by Alix Marsh
Jack jumped up, looking ready to throw a punch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ignore him,” Flynn said, grabbing Jack’s arm and pulling him down again. Maybe he was outlawed. Maybe that’s what his unexplained Surge was about: Zeus’s attempt to strike him dead in a bolt of rage. But he’d take another lightning bolt before he showed Milo that he cared. “He’s not worth it.”
“If it were up to me…” Milo leant in, pushing his nose right in Flynn’s face. “I’d just put you out of your misery and be done with you. But who knows? Maybe they’re fattening you up to feed to a demon. Now there’s a cheerful thought.”
“Milo, what took you so long?” Ice had come up from behind while they weren’t looking. Not soon enough, judging by her sweet smile. “I thought you’d forgotten all about my soda.”
Milo jerked upright and spun about.
She held a hand out. “Is that for me?”
“I couldn’t find you.”
Jack made a gagging motion with a finger in his mouth.
Flynn didn’t dare—he was far too close to really gagging.
“You couldn’t?” Ice took the can, opened it, brought it to her lips. “Funny that… I’ve been here all along.” And then, so slowly, as if she were savouring every second, her smile as sweet as ever, her arm went up and wide and she upended the can over Milo’s head.
Milo just stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish gasping air. He managed to bluster a “What the—” and “You won’t—” in between the gasping, but no one was listening.
Flynn was choking on a mix of awe and glee.
Jack doubled over on a shout of laughter.
Even Rowan let out a muffled squeak.
Milo finally gathered enough of his wits together to wrench himself backward. “You’ll be sorry you did that.”
“Oh, I doubt it,” Ice said.
“Mac Gowrie!” Milo barked as he stormed off, not bothering to glance over his shoulder.
Rowan startled to his feet. He didn’t rush off at once, though. He looked at Flynn. “It isn’t true, what he said about Cold Slayers being outlawed. He was talking about the Sealing of the Book and if he knew anything about the history of that, he’d shut up altogether about it.”
And then Rowan rushed off, not stopping until he was on Milo’s heels.
“I almost want to like him,” Flynn said.
“Please don’t,” groaned Jack. “You never know when he’ll go running to Milo, bleating all kinds of tales.”
“I actually felt bad for forgetting about him,” Ice said. “Stupid me. But I’m glad I came back.” She gave them a small smile. “Sorry for making you come.”
“Totally worth it!”
Flynn nodded. “Wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”
“I guess I just un-invited us.” She half-turned, glancing across to the makeshift cocktail lounge.
“I’d like to see Milo try to chase us off,” scoffed Jack.
“We could stay a bit,” Flynn said. He was so chuffed with Ice right now, he’d stay all night if she wanted.
Ice shook her head. “This party is done. Just give me a moment, okay?”
Jack and Flynn ambled across the courtyard to wait by the gargoyles while she said goodbye to Julian. It was a perfect night for a slow stroll back to Atreus House (since they still had loads of time), warm but not muggy, and the moon was a fat silvery ball with only a few wispy clouds threading over its shining glow. Once they’d reached the oval path, they didn’t even need the flashlight.
“What was that Rowan said about the Sealing of the Book?” asked Flynn.
Ice looked across to Jack. “Hasn’t it always been Sealed?”
“So far I know.” Jack shrugged. “The Keepers would have to have access, though, wouldn’t they? How else would the Chess Twins know when there’s a new slayer?”
Flynn didn’t have to stretch his imagination too far to conclude, “You mean Mr. Bishop and Mr. Rook?”
“Yeah,” said Jack, “but don’t let them hear you calling them the Chess Twins.”
“They have no idea,” Ice said, laughing, “just how well they live and dress up to the part.”
Flynn hadn’t given the oddball pair of men another thought since that afternoon, but he now remembered they’d introduced themselves as the Keepers of the Book. “What’s so special about this book?”
“It’s the Book of Zeus,” Ice said.
