Jeremy stopped before her and Eliot, and bowed so his long blond hair cascaded off his shoulders.
“Dearest Fiona,” he said. “Never in a million years did I expect to see you again. I so wanted to thank you for saving me from my long imprisonment.”
Eliot nudged her and shot her a look that said,
“Jeremy, this is my brother, Eliot.”
Eliot offered his hand for Jeremy to shake.
Jeremy clasped it and squeezed. Eliot winced.
“Damn my manners,” Jeremy said. “I am Lord Jeremy of the Clan Covington.” He gestured to the redheaded girl next to him. “This lass is my cousin Sarah.” He spared a glance at the students around him, as though considering whether to introduce them as well, but then shrugged as if they were inconsequential.
Sarah’s long hair, elegantly tied up, was the color of tangerines. She had dimpled cheeks, freckled skin, and Fiona could see the effect she had on the boys.
“Post. .,” Sarah said. “I’m not familiar with your family’s name. Were you sponsored into Paxington?”
This sounded like an innocent question on the surface, but Fiona sensed a hint of condescension underneath.
“No one sponsored us,” Fiona said. She changed subjects to avoid the League and its code of silence. “I don’t understand something,” she said to Jeremy. “You were in Purgatory. There are only supposed to be dead people there. How can you be here. . alive?”
Jeremy laughed. “No, my dear Fiona. Not dead. Never dead. It would take more than a trifling thing like Purgatory to stop a Covington.”
Eliot took a step back from Jeremy and Sarah Covington. They were smiling, but he got the feeling it wasn’t because they liked him. More like they were making a joke.
Fiona was no help. She wasn’t paying attention to them; instead, she scanned the other students.
“You see,” Jeremy said, continuing with his story, “the year was 1853, and I was chasing a leprechaun.”
“What’s a leprechaun?” Eliot asked.
Jeremy’s and Sarah’s smiles faltered, and the students around them gave Eliot a weird look, like he’d just asked what oxygen was.
Then Jeremy grinned again. “So true! Who really knows what they be, eh? Pots of gold and three wishes- balderdash, I entirely agree. That’s what I set out to prove: The Fey be not the living legends all claim.”
Eliot nodded, realizing this was something he ought to have known.
“So the thing led me on a merry chase through every swamp and graveyard in Scotland,” Jeremy said. “Thought she could lose me with a romp through the Middle Realms, but I followed her right to the bloody center of Purgatory. . where I got a bit distracted.”
“You got trapped in the Valley of the New Year,” Fiona said, her attention returning to the conversation.
“Why, yes, dearest Fiona,” Jeremy replied. “Then you came along and found the doorway out of that wretched place. Rescued me, body and soul.”
Sarah’s heart-shaped face brightened, and she reassessed Fiona. “So this is the girl who brought you back? The Clan Covington is in your debt, miss.”
Fiona fiddled with her hair. “It was nothing, really.”
“Wait. .,” Eliot said. “You were trapped for over a hundred and fifty years?”
“Aye.” Jeremy shrugged. “You might say I’m starting my freshman year at Paxington a tad delayed.”
The Headmistress returned. A dozen older students entered with her, and some moved to the windows, drawing long black curtains, while others turned up the gas lamps on the opposite wall.
Miss Westin removed her glasses. She looked different in gaslight: younger, more animated, and vital. A faint smile crossed her pale lips.
“Team selection is starting,” Sarah said, and touched Jeremy’s arm.
“Aye.” Jeremy tensed and cast a quick glance at Fiona and Eliot.
Eliot didn’t like the sound of this “team” stuff. He wasn’t good in groups.
Miss Westin cleared her throat, and everyone in the room was quiet. “Freshman team selection,” she said, “is a tradition that dates to the foundation of this school.[7]
“It tests your skills of diplomacy and strategic thinking. I advise you to combine disparate elements to make something greater than the sum of its parts.” Every trace of warmth and color drained from Miss Westin’s expression. “This should
She motioned to the side door, and more upperclassman entered, carrying claw-footed tables. They set them at the head of the room. On each table were silver trays containing gold coins.
Miss Westin gestured to each tray and said, “Knight. . Wolf. . Dragon. . Hand. . Eagle. . and Scarab-in their various incarnations. These will be the symbols about which you must unite with seven other students.”
Eliot glanced at the Paxington crest on his jacket. Those same symbols hovered over his heart, part of the school’s history.
He looked at Fiona. She shrugged, looking as awkward and uncomfortable as he felt-like they were two guppies in a tank of piranhas.
Jeremy swaggered up to a table. “I, Jeremy Covington, of the Clan Covington, Keeper of the Keys of the Three Stones, hereby claim Scarab as mine.” He plucked up one of the coins and showed it to everyone. Upon it gleamed a golden scarab like something lifted off an Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb.
Eliot whispered to Fiona, “Are we supposed to go up there and take one of those things?”
Before she could answer, a tall pale boy strode to a different table. “I, Donald of the Family Van Wyck, claim Wolf as my standard.”
Sarah Covington moved to Jeremy’s side and proudly took a scarab token.
And then another two girls and three more boys moved forward to various tables.
“Logan from the Kaleb brood takes Green Dragon.”
“I, Xavier of the DeBoars, claim the Open Hand.”
“The Family Pern is Soaring Eagle and challenges all who say otherwise!”
The room erupted into chaos as almost every other student moved for the tables-talking and arguing and snatching up tokens.
Eliot spied that blond girl he had seen before. There was just a flash of her face, and she vanished into the crowds. She
Then he spotted another girl with long uncombed brown hair. She looked familiar, too. Maybe that was the girl Fiona had mentioned.
The girl caught Eliot’s gaze and quickly looked away.
“Eliot!” some boy called out.
Eliot spun about, trying to locate the voice, but with all the students pushing and embroiled in heated discussions, Eliot couldn’t find him.
He was disoriented and completely out of his depth. “This is some sort of test, too,” he said to Fiona. “Part of the placement exam.”
“I get that,” Fiona replied. She wasn’t looking at him.
Eliot followed her gaze and spotted a boy who approached Jeremy and Sarah. He had a tousle of curly brown hair, an easy smile, and looked totally relaxed here. He bowed to Sarah and struck up a conversation with the Covingtons.
“Let’s see how it’s done,” Eliot suggested.
But Fiona had already started to move toward them.
The boy told Jeremy, “I was unaware the Covington clan claimed Scarab.”
“Goes all the way back to the Freemasons,” Jeremy explained, his voice a mixture of insult and amazement that someone would question his claim. He looked the other boy over. “Be that the challenge, Mr.-?”
