All That Lives Must Die

If Jeremy wanted his resume on fighting, he could tell him about the ten thousand rats he and Fiona had faced in the sewers, or Perry Millhouse, or an entire air force base, or the Infernal Lord of All That Flies.

Fiona and Amanda stepped out of the girls’ locker room, and seeing those two halted Eliot’s thoughts.

Amanda wore a stunned expression. Her hair was wet as if she’d just taken a shower. But before gym class?

Eliot caught Fiona’s eyes and she gave a shake of her head. Something had happened, but she couldn’t tell him-not now.

He met Fiona halfway and said, “We’re trying to figure out a strategy. Jeremy wants to pick a Captain first. It’s so stupid.”

“He’s so stupid,” Fiona said. She turned to Amanda. “Can you do this? Maybe you better sit it out.”

“No.” A spark of life returned to Amanda’s dark eyes. “I’m okay.”

Fiona stalked over to the rest of their team. She was mad, at whom Eliot didn’t know, but he felt the anger coming off his sister in waves.

“Ah, Fiona, me darling,” Jeremy said, “we be ready to vote for a Captain. I know I can count on your support.”

“You don’t have a Team Captain yet?” one of the girls from White Knight said. She was tall, tan, and stood with her hands on her hips-and she had obviously been eavesdropping. “What a bunch of losers.”

“Mind your own business, Tamara,” Sarah told her. “We’ll see who’ll be losing soon enough.”

“What do you expect?” one of the White Knight boys with a shaven head remarked. “They have an Infernal on their team. They’ve got to be disorganized.”

Jezebel turned to see who had said this, but her expression didn’t change, nor did she say a thing.

Somehow this scared Eliot more than if she had threatened him with hellfire.

“Hey!” Robert yelled back. “You’re going to sound pretty funny with a mouthful of fist, buddy.”

“Bring it,” the boy said, taking a step forward.

Mitch set a hand on Robert’s arm. “Save it for class,” he advised.

The air stilled and Eliot felt something. Felt, however, wasn’t quiet right, because this was just an itch below his threshold of conscious detection. . a whispered warning that danger was near.

He, Fiona, and Jezebel turned.

A man walked onto the field. He held a clipboard and stopwatch. He wore black sweats with the Paxington crest. He moved with strength, confidence, and grace. He was darkly tanned and trim and very old. Deep laugh lines and wrinkles made a spiderweb of his face. His hair was white, thick, and gathered into a long tail.

Eliot felt the weight of the Ages on this old man. As if he’d seen everything and that nothing Eliot could do would ever impress him.

“I am Mr. Benjamin Ma,” the old man said. “You shall call me Mr. Ma or simply Coach.” He didn’t speak loud, but his voice was commanding. “I shall review the rules. Team Scarab and White Knight will then mount the course for their first match of the year.”

A lump of ice materialized in Eliot’s stomach. A match on their first day? He’d expected a warm-up.

“That’s not fair,” Mitch told Mr. Ma. “No one told us. We’re not ready.”

Some of the students on Team White Knight snickered.

Mr. Ma looked Mitch over, and then replied, “That is too bad, young man. In life we often find ourselves unprepared. How you perform in such circumstances is the only true test of one’s abilities.”

Mitch looked like he wanted to protest more, but he only nodded.

“Rule one,” Mr. Ma told both groups. “Half of your team members must get to their flag to win. These four must be moving under their own power.”

He nodded at the jungle gym. On the very top, two flags unfurled and fluttered, one with a golden scarab, the other with the helmet and lance of White Knight.

They were at least forty feet off the ground.

“Rule two,” Mr. Ma said. “You have ten minutes to reach your flag. If neither team gets four members to their flag, then both teams record a loss. If both teams get four across, then the team with the lowest time wins.”

Eliot knew that winning meant more than just bragging rights. The lowest-ranked teams were cut, and didn’t go on to their sophomore year.

“Rule three,” Mr. Ma continued. “You may use any means to cross the course. You may use any means to prevent your opponents from doing the same. Magic is allowed, but no weapons, specifically no guns, no blades, and no explosives.” His black eyes bored into them. “If I find such contraband, I shall use it on the offender.”

Eliot was sure he wasn’t kidding.

“Questions?” Mr. Ma asked.

“I have a question, sir,” Eliot said. He shifted his backpack and unzipped it.

He was the only student who’d brought a pack. He’d had to. At first he’d left Lady Dawn in his locker, but that felt wrong, and when he tried to walk away, his hand burned with pain and the old line of infection reappeared up to his elbow.

Eliot pulled out the battered violin case and opened it for Mr. Ma. “Is this a weapon?”

Jeremy and Sarah rolled their eyes.

The people on Team Knight laughed. “Going to play ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’?” one of them asked.

Mr. Ma reached to touch the wood grain, but hesitated.

“Powerful.” He assessed Eliot with a look that made him feel like all his secrets were being turned inside out. “But not a weapon, technically, in my class, Mr. Post. She is approved.”

The chuckles from the White Knights died.

Eliot took Lady Dawn out. That Queen of Spades playing card was tucked inside the case. He’d put his father’s gift there for safekeeping.

He retrieved it and scanned the notes written on it. “The March of the Suicide Queen,” Louis had called it.

Eliot hadn’t had a chance to play it yet, but the song nonetheless came unbidden to his mind: a fanfare of horns, a swell of strings, and bass kettledrums. It was a military march. He imagined troops gathered upon a field of battle, soldiers with bayoneted rifles and horse-drawn cannon.

He unthinkingly plucked Lady Dawn’s strings.

The Ludus Magnus and the rest of the world fell away, and Eliot was alone in the darkness of his imagination, a single spot light illuminating him. A choir of baritone men joined, singing:

Off we go and march to war

sing our song to bloody chore

shoot and stab and rend and kill

Live to march o’er one more hill

Eliot stilled the strings, and the world came back into focus.

The gym structure swayed to the march’s rhythm, and then the entire thing leaned toward him as if it wanted him to play more.

Eliot wouldn’t, though. That song was too dark. It was about war and killing. . and while he was certain it could help Team Scarab, it’d be like using artillery at a game of darts.

Everyone stood speechless, staring at him.

The White Knight boy with the shaven head whispered to his teammates, and they nodded-all of them watching Eliot like he was the most dangerous thing they’d ever seen.

Eliot had a bad feeling about that.

Jezebel had held out one hand to Eliot. She retracted the gesture, curling her fingers inward to her chest, and she quickly looked away-but not before Eliot saw her eyes. They were now blue, the color of clear water. Like Julie Marks’s had been.

“Team Knight and Team Scarab, ready yourselves,” Mr. Ma said. He took out his stopwatch. “Get set. Go!”