All That Lives Must Die

“The implications are chilling,” Gilbert whispered.

Aaron scoffed. “A coincidence,” he said, “that this happened on the footsteps of some Catholic church. Nothing more.”

Gilbert raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Let us not waste our time with such superstitions, gentlemen. What of Fiona? Where is her heart on these matters?”

“That’s the rub,” Henry said. “Fiona has strong convictions and is not easily swayed. She is balanced among numerous forces. . and suitors. Even I would not dare predict the mind of a lady in such a situation.”

“Then we still have time to take action.” Aaron stood halfway, remembered where he was, and stopped before he bumped his head. He looked like a caged animal. “We must convince her.”

“In point of fact,” Henry replied, “we are out of time.”

“The Infernals?” Gilbert asked.

“Indeed,” Henry said. “My contact at Paxington has informed me that a letter has been sent. The Fallen Ones make their move for the children. . today.”

“You tell us this now?” Aaron said, his eyes widening. “We must do something!”

Henry could practically feel his cousin’s pounding pulse within the tiny bubble. “No-it is precisely why we cannot take action,” he said. “We are bound by the Pax Pactum Immortalus.”

Aaron loosed an explosive sigh. He grabbed the sake he had set aside and drank it.

They were silent a long moment. Henry sensed the crush of the endless sea around them and found it oddly comforting.

How he missed his uncle. Were Poseidon’s ashes scattered in these very waters? What would he say to all this? Madness? Folly? Or perhaps The game is on?

“Your Paxington contact,” Gilbert finally whispered. “Did they give you any specifics on the Infernals’ plans?”

“The school is neutral, which makes them the most elusive, and perhaps the most dangerous, players upon the board.” Henry’s hand felt his throat (a silly instinctive reaction). “And the cost to extract even this morsel of data,” he murmured, “. . I must not push.”

Gilbert nodded. His lips pressed together into a single grim line. “And Dallas,” he asked, “can she be made to see our side of things? Help us?”

Henry flipped his hand dramatically. “Her loyalty flits and dances hither and yon.” He cocked his head. “I don’t know where she will land, but we dare not underestimate her. When she awakens, she may be our greatest asset to play. . or our fiercest opponent.”

Aaron shook his head. “I will not stand against Dallas, I–I cannot, if it comes to that.”

“Well,” Henry said, and eyed the sushi. “We need not decide such things today. Try the soft-shell crab. It looks divine.” He plucked up chopsticks and mixed soy sauce and wasabi on a plate shaped like a flounder.

“How can you eat?” Aaron asked, sneering at the fish.

“Really, Henry. Don’t you ever take anything seriously?” Gilbert demanded. “It’s not just our necks on the chopping block if this goes badly. And not just Eliot’s or Fiona’s either. It’s everyone. Everywhere.”

Henry picked up a piece of sushi and toasted Gilbert. “Oh yes, yes, I completely understand the stakes, Cousin. That’s precisely what makes it so much fun!”

64 FIRST TIME IN THE HEADMISTRESS’S OFFICE

Fiona crossed her arms tight over her chest and watched the others pace. Nervous didn’t begin to cover it. When the Headmistress of Paxington called you up to her office. . it wasn’t going to end well.

She and Eliot and Robert were probably here to get expelled for what they did in Costa Esmeralda. That was fine. Fiona had done the right thing saving those people. Miss Westin could kick her out of school if that’s what she wanted.

If that were the case, though, why had everyone on Team Scarab been called here?

“Here” was the waiting room outside Miss Westin’s office. It was on the thirteenth floor of the Clock Tower attached to the Southern Wing of the House of Wisdom. The tower was a twin to London’s Big Ben (except the roof of Paxington’s tower was polished copper and gold filigree).[58]

This tower looked all the more startling because Fiona hadn’t even seen it until this morning-not to mention the entire Southern Wing of the library. Where had that come from?

Like the smaller coliseum where she had her Force of Arms class and the helipad north of that. . this was more of the Paxington campus that had just appeared as if it was kept hidden from freshmen. How much more of this place was there?

She gazed out the wall of windows. The school was laid out for her in miniature. The quartz paving stones in the main quad glittered like a jewel box. The Poseidon fountain was a blur of white spray, and a spiderweb of paths wound through the Grove Primeval toward Bristlecone Hall and other places that vanished deeper in the forest, and then there was the Main Gate.

Fiona squinted and swore she saw Mr. Dells standing there, looking back at her.

Blanketing the rest of the campus was thick, roiling fog.

As much as Fiona loved a good puzzle, she’d have to figure this one out later. There were more pressing problems today. She turned back to her teammates.

Apart from the large window, the other three walls of the waiting room were covered in cream-colored wallpaper with red pinstripes-perfectly aligned with the black-and-white checkerboard floor. The effect of pattern and reflection and geometry made her dizzy.

Jeremy and Sarah Covington stood together in the far corner, whispering, looking at her and then Eliot- probably, as usual, blaming her for this.

Amanda was by herself in the other corner, hovering near a standing bronze ashtray that smoldered with old cigars. She just stared off into the distance like she’d been hit over the head. Fiona was torn between going over there and asking what was wrong, and shaking her to snap her out of it.

Along the opposite wall were three red couches. Eliot and Robert sat there, far apart.

Eliot had his guitar in his lap. He looked at Fiona and shrugged apologetically. . as if he had anything to be sorry for. It irked her that she’d needed saving in Costa Esmeralda, but she was grateful.

Fiona shrugged back. The Covingtons were probably right: If this trouble today was anyone’s fault, it probably was hers.

Robert reclined and looked obnoxiously comfortable. She bet he’d love to get kicked out of Paxington.

Jezebel, of course, was still missing.

And Mitch hadn’t shown up all week, either.

She sighed. This day had started out as normal as it could after yesterday.

She’d gotten stitched up last night and had her punctured lung fixed by Paxington medics. They’d told her that she healed at miraculous rate, owing to her genetics, and she’d be as good as new by morning.

A lot they knew: It hurt even to breathe, and every bone ached.

Of course, Audrey had insisted that if Fiona could stand, she walk to school. She wasn’t even allowed to take the bus.

Their mother seemed impossibly distant. As if now that Eliot and she knew about their heritage, they were supposed to take care of themselves like they’d been part of the League all their lives.

Or maybe the distance Fiona felt from her mother was her own fault. She didn’t bother to tell her about Costa Esmeralda. Uncle Henry and the others let her know. And why even try to win Audrey’s approval? Might as well try to catch a breeze with her bare hand.

At least Eliot was his usual mopey self this morning. She tried to thank him for yesterday, but he’d told her that it “hurt too much to talk.” She hadn’t seen any cuts or bruises on him. It had to be Jezebel still depressing him. When was he going to get over her?

She didn’t try to cheer him up with some vocabulary insult, either. Why waste calling someone a “monoicious