by Eric Nylund
It was their freshman class portrait. . one they weren’t in because they’d obviously missed picture day at school.
Her hands twisted together, and for a moment she wanted to cut that thing in half-right through Jeremy Covington’s face.
“Nice,” she muttered, and kept walking.
Miss Westin’s desk was a few paces ahead. Last time there had been no place to sit. Today, four high-backed chairs sat opposite the Headmistress. Not a good sign. Miss Westin obviously wanted them off their feet when she delivered the bad news.
Miss Westin sat there, nodded, and murmured something, but didn’t spare either of them a glance. Her attention was focused solely on those chairs.
There was another person. A pair of skinny legs and the edge of a skirt dangled over the seat, but the chair’s high back obscured the rest.
Miss Westin finally finished and then gestured for that person to leave. Only then did the Headmistress glance at Fiona and Eliot, and all traces of civility left her face.
The other person got out of their chair.
Fiona stared, not believing what she saw.
“You’re. . dead,” Eliot whispered.
Amanda Lane looked them over. Her lips pressed into a frown, and her gaze narrowed.
For someone whom Fiona had seen blown to smithereens, Amanda looked great. Her school uniform was neatly pressed. A tiny daisy was pinned to her lapel. Her hair had been cut and feathered back from her face-hair that now had a lot more auburn in it that Fiona recalled.
She wanted to run over and give her a hug, but Fiona still couldn’t believe she was real.
Amanda stood tall and proud, though. Her skin flushed and Fiona felt the unnatural heat from where she stood.
“I’m not dead,” she told them. “Obviously. But no thanks to either of you.”
“The bridge. .,” Eliot started.
“And that volcano. .,” Fiona added.
“I did those things,” Amanda said, her voice rising. “And what’d I get for my trouble? For risking my life? No one came back to even look for me. Do you know how hard it is to climb out of a river of lava? While it’s solidifying?”
Fiona blinked and tried to process this. Shy, helpless Amanda was telling them she had caused all that massive geological-scale upheaval-and then had survived it, apparently immune to the tremendous heat.
“Do you know how long I had to look until I found those stupid train tracks?” Amanda set her hands on her hips. “And how long I walked until I found the tunnel back to the Market Street station?”
“I’m so sorry,” Fiona said. “We just assumed. .”
“I was ready to die for you guys,” Amanda told her. Despite the heat coming from her, her voice was icy. “And you just marched off looking for Jezebel. What kind of friends are you?”
Fiona crossed her arms over her chest. She wanted to tell her they got a little occupied trying to outrun a tidal wave of magma-worried about the millions of damned souls that might’ve chased after them-oh, and not to mention their complete astonishment at seeing her turn into a miniature sun and then going supernova on them.
Eliot, however, spoke first. “You’re absolutely right,” he said. “We shouldn’t have left you there. No matter what. I’m sorry.”
Amanda’s lip trembled, and Fiona thought she might cry.
She stuck out her chin, though, and recovered. “At least I know where I stand with my so-called friends now.” She moved past them, adding in a whisper, “At least the people I thought were my friends.”
Amanda crossed Miss Westin’s office and slammed the door shut.
Fiona was thrilled to see her alive, but she wasn’t sure what was more shocking: seeing her alive, or seeing her so strong. . and so angry. Fiona felt like Amanda had just kicked her in the stomach.
Miss Westin tapped a pen on her desk to get their attention.
Fiona and Eliot hurriedly took their seats.
The high-backed chair was hard, squeaky, and uncomfortable. Eliot sat two spots away from her.
Miss Westin examined them and steepled her hands on her desk. “Miss Lane has embraced the Fire of Humanity. It is a great responsibility. A great burden as well. She needs good friends at a time like this.”
That’s all Fiona needed was another “friend” who hated her (although that wasn’t completely accurate, because right now, she didn’t have any friends).
“And where is Mr. Farmington?” the Headmistress inquired.
Eliot and Fiona looked at each other.
