Free All That Lives Must Die by Eric Nylund Page A

words that Eliot (even with his extensive vocabulary) had never heard before.
    “Definitely Anglo-Saxon etymology,” Fiona told him, apparently also curious about these new words. She nudged Eliot. “We should ask them now. I don’t want to be the last ones picked.”
    Eliot reluctantly stepped forward. She was right: Anything was better than getting picked last. Or worse, what if all the other groups became so full that he and Fiona had to go on different teams?
    “Ah, Fiona.” Jeremy extended a hand to her as she neared. “Please join us”—a quick glance at Eliot—“and, of course, your brother.”
    His gaze, however, slid over Eliot like he was something one saw on a dinner plate, unpalatable, but which had to be tasted in order to get dessert.
    Sarah eyed Eliot as well, leaned closer to Jeremy, and said something.
    “Yes,” Jeremy told her. “I’m quite sure.”
    Eliot loathed this. Was he getting on the team only because Jeremy liked his sister?
    He should’ve been picked because he was Eliot Post, Immortal hero-in-training, Master of “The Symphony of Existence,” son of the Eldest Fate and the Prince of Darkness!
    If only he could tell them . . . he would’ve been their first choice.
    He could turn them down, too. He would have challenged one of those supposedly blue-blooded mortal magicians, taken one of their big-deal tokens, and started his own team.
    But this daydream faded as the girl Eliot had seen before caught his attention.
    She walked straight toward him. Her long hair fell into her face, and her gaze firmly fixed upon the floor . . . reminding him of the way Fiona used to be so shy. Yet, without looking, she somehow managed to navigate through the crowds, halting before Eliot. “Hey . . . ,” she said. “I never got the chance to thank you or your sister.” She looked up, and the hair fell from her face.
    The girl was unremarkable save for her eyes. They were dark, wild, and defiant—like black coals, smoldering. The last time Eliot saw them, the world had been on fire, and they were running for their lives through a burning carnival, being chased by madman Perry Millhouse.
    “Amanda?” he said. “It’s Amanda Lane, right?”
    “Yeah.” Amanda looked back to the floor.
    “Are you okay?” Fiona asked. “We never got a chance to see you after . . .”
    “Sure, I’m great,” she said, although the way she struggled to get her words out, Eliot guessed otherwise. “Your uncle got me back to my family. He was great. He talked to them. Explained how I got kidnapped. How you guys saved me. I dunno, my parents never mentioned it after that.”
    Eliot wondered what Uncle Henry had done. He had an uneasy feeling something more was going on with Amanda Lane and the League.
    “Then I got the scholarship,” Amanda said, “everything paid by Mr. Mimes. He said I belonged here.” She looked around. “I’m not so sure this was a good idea.”
    Something was weird about this. Why would Uncle Henry bring a normal girl here after she’d almost been killed once by the League?
    Eliot glanced at Fiona, and she nodded back, thinking the same thing.
    “Stick close to us,” Fiona whispered to Amanda.
    Eliot was going to add his own words of reassurance, but all thoughts drained from his head when he spotted the blond girl who had caught his attention before . . . as she moved toward them.
    She most definitely was not Julie Marks, however. This girl was taller. Her hair was pure platinum blond that curled into ringlets about her face. Her skirt seemed shorter than the other girls’. She moved with a liquid grace that made Eliot’s heart beat faster.
    In fact, every boy watched her as she stopped before their table.
    “M’lady,” Jeremy said, and bowed ridiculously low before her. Mitch gave her a cordial bow, which provoked a raised eyebrow from this new girl. Sarah and Fiona simultaneously crossed their arms.
    “Would you do us the honor of joining our team?” Jeremy