by Eric Nylund
“That’s why you’re sending us to Paxington, right?” Fiona asked. She worked very hard to keep anger from creeping into her voice. She made herself sound polite, quizzical-keeping this discussion on an intellectual level. “I mean, you’re sending us there to learn about our family, their history, and how we’re supposed to fit into this world.”
Audrey blinked. “Yes, Rule Fifty-five is naturally abolished. You must learn everything that has been omitted from your education as quickly as possible.”
Fiona nodded and kept her face an impassive mask, hiding her glee.
Audrey had never lifted a rule. The only changes to the rules for as long as Fiona had lived were additions.
She and Eliot would have to be careful. They couldn’t push. Audrey tended to push back ten times harder when confronted with the slightest force.
As if sensing the precise wrong thing to say, Eliot leaned forward and asked, “So, what about all the other rules?”
Fiona could have killed him.
“We will revisit them on a case-by-case basis.” Audrey took a sip of orange juice. “If necessary.”
“So then, what about Rule Thirty-four?” Eliot said. Both his hands gripped the edge of the dining table.
Fiona gave him a kick-hard.
Eliot flinched, but he didn’t look away from Audrey.
Rule 34 was the “no music” rule.
RULE 34: No music, including the playing of any instruments (actual or improvised), singing, humming, electronically or by any means producing or reproducing a rhythmic melodic form.
Eliot had this stupid fascination with music-and an even greater fascination with the violin their father had given him.
In truth, though, Eliot and his music had done some amazing things. Magical things. Terrible things. But it was unpredictable, and that scared Fiona.
“Your music. .,” Audrey said.
She opened her mouth to say more, but for some reason Audrey hesitated, as if she was actually weighing the issues. Fiona had never seen her perseverate over anything in her life. Audrey always knew her mind-and she never changed it once made.
“We shall lift this rule as well,” Audrey finally said. “Play you must. I sense it is in your blood. But go slowly, Eliot, for you play with fire.”
“Yes, Mother.” Eliot eased back into his seat. “Thank you.”
So he was calling her Mother now? How annoying.
But maybe it was okay as long as he kept his mouth shut about the other rules. Even Eliot had to know better than to push their luck further. Two rules lifted in one day was real progress.
“Ah!” Audrey brightened. “I’d almost forgotten.” She opened her briefcase and retrieved a sheaf of legal-sized pages.
She set the inch-thick stack on the table and pushed it toward Fiona and Eliot.
Fiona grabbed it and pulled it away from her brother.
“The Council sent it this morning,” Audrey told them. “Turn to page six. That is the only relevant piece you need concern yourself with.”
Fiona flipped ahead.
She and Eliot read:
EDICTS GOVERNING NEW LEAGUE MEMBERS
1. New members must not under any circumstance, or by any means, convey, imply, or by means of not providing answers reveal the existence of the League of Immortals to non-League members.
2. With identical limitations as per Provision One, new members must not reveal their nonmortal status to mortals.
3. New members must not discuss the subjects of Provisions One and Two in public, where third parties may clandestinely eavesdrop, lip-read, or record conversations.
4. New members are accountable to these provisions/edicts and subject to penalties provided in Appendix D as sent forth by the Punishment and Enforcement Bureau circa 1878. (continued on the next page. .)
“I hope,” Audrey said, “you two realized how seriously the League takes these matters.” She retrieved the pages, straightened them, and returned them to her briefcase.
“Wait. .,” Fiona said. The words she had read felt like concrete poured around her. . slowly but inexorably solidifying. “So we’re in the League of Immortals, and for the first time special and different-but we can’t tell anyone who we are?”
“Of course you can tell people who you are,” Audrey said. The warmth she had had in her voice earlier evaporated. “You will, naturally, say that you are Fiona and Eliot Post. That should be enough for anyone-including yourselves.”
A spark of resentment fanned to life in Fiona. More lies? That’s what the League was expecting from them?
“Fine,” Fiona muttered. “Whatever.” She stood and turned to her brother. “Come on. We better go.”
Although Fiona now stood while her mother remained sitting, Audrey still managed to make it feel like she was looking down at her.
Fiona hated that imperial look.
So she had finally called her Mother. . at least, in her mind.
But Audrey would never be the kind of mother who showed her how to put makeup on, or helped her pick out clothes, or had that heartfelt talk about the pleasures and perils of boys.
No. Fiona knew exactly what kind of mother Audrey was: the kind she read about in Shakespeare’s plays-mothers who plotted and schemed and murdered and then compulsively washed their hands.
“Sit, young lady,” Audrey told her. “We are not done.”
The spark of resentment in Fiona chilled. She obediently sank into her seat.
“You are correct,” Audrey told them. “There is a need to start school with all due haste, but you also need these materials if you are to have any chance of success. . success, I might add, which the League considers mandatory.”
Fiona shot Eliot a look. He shrugged, and his forehead wrinkled at this new development.
If they didn’t do well at school, the Immortals would do what? Kick them out of the League? Something worse? Maybe. The League considered passing and failing tests a life-or-death matter. If they’d failed its three heroic trials, the League would have killed her and Eliot.
