He nodded and pulled back a tiny bit. “Well. .” He cleared his throat. “I guess we better hit the books, huh?”
Fiona wasn’t letting him slip away this time.
She grabbed him and pulled him back-her lips met his, and she melted into his arms as he wrapped them about her.
Whatever happened next. . let Robert and the rest of them sort it all out. Let Team Scarab crash and burn and fail, for all she cared.
What she had here and now was everything she wanted.
Eliot followed the map he’d been given by Mr. Dells. “
It was weird-Eliot and Fiona going to different courses-but Eliot couldn’t imagine Fiona in a music class, and there was no way he was signing up for
The map was crudely drawn. The Ludus Magnus was an oval, and the paths around squiggles. The way he was supposed to take was indicated by a stick figure. That path supposedly wandered through the Grove Primeval. . only there wasn’t a path there. He knew, because he’d walked this way a hundred times and never seen it.
And yet, when he approached the spot marked on the map where a willow tree everyone called the Lady in Mourning stood-there it was, another path paved with worn black stones.
That was so typical of Paxington.
There were areas hidden, he guessed, from freshmen, and maybe for good reason. Things probably got rougher for the upperclassmen, which probably would have been lethal for him. That would explain why Eliot only rarely saw older students on campus.
Just how big was this school, anyway?
Eliot walked onto the new path.
The trees grew larger here, oaks with ancient black trunks that twisted upward into the sky.
The forest gave way to lawn with a sculpture of a Dixieland band playing. The path circled about the sculpture, and then descended into an entrance underneath.
Eliot paused a moment to stare at the frozen bronze figures, smiling, with drums and horns-all of them looking like they’d been captured having the time of their lives.
He entered a steep tunnel. Gas lamps flickered along the rock walls, and after twenty paces, Eliot stood before a marble arch three times his height. Set within this arch was a double set of mahogany doors, and upon them carved scenes of a rock concert, a stage magician sawing a girl in half, and acts from Shakespeare’s plays.
Running along the edge of the arch were the following words: MUSES UT RIDEO RISI RISUM, TRIPUDIO, PLORO, INTEREO, QUOD NASCOR DENUO.[49]
Eliot consulted his map. This was the end of the line, literally-with an
He took a deep breath and pushed through the doors.
Beyond was a cavern. In the center sat a platform lit by stagelights and additional spotlights above. Four columns-where stalactite and stalagmite had melded together-stood equidistant about this stage. Also ringing the stage were seats of violet crushed velvet with padded armrests.
A dozen students milled near the stage, whispering to one another. They had instrument cases from piccolo- to tuba-sized.
The acoustics were amazing. Hushed murmurs across the room echoed and bounced and sounded as if Eliot stood right next to the others.
As quietly as he could, he approached the stage. . and felt the first stirrings of butterflies in his gut.
Eliot recognized two students from his Mythology 101 class, but no one he had ever actually ever talked with.
He almost tripped when he spotted Sarah Covington.
Great. All he needed were her snide remarks before his audition.
She’d pulled back her hair into a tight bun, wore none of her usual makeup. . and looked as nervous as Eliot felt. She didn’t have an instrument case, though. So what was she doing here?
She saw him, smiled, and walked over. “I was hoping you’d try out,” she said. “It’s good to see a familiar face.”
Eliot blinked and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder-to see if she spoke to someone behind him. That’s what usually happened. But no. . she stared right at him. Audrey and Cee had drilled years of polite responses into him; otherwise, he’d have floundered.
“Thanks,” he said. “Good to see you here, too.”
And it was. If Sarah Covington of the haughty Clan Covington was here and just as nervous as he was, then maybe it was okay to feel like he was going to throw up.
“I’ve admired your playing,” she whispered, and bit her lower lip. “You’re good. I just wanted to say that before we started.”
Eliot waited for the punch line-
But she said no more, instead turned as the stage lights dimmed and the spotlights brightened.
Eliot and Sarah sank into two adjacent seats.
Why was she being nice after an entire semester of being mean? Girls were so weird.
A curtain rustled stage left, and a flowing silhouette appeared among the shadows. A spotlight snapped on, revealing a deeply tanned woman in a gold dress. She was elegant with diamonds adorning her fingers, wrists, and neck; but wild at the same time, with her dark hair a frenzy of curls. With one graceful step, she was on the stage.
Four more spotlights angled on her, making her sparkle. She smiled at her audience, and it was more dazzling than any gold or diamonds. She had that unassailable confidence that every Immortal had, but more: she had the glamour of a star.
“Welcome, students. I’m Erin DuPree. In my class, you call me Erin or Air, but never teacher or Ms. DuPree or ma’am or any of that other nonsense. There’s too much real stuff going in here to mess with such silly formalities.”
Eliot liked her. He relaxed into his seat.
Next to him, though, Sarah tensed and gripped her armrests.
“I don’t care about your technical skill,” Ms. DuPree told them in a lowered voice. “Oh, that’s the easy part, baby. If you came thinking you’re going to learn to play Mozart better-you go take lessons somewhere else and practice your scales.”
She sat on the stage’s edge, leaned closer to them, and whispered, “We’re going to get what’s inside you out into the world. Make
The spotlights on her focused. “I’m talking about the music in your souls, kids.” She made a fist and held it over her heart.
Eliot sat on the edge of his seat. That’s what he wanted. . but then he remembered the permission slip in his backpack, and his excitement cooled.
It read,
I, (FILL IN COMPLETE NAME), hereby relinquish any claims and responsibilities of the Paxington Institute with respect to the class known as THE POWER OF MUSIC for damages to my psyche, soul, and mental state for
