All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [129]
“No, but he’s coming along. You wouldn’t think it to look at him, though. Kid’s full of surprises.”
“So you’re teaching him everything? Boxing? Grappling? Knife and clubs?”
“All the basics,” Robert said.
Mr. Mimes suddenly looked serious. “But?” he said. “There was a ‘but’ in there?”
Robert shook his head. He didn’t want to rat Eliot out, but Mr. Mimes would get it out of him anyway.
“Eliot is really smart,” Robert told him. “The guy can learn anything he puts his mind to, but it’s why he’s learning that bugs me.” He frowned. “There’s more to it than just not getting his head bashed in at school.”
Mr. Mimes brightened. “A girl, I hope? Is she pretty?”
Robert chewed over those questions. “Kind of. I mean kind of a girl. Pretty? Yeah—she’s off the charts. He doesn’t talk about her, but I’ve seen him looking at her . . . Jezebel the Infernal.”
Mr. Mimes tapped the tip of his nose, thinking.
“Eliot’s always been a little on the quiet side,” Robert said, “but now—geez. He mopes around in a constant funk. Not like any ordinary guy with an ordinary crush. This is different and darker. I’m worried that he might be drifting over to their side.”
“The Infernals?” Mr. Mimes laughed. “No, no, no, the symptoms you describe are that of any normal teenager. You think them extraordinary only because you yourself have never suffered those feelings.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Robert muttered.
Mr. Mimes looked him over. “Oh, I am sorry. I forgot. But keeping your distance from Fiona is essential at the moment. So much depends on it. Not least of all your personal safety.”
Robert was going to say thanks . . . for nothing, but his mind stuttered about the “so much depends” part of what Mr. Mimes had just said.
What plans did he have for the twins? He bet nothing the League was involved in. And if the League was willing to throw Robert in prison for a hundred years, or burn him alive forever, or something just as nasty for him breaking some little rule like kissing Fiona—what would they do to one of their most trusted people who pulled a serious fast one?
Mr. Mimes stepped closer to Robert and set one hand on his shoulder. “Best not to trouble your mind with such things. Keep on your studies, stay in the shadows, watch and protect . . . especially in light of Fiona’s new popularity. Remember, misdirection is most easily accomplished with a beautiful, shiny object.”
Robert nodded. He was used to taking orders. What choice was there? Cross Mr. Mimes?
Marcus Welmann’s famous last words echoed in his thoughts: “They’re more force of nature than flesh and blood. Lose sight of that, cross them once . . . and you might as well try talking your way out of an tidal wave for all the good it’ll do you.”
But Robert was stronger now than Marcus had ever been. Strong enough maybe to stand on his own two feet and not take orders?
He buried that thought deep. Mr. Mimes had a way of guessing what you were thinking, especially when it involved him.
Mr. Mimes pulled out his silver flask and uncorked it. He took a sip and then handed it to Robert, saying, “For what ails you.”
Robert spied the liquid inside. Soma was what Mr. Mimes and Aaron had called it. The liquid gleamed like molten gold and reflected off the mirrored walls of the flask. In Miss Westin’s Mythology 101 class, Robert had learned a little about the drink.
“Mostly mythohistorical lies,” Miss Westin had said. But Robert had figured out two things. First, over time it turned normal guys like him into the equal of the gods. And second, it changed who they were, made them more assertive and dominant.
Both of which went along perfectly with his plans.
He tipped the flask into his mouth, drank deep, and drained it.
Robert’s mind exploded, and he could see every memory, every sensation, and every nerve down to the primitive animal level. A sulfurous fire burned his throat and stomach. Vapors blasted through his lungs . . . and he exhaled, blinking away streaming tears.
“What’s in that stuff, man?”
“Sugar and spice for girls;