All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [66]
“You will find that I have no tolerance for trifling,” Jezebel said. “Decide now if you wish to live.”
Tamara took two steps back. “Never mind,” she whispered.
Jezebel’s shadow returned to normal.
Fiona exhaled.
Tamara managed to regain a bit of her composure, although her healthy tan seemed to have drained away. “Whatever . . .” She walked off—banging her shin on a bench.
Jezebel gave a stifled laugh, then opened her locker and primped the curls of her hair (although it didn’t need it), and then continued ignoring the rest of the world.
Fiona made a mental note: Do not make small talk with an Infernal.
She smelled mint and turned. Sarah Covington stood next to her. Sarah’s red hair had been pulled back and tucked up under a white baseball cap. “Don’t worry about that,” Sarah said conspiratorially. “Tamara’s just sussing out the pecking order.”
Sarah offered Fiona a stick of gum, which she accepted to be polite, but didn’t unwrap.
“I’m dying to know about the girl who saved my cousin,” Sarah said. “No one is supposed to come back from the Valley of the New Year. You said your family name was . . .”
“Post,” Fiona said, nervous, as if this were the answer to a pop quiz.
“As in ‘as dumb as’?” Sarah smiled and laughed. “I’m just jesting, my dear. You must take care not to take any of that nonsense from the other girls, or they’ll walk all over you for the next four years.”
Fiona didn’t like being called dumb—even as a joke. Especially as a joke.
Despite Sarah Covington’s outward kindness, Fiona didn’t think that’s what her teammate had in mind by coming over here and chatting. Her instincts told her this was another test. Not an official Paxington-sanctioned pencil-and-paper test. One more important.
Fiona straightened. “The last person who tried to ‘walk all over’ me and Eliot . . . didn’t do any walking afterwards.”
Fiona had to soothe the anger coiled within her like a sleeping dragon, knowing how easily it could be aroused . . . knowing, too, that despite her dorky appearance, she was special . . . powerful . . . and if she had to be, dangerous, too.
The smile on Sarah’s freckled face faded. “Yes, I can indeed see a bit of the spark that got you and my cousin out of Purgatory.” She looked as if she had more to say to Fiona, but her gaze then caught something intriguing across the locker room. “Excuse me. There’s a bit of unfinished business to take care of.”
Fiona watched Sarah flounce off.
Jezebel glanced at Fiona—with neither approval nor disdain—which Fiona guessed was what passed for a friendly gesture in Infernal circles.
Sarah moved to where Amanda Lane was awkwardly trying to tuck her T-shirt (which was three sizes too big) into her baggy shorts.
Fiona hadn’t seen Amanda when she came in. She had mastered social invisibility, and Fiona understood why. If no one ever saw you, you didn’t have to struggle to find the right words, and then stumble and stutter them out in the unlikely case someone actually spoke to you.
She knew all this because that’s just the silent subspecies of nerd she had been only a few months ago.
In many ways, she still was, and everything she was trying to be—poised, confident, and likable—was just an act.
“I don’t recall inviting you to Team Scarab,” Sarah told Amanda so sweetly that she could have been talking about the weather.
“I didn’t . . . ,” Amanda started. She swiped her straggly hair out of her face, but it fell immediately back. She looked at the ground. “I mean, my name was on the roster posted outside.”
“Then that’s a mistake,” Sarah said, jabbing at her for emphasis. “You need to find another team. And quickly, so we can find a suitable replacement.”
“But, I thought . . .” Amanda’s voice faded to nothing.
“You said you were sponsored to Paxington by the League?” Sarah asked. “Of Immortals? Truly? Not the League of Losers? Or is this one of the gods’ practical jokes?” Sarah grabbed a handful of Amanda’s T-shirt, yanked it out of her shorts—then shoved her. “Or are you just a