“All mated pairs on the Circle.”

“Exactly. And if you get on as a pair and your mate dies, you stay for one more year until a new mated pair can compete to replace you.”

I have more questions for Hudson, but Cyrus is wrapping up the assembly, and Hudson is pushing at me to “get the hell out.” I still think he’s overreacting, at least until Cyrus says, “Thank you all for coming. Have a great day. And, Grace Foster, if you don’t mind, can you please come up to the stage for a few minutes? We really are eager to meet you!”

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.

And it’s already decorated for the game—interspersed among the regular Katmere Academy flags are pennants from each of the individual teams competing today.

When Macy first mentioned having flags for our team, I thought she was just being my fun-loving, colorful cousin. But as I spot our banners in all their brightly colored glory mingling around the stadium with the darker, more boring ones of the other teams, I can’t help being impressed with just how on top of things she really is.

If it had been left up to the rest of us, I don’t think we’d even have one flag in the arena, and Macy has ensured that we have hundreds. And while it’s probably ridiculous, seeing them all over the place does exactly what it’s designed to do—it gets me excited and makes me even prouder to be playing on my team.

It also makes me believe that maybe, just maybe, we really will win.

Determined to get down to the giant oval field so I can warm up and practice a little, I make my way back through the passageways until I come to the entrance closest to Flint. He’s still stretching, so maybe we can warm up together.

I’m planning to sneak up on him, but I barely get within ten feet before he turns with a grin and says, “Hey, you.”

“No sneaking up on a dragon, huh?”

“There’s a reason ‘ears like a dragon’ is a saying,” he tells me.

“But it’s not a saying,” I answer, confused.

“No? Well, then it should be.” He offers a halfhearted grin and grabs a stainless-steel tumbler off the nearest bench and guzzles from it. “So what are you doing here so early?” he asks.

“Probably the same thing you are.”

He lifts a brow. “Exorcising demons?”

I laugh. “No, silly. Getting in some extra practice.”

I expect him to laugh with me, but when he doesn’t, I realize there was nothing joking about his last statement. “Hey.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” But this time, his patented Flint grin doesn’t reach his eyes. When I keep looking at him, concerned, he shrugs.

“What’s going on?” I drop my bag on the field and then take a seat on the bench, gesture for him to do the same. “Are you nervous about the game?” I don’t even know how to process a nervous Flint. He’s the epitome of optimism.

Oh no. If Flint is having doubts… I almost choke on my next words. “If you’re anxious…that must mean you think we’re all going to die gruesome deaths today, don’t you?” I can feel the bubbles of panic start to rise in my stomach. “What was I thinking, that I could help us win? I’ve been a gargoyle all of six seconds. I’m like a weight around the team’s necks.” Sheer panic has me firing questions at Flint like a machine gun. “Can I quit the team? Will you get penalized if I throw myself down the stairs and break a leg? Is there someone available who can replace me on short notice?”

He reaches for my shoulders, but I barely notice. “Grace—”

“If the team only has seven, will they adjust the magical restraints? Can Jaxon use more of his strength without me?”

“Grace—”

“What if I develop a sudden shellfish allerg—”

“Grace!” Flint’s voice finally seizes my attention, and I stop talking and blink up at him. “I’ve met someone.”

Of all the things he was going to say, that is definitely not even top-twenty material. I swallow. “So you’re not nervous I’m an anchor, destined to drag the team down?”

He chuckles. “Not remotely.”

Okay. Then why the doom-and-gloom version of Flint? “Um, that’s great that you met someone, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He looks away, pulling his hands back into his lap.

“What’s her name?” I ask, trying to encourage him to talk. It’s clear he has something he needs to get off his chest, but I have no idea what it is. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want—”

I break off when he laughs, because it’s a low and painful sound. “I’m gay, Grace. I thought you’d figured that out by now.”

“Oh!” Now that he says it out loud, I feel like a horrible friend. All the times I’d seen girls coming on to him—even Macy, God bless her—and he’d never shown any interest. Was I really so caught up in my own life that Flint and I had never stopped to talk about him?

Not to mention, yeah, Jaxon gets jealous sometimes when I hang out with Flint, but I always thought that was ridiculous. There’s no chemistry between the two of us at all—even when I thought he was hitting on me in the library that time, it felt off. Like something wasn’t right. Like he was trying too hard.