“Was he supposed to be with us?” Fiona asked.
Miss Westin made a note in her little black book and didn’t answer.
Funny how she asked after Robert, but not Mitch. How much did she know?
“Down to business, then,” Miss Westin said. She tapped the large computer touch screen that doubled as the surface of her desk, and their official Paxington school records popped open. “I have here a list of regulations you have broken, and a few new rules that have been created to cover your uniquely reckless behavior.”
With her long bony index finger, she traced down this list. “Unauthorized departure from campus during school hours. . missing weeks of class and gym practice without prior written approval. . destruction of school property-”
“We didn’t break anything,” Eliot said, annoyed.
“Your uniforms,” Miss Westin told him. “You have paid for them, but technically that is only a lease. All things bearing the Paxington insignia are school property in perpetuity.”
She glared at him. Eliot met her eyes without flinching.
“And,” she continued, “there is still a matter of you missing your final exams in Mythology 101, Force of Arms, and the Power of Music class-not to mention the final match in gym.”
She looked at Fiona as if expecting her to say something in her defense.
What could she say? They had missed everything.
Fiona had heard about the final in gym: all the teams at once on the obstacle course-and for once, no time limit. Mr. Ma had only eliminated the slowest two people from the roster. There’d been a broken finger and one dislocated arm.
Some final. What a joke.
Meanwhile she, Eliot, and Robert had been in a real war.
She wanted to tell Miss Westin what she could do with her list of infractions, but she kept her mouth shut. Nothing was going to save them now. And being rude to an adult who is technically correct? Fiona had been brought up better than that.
Miss Westin continued to stare at her. . the silence stretching on and on.
Eliot cleared his throat. “Was there something else, ma’am?”
“There most certainly is,” Miss Westin replied.
The Headmistress opened a drawer and pulled out two legal-sized parchments.
Fiona held her breath. This was it. They were going to officially flunk out-Miss Westin was going to sign some papers and they’d be told to leave.
Fiona stared at the documents. They smelled of brimstone and there were wax seals and gilt inscriptions and blood spatters. Fiona tried to read the upside-down lettering, but it was mostly little triangles and arcs and dots.
“I have here,” Miss Westin explained, “signed and notarized affidavits from Sealiah, Infernal Queen of the Poppy Lands, and Lucifer, Prince of Darkness and Lord of the Mirrored City. They describe how you two were instrumental to their victory in the recent civil war in the Lower Realms against Mephistopheles.”
Miss Westin paused and arched an eyebrow. “Quite impressive.”
Fiona blinked, not entirely understanding.
“They have petitioned the School Board,” Miss Westin continued, “that in lieu of your classes and final examinations that your actions be considered. . ‘off-campus work experience.’ ” She brushed the pages aside. “After consultation, the Board has ruled in your favor.”
Fiona couldn’t believe it. Was she hearing, right?
“So. .,” Fiona whispered softly (because she thought if she sa
id this too loud, it might pop her fragile hope). “We’re still in school?”
“Provisionally,” Miss Westin said, and gave that single word the weight of a falling executioner’s ax. “Mr. Ma has accepted your participation in battle as proof that you would have passed his final examination in gym and Force of Arms class. Ms. DuPreé has likewise waived Eliot’s participation in her final concert.”
Fiona sighed.
“But,” Miss Westin said, “I do not accept you missing my classes or final.”
She produced two more papers and slid one each toward Fiona and Eliot.
In the fine print was a list of books-Bulfinch’s Mythology, everything ever written by Cicero, Languorous Lullabies, Golden’s Guide to Extraordinary Books, and on and on, dozens of texts, endless volumes, and ancient scrolls.
“Read these over the next few months,” Miss Westin explained, “and you may then take my makeup final examination at the end of summer.”
This was as much reading as they’d been assigned for the entire year. So much for getting a break.
Fiona had read some of these already, however, digging up background on Zeus and the rest of her Immortal family. Still, even for her it’d be a spend-every-free-moment-of-vacation-with-nose-in-book deal.
