All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [27]
“Aye,” Jeremy said. His eyes could not meet hers. “There’s been no Infernal protégée at Paxington for three hundred years. Your terrible power would honor us, Lady Jezebel.”
Jezebel huffed a laugh. “You are a rogue, Covington. I appreciate that.” She looked over Sarah, moving on quickly, as if the girl were nonexistent. Next she considered Mitch, who had the strength to meet her gaze, and she nodded. She then glanced at Eliot and Fiona—just for an instant, but clearly seeing something in them that she liked, because her eyes widened with interest. Her gaze traversed to Amanda, scrutinizing the unremarkable girl the longest.
“You have an interesting mix of blood and power on this team,” Jezebel told Jeremy. “I suppose it will do as much as any other collection of bumbling mortals here.”
Jeremy beamed, extremely pleased with this new addition to their group. He shot a glance at Amanda, probably wondering if Jezebel assumed she was on their team . . . and if he had to accept this new unexpected teammate because the Infernal obviously liked her. He sighed and with great reluctance slipped Amanda a scarab token and then looked away.
Jezebel moved to the edge of the table and, with a dramatic flounce, sat on it, crossing her legs so her skirt flashed pale, slender thigh.
A full-blooded Infernal on their team. Eliot could only imagine what kinds of advantages and disadvantages that would give them. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure what kind of game they would be playing that they’d need an Infernal.
Weren’t Infernals supposed to be unpredictable? Cheaters? Dangerous?
Students clambered about their table—all now asking to join. The sheer mass of the crowd pushed Eliot, Amanda, and Fiona back. Apparently, the Paxington students appreciated the power of an Infernal more than they feared one.
“Let chance decide,” Jezebel said. She reached for the platter on the table, selected the last golden scarab token from the pile—and flung it across the room.
Before Jeremy could protest, students scrabbled and pushed to get the token as it clattered across the floor.
Jezebel laughed as she watched boys and girls wrestle for the coin.
Eliot watched, too, and saw someone he recognized tossing aside students like he was an experienced wrestler. But the gold coin rolled away from him—kicked back and forth by the others.
This had to be the person who had called to Eliot earlier.
. . . and if he were on Team Scarab, Eliot knew he’d have at least one friend.
Let only chance decide? Eliot would see about that.
He twisted around, unzipped his backpack, and opened his violin case.
With one eye, he watched the scarab coin wobble along the floor, spinning, then kicked up, bouncing over the desks.
Eliot quietly plucked Lady Dawn’s strings.
The heat from his old infection burned along his wrist. He felt air move about him, and saw the coin jump to his notes—ricocheting this way and that—half random, but partially under his command now as well.
It drunkenly rolled toward the boy he knew—who dived for it!
Others leaped for the coin, too, dog-piling into a heap.
Eliot held his breath, hoping.
He quickly surveyed his team: Fiona, his ever-irritating sister; Amanda Lane, more of a social outcast than even himself; Jeremy and Sarah Covington, whom Eliot didn’t like one bit; Mitch Stephenson, a nice guy; and the Infernal Jezebel, who stared at Eliot and his backpack, leaning forward, one hand over her throat, fascinated.
. . . and one last teammate.
The boy stood from the pile of students, holding aloft the golden scarab.
He turned and faced them, grinning, blood on his split lip. His James Dean appearance looked out of place in a Paxington jacket instead of his normal leather one.
Fiona gasped.
It was Robert Farmington.
6. Middle Realms (noun). Archaic usage refers to the Purgatory lands betwixt Heaven and Hell (sometimes Earth, depending on the context). Modern usage expanded to mean all realms between the Pearly Gates of Heaven and the First Fathomless