All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [9]
“Oh, I see,” Cecilia said, now ignoring the game. “Miss Westin and Paxington are vastly reformed since the old days, eh? Did you know that seventeen children were so severely injured last year that they could not continue? That there were five fatalities?”
“Of course,” Audrey replied. “I believe that’s the point.”
Cecilia sipped her tea. “That is not the only danger. The students, they are from the families, ours, theirs, all the other great ones, mortal and immortal—the social elite and privileged few.” She huffed. “Do you know what they will do to our poor little lambs?”
“They will devour them,” Audrey told her, “if Eliot and Fiona fail to grow.”
Cecilia glowered at Audrey. Without looking at the board, she moved another cube onto the second tier.
Audrey raised an eyebrow. Interesting. In three moves, Cecilia would capture the entire second ring. The old witch apparently had some spark left to her.
“You think me a monster,” Audrey replied. “But you’ve forgotten the real monsters in our world: horrors with bat wings and serpent tongues, nightmares made real.” She cocked her head, hearing the heartbeat and breath she’d been waiting for all morning. “Especially the monsters with sharp smiles and large ears ‘the better to hear with.’ ”
Audrey turned to face the stairwell. “Come in, Old Wolf. The door is open to you.”
Beneath them came the sound of the door’s locks clicking open, the knob turning, and whisper-silent footfalls.
Faint gray shadows crisscrossed the spiral of stairs as a figure came up.
His smile was the first thing she saw, like some hybrid Cheshire cat and great white shark making a grand entrance. Henry Mimes gave her a short bow and then gave one to Cecilia as well. He was dressed for walking today: gray slacks, sensible sneakers, a black turtleneck, and a baseball cap that framed his silver hair.
Dangerously handsome and dangerously deceptive.
And yet . . . Audrey could not help but smile back at the fool, if only a little.
“What do you want, Henry?” Audrey said. “Your visits are never merely to exchange pleasantries.”
“It could be that way . . . if you desired, my Queen of Swords.” Henry looked about the room. “How quaint. I see you still have my grandfather clock in good repair.” His gaze caught the picture window and its view of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. “A lovely location. I approve.”
Cecilia, stone-faced, poured a cup of tea for Henry and offered it to him.
He smiled, accepted her gift . . . but paused as the vapors reached his nose. “Thank you, dear witch of the Isle Eea.” He set the cup back on the table. “I think we’ll pass on your poison this morning.”
Cecilia wisely said nothing.
“You’re in an unusually good mood,” Audrey said.
“Am I not always?” His attention drifted to the game of Towers. “But you’re right, today is special: my favorite nephew and niece’s first day of high school. So many plots and devices afoot. It makes for a delectable mix.”
“So many words,” Cecilia hissed, “and yet he says so little.”
Henry’s smile cooled a few degrees, but his gaze did not lift from the board. “You know, old woman, that you can win in six turns? Here.” He reached over and slid two cubes at once to flank Audrey’s collapsed tower.
“That’s not a legitimate move,” Cecilia told him.
“It is,” Henry said. “Just one that you, in your too-long years, have failed to learn. Or perhaps senility has settled upon your once-keen mind?”
Audrey saw that her captured pieces could be used to build additional Towers on Cecilia’s side in three moves—and her own border defenses after that would be insufficient. While she could still get to the center, Henry’s new strategy had her losing her entire backcourt . . . and then the game.
She locked eyes with him. There was no more emotion or additional truths, however, behind his sparkling empty eyes.
“One must practice to keep one’s defenses sharpened, no?” he asked.
“The Council?”
“Meeting today,” Henry replied. “They require