“Thank you,” Eliot said, and tucked the paper into his pocket. “You didn’t have to do this.”
If Fiona had been sitting in the seat next to him, she would’ve elbowed him in the ribs. Why did he say that? Did he want her to change her mind?
Miss Westin’s features softened a bit, and she set her hands flat on her desk. “You’re quite welcome, Eliot. I recognize both your unique talents and your unusual circumstances.” Her face hardened once more. “But let me make this perfectly clear: You get only this one chance.”
Fiona swallowed. “Got it,” she said. “We’ll pass the final, no problem.”
Miss Westin took out her pocket watch and glanced at it. “Now, if you children don’t mind, I have another appointment.” She nodded to the door at the far end of her office.
Fiona and Eliot got up. Fiona tried to walk with as much dignity as possible toward the exit. Once she was outside-then she could collapse. How was it that she was able to march into Hell, charge an army of the damned, but almost flunking a few classes turned her to jelly?
She stood straighter. She was a goddess in the League of Immortals, after all. She didn’t have to feel this way.
Besides, there were lots of other more important things to consider than school. She still had to figure out her place in the world. How she fit in among the Immortals. . and how to stop the Infernals from messing everything up again.
She nodded at the pale boy by the door and he opened it.
Fiona and Eliot walked into the waiting room. She blinked in the sudden sunlight. As her eyes adjusted, she saw two other students waiting for Miss Westin.
Sarah and Jeremy Covington.
Their uniforms were immaculate. Sarah had her hair up and coiffed. Jeremy’s long hair was back and tied with a black ribbon so he looked like a Colonial revolutionary.
“Why, Fiona!” Jeremy beamed and opened his arms wide as if to embrace her.
Sarah stood there, mortified. She looked at the floor.
“ ’Tis a delight to see you back,” Jeremy continued as if nothing were wrong-as if he hadn’t slammed the Gates of Perdition on them.
Fiona finally found her voice, at least a low growl of a voice, and said, “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t cut you in half-right here and now.”
Eliot, who had been calm and collected all morning, didn’t try to stop her; instead, he merely crossed his arms and glared at Jeremy.
“Ah. .” Jeremy’s smile faded a bit. “Well, you’d miss my good looks and charm, wouldn’t ye?”
Fiona’s hands twitched and she fingered the rubber band on her wrist. It took all her will to keep her blood from boiling, and from doing something she wasn’t quite sure she’d regret.
The pale boy behind them said, “Pardon me, Masters and Ladies, but Miss Westin would like to see the Covingtons.”
Jeremy tilted his head. “And I suppose because you’d be murdering me in front of the Headmistress?” His impish smile returned.
Fiona hissed out a sigh.
Jeremy’s expression sobered. “Look dearie, what happened at the gate-’twasn’t what I had planned. But you and Eliot are all right. Perhaps we should let bygones be bygones?” He extended a hand.
Eliot snorted.
Fiona glared at his proffered gesture like it was a rattlesnake. “Once we are out of the picture, did you and Sarah get on a winning team like you wanted?”
Jeremy tilted his head, but said nothing.
“If I ever catch you off campus,” Fiona said, “there won’t be any rules or Headmistress to save you.”
“Oh, Fiona.” Jeremy retracted his hand. “I so love your hotheadedness. Completely endearing. You’ll come around.”
He squeezed past her and entered Miss Westin’s office.
Sarah remained where she was. “I am so, so sorry,” she squeaked. “He’s always doing things like this. There’s this archaic seniority system in the Clan Covington. . and he’s technically the eldest member. I have to go along.”
“You don’t have to go along with murder,” Fiona said.
Sarah flinched. She looked deeply conflicted, and then finally said, “Aye. You’re right. There’s no excuse for what we did. I promise, I will make amends.”
She nodded to Eliot and then Fiona, and hurried into Miss Westin’s office.
