All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [130]
As Robert regained his equilibrium, he asked, “So what do you want me to do about Eliot? I can introduce him to a lot nicer class of girl. Human, for starters.”
Mr. Mimes sobered. “I wouldn’t do that, Robert. I appreciate your concern, but if this Jezebel reciprocates Eliot’s affections, well, you would not want to deal with an Infernal woman scorned. That is on my list of the eleven most dangerous things in the universe—right after trying to balance a national economy by printing money.”
He leaned closer and whispered, “Besides, the Post children have a knack to twist fate to their own ends, regardless of what either Immortal or Infernal family desires, eh? Those two—by themselves—may represent an entirely new force for us to consider.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Robert asked, suddenly feeling protective of his friends.
Mr. Mimes stood straighter and brushed some imaginary dust off his silvery gray sports coat. “Oh, just silliness, a bit of random number mathematics I was toying with. Nothing at all for you to worry about.”
When Mr. Mimes said don’t worry like that, Robert really started worrying.
He filed that clue about the twins and them being a “new force” under stuff to follow up on later with his own investigations.
Mr. Mimes glanced at his watch. “Where does the time go?” he muttered. “I need to ask Cornelius. I must be off. So many things to attend to down in Costa Esmeralda.”
“That’s in Central America right?” Robert asked. “Near Panama?”
Mr. Mimes cocked his head, looking surprised at Robert’s grasp of geography.
“I rode through there once. Nice place. There some Mardi Gras or something you have to be at?”
“Something like that,” Mr. Mimes replied with a smirk. “In the late spring. You should visit.”
It must be a heck of a bash if Mr. Mimes recommended it. Robert made a note of that, too, filed away under Things to Do/Party/Spring.
Mr. Mimes paused. “One more thing, Robert. Midterms are today, are they not?”
“Sure. You got some more answers to Miss Westin’s tests for me?”
“Not quite. That was a one-time arrangement we made to get you inside Paxington. The rest is up to you, as I said. Besides, even I would not cross Lucy Westin on her home soil.”
“It’s cool,” Robert said, hiding his disappointment, and allowing his appreciation for Miss Westin to rise a notch. She intimidated even Mr. Mimes. “I’ve hit the books. I’ll pass.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Mimes whispered. “But to be on the safe side . . . pack your brass knuckles today, my boy.”
37
PRE-TEST JITTERS
A handful of the popular girls circled Fiona. They nodded as they walked by, but this morning everyone was too nervous to talk to Paxington’s newest social pinnacle.
Fiona pinned the silver rose token to her jacket lapel. She’d started wearing it last week. It had been given to her by the League when she was inducted into the Order of the Celestial Rose. She still didn’t know what that was, but it was pretty, part alive, and part silver, and it smelled as fragrant as the day it’d been given to her.
The entire freshman class had collected outside Plato’s Hall. The doors were shut and locked, and a sign rested on the handles:
MIDTERMS TODAY
Wait Outside for Instructions
Fiona was as nervous as everyone else, but because she was a goddess, she didn’t feel she ought to show it, like that might reflect poorly on the League.
She paused by the Picasso Archway. The portrait had been painted to resemble a real archway that led to a courtyard where anatomically jumbled students listened to a lecture and took notes. It was fascinating, but it also gave Fiona the creeps. Like someone had taken those people apart and put them together . . . wrong.
Fiona turned from it and smiled, hoping this masked the fact that she quavered inside. She wondered if she had time to go the girls’ restroom one more time.
Midterms were one