the sound of water churning and crashing.

Mitch stopped abruptly and parted ferns for her.

They stood on the edge of a river that plunged into a kilometer-wide sinkhole. Along the steep edges, trees and vines grew at precipitous angles. The water never seemed to hit the bottom—instead it vaporized into rainbows.

“Down there is the Cavern of the Six Fairy Kings,” Mitch whispered in hushed awe. “There’s supposedly a trail leading down . . . somewhere. I’ve never found it. The cave is one of the fabled gateways to the Faerie Lands—if you believe that sort of thing.”
47
^,
48

“Jeremy would give anything to see this,” Fiona whispered.

“Like I’d ever bring
him
here.” Mitch said.

So many places, and so many fantastic sights, and being with Mitch—it was disorienting, but Fiona nonetheless managed to pick up their conversation where it left off. “So, Mr. Stephenson,” she said, “why are
you
at Paxington?”

Mitch’s smile faded. He let go of her and laced his hands, thinking. “At first, because it’s what was expected of me. I studied for years, sacrificing, and taking tests.”

He fell silent; his gaze drifted to the waterfall.