to try to train if he was just going to be locked up in his rooms? And now Rupert had said they might have to survive on their own outside the walls. That’s what Cyrus had wanted, but he didn’t like how it sounded—
survive
. There was only one way to makeit all stop, to make this strange world slow down and find a place for him that wasn’t a cage and wasn’t a motel and didn’t involve undying people trying to kill him.
“We need to get the tooth back.” Cyrus said it quietly, but Diana heard and glanced back at him over her shoulder.
“And … there it is,” said Nolan. He stretched out his arms. “It has to be said once a meeting. The Polygoners exist for one reason and one reason only.”
“Getting the tooth back is a good reason,” Cyrus said.
“But that’s not the reason.” Nolan let half of his mouth grin. “We don’t gather together to hunt the tooth. We gather together to hear you say that we should. The Polygoners are tooth talkers, not tooth hunters.”
Cyrus bit his tongue. He wanted to hit Nolan, but he knew things wouldn’t go well if he did. The ancient boy could outgrapple, outbox, and outbrawl Cyrus even at his angriest—
especially
at his angriest. And he was right. They weren’t tooth hunters. And they couldn’t be. And even if they snuck off and were booted from the O of B, Phoenix wouldn’t be easily found. And if found, not easily beaten.
If Rupert Greeves, Blood Avenger, couldn’t find the villain, what chance did Cyrus and the Polygoners have?
“So …,” Dennis said. The porter was nervous, eyes darting between Cyrus and Nolan. “Was there anythingelse for tonight? Anything you might need me to do before next week’s meeting? Anything you might need me to bring since you’ll be stuck in here?”
Cyrus watched Diana laugh. She had recommended green for something, and now Antigone was sneering. He looked back into Dennis Gilly’s eager face.
Nolan stretched his arms above his head. “Bring Gilgamesh’s head. I think our little society would appreciate that.”
“It’s not a society,” Dennis said. “Private societies within the O of B are strictly prohibited.”
Nolan sat up. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Our
secret
society would like you to decapitate Gilgamesh of Uruk. He’s a prig and a pig and a killer. Can you handle that, Mr. Gilly?”
“I’m sorry,” said Dennis. “It really is important that we not use the word
society
. Or
order
. We can’t be those things.”
Nolan pursed his lips and scratched at his smooth white cheek. “Will you do it if we’re a club?”
Dennis squirmed. “Maybe. A club is better, but we would need to file a form and name a Keeper to oversee us.”
Cyrus wasn’t listening anymore. Something like this happened at every meeting. Dennis was so serious and literal, and Nolan was usually bored enough to needle him.
Cyrus was bored, too. Or maybe just tired and beaten up and feeling defeated. He wondered when Arachne would come and what her unique gifts were—a girl with a million spider pets didn’t exactly seem like an ideal trainer.
Arachne was betting on the Smiths. That’s what Rupert had said. The rest of the transmortals all hated the Smiths—except Nolan, but he pretty much hated everyone some of the time. Cyrus still didn’t even know what it meant to be a Smith. To him, Smithness started with his own memories somewhere around the age of five. It was California and happiness, then heartbreak and the Archer Motel. And then Ashtown …
Even those blond brothers he and Tigs had met in the hall knew more about his family than he did. His father had cut all that history off when he’d defied the Order and married Cyrus’s mother. But the history was still real, even if it was hidden. It was waiting.…
Antigone was saying something to Nolan, probably telling him to stop pestering Dennis. But that didn’t matter. Nolan would do whatever he wanted. He always did.
“Hey!” said
survive
. There was only one way to makeit all stop, to make this strange world slow down and find a place for him that wasn’t a cage and wasn’t a motel and didn’t involve undying people trying to kill him.
“We need to get the tooth back.” Cyrus said it quietly, but Diana heard and glanced back at him over her shoulder.
“And … there it is,” said Nolan. He stretched out his arms. “It has to be said once a meeting. The Polygoners exist for one reason and one reason only.”
“Getting the tooth back is a good reason,” Cyrus said.
“But that’s not the reason.” Nolan let half of his mouth grin. “We don’t gather together to hunt the tooth. We gather together to hear you say that we should. The Polygoners are tooth talkers, not tooth hunters.”
Cyrus bit his tongue. He wanted to hit Nolan, but he knew things wouldn’t go well if he did. The ancient boy could outgrapple, outbox, and outbrawl Cyrus even at his angriest—
especially
at his angriest. And he was right. They weren’t tooth hunters. And they couldn’t be. And even if they snuck off and were booted from the O of B, Phoenix wouldn’t be easily found. And if found, not easily beaten.
If Rupert Greeves, Blood Avenger, couldn’t find the villain, what chance did Cyrus and the Polygoners have?
“So …,” Dennis said. The porter was nervous, eyes darting between Cyrus and Nolan. “Was there anythingelse for tonight? Anything you might need me to do before next week’s meeting? Anything you might need me to bring since you’ll be stuck in here?”
Cyrus watched Diana laugh. She had recommended green for something, and now Antigone was sneering. He looked back into Dennis Gilly’s eager face.
Nolan stretched his arms above his head. “Bring Gilgamesh’s head. I think our little society would appreciate that.”
“It’s not a society,” Dennis said. “Private societies within the O of B are strictly prohibited.”
Nolan sat up. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Our
secret
society would like you to decapitate Gilgamesh of Uruk. He’s a prig and a pig and a killer. Can you handle that, Mr. Gilly?”
“I’m sorry,” said Dennis. “It really is important that we not use the word
society
. Or
order
. We can’t be those things.”
Nolan pursed his lips and scratched at his smooth white cheek. “Will you do it if we’re a club?”
Dennis squirmed. “Maybe. A club is better, but we would need to file a form and name a Keeper to oversee us.”
Cyrus wasn’t listening anymore. Something like this happened at every meeting. Dennis was so serious and literal, and Nolan was usually bored enough to needle him.
Cyrus was bored, too. Or maybe just tired and beaten up and feeling defeated. He wondered when Arachne would come and what her unique gifts were—a girl with a million spider pets didn’t exactly seem like an ideal trainer.
Arachne was betting on the Smiths. That’s what Rupert had said. The rest of the transmortals all hated the Smiths—except Nolan, but he pretty much hated everyone some of the time. Cyrus still didn’t even know what it meant to be a Smith. To him, Smithness started with his own memories somewhere around the age of five. It was California and happiness, then heartbreak and the Archer Motel. And then Ashtown …
Even those blond brothers he and Tigs had met in the hall knew more about his family than he did. His father had cut all that history off when he’d defied the Order and married Cyrus’s mother. But the history was still real, even if it was hidden. It was waiting.…
Antigone was saying something to Nolan, probably telling him to stop pestering Dennis. But that didn’t matter. Nolan would do whatever he wanted. He always did.
“Hey!” said
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