“The Book holds the full family trees of Atreus, Hellys and Perses…the slayer bloodlines, that is, not all the rest.”
“You’d have appeared in there the instant you took your pledge,” Ice informed him.
“Like magic?” Flynn said doubtfully.
“Of course not,” Ice said, “It’s written in by Zeus’s hand.”
Flynn didn’t see the difference, but held his tongue, puzzling over the implication instead. If he’d been added to a branch of the Atreus family tree during his pledge, then that would be his clue. He’d be right under the old man who’d accosted him, wouldn’t he? He might even find a familiar name somewhere up along the line.
“Where is this book?”
Neither Jack nor Ice knew. Possibly in the tower where the Chess Twins lived (Flynn assumed they meant the tower on the other end of the manor from Mr. Swan’s) but it could actually be anywhere at all.
“Beside,” Ice pointed out, “it’s Sealed to everyone except the Keepers. Well, I can’t believe the head of the SSSS doesn’t have access—they must make exceptions, I think, if you’re important enough.”
Which didn’t help Flynn at all. “What’s the SSS, anyway?”
Jack bent his head Flynn’s way. “The Super Secret Slayer Service,” he said with an exaggerated hush.
Ice turned her nose up at him. “The SSS…S, and they’re the Society for Slayer Standards and Services.”
“Yeah, right,” Jack said. “That’s what it says on the label.”
Flynn was intrigued. “What does this Super Secret Slayer Service do?”
“I told you, it’s not—” She broke off with a huff at the looks they gave her.
“I’d tell you,” Jack went on, grinning, “but then I’d have to kill you.”
Flynn looked from one to the other. “So, you don’t know, then?”
“Not so much,” Ice admitted.
“But I’m totally going to work there one day,” Jack said.
FOR THE NEXT THREE weeks, the school settled into exams. The first years weren’t writing, but the teachers were determined to make up for it by piling on the homework and assignments.
Flynn exchanged texts with Rose and Toby every day and, occasionally, they spoke. He shared everything with them, except what Victor Grey was really about, of course. He even sent photos of his classrooms, all of which were scattered around the first year meeting point, linked together on a chain of very overgrown trails. Toby was suitably impressed. Rose thought it was all a bit impractical: she was far more impressed with being let in on the secret when Flynn belatedly recalled the conversation about satellites, about why the Academy had stopped cutting back the forest, and told them.
“We won’t breathe a word,” she promised.
Flynn wasn’t exactly homesick, but he didn’t mind the calls from home, either. After one such call, his mom put Ellie on the line.
Ellie barraged him with a steady stream of sweet questions until a door banged on that side and then her voice dropped darkly and she became Ellie again. “Mom says I’m to ask you before I use your X-Box and it doesn’t matter because you’re not here anyway.”
The line crackled with a hollow echo.
“Ellie, are you in the bathroom?”
“Don’t be silly and I asked, okay, and you said yes, so we have a deal and don’t worry, I’ll put it all back in your room before you get home. And don’t bother trying to say no, because you know what I know and—”
“Ellie?”
“What?” she challenged.
There was moment of silence. Then, “I’m eleven, not dead.”
And she cut the line.
Flynn didn’t know who was more shocked, him or Ellie, but he was still smiling. He didn’t much like his sister most of the time, but there it was. He kind of missed her. Who knew?
A formal supper was held on the night after the last exam. The evening meal was the only time the whole school sat as one; the lunchtime tables usually pulled together to form larger arrangements to accommodate the hundred and ninety-two pupils. For this supper, though, there were three long rows, the olive and cream checked tablecloths replaced with thick linen in the colours of each house respectively (although the rest of the hall was still dressed like a Perses football fan.)
Each place was set with china plates and more cutlery than Flynn knew what to do with. A curtain had been drawn across the serving counter and every seat was occupied at the teachers’ table instead of the usual potluck who’d had no better dining options that evening.
