All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [78]
Jezebel shook with rage.
The people around them backed away, some tripping over one another.
Jezebel screamed, drew back her fist, and punched the marble column over Eliot’s head. A spiderweb of cracks shattered its polished surface and blasted chunks out the other side.
Eliot flinched.
She turned and, without another word, stomped off.
The students around him spoke to one another. Eliot ignored them all, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Should it even matter? Eliot should just stay far away from Jezebel—Julie Marks—or whatever she was. He couldn’t believe he’d really cared for her. She was trouble. Sent first to trick him to Hell. And now what was she doing at Paxington?
Eliot hated the fact that he’d been so easily manipulated. Whatever was going on . . . he swore he’d get to the bottom of it.
22. The Scalagari family is renowned for its weavers and fine tailors. They employ highly guarded methods to weave magical aspects into cloth. Their camel hair overcoats, for example, are impervious to bullet or blade, and are said to have the “strength and weight” of an entire mountain woven into their feather-soft fabric. The Scalagaris also have a darker side, reputably connected to the criminal underworld. From ancestral estates on Sicily and the isle of Nero Basilica, it is said they operate gambling, extortion, and smuggling rings (under constant investigation by Interpol; no charges, however, have ever been bought to court). Gods of the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 14, The Mortal Magical Families. Zypheron Press Ltd., Eighth Edition.
21
UNEXPECTED RENDEZVOUS
The gaslights brightened, and class was over. Fiona gathered her things and left.
She blinked once in the strong sunlight, but welcomed the warmth after sitting in that chilled room for the last two hours. Miss Westin kept the place like a tomb.
Fiona walked away quickly. The Headmistress gave her the creeps—more even than Uncle Kino. Something inside that woman was a lot colder than her classroom.
Despite the gloom of the place, Fiona had wanted to linger, though. She had yet to talk to Robert and find out how he was coping now that he wasn’t in the League. He could be so stoically stubborn sometimes. Where was he living? How did he eat?
But maybe it was better to stay apart a little longer . . . as painful as it might be. If Robert attracted any League attention, she had a feeling that even Uncle Henry wouldn’t be able to get him off the hook this time.
Beside, she had to catch Eliot. He bolted before he’d written down tonight’s reading assignment—something he never forgot. He was so distracted lately.
As she tromped down the corridors, one archway caught her eye. It wasn’t a real passage, but rather a mural that gave the illusion of depth. The mural was a Picasso: cubist students with too many arms and legs, their faceted heads listening with disjointed ears to a lecturing stick figure Plato.23
The real reason she had to find her brother, though, was that he—without fail—got into trouble without her watching out for him.
Like in gym class. She should have known better than to leave him behind.
“Fiona?” a voice squeaked behind her.
She turned. Amanda Lane trotted up to her. Ever since Fiona had stopped Sarah from tormenting her in the locker room, Amanda had decided they were best friends and stuck close.
Like Fiona needed another person to look after.
Amanda’s school uniform was a mass of wrinkles. She carried a pile of books, and her backpack was filled to the bursting point. Fiona felt bad for her. Amanda’s eyes rarely left the ground, she wasn’t able to talk to anyone, and her hair has half tangle, half cowlick.
“Hey,” Fiona said. “What’s up?”
Amanda tried to brush the hair from her face, but couldn’t with her arms full. “Headed to the library?” she asked. “Maybe we could compare notes? I’m in the middle of Lovecraft’s unpublished Languorous Lullabies. His histories of the Dreaming Families are so poetical. Did you know that parts can be read backwards for an entirely different meaning? It’s