But come on-they were in the League now, considered an official part of the family. They didn’t have to constantly prove themselves. Did they?
Audrey withdrew a blue envelope from her briefcase and slid it to them.
The envelope had a bar code sticker and a bewildering collection of stamps from Greece, Italy, Russia, places Fiona did not recognize, and finally the United States. It was addressed to “Master Eliot Zachariah Post and the Lady Fiona Paige Post” at their new San Francisco address.
And it had been opened.
As if her mother anticipated Fiona’s objections, she said, “I filled out all the forms to save time. There is a list of rules and regulations, which you may read after the entrance and placement exams today.” Audrey pinned the envelope with a stare. “Most important, however, there is a map-which you require immediately.”
Fiona pulled out the first page.
The impressive Paxington Institute crest-a heraldic device with shield, helmet, and sword; a sleeping dragon; snarling wolf head; winged chevron; and gold scarab-dominated the scrollwork of a letterhead. Fiona’s eyes gravitated to the boldface portion of the letter:
All students must be at Bristlecone Hall before 10:00 A.M., September 22, for placement examinations or their enrollment at Paxington will be FORFEITED.
Fiona and Eliot wheeled around. Their grandfather clock sat in the corner. It read a quarter until nine.
“Where is Paxington?” Eliot asked, sounding embarrassed he didn’t know.
Fiona riffled through the envelope, found the map, and pulled it out. She unfolded heavy cotton paper and saw exacting details of streets and landmarks like Presidio Park, Chinatown, and Fisherman’s Wharf. The edges of the map were yellowed with age.
She found the Paxington Institute address as well as these helpful directions:
The main entrance to the San Francisco Paxington campus is conveniently located at the intersection of Chestnut and Lomb
ard Streets.
They glanced back at the map. Chestnut and Lombard were only a few blocks away.
“Only a fifteen-minute walk,” Eliot said.
“I can see that,” Fiona replied.
Something was wrong about this. She ran her fingertips over the map. The rough cotton fibers had a texture that felt like woven canvas. It made her skin itch.
Of course there was something wrong. You’d have thought they might for once treat her and Eliot like adults. Instead of outgrowing their household rules, though, they still had 104 old rules plus new League edicts to follow (along with some veiled threats if they failed) and a bunch of Paxington regulations to worry about.
Audrey stood and told them, “You must be on your way. Now. You will require every minute.” Her face was unreadable.
Cecilia then emerged from the kitchen, a paper lunch sack in either hand. To Fiona’s utter embarrassment, their names had been written on the outside as if they were little kids.
Cee shook the bags. “Special lunches today,” she said, and smiled, “for my special darlings.” She gave one to Fiona and then Eliot, and hugged them both. “You’ll do fine today.” Her face darkened, and she whispered, “Remember to work with each other. You’re far stronger together.” Cecilia stood back and beamed at them. “Their first day of-”
“Which will be their last,” Audrey told her, “if they delay.”
“Oh, yes, silly me.” Cecilia backed away.
“Thanks, Cee,” Fiona said.
“Thanks,” Eliot said.
She and Eliot moved to Audrey and gave her a kiss on the cheek. To Fiona, this felt like one of her morning chores, like brushing her teeth or taking out the trash.
Eliot ran down the hall.
Fiona sprinted after him and got ahead, tramping down the spiral staircase first, and halted at the front door. “Too slow again,” she told him.
The front door was redwood and had four stained glass windows depicting a rose-hedge maze, a meander of river, a field of grapevines and harvesters, and a coastline with churning waves. A million colors sparkled on the tiled floor.[3]
Fiona loved this door and paused to admire it.
“We’d better go,” Eliot whispered. “There’s something weird about this Paxington map deal.”
“I know,” Fiona said. “I feel it, too.”
She glanced back up the stairwell, hoping to see Audrey looking down, maybe with the tiniest farewell wave.
But her mother wasn’t there. . only shadows.
2. CIRCLES OF POWER AND REGRET
Audrey watched from the second-story window as the children walked down the street. They paused at the intersection and looked both ways before crossing. She reached up and touched the glass.
Always so careful. Good for them. The world was a dangerous place, and it was wise to look before one leaped. But sometimes being cautious was bad. Wait too long to cross the road, and one might be hit from behind by a bus careening out of control down the sidewalk.
She withdrew her hand, returned to the dining table, and sat.
“We must talk,” Cecilia whispered to her. “The children-”
Audrey held up one finger. “Tea first, Cecilia. And bring the Towers game. I fear the time will crawl today without some distraction.”
Cecilia obediently nodded and backed into the kitchen.
Boiling water for tea. The old woman hopefully could manage that.
Audrey nibbled on a piece of curled burnt bacon and reminded herself to make a list of all the restaurants nearby that delivered breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There was no need anymore to pretend they did not have the money for such “luxuries” as edible food.
Cecilia returned with a tea service tray and a rolled-up piece of leather.
Indeed, there was no need anymore to pretend many things.
Cecilia smiled nervously. “You have that look on your face”-she poured hot water into a teapot with spiderweb patterns etched into its white glaze-“the look where people go missing.”
