All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [23]
That seemed grossly unfair. If one quarter failed every year—Fiona did the math—then only 42 percent made it through to their senior year.
But maybe competition wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It would give her a chance to test herself, and prove that she could succeed outside Audrey’s protected sphere.
“If you feel the need to be further challenged,” Miss Westin continued, “elective courses are available for freshmen who survive their first semester and receive As on their midterms.”
Survive?
Fiona and Eliot shared a look. Her word choice seemed deliberate . . . like some students might actually die.
Eliot definitely appeared unhealthy as he digested this statement. Fiona suddenly didn’t feel so good, either.
“You will now have a break to stretch and use the restrooms before the next portion of the placement process,” Miss Paxton said. “Afterward, you will be given a tour of the campus.”
Fiona exhaled and heard the rest of the students do the same.
“This is so weird,” Eliot said. He stood and stretched. “I feel like I don’t belong here . . . but at the same time, I don’t know, it’s like we do.”
She knew exactly what he meant. Part of her just wanted to go back home and hide. Another part of her wanted to meet some of these people from other magical families. Well . . . except that Jeremy Covington.
The other students mingled and talked, moving through the room like free-floating planets in orbit about one another, and then clustered around maybe a half-dozen individuals who appeared to be the centers of social gravity.
Fiona spotted the boy who had smiled at her and made her feel welcome . . . but he was across the room now, chatting with some other boys and laughing.
Fiona and Eliot stood by themselves.
Would they always be social outcasts? If only the others knew they were in the League of Immortals—that Eliot was an Immortal hero, and she was a goddess-in-training.
But, of course, telling anyone the most interesting thing about themselves was forbidden. So typical.
“We should strike up a conversation,” she told her brother.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.
“I mean with the others.”
“Oh . . . ,” Eliot said, looking a tad hurt. “Yeah, sure.” He brightened. “You know, I thought I saw someone I recognized.” He looked around.
“So did I,” Fiona said. “That girl with the brown hair.”
Eliot squinted. “No . . . I saw this other girl, a blonde, kind of looked like Julie.”
“Julie Marks?” Fiona said, surprised.
Poor Eliot. Daydreaming again.
Fiona then spotted a group marching toward them, and leading them was that redhead and Jeremy Covington.
The last time Fiona had seen Jeremy, he wore a lion mask—which was then knocked off when Robert Farmington plastered him with a snowball. That was in Purgatory, at a cursed never-ending party called the Valley of the New Year.
Jeremy stopped before her and Eliot, and bowed so his long blond hair cascaded off his shoulders.
“Dearest Fiona,” he said. “Never in a million years did I expect to see you again. I so wanted to thank you for saving me from my long imprisonment.”
Eliot nudged her and shot her a look that said, Who is this?
“Jeremy, this is my brother, Eliot.”
Eliot offered his hand for Jeremy to shake.
Jeremy clasped it and squeezed. Eliot winced.
“Damn my manners,” Jeremy said. “I am Lord Jeremy of the Clan Covington.” He gestured to the redheaded girl next to him. “This lass is my cousin Sarah.” He spared a glance at the students around him, as though considering whether to introduce them as well, but then shrugged as if they were inconsequential.
Sarah’s long hair, elegantly tied up, was the color of tangerines. She had dimpled cheeks, freckled skin, and Fiona could see the effect she had on the boys.
“Post . . . ,” Sarah said. “I’m not familiar with your family’s name. Were you sponsored into Paxington?”
This sounded like an innocent question on the surface, but Fiona sensed a hint of condescension underneath.