Flynn sat at one end of the Atreus table with Jack, across from Ice and Fiona, the second year girl Ice was quite friendly with. At least he knew what to do with the first course, served by two women and a man he’d never seen working behind the counter. He picked up his spoon and attempted a tiny taste of the greenish soup; it did indeed taste as foul as it looked.
He pulled a face at Jack. “What is this? Spinach soup?”
“Green Bean Thai Supreme,” Ice said, pointing to the menu propped between them.
Jack pushed his bowl away and slid the menu out of the silver holder for a closer look. “I’ll wait for the Sliver of Roast Lamb with Crushed Parsnips,” he said uncertainly. “I hope it’s more than a sliver. I’m starving.” He frowned at the girls. “Parsnips are a bit like potatoes, aren’t they?”
Flynn grabbed a hot roll from the basket, but even that wasn’t without problems. He looked at the three knives lined up next to his place in ascending order of size. He glanced up the table and saw (with some relief) Phoenix Dulnaim, a rather nice fourth year girl, spreading her roll with the small, stubby knife.
Once their bowls (mostly untouched, up and down the table) had been removed, however, Mr. Swan stood and called for attention, which he mostly got while he lauded the school for their hard work and excellence and congratulated everyone for surviving the exams. He actually used that word—surviving. A thunder of applause went up at that.
Jack grinned. “He’s alright, for a headmaster.”
Tonight, Mr. Swan was dressed all in black again. His formal trousers and shirt didn’t make him look any less tough, although Flynn was starting to wonder at that. He’d been rather tolerant, even mild-mannered, when they’d been hauled into his office that day, and now it seemed he had a sense of humour.
“And now,” Mr. Swan said, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” His gaze swept the hall. “Charles Bracken,” he called out. “Arran Marshall. Safara Ballo. If you please.”
A hush fell as the three student heads stood and made their way up to stand with Mr. Swan in front of the teachers’ table.
Flynn didn’t need to ask what was going on. The mutterings flew around the hall. The Trials… the House Trials… haven’t drawn fire in four years…dad says Ethan Peffery will be scouting this year… Peffery? No way!
Not that he knew what the House Trials were, but his wasn’t the only blank face amongst the first years.
Ice, of course, had a knowing gleam in her eyes as she leant across to whisper, “If Perses wins again this year, I might just give up food altogether.”
She sat back again, as if she’d made a perfectly transparent statement.
Jack pointed around them, at the banners and drapes, at the enormous bull statue dominating one entire corner of the hall. “The prize for the Junior House Trials. They get the cup, and they get to suck it to us for a whole stinking year.”
Flynn happily realised he’d been wrong about Mrs. Crowley’s connections to Perses. This was far easier to undo than blood-ties.
“You mean, we get to suck it to them,” he said excitedly. “We must have a shot at winning, especially with Ice.” He gave her a look, but she was completely turned in her chair toward the front of the hall. “She’s worth ten of Perses.”
She heard him, tossing a quick smile over her shoulder. “Awesome sweet of you, Flynn, but, like everything else, first years don’t participate. The Junior House Trials are second to fourth years only.”
“…order in which the three of the four Elemental Stones are drawn,” Mr. Swan was saying (he was now holding a small, black, velvet pouch), “will determine the nature and order of the challenges.”
“He is so dreamy,” Fiona said with a sigh.
“Isn’t he?” Ice sounded lost in a fog.
Flynn squinted in the direction of their stares. “Charlie?”
“Mr. Swan?” said Jack at the same time.
Both girls threw them an, ‘Of course not, you idiot’ look.
They weren’t talking about Safara, a tall girl with clear, ebony skin and hundreds of braids falling to her waist, who was clearly not a he. Which left only Arran Marshall.
“I don’t see it,” Jack grumbled.
“Must be the bean soup,” Flynn decided. Both Ice and Fiona had drained their bowls.
“Shhh…” came from a boy next to them as Charlie dipped his hand into the pouch.
