All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [92]
Tamara’s face contorted into a scowl as she got onto the bus.
The slightest smile appeared on Jezebel’s lip, and she told Jeremy, “I am so glad you are on our side.”
Fiona wished the freshman teams weren’t kept so isolated. Surely they could all learn better together.
Why make everything so competitive?
Or was there a reason? What if the mortal magical families were just as aggressive outside school? Then it made sense that Paxington had to prepare its students not only for magic—but also for cutthroat business and political realities.
It all seemed endlessly Machiavellian.
She sighed and made a mental note, however, to find out more on this Team Wolf.
Mr. Ma and Miss Westin spoke in hushed tones. The two teachers couldn’t look more different.
The Headmistress had on a black dress with a lacy collar. She wore a hat with mesh across her face, held a tiny black parasol, and had donned dark sunglasses.
Mr. Ma wore slacks and a polo shirt, and looked like he had spent his entire life playing golf, with dark golden skin and a picture-perfect physique (even at his advanced age).
Eliot sidled next to her. “Hey,” he whispered.
“You hear what this is about?”
He shook his head.
Fiona was relieved that Eliot wasn’t holding a grudge for this morning. Something had felt a little “off” between them for the last couple of days—actually since their first gym match. This morning hadn’t helped matters.
Fiona had had to try on all six uniforms that Aunt Dallas couriered over. Each fit, but had been designed for a different look . . . some scandalous, with how short the skirt had been raised and the jacket engineered to push up her chest. She settled on a “normal” uniform that simply fit. It was a huge improvement over her too-small uniform, and gave her an enormous confidence boost. She hadn’t realized how little she’d been able to breathe.
Also, she got a bit distracted with all the other clothes that Dallas had sent: dresses and new jeans and twenty pairs of shoes (none of which Fiona seemed to be able to balance in).
It’d been fun to look at them, even try a few on, but it all reminded her how trivial her aunt could be.
Weren’t Immortals supposed to do heroic, important things? Why was Aunt Dallas wasting time and money on that stuff?
“About me being late this morning,” she murmured to Eliot. “Won’t happen again.”
“It’s cool,” he whispered back.
He sounded like he meant it, too. No quips. No vocabulary insults.
“We have a special All Hallow’s Eve treat for you,” Miss Westin said to them. She tilted her parasol so her pale face revealed itself. “Today we conjure the dead.”
Fiona shivered.
“Not a literal summoning of the deceased,” Mr. Ma added. “But a recreation of memories. We shall watch the last great battle between the Infernals and a collection of Immortals that would precipitate the founding of the League of Immortals—circa 336 C.E.”
Fiona’s heart jumped. They were actually going to see Immortals fighting?
Robert raised his hand and asked, “It’s like a movie, then?”
“No.” Miss Westin pointed to the hill behind her. “We have transported stones from the ancient battlefield. They remember all that occurred, and on All Hallow’s Eve, we can coax them to share their recollections.” She nodded to Mr. Ma.
“Let us talk as we walk,” Mr. Ma said, and strode up the hill along a faint path.
Grasshoppers took to the air and whined about him.
Fiona and the others fell in behind him.
Mr. Ma explained, “The stones are said to be ancient beings, petrified and set to guard some priceless treasure—or some unspeakable horror—from ages long past. Or maybe they are just stones, who can say?”
She squinted. There were yellow rocks on the hilltop, nothing extraordinary like the monolithic Easter Island carvings, although some were the size of a car, and a few did stand upright.
“We will stand in the center to start,” Mr. Ma said. “Then I shall awaken our friends, and the battle will occur on the far side of this hill. We shall watch and not interfere.”
They