“Maybe she wasn’t to blame,” Eliot said. “Jeremy did throw her back at the last moment before he locked the gate. She couldn’t have been responsible.”
“Whatever,” Fiona muttered. “I’ve got better things to do than worry about the Covingtons right now.”
She glanced at her book list, picking out the ones she’d already read trying to track down what had happened to Zeus.
Zeus, the once-leader of the Immortals, the one who had united them against the Titans, and had led them against all odds in battle with the Infernals.
A leader. That’s precisely what the world and the Immortals needed-now more than ever.
Fiona stood there. . as a plan took shape in her mind.
83 LAST-MINUTE DETAILS FOR ARMAGEDDON
Sealiah, undisputed Queen of the Poppy Lands and the Hysterical Kingdoms, shivered with pleasure. No more armor. While the metal plates, layers of chain mail, and padding had been a necessity to survive, she required a new kind of protection for today’s dangers.
She spun, and the layers of gold chiffon drifted about her and then settled against the coppery curves of her body. Much better.
She was alone in her map room. No guards. No Jezebel. The Post twins long departed-and the sounds of all their whining and pleading for their lost loves finally silenced.
She lingered a moment, thinking of Robert Farmington.
Him she would miss. She did so appreciate a hero of few words.
Overcast light filtered through the open windows and mingled with the shadows.
Sealiah slipped into a pair of gold sandals and checked the fit of her summer dress, making sure just enough was hidden and just enough showed through its sheer layers. It was infinitely impractical, and yet the most effective tack for those she was about to face: her cousins on the Board. Those malefactors would never dream of a simple frontal attack. . when they had such expertise in the art of betrayal.
Her best defense was distraction.
She moved to the map table and examined the dire state of the battle when it had last been updated: her twelve towers surrounded and Mephistopheles marching upon her.
Tiny figurines lay on their sides, souls that had fought for her cause. She touched one, a Napoleonic dragoon, and righted it with her fingertip.
Tragic was their suffering. . but why else had these souls come to her domain? That was their fate. It was what they deserved. It was what
they wanted.
What would they do if she released them? Would the souls of the damned be lost without their torment? Would they even know where to go after all this time? Or would they crawl to her and beg her to take them back?
Well, she would never know. They were forever hers.
These philosophical musing aside, the important thing was that she had prevailed in the war by her superior cunning-or, at least, she had not been so distracted by noble sentiments as poor Mephistopheles had.
She touched the shattered obsidian figurine that represented her Infernal cousin.
And where was his soul now? Dust and ashes? Somewhere rich and strange and far beyond her? Or some place dark and deep-torment that not even she could imagine? That was always the question, was it not? The rhyme and reason for all that happened since they had left their brother and sister angels in the light.
She sighed. What silly sentimentality and dreams of things no longer possible.
She swept the obsidian shards off the table.
Mephistopheles has been a fool. He could have won; he should have won, had he but tempted Fiona to his side. . the thing that almost happened at that last precarious moment.
Almost.
Pity. Love. Honor. Weaknesses all that had caused his downfall.
And yet, she wished, just for once, one of her kind would act thusly toward her. Even her departed Uri’s ambition had tainted his loyalty. Where was her unrequited, self-sacrificing hero?
Sealiah laughed halfheartedly and drew a cover over the map table, desperately trying to ignore the lump in her throat. . the longing for just one taste of love again.
She inhaled and banished these thoughts. They were dangerous at any time for their kind-doubly so before a Board meeting.
She turned her attention to the smaller table that held the circular mat and stones of her Towers game.
Sealiah touched the cubes and retraced her moves-the maneuvering of her Jezebel to Paxington-capturing Eliot in her orbit and with him drawing in his sister and Robert-all vital pieces used in her final ploy.
She shuddered with satisfaction. It had been a good opening round.
But far from over.
She moved the basalt cube that represented Jezebel to the opposite side, stacking it upon the two stones that were now Eliot’s, nestled them together in the square that was his domain, The Burning Orchards. Precisely where she wanted them.