All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [224]
There were no books, though. Not one volume.
That made Fiona even more nervous.
Miss Westin’s desk was large and black, with thick claw-footed legs. The entire surface was a touch-screen computer. There were layers of icons and text files and windows.
Miss Westin looked up as they approached. With a single sweep of her hand, the screen blanked.
There were no chairs for them.
Fiona guessed Miss Westin didn’t often have guests in her office . . . and when she did, they weren’t supposed to feel comfortable.
Miss Westin assessed them from behind her octagonal wire-rim glasses and then said, “I have two announcements. I shall be brief, as we have class in ten minutes.”
She opened a filing cabinet and withdrew two letters. The first was neatly typed on white paper and signed at the bottom. The other was ancient vellum and curled as if it had been rolled. Its letterhead was festooned with poppies and vines. It smelled of vanilla and sulfur, and it repelled Fiona.
Miss Westin tapped the ordinary letter. “Mr. Stephenson has requested a two-week leave of absence, and I have granted it. His homework assignments shall be forwarded. His gym rank remains attached to Team Scarab’s, but obviously he cannot participate in any matches that may occur during his absence.”
“Is he okay?” Fiona blurted out.
Jeremy Covington cleared his throat. “How are we expected to perform without one of our best teammates?”
Miss Westin frowned at them. “I’m not at liberty to discuss Mr. Stephenson’s personal matters,” she told Fiona icily. To Jeremy, she said, “And I am coming to the matter of your so-called team, Mr. Covington, if you’d be kind enough to remain silent for thirty seconds.”
Jeremy flushed. He shut his mouth, though, and looked at his loafers.
Fiona suddenly didn’t care about her team or their ranking or anything other than what might be wrong with Mitch. She strained to read his letter upside down, but before she could make out a single word, Miss Westin set the other letter on top.
“My second announcement regards Miss Jezebel,” she told them. “Her guardian has petitioned me to withdraw her from this semester at Paxington, citing internal Infernal matters that cannot be avoided. I’m inclined to grant this request as well.”
Eliot stepped forward. “Beg your pardon, ma’am,” he whispered. All the color drained from him. “So she’s not coming back?”
Under normal circumstances, Fiona would’ve been happy to hear Jezebel was gone for good . . . but the expression on her brother’s face was almost more than she could bear. It looked like he was going to die.
Miss Westin sighed and her impassive features thawed—for a microsecond—as she told him, “She shall receive an incomplete for her work this semester. If, however, she enrolls in summer school, she will be able to make up her courses.”
Eliot nodded and stepped back.
“This leaves Team Scarab with but six members,” Miss Westin said. “If you choose to play in such a state, there is little chance you would win your next match, let alone survive the final. This leaves you two options.”
Miss Westin stood and straightened her shirt, donned her black wool jacket, and did up its pearl buttons all the way to her throat. She then picked up a slender leather folder that held her class notes and marched toward the door they had entered.
“Follow,” she ordered.
They did, and Miss Westin talked as they all walked. “According to school traditions, your first option would be to recruit two new members from disbanded teams. There are several excellent surviving players who now need a home.”
She paused at the door. “Or Team Scarab may disband . . . and you each would have to find new teams.”
Fiona felt as if she were sinking in quicksand. Disband the team? Her team? Had she been that much of a failure as Captain?
Miss Westin ushered them into the waiting room and locked her office door. “I leave the choice