Eric Nylund - All That Lives Must Die

The redhead next to Jeremy Covington raised her hand. “Ma’am?” She had a Scottish accent as well, but far more refined. “What about electives? Will two courses be enough?”

Miss Westin fixed her with a stare. “These two classes, I assure you, will be sufficient. One quarter of the freshman class fail and do not continue on to their sophomore year.”

The Headmistress pointed to a pie chart and a bell-shaped curve on the blackboard. “Success is based on a strict academic curve and your ranked performance in gym class.” She crossed her hands. “At Paxington, only excellence is allowed.”

That seemed grossly unfair. If one quarter failed every year-Fiona did the math-then only 42 percent made it through to their senior year.

But maybe competition wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It would give her a chance to test herself, and prove that she could succeed outside Audrey’s protected sphere.

“If you feel the need to be further challenged,” Miss Westin continued, “elective courses are available for freshmen who survive their first semester and receive As on their midterms.”

Survive?

Fiona and Eliot shared a look. Her word choice seemed deliberate. . like some students might actually die.

Eliot definitely appeared unhealthy as he digested this statement. Fiona suddenly didn’t feel so good, either.

“You will now have a break to stretch and use the restrooms before the next portion of the placement process,” Miss Paxton said. “Afterward, you will be given a tour of the campus.”

Fiona exhaled and heard the rest of the students do the same.

“This is so weird,” Eliot said. He stood and stretched. “I feel like I don’t belong here. . but at the same time, I don’t know, it’s like we do.”

She knew exactly what he meant. Part of her just wanted to go back home and hide. Another part of her wanted to meet some of these people from other magical families. Well. . except that Jeremy Covington.

The other students mingled and talked, moving through the room like free-floating planets in orbit about one another, and then clustered around maybe a half-dozen individuals who appeared to be the centers of social gravity.

Fiona spotted the boy who had smiled at her and made her feel welcome. . but he was across the room now, chatting with some other boys and laughing.

Fiona and Eliot stood by themselves.

Would they always be social outcasts? If only the others knew they were in the League of Immortals-that Eliot was an Immortal hero, and she was a goddess-in-training.

But, of course, telling anyone the most interesting thing about themselves was forbidden. So typical.

“We should strike up a conversation,” she told her brother.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.

“I mean with the others.”

“Oh. .,” Eliot said, looking a tad hurt. “Yeah, sure.” He brightened. “You know, I thought I saw someone I recognized.” He looked around.

“So did I,” Fiona said. “That girl with the brown hair.”

Eliot squinted. “No. . I saw this other girl, a blonde, kind of looked like Julie.”

“Julie Marks?” Fiona said, surprised.

Poor Eliot. Daydreaming again.

Fiona then spotted a group marching toward them, and leading them was that redhead and Jeremy Covington.

The last time Fiona had seen Jeremy, he wore a lion mask-which was then knocked off when Robert Farmington plastered him with a snowball. That was in Purgatory, at a cursed never-ending party called the Valley of the New Year.

Jeremy stopped before her and Eliot, and bowed so his long blond hair cascaded off his shoulders.

“Dearest Fiona,” he said. “Never in a million years did I expect to see you again. I so wanted to thank you for saving me from my long imprisonment.”

Eliot nudged her and shot her a look that said, Who is this?

“Jeremy, this is my brother, Eliot.”

Eliot offered his hand for Jeremy to shake.

Jeremy clasped it and squeezed. Eliot winced.

“Damn my manners,” Jeremy said. “I am Lord Jeremy of the Clan Covington.” He gestured to the redheaded girl next to him. “This lass is my cousin Sarah.” He spared a glance at the students around him, as though considering whether to introduce them as well, but then shrugged as if they were inconsequential.

Sarah’s long hair, elegantly tied up, was the color of tangerines. She had dimpled cheeks, freckled skin, and Fiona could see the effect she had on the boys.

“Post. .,” Sarah said. “I’m not familiar with your family’s name. Were you sponsored into Paxington?”

This sounded like an innocent question on the surface, but Fiona sensed a hint of condescension underneath.

“No one sponsored us,” Fiona said. She changed subjects to avoid the League and its code of silence. “I don’t understand something,” she said to Jeremy. “You were in Purgatory. There are only supposed to be dead people there. How can you be here. . alive?”

Jeremy laughed. “No, my dear Fiona. Not dead. Never dead. It would take more than a trifling thing like Purgatory to stop a Covington.”

Eliot took a step back from Jeremy and Sarah Covington. They were smiling, but he got the feeling it wasn’t because they liked him. More like they were making a joke.

Fiona was no help. She wasn’t paying attention to them; instead, she scanned the other students.

“You see,” Jeremy said, continuing with his story, “the year was 1853, and I was chasing a leprechaun.”

“What’s a leprechaun?” Eliot asked.

Jeremy’s and Sarah’s smiles faltered, and the students around them gave Eliot a weird look, like he’d just asked what oxygen was.

Then Jeremy grinned again. “So true! Who really knows what they be, eh? Pots of gold and three wishes-balderdash, I entirely agree. That’s what I set out to prove: The Fey be not the living legends all claim.”

Eliot nodded, realizing this was something he ought to have known.

“So the thing led me on a merry chase through every swamp and graveyard in Scotland,” Jeremy said. “Thought she could lose me with a romp through the Middle Realms, but I followed her right to the bloody center of Purgatory. . where I got a bit distracted.”

Middle Realms . Eliot made a mental note about that, but didn’t ask any more questions. No need to look like a complete idiot. [6] Middle Realms (noun). Archaic usage refers to the Purgatory lands betwixt Heaven and Hell (sometimes Earth, depending on the context). Modern usage expanded to mean all realms between the Pearly Gates of Heaven and the First Fathomless Abyss of Hell (considered the upper and lower boundaries of the known worlds). Lexicon Primus. Paxington Institute Press LLC, San Francisco.

“You got trapped in the Valley of the New Year,” Fiona said, her attention returning to the conversation.

“Why, yes, dearest Fiona,” Jeremy replied. “Then you came along and found the doorway out of that wretched place. Rescued me, body and soul.”

Sarah’s heart-shaped face brightened, and she reassessed Fiona. “So this is the girl who brought you back? The Clan Covington is in your debt, miss.”

Fiona fiddled with her hair. “It was nothing, really.”

“Wait. .,” Eliot said. “You were trapped for over a hundred and fifty years?”

“Aye.” Jeremy shrugged. “You might say I’m starting my freshman year at Paxington a tad delayed.”

The Headmistress returned. A dozen older students entered with her, and some moved to the windows, drawing long black curtains, while others turned up the gas lamps on the opposite wall.

Miss Westin removed her glasses. She looked different in gaslight: younger, more animated, and vital. A faint smile crossed her pale lips.