through the side of her head. Most intriguing, though, there were tiny lines and dots scribbled upon it.
Notes. Musical notes.
“ ‘The March of the Suicide Queen,’ ” Louis told him. “It’s an old song that you may find useful.”
Eliot touched the notes, and heard them whisper their tune to him.
He tucked the card into his pocket for a closer look later. He wanted to thank Louis, but then remembered that the other songs he’d gotten from his father had led to death and destruction.
He kept his mouth shut and simply nodded.
“And for you, Fiona. .” Louis smoothed a silver bracelet over the tablecloth. Its slender twisted links reminded Eliot of a snake. “This was made from the last bit of metal that fell from the sky millennia ago. Archon iron.”[20]
Fiona picked up the bracelet and examined it. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you!” She frowned. “Is it
“The price of antiquity, I am afraid,” Louis assured her.
Their father bowed, clasped Eliot’s shoulder once more, and gently patted Fiona’s hand. “We will meet again soon, I hope. Now you must pardon your poor misremembering father, but he has other business to attend to.”
And with that, Louis plucked up his jacket, strode out of the cafe, turned onto the main street, and was gone.
Fiona gazed at the chain. “We need to think about what he said. . everything.”
“So maybe Louis isn’t all bad?” Eliot asked her.
She looped the bracelet around her wrist and did the clasp. “Maybe,” Fiona said.
Was it possible this was the beginning of a real relationship with their father? So what if he was an Infernal? Maybe even a man who was supposed to be living, breathing evil could still care for his son.
Eliot and Fiona got up to leave. They miraculously still had plenty of time to get to class.
As they started to go, however, the waiter followed them, clearing his throat. In his hand was the bill that had been left untouched on the table.
Fiona’s face darkened, and Eliot took back all the nice things he had thought about Louis.
He’d stiffed them for breakfast.
Fiona was mortified. Nothing like this ever happened in homeschooling. She’d never had to undress in front of other people.
She was grateful she hadn’t worn her gym shorts and T-shirt
The Paxington girls’ locker room had only the illusion of privacy. There were rows of benches and lockers so you couldn’t see
Fiona didn’t think she could blush any harder as she struggled with the buttons on her shirt.
Maybe it was a lifetime of eating Cee’s home cooking, maybe it was her severed appetite, but she felt so skinny, so. . unendowed, compared with the other girls.
Plus all these other girls had perfect manes of hair. Fiona’s hair (thanks to the foggy morning) was all frizz.
Not to mention they all wore makeup. They had purses bulging with lipstick and powders, liners and every brush imaginable.
Fiona had used Cee’s homemade soap, which efficiently removed dirt (and your first layer of skin), but didn’t really enhance anyone’s beauty.
Fortunately no one noticed her.
She looked at her feet and focused on slipping out of her skirt and into her gym shorts as fast as she could.
Fiona would have done it with her eyes closed if she wasn’t afraid she might have done something dorky like put them on backwards.
She’d never look like these girls. They’d had fifteen years to perfect their looks. They had every modern product and advantage.
She’d just have to be happy with who she was and how she looked. . though that was easier said than done. Who was she, really? Immortal? A goddess-in-training with the League of Immortals? Or an Infernal? The daughter of the Prince of Darkness?
Both?
But then why did she still look like Fiona Post, shut-in, social and beauty moron?
Louis showing up this morning had thrown her off. She hadn’t expected to feel anything for him. . or if she had, she expected it would have been contempt. He still sounded half crazy, but there was something else there: a spark of wit and intelligence.
He was her father, and she
Jezebel sauntered into the locker room. The girls fell silent.
The Infernal stepped up to the locker next to Fiona’s, opened it, and removed her jacket.
Fiona started to say hi, but Jezebel (although she had to see her; she was standing right there) acted like she was completely alone in the locker room.
Jezebel shrugged out of her top and bra.
Fiona quickly turned away.
But not before she caught a glimpse of Jezebel’s snow-white porcelain skin, ample curves, and taut stomach. Like pictures Fiona had seen recently in her mythology books-that’s how goddesses were
A girl approached Jezebel and cleared her throat.
Jezebel ignored her.
The girl was tall, tan, blond, and athletic. Fiona remembered her from team selection. She was on White Knight.
“Hey.” The girl confidently leaned on a nearby locker. “I’m Tamara. A bunch of us were going to grab coffee after class today. You want to hang out?”
“I don’t care who you are,” Jezebel told her. “What makes you think that I have need for coffee. . or the company of mortals?”
Tamara’s features bunched together in outrage. “Why, you little bit-!”
Jezebel turned.
The air was charged with tension. The hair on the back of Fiona’s neck prickled.
Jezebel’s shadow crossed Tamara, darkening her face.
But that was wrong. Fiona checked her own shadow-yes, the overhead lights cast several weak shadows in various directions. Jezebel’s shadow somehow defied the optics of the situation, and had collected into a single slice of dark.
Whatever Tamara was going to say, she didn’t. The breath seemed to have evaporated from her lungs.
“You will find that I have no tolerance for trifling,” Jezebel said. “Decide now if you wish to live.”
Tamara took two steps back. “Never mind,” she whispered.
Jezebel’s shadow returned to normal.
Fiona exhaled.
Tamara managed to regain a bit of her composure, although her healthy tan seemed to have drained away. “Whatever. .” She walked off-banging her shin on a bench.
Jezebel gave a stifled laugh, then opened her locker and primped the curls of her hair (although it didn’t need it), and then continued ignoring the rest of the world.