Odors of chamomile, mint, and mandrake wafted across the table.
“I was just thinking that there are advantages to having some things cut.” Audrey sighed. “Set up the game and ask no more foolish questions.”
Cecilia paled. She unrolled the leather mat upon the table and then removed the game cubes from their pouch.
Long ago, Audrey had had to sever herself from a collection of feelings and instincts that some might call motherhood. She’d left only one connection: the instinct to protect.
Did she still love her children? Was there some vestige of a desire to give them the best of everything? Where was the urge to hold them and soothe away their fears when they had nightmares? Or were these things forever lost to her?
It had to be that way, though. Otherwise, she would not have had the strength to do what was best for them all.
Audrey shifted her focus to the game. It was a study on the forms of combat, on strategies and death, a metaphor on the families and their never-ending politics. They called the game Towers.[4]
Audrey smoothed the rumpled leather mat and ran her fingers over the lines that radiated from the center, around the circles that divided the space into four tiers. Slaves (or their modern equivalent, Pawns) sat on the outer edge. Warriors took the second tier. Princes collected near the nexus of power on the third tier. The Master sat in the center space. Rings about rings. Rings of power and love and deception and regret.
She and Cecilia divided the stone cubes and took alternating turns, selecting their starting positions along their respective inner areas.
Much of the game was decided by this deceptively simple planning stage. Good players could tell how their game would end from such opening moves. One could set up near an opponent’s boundary, preparing for an aggressive rush. Or they could set up in the back regions and strategize to take the center-a longer game of dominance and subtlety.
Like the twins. How things went today at school would very much affect their endgame.
Cecilia set up on Audrey’s boundary. In response, Audrey placed only a few weak defenders to counter her and concentrated her efforts on the longer back-region game.
Cee immediately took one of Audrey’s border guards. “I am worried about their father,” she said, a smug smile appearing on her face as she removed Audrey’s piece.
“There has been no word from him,” Audrey replied.
“Exactly!” Cee said. “It can mean only one thing: He’s plotting something.”
Audrey’s answer to this obvious statement was silence.
She countered Cecilia’s move by advancing a stone from her first circle to the second, blocking Cee’s clumsy advance.
“We should tell the children,” Cecilia said. “Tell them everything.” She poured Audrey and herself cups of tea. Steam curled around the old woman like living tendrils. “We should prepare them for the coming violence.”
“No.”
“But this is not like the last time, when their ignorance protected them.”
“Their ignorance serves a purpose still,” Audrey told her. “They have lessons to learn. The entire truth would only distract them.”
“But they are so smart.” Cecilia moved another piece along her opposite border, poised to attack.
Audrey moved another cube onto her second tier, stacking it with the first to make a low Tower.
Cecilia frowned at this, realizing her error. She moved one of her own cubes to the second tier. Too late, however, to be an effective counter.
“ ‘Smart’ will help them only so much,” Audrey said. “Better they learn how to be ruthless. They must be pushed to the brink, broken, and then remolded. It is the only way they have a chance of surviving.”
“And the place for this is Paxington? That so-called Headmistress, Miss Westin. We will be lucky if she does not kill them first.”
“Westin is not the threat she once was to children,” Audrey told her. She toppled her fledgling Tower, castin
g its pieces into Cecilia’s territory, capturing two of her cubes. “Besides, I have spoken with her. All is arranged.”
“Oh, I see,” Cecilia said, now ignoring the game. “Miss Westin and Paxington are vastly reformed since the old days, eh? Did you know that seventeen children were so severely injured last year that they could not continue? That there were five fatalities?”
“Of course,” Audrey replied. “I believe that’s the point.”
Cecilia sipped her tea. “That is not the only danger. The students, they are from the families, ours, theirs, all the other great ones, mortal and immortal-the social elite and privileged few.” She huffed. “Do you know what they will do to our poor little lambs?”
“They will devour them,” Audrey told her, “if Eliot and Fiona fail to grow.”
Cecilia glowered at Audrey. Without looking at the board, she moved another cube onto the second tier.
Audrey raised an eyebrow. Interesting. In three moves, Cecilia would capture the entire second ring. The old witch apparently had some spark left to her.
“You think me a monster,” Audrey replied. “But you’ve forgotten the real monsters in our world: horrors with bat wings and serpent tongues, nightmares made real.” She cocked her head, hearing the heartbeat and breath she’d been waiting for all morning. “Especially the monsters with sharp smiles and large ears ‘the better to hear with.’ ”
Audrey turned to face the stairwell. “Come in, Old Wolf. The door is open to you.”
Beneath them came the sound of the door’s locks clicking open, the knob turning, and whisper-silent footfalls.
Faint gray shadows crisscrossed the spiral of stairs as a figure came up.
His smile was the first thing she saw, like some hybrid Cheshire cat and great white shark making a grand entrance. Henry Mimes gave her a short bow and then gave one to Cecilia as well. He was dressed for walking today: gray slacks, sensible sneakers, a black turtleneck, and a baseball cap that framed his silver hair.
Dangerously handsome and dangerously deceptive.
And yet. . Audrey could not help but smile back at the fool, if only a little.