She nods before shakily pushing herself to her feet and then reaching a hand out to me. My shoulder twinges a little as I slide my palm against hers, but I ignore it as she pulls me up. I’ve got better things to do right now than worry about a few scratches—things like trying to figure out why a monster-sized eagle decided he wanted a Fifi-sized snack this morning. And also why the school hasn’t done anything to get rid of it.
“Thanks,” she murmurs. “You saved my life.”
“I don’t know about your life,” I answer with a shaky smile. “But I’m pretty sure I at least saved a few of your braids.”
She laughs just like I intend her to, though the sound dies in her throat as someone starts clapping.
I turn to find the man I noticed earlier walking toward us. Judging by the clipboard in his hand, he must be Dr. Minthe, but he looks way different—and way younger—than any of the other teachers I’ve seen here so far. He’s got black hair that falls in waves around his face, several days’ worth of stubble, and a dozen or so tattoos running up and down his arms. Plus he’s wearing a pair of black Wayfarer sunglasses, black-and-gray floral board shorts, and a black T-shirt with some kind of artistic design on it.
“Nice job saving your friend and yourself,” he tells me,his white teeth gleaming against his light brown skin. “Name, please?”
“I’m Fifi,” my roommate answers as she brushes the grass off her uniform. “And this is Ellie.”
“Penelope,” I correct, partly because of the roster and partly because I feel likesomeoneat this school should call me by my actual name. “My name is Penelope Weaver.”
Dr. Minthe tilts his head down so he can study me over the tops of his sunglasses…which doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all. I mean, who has a problem with eyes the same color—and intensity—of moonbeams drilling into their soul on the first day of class? Certainly not me.
“Nice to meet you, Penelope. And, of course, you as well, Fifi. Sorry for the scare, but I have to say, that was some of the best thinking under pressure I’ve seen so far today. Most of your classmates have simply tried to outrun Agatha, but that never works. She’s a quick one.”
“Agatha?” I repeat, almost afraid to ask.
“My eagle.” He grins indulgently up at the monstrous bird who is currently perched on top of the arts building. “She spent a millennium feasting on Prometheus’s liver before he finally escaped, and now that she’s retired, I think she misses it a little.”
If he’s trying to be reassuring, he needs a new tactic. Because that definitely wasn’t. At all.
Arjun looks about as impressed as I feel right now as he steps forward. “So you decided to bring her around your students?”
“It’s the best way I’ve found to see what my students are made of,” Dr. Minthe answers with a shrug. “In fact—”
He breaks off as someone screams, and I whirl around to see Paris and three other people—two girls and one boy—running for their lives as the eagle comes swooping toward them. And judging by the way Agatha is building up speed with every second that passes, they don’t stand a chance.
“Paris, stop!” I yell as I race toward them. “Get on the ground.”
But my warning comes too late, because the eagle swoops down and grabs hold of Paris’s backpack…while it’s still strapped to his back.
He shouts, tries to break away, but she’s not letting go of her prize so soon after claiming it. Especially since that prize isn’t just the backpack, but Paris himself.
I watch in horror as she changes course, banking fast to the right before she starts to fly up, up, up.
I keep running toward her, hoping to distract her before she decides to take a bite out of Paris.
Please don’t let her eat my brother’s liver. Please don’t let her eat my brother’s liver. Please don’t let her eat my brother’s liver.
The words are my mantra as I chase her across the field, waving my arms and shouting at Paris to slide out of the backpack. Which he does,right about the time Agatha hits three stories high.
Thankfully, I’m below him now, and I brace myself for impact. Paris falling on me is likely to give us both somepretty bad bruises, but it’s better than him slamming into the ground from three stories up.
But just before he crashes into me, someone tall comes from behind me and tries to scoot me out of the way. I have one second to wonder if it’s Dr. Minthe before Paris slams into him. Which then has him staggering backward and slamming into me.
I have just enough time to register that he’s definitely not Dr. Minthe before all three of us go down. And in a shocking turn of events that actually shocks absolutely no one, my torn-up shoulder and I end up at the bottom of the pile.
Because, really, where else would we be?
28.Oh, Brother!
WE’VE GOT TO STOP MEETINGthis way,” Sullivan says as he grins down at me.
I don’t answer, partly because I’m afraid I’ll end up giggling again like I did in the Hall of Legends, and I flat out refuse to do that, but mostly because he—and Paris—are currently squeezing every last drop of air from my body.
