All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [49]
Aaron circled. There was no escape. No way Robert could turn and make it to the elevator.
Mr. Mimes leaned against the wall, watching, and took a sip of wine. “Now, Robert, I want you to tell me about Fiona. How do you really feel about the girl?”
“Feel? Wha—?”
Robert never finished the thought. Aaron’s fist impacted his gut, squishing the soft bits. Something popped.
There was blackness.
Robert found himself peering through a tunnel, and a high-pitched ringing filled his head. He kneeled, blood streaming from his mouth.
“I said defend yourself, boy.”
Robert stood.
Slowly stood. But he shouldn’t have been able to.
At best, he should barely be able to crawl toward the phone and dial 911 after a sledgehammer punch like that.
“Okay,” he said through gritted teeth. He clenched his hands so tight, the knuckles popped.
Aaron came at him again—right and left and straight punches.
Robert intercepted them with strikes of his own. The force knocked him back, but he kept his head down, as Marcus Welmann had taught him.
He kept fighting. Faster and harder.
One of his jabs caught Aaron in his ribs.
Aaron grunted, grimaced . . . and then he smiled.
There was motion—not even a blur, really—just a flicker in the corner of Robert’s vision.
. . . When he came to this time, he was flat on his back on the floor.
It felt like his body had been hung up and both Mr. Mimes and Aaron had hammered on it for a few days.
Aaron reached down and hauled Robert to his feet. He turned to Mr. Mimes and said, “He has the potential.” Then to Robert, he said, “I shall set up a schedule for you and me to train.”
“Excellent,” Mr. Mimes said, raising his glass to toast Robert. “Now, Robert, the girl—you’re about to tell me how you feel. . . .”
“Oh, man,” Robert said, regaining his wits enough to understand what Mr. Mimes was asking. He took a few steps back from Aaron. “Okay. Fiona. I don’t know.” He felt his insides tighten. “I like her. But it’s not that simple. She’s in the League.”
“Of course it’s that simple,” Mr. Mimes countered. “You’re a boy. She’s a girl.”
“Yeah, I got that part. But she’s a girl who could get me killed.”
“How is that different from any other girl in the world?” Mr. Mimes asked. “Do you love her?”
The question caught Robert as off guard as when Aaron had sucker-punched him. “Love?” Robert laughed. “Come on, man. That stuff is for kids!”
There was no way Robert bought into all that. Love was one of two things: what you saw at the movies (fantasies of what girls thought guys should act like); or it was like his mom, who had worked her way through half a dozen boyfriends and stepfathers by the time Robert left home. Even with all the slammed doors, the shouts, the bruises and busted lips—she had “loved” them all.
Any way you sliced it, love was a slippery, dangerous thing.
But Fiona wasn’t like any other girl.
There was something more there. She was a goddess . . . maybe . . . and Robert couldn’t figure out how that fit into the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing.
“Yeeeees,” Mr. Mimes said. “I see the flames inside you.”
Robert shook his head and held up his hands. “Come on, Mr. Mimes. Just tell me what my next assignment is. I need to move, get out of this place.”
“Tell him, Henry,” Aaron said. “The boy deserves a piece of the truth.”
“Hmmmm.” Mr. Mimes smiled. “Let me ask you one more thing, Robert. Forget Fiona for a moment. What do you think of Paxington?”
Robert snorted. “It’s okay if you like a bunch of stuck-up rich kids and wannabe sorcerers. And if you like book dust and being bored to death in some musty lecture hall. Sure, it’s great.”
“And gym class?” Aaron asked him.
“Cakewalk. I could take those guys without even trying. But like I said, I’m just glad I had to be there only for the one day.”
Aaron nodded to Mr. Mimes.
“Robert, my dear boy, I am pleased to tell you that your next assignment is Paxington.” Mr. Mimes gestured grandly about the half-finished loft. “And this is now yours, along with a generous allowance.”
“I don’t get it,” Robert said. “You want me to set up