All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [102]
And there was an ugly reality that neither she nor Robert was facing: With her in the League, and him out, there was no way they could be more than friends. Even that might end up being dangerous for Robert.
She tried to smile as she walked up to them, but couldn’t quite make herself.
“Fiona.” Mitch looked up and smiled. “Robert and I were going over the battle. He’s got some insights into the Immortals’ tactics. Did you know that he actually worked for the League for a time?”
“Yeah, that’s great,” Fiona said.
Robert looked away and took a deep breath.
Mitch sensed something wrong. He missed only a single beat, though, and then set a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “You want to join us? Fiona and I were going to grab coffee and compare notes.”
“You had plans . . . together?” Robert looked up, unable to hide the surprise on his face—then quickly recovered. “That’s cool, uh, but no, I’ve got places to be this afternoon. Thanks anyway.” He nodded to Fiona (without looking at her) and made a hasty exit.
Fiona watched him go, her heart breaking. That had been necessary, hadn’t it?
She realized that her posture had slumped over and she looked, and felt, very much like the old always-too-shy Fiona Post.
Yeah, it was necessary.
Robert had to know they couldn’t be together anymore. The sooner they both adjusted to that reality, the better for everyone.
She stood tall again.
“There’s something between you two?” Mitch asked, an uneasy expression crossing his face. “I like Robert. He’s a good guy.”
“Ancient history,” Fiona replied. “Coffee?”
“Sure.”
Mitch smiled again, and Fiona knew it was going to be okay. Eventually.
They walked across the quad, close, but not touching. Mitch smelled faintly of cloves.
He paused at the fountain of Poseidon and tossed a quarter into the waters. “Tribute for dead gods,” he told her. “Brings luck—at least, that’s what my father told me.”
Poseidon was dead? Fiona filed that fact next to the possibly dead Zeus, and kept moving.
“You believe in luck, then?”
“Not really, but the Stephenson family can’t afford to take chances.”
They started to walk again side by side.
“The Stephensons—Miss Westin hasn’t covered them in lecture yet.”
Mitch chuckled. “She probably won’t. We’re not that important. Never been politically connected or financial powerhouses like the other clans.”
“Your family’s name sure managed to impress Jeremy and Sarah Covington, though, at team selection. That’s no small trick.”
“Oh, that. I guess that’s the one thing we Stephensons have going for us: a reputation. It’s no big deal. My many-times great-grandfather was Dr. Faust.”28
Fiona nodded, like she got this “Faust” reference. Thankfully, Mitch continued, so she didn’t have to ask a slew of embarrassing questions.
“Everyone thinks Faust really did make the best deal ever with the devil—if that’s not an oxymoron—and became the most powerful sorcerer of the age. Of course, he then squandered that power showing off.”
“So,” Fiona said, growing concerned, “what kind of reputation does your family have?”
“That’s a fair question.” Mitch sobered as if Fiona had touched a nerve. “After Faust died, some of his power passed to his children. They had a hard time, persecuted as witches, and then hunted by the Vatican. That changed when the Inquisition recruited them and trained them to use their power to fight evil. Since then, they’ve become the greatest practitioners of white magic in the world.”
This fascinated Fiona. Not just his story, although it was interesting, but also that Mitch knew so much about his family. It must have given him a sense of stability to know where he came from. It was something she envied.
“Is that why you were so interested in the Infernals at Ultima Thule?” she asked. “Taking notes on how to fight them?”
“Not exactly,” Mitch said, mounting the steps before the front gate. “It was more like being a marine biologist swimming in a tank with a megalodon. I never imagined that I’d get close to a real Infernal like Jezebel.”
Fiona tried to