Hudson curses and I freeze, neither of which is a particularly helpful strategy for dealing with the fact that the king has just pretty much ordered me to the stage. “What do I do?” I ask Hudson once I absorb the shock.
“Get up, get out, and don’t look back,” he tells me.
“Are you sure?” But I follow his directions, all but diving into the throng of students crowding the walkway.
“Very sure,” he answers. “An empty auditorium when everyone else is in class is not the time to face my father. Now go, go, go.”
I do as he says, making a beeline for one of the auditorium doors. Just before I reach it, I turn around to get a glimpse of what Cyrus is doing and what he’s planning to do if I don’t show up.
It’s a bad move on my part, though, because the second I turn, our gazes collide. And recognition flashes on his face, along with the knowledge that I am very deliberately not following his directions.
I expect him to get mad, to order me to come down. But instead he simply inclines his head in an “all right, if you say so” gesture that chills me to the bone. Because it’s not acceptance that I see in his eyes. It’s slyness, combined with a whole lot of strategy.
For the first time, I think Hudson may be right. Maybe I really don’t have any idea who or what I’m dealing with.
73
Live and Let Love
I spend the next two days going to class, dodging the vampire king and queen, training with my team for the tournament, and trying to sneak small moments of time with Jaxon, who it turns out is as freaked out about me meeting his parents as Hudson is, mostly because he wants me to have absolutely nothing to do with his mom.
And I have to admit, I’m a little freaked out by the fact that both brothers have apparently been traumatized by a different parent. Like, what kind of monsters are these people—besides the obvious—that their two （very） badass sons each consider them, if not the devil, then at least one of his closest minions?
So far, Jaxon has been putting his parents off by citing a brutal training schedule for the tournament （which isn’t actually too far from the truth）， but that excuse is finite, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen when the tournament is over.
When Wednesday, the day of the tournament, dawns bright and beautiful, I can’t help but feel a biting chill in the air. Of course, it won’t matter in the arena, since it’s a climate-controlled dome, but still, it feels like the world is warning me not to get out of bed today.
I’m up early, too nervous about winning the games and the stone to get much sleep, even though Macy and Jaxon don’t seem to be having any problem. We don’t have to report to the arena until ten, but I know if I sit around the room for the next three hours and stare at my sleeping cousin while obsessing over messing up the tournament, I’ll end up bouncing off the walls.
Not even Hudson is around to distract me, telling me earlier he had something he had to do and would be gone for a few hours, but he’d be back in time for the tournament. I asked how he could possibly go anywhere stuck in my head, but he was already gone before I got the whole question out. Which isn’t scary at all…
So after getting layered up and leaving a note for Macy—I didn’t want to text her and risk waking her up—I grab a yogurt and a couple of granola bars and make my way down to the arena.
I honestly don’t know what I plan to do there—beyond practice my flying some more and maybe walk the field, just to get a feel for what it’s like. I figure I’ll be alone for at least an hour or so, but the second I pass through one of the arena’s ornate entrances—and the twisted passageways that lead to the seating—I realize that was a pipe dream. There are players all over the huge field. Not hundreds or anything like that but definitely at least ten or fifteen—one of whom is Flint.
Guess I’m not the only one on my team excited-slash-nervous-as-hell about today.
His back is toward me, but I’d recognize his Afro and broad shoulders anywhere—plus he’s already wearing one of the super-colorful jerseys Macy got for each of us so we could all match on the field. I don’t know much about the rest of the teams we’re competing against, but I can guarantee no one else out here has a jersey like ours, with its wild kaleidoscope of colors, much like one of my favorite Kandinsky paintings.
I walk deeper into the arena, marveling at how amazing it looks already. Like everything else at Katmere, it has a decidedly Gothic spin to it—black stones, lancet arches, intricately carved stonework—but the design of it is all Roman Colosseum. Three stories high with fanned amphitheater seating, VIP boxes at the top, and all the gorgeous and imposing walkways imaginable. It’s the most intimidating and impressive high school arena I have ever seen.