All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [80]
Mr. Harlan Dells stood there. The large man wore a suit that matched his blond beard and hair. He smiled at her and Amanda.
“Miss Post . . . Miss Lane, I hope you girls are doing well with your studies. Not letting too many boys distract you?”
Amanda convulsed with what might have been a silent giggle.
Fiona felt like he’d stabbed her in the heart, and her lifeblood pumped out there in front of the iron gates, spattering over the cobblestones. She thought about Robert. Deep inside, she wanted to be with him . . . but not if it got him into trouble . . . or killed.
“No,” she told him, “no boys. Just books.”
He looked into her eyes and said, “That is for the best. Trust me.”
“Yes, sir.”
She took a little step toward the gate, but Mr. Dells didn’t open it.
“One more thing, Miss Post.” His voice deepened. Fiona sensed a weight settle about his person like he could’ve halted her and Amanda and an entire army with one upraised hand. “Please tell your family not to block my driveway again. There is a fire code, and I will have them towed.”
Fiona glanced around his massive bulk.
A sleek black ultra-modern Mercedes limousine sat in the alleyway. It looked like one of Uncle Henry’s.
“Pass along my deepest and warmest regards to your relation,” Mr. Dells told her.
“Sure,” Fiona said.
He flicked a switch and the gate rolled back.
Fiona ran to the limo.
The driver’s door opened and a man in a black jacket and cap climbed out. It was the same uniform Robert had worn when he’d been Uncle Henry’s Driver. But this man wasn’t Robert. He was old and wrinkled. He bowed to Fiona and opened the back door for her.
“Thank you,” she said. She leaned into the back section. “Uncle Hen—”
Inside, Fiona saw slender toes slipped from a high-heel sandal, attached to a shapely tanned calf, and a leg and a black skirt. A smile and dimples flashed from the shadows, and a tousle of honey blond hair shook free. A woman grinned at her.
“Aunt Dallas?”
“I hope you weren’t expecting someone else,” Dallas said. “I have a surprise for you this afternoon.” She tilted her head and looked out the window. “And your friend, too. If you’re game.”
23. Painted by Pablo Picasso in the fall of 1921, the arch was acquired by the Paxington Institute for an undisclosed amount in a 1940 auction (just before the Nazi occupation of Paris, where the arch originally resided). The arch is unusual in that it incorporates classical Renaissance elements—only deconstructed. Art historians cite as the piece’s major influence Picasso’s marriage to ballerina Olga Khokhlova, who introduced him to the high society of 1920s Paris (at odds with Picasso’s core bohemian aesthetic). Close friends cite Picasso calling this piece a “mistaken dream” that was destined to be destroyed by evil. –Editor.
24. The Dreaming Families exist on Earth and in a middle realm known as Meriden, or the “dreaming lands.” Every night when they sleep, they enter that world, and when they sleep there, they dream of Earth. This dual existence is said to be the reason for their unusual dual magic. Some speculate that never truly sleeping affects their mental stability. Gods of the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 14, The Mortal Magical Families. Zypheron Press Ltd., Eighth Edition.
22
A PROBLEM NEVER MEANT TO BE SOLVED
Eliot watched Jezebel tromp down the corridor. The students who had gathered to watch them fight moved on as well.
He had to find Fiona and tell her everything. They were smarter together. They could figure out what Jezebel, Infernal protégée, once Julie Marks, was doing here at Paxington.
He backtracked to the lecture hall and spotted familiar faces from class, but no Fiona. Maybe she had gone to the library. He turned and marched toward the Hall of Wisdom.
He thought about calling her, but remembered the “no cell phone” rule in the library. The staff confiscated them if they rang, and he wasn’t sure Fiona would have turned hers off.
There were so many little things like their