All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [79]
For someone never exposed to magic before, Amanda seem to have a knack, if not for its practice, then at least its study.
“I read those,” Fiona told her. “Eliot and I still needed to tackle the Canticles of the Clan.”
Fiona had to study the canticles, not only for Miss Westin’s class, but also because it was practical knowledge. They told (in excruciating minutia and with endless commentary) the political intrigues among from the nineteenth- and twentieth-century mortal magical families.
Covingtons, Scalagaris, Pritchards, Kalebs—these families taught their children fencing, etiquette, the art of small talk, poisons, and assassination from the time they were toilet trained. Politics that translated into duels and alliances and vendettas here at Paxington.
She had a lot of catching up to do.
Fiona snapped her fingers. “There’s one thing, though, we have to do before we hit the homework: find the others on our team and talk strategy.”
“Oh . . .” Amanda drew her books closer and dropped her head.
“Slip too far in the rankings,” Fiona explained, “and all the studying in the world won’t matter.”
Amanda curled even farther behind her books and said, “I’m really sorry about what happened.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Fiona said. “We’ll all do better next time.”
Amanda brightened.
She was a real liability. If only Fiona could boost the girl’s confidence, she might actually get her onto the obstacle course next time. Funny how Amanda seemed to have no trouble relating to Eliot. Maybe they had an equivalent nerd quotient.
Amanda glanced past Fiona. “There’s your brother and that Jezebel. Let’s go say hi.”
“Jezebel?” Fiona whirled about. She squinted through archways and spotted them in the adjacent corridor.
Just as she had feared: Eliot in trouble again.
This was 100 percent weirdness. Why was he pushing his luck and talking to that thing? And why was Jezebel even listening to him?
And yet there they were.
This was typical Eliot: making well-intentioned but stupid friendly overtures. Probably still thought she was related to Julie Marks. He’d be lucky if the Infernal didn’t kill him. But what could Jezebel do to him here out in the open? Challenge him to a duel? Even her brother wasn’t foolish enough to accept an invitation to fight an Infernal.
The worst that might happen is a wounding of her brother’s ego.
But they were still just talking. It felt like a private moment between them, though . . . almost intimate.
Fiona’s face heated. “I guess it’s him,” she told Amanda. “Whatever.”
She turned away and marched toward the gate.
“I thought you wanted to talk about gym . . . ,” Amanda said, running after her.
“Sure—with Robert or Mitch, even Sarah or Jeremy. But I can talk to Eliot anytime. And I’m not going to waste time with Jezebel. Not with a million things to read.”
They crossed the quad, and the sparkling quartz flagstones dazzled her. Fiona veered by the fountain of Poseidon and let the spray cool her face.
“You never said why you’re here,” Amanda said. “You and Eliot, your Uncle Henry . . . you’re not part of any of the magical families we’re studying.” She continued with difficulty, forcing the words out: “But you’re not normal, either, are you?”
Fiona glanced at the fountain and the marble face of the dead god who had the same high forehead as her mother and her. “Not exactly,” she told Amanda. “It’s complicated.”
“So what isn’t?” Amanda said, and retreated behind her disheveled hair.
Maybe it was time to open up—not break any League rules, of course, but just share stories about families. It’d be a breath of fresh air to talk to someone other than her brother.
“Let’s grab something to drink at the café,” Fiona said. “We can talk.”
Amanda tilted her head up. “Really?”
“Sure. Iced Thai coffees. My treat.”
Eliot could waste his time with the Infernal all day if he wanted to—and he could figure out the reading assignment on his own, too.
Fiona turned. She felt a cold sensation at her back, like the shadows behind them had somehow darkened. She resisted the urge