use the chain. It cut too easily-almost like it wanted blood.
She touched the rubber band on her wrist and shuddered, recalling how she had used it to slice Perry Millhouse in half. That wouldn’t do, either.
Fiona spotted something round and wooden at the bottom of her pack: a yo-yo.
Uncle Aaron had made a gift of it last summer. It was the first weapon she’d ever used in a fight; its string had taught her how to cut.
That
She looped the yo-yo’s string about her middle finger and faced her opponent.
Several students laughed.
Van Wyck looked at her and blinked. “Are you kidding?”
Fiona flicked the yo-yo. It ran down the string and twanged-for a split second she felt the urge to cut run though her and along its taut length. The air pulsed with raw energy.
That shut them all up.
“Try me,” she whispered.
All mirth vanished from Van Wyck’s face. He slashed his rapier back and forth-and attacked.
Van Wyck struck at her.
It was a crude attack; Fiona easily sidestepped. She’d sparred with her uncle Aaron, the supposed God of War, Ares. Van Wyck was no master swordsman.
Almost too quick to follow, however, he angled his rapier up and it plunged straight at her heart.
Her last step had left her flat-footed, off balance.
Fiona twisted awkwardly aside.
The tip of the rapier grazed her jacket, neatly puncturing the heavy wool. Van Wyck ripped it free.
Too close. Fiona wouldn’t underestimate him again.
Sure this was to first blood. . and if his one and only “first blood” wound pierced her heart, it might be okay as far as the rules covering Paxington freshman duels were concerned. . but Fiona would be dead.
A smiled flickered over his face.
He was toying with her. Enjoying this.
Well, Fiona wasn’t about to let him play a lengthy game of cat and mouse.
She flicked out her yo-yo.
The smirk on his face vanished when he saw how fast it came at his head. He parried the wooden disk expertly. . with the precise minimal deflection require so his rapier still pointed at her. This made the yo-yo’s string slide alongside his blade.
As Fiona had hoped.
She yanked the yo-yo. The string caught and wrapped about the blade at the guard.
Fiona focused her mind along the string’s length; it narrowed, almost vanished to a one-dimensional edge that left a wake in the air-as the string cut through the steel blade.
The students around them gasped.
Van Wyck, eyes wide, stared at his lovely weapon. . now a useless stub.
Fiona stepped back three paces and took the opportunity to rewind her yo-yo.
She saw a crowd had gathered.
Van Wyck shook off his surprise, tossed the rapier aside, and raised his hands.
The color faded from the world about him. His fingertips went ghostly, and Fiona glimpsed flickers of his bones as if they were being X-rayed.
Technically, magic was permitted within the Paxington duel guidelines, but Fiona felt a lance of fear stab at her resolve because he was using the magic of the Van Wyck family: necromancy. [32]
Whatever happened, Fiona couldn’t let him touch her. Miss Westin had been explicit on this point when she had lectured on the necromancers: it was simple for them to drain a person’s
They circled each other.
Fiona refocused her thoughts. . not just on the yo-yo’s string. . she became aware of the bumps and slick patches of cobblestones under her feet. . of the air flowing over her sweaty skin. . of her tensing muscles. . of her quickening breath.
Van Wyck feigned right, then left.
Fiona moved in-straight.
His hand grazed her chest.
It was a cold the likes of which she had never experienced-not even the bone-numbing cold of the Valley of the New Year. This chill went beyond physical. It touched her soul. It fired every instinct within her to curl into a ball and shiver. To give up.
But her blood heated, resisting.
She blinked and regained her focus.
Fiona punched him in the jaw. Pain exploded down her hand and arm, and she stumbled back.
So did he.
She hadn’t hit him hard-but hard enough to break his concentration.
Before he recovered, before he could touch her with that awful magic again, she lashed out with her yo- yo.
It whipped forward.
Donald reacted, instinctively reaching to stop it with an outstretched hand.
And did so, catching the string.
Fiona jerked it. The string whipped through two of his fingers-severed them at the knuckles. She felt no resistance as it passed though his flesh and bones. . but something vibrated though the string as it cut away the magic in his hand.
Fiona then swung the yo-yo and looped it about Van Wyck’s neck.
And then she stood stock-still, held her breath. . and they faced each other.
He clutched his wounded hand. Blood streamed from it.
His magic was gone. His eyes were wild.
The crowd of students fell silent.
“That’s first blood,” Fiona whispered. “Now, you leave me and my brother, and my team alone. . or I will end this. Permanently.”
She gave a tiny tug at the string about his neck.
Van Wyck didn’t flinch. Amazingly, he smiled weakly through his pain.
Did he think she wouldn’t go through with it?
Fiona wasn’t sure, either. She had killed before to defend herself and Eliot. This was different, though. Van Wyck was human. And the Paxington rules said she couldn’t go further than first blood.
On the other hand, she had to end this here and now.
Van Wyck didn’t sense her equivocation, or maybe he just wanted to live, because he finally sighed and said, “Very well, Fiona Post. I accept your terms. I pledge a truce between myself and your team.” His faint smile vanished as he clutched his maimed hand tighter. “Until, of course, we meet in gym.”
The students around them jeered and groaned. . a few chanted, “Cut-cut!”
Fiona exhaled and relaxed her grip.
The small boy on Team Wolf grabbed the severed fingers off the ground. Others from Team Wolf wrapped Van Wyck’s hand, and they hurried him away.
As she watched them leave, she wondered if this would really be the end of their conflict.
She hoped so. . but had a nasty feeling the answer was no.
Before she could figure it all out, everyone pressed closer, asking how she’d cut like that-what kind of magic it was-where her family came from-they’d never heard of the Post family before.