Utter silence descended over them. It felt as if every breath in the hall was being held. A shiver ran up Flynn’s arms, even if he didn’t know exactly what he was watching.
Charlie withdrew his fist, slowly opened it, then, grinning, he held up what looked like a flat black pebble. His voice rang out loud and clear. “Water.”
The hall erupted into cheers, clapping, and—was that a boo?
The next pebble, drawn by Safara, was Air and, after the roar had quietened, Arran drew Earth.
After that, Mr. Swan handed each of the student heads a piece of folded paper and called for attention again, this time to announce the chosen team leaders for each house.
For Atreus House, Charlie called out Phoenix Dulnaim, who broke out into a beaming smile.
When Arran called out Arran Marshall for Perses House, Flynn blinked. “Did he just call himself out?”
“He didn’t select himself,” Fiona said in tart voice (she’d obviously overheard his comment about the bean soup.) “Instructor Adango decides the team leaders.”
That wasn’t what Flynn had meant, although he wouldn’t have put it past Arran. “Can seniors be team leaders, then, even if they’re not part of the Junior House Trials?”
“Arran’s fourth year,” Ice said, turning around in her chair again as the announcements concluded with Christian Rudley picked for Hellys.
Fiona nodded. “He’s the youngest student head ever elected.”
“I would have totally voted for him,” Ice said.
“Well, that explains the driving,” muttered Flynn. He’d been right about Arran not having a licence.
By the end of the following week, it was impossible to not know every detail about the House Trials; it was the main topic of discussion on everyone’s lips. While the first years still had normal lessons, the rest of the school were done. They were now beefing up their slayer skills for the House Trials, which would be held the Monday of the last week of school. As much attention was given to guessing what exactly the three elemental challenges would be as to the general training.
There was also the Senior House Trials, for fifth and sixth years, held the day after the Junior Trials and attended by scouts from various organisations, of which the SSSS seemed to garner the most chatter. The Senior Trials, Flynn gathered, were the equivalent of Slayer Finals; the best were creamed off the top to be groomed for future positions.
On the last Friday of term, the first year class were instructed to not return to lessons after lunch, but to wait up at the ma
nor once they were done.
“Maybe we’re getting the afternoon off,” Flynn said hopefully. It was also the last proper school day of term. The Trials started on Monday and, although the first years weren’t participating, they’d be watching from the stands.
Ice’s wishes were more ambitious. “Maybe they want us to help set up the challenges.”
“Maybe you’re all dummies,” Milo mocked as he walked past their table on the way out. “No one finds out anything about the challenges before they’re unveiled on Monday morning.”
Ice glared after him. “It was so nice when he wasn’t speaking to us.”
“You could always arrange that again,” Jack said, pushing over his glass of juice.
“Don’t tempt me.”
When they left the hall, they joined Leva and Jin with the rest of Hellys first years on the front steps.
“Do you think they really know what’s going on?” Jin asked, pointing to where Perses huddled around Milo by the rose bushes.
“What did he say now?” asked Jack.
“He said goodbye to me,” Leva said gloomily. “Goodbye and good riddance.” She scrunched her nose at them. “What does that mean?”
“It means nothing,” Flynn muttered.
“You’re right.” Jin said, patting Leva’s arm, but she kept sending worried looks that way.
“There’s Miss Turtlebee,” Ice said. “Oh, and Mr. Castle.”
“This is going to be fun,” Jack said sarcastically.
Mr. Castle was their Latin teacher, a stern man with a precise middle-parting and a bit of fluff on his chin that he had a habit of stroking when he got annoyed, which was rather often. Only to be expected, Flynn felt, when one attempted to teach Latin in a twenty-first century classroom.
They were all called down to gather around the two teachers on the lawn.
“Now that we’ve reached the end of our first year…” Miss Turtlebee started.
Flynn nudged Jack, grinning. They were seriously getting off early.
Miss Turtlebee’s gaze pinned him. She was uncanny that way. “The time has come to take your very first slayer exam.”
