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smirked. “It’s especially easy when he lives on a different continent.”
    More giggling. I ignored them and returned to my work. The day after Giovanni’s revelation, I’d visited Marymount International School to see about registering for classes and was told succinctly, but not rudely, that they’d begun accepting applications for this term last January—before anyone knew anything about unicorns at all—and that it was far too late to consider me now. But if I brought my parents in, maybe they would work something out for the spring semester.
    I got a similar response at three other schools, then gave up. Perhaps Cory and Neil could find room in the budget for a tutor. Maybe Phil would suggest we both go back to the U.S. to start a North American Cloisters.
    And maybe Bonegrinder would decide to give up ham hocks for broccolini.
    Finished with the blade, I took out a leather cleaner and started working on the wrapping over the hilt. It had aged poorly, cracking in several places, and there was only so much leather oil could do to improve its condition. I wondered when we’d get a real weapons expert into the Cloisters to—if not repair our entire stockpile—at least give us some tips on how to keep things in good shape.
    As careful as I was with cleaning, the leather was unraveling. I tugged on a frayed end and bits came off in my fingers, revealing tarnished metal underneath.
    “Oops,” I said, and held up the leather pieces.
    Grace shrugged. “Probably time to replace, anyway. I’ll look for some swordmaking hints about leather hilt wrapping.” She tossed me a rag and a pot of polish. “Good opportunity to clean underneath, though.”
    I unraveled the rest of the hilt and began working the crud out of the nooks and crannies of the metal. As the silver began to brighten beneath my fingers, I saw a pattern emerging on the hilt, one of curves and right angles. Roman block letter script. I scrubbed harder.
    Bonegrinder began to growl again, and this time, when we looked up, we saw that Neil and Phil had entered the courtyard with a black-robed priest.
    Neil cleared his throat. “Ladies, this is Father Guillermo, and he’s here from the Vatican.”
    I tried to catch Phil’s eye, but she was smiling cheerfully at all the girls and wouldn’t focus on me.
    Which, in my experience, was a bad sign. It meant she was in “donna mode” and would be pretending, for a little while at least, that being her cousin afforded me no special privileges. It was an attitude she adopted under two circumstances: when one of the other girls had complained about the cliques and whenever what was about to happen would upset me very much.
    Now I looked to Cory, whose gaze was boring similar holes in Neil’s direction. Like Phil, his face stayed placid, his attention directed toward the group as a whole. In her corner, Bone-grinder tested the security of the chain binding her to the wall until Zelda issued a sharp command and she slumped down. The zhi knew she was no match for a courtyard full of hunters.
    “Buon giorno,”
said Father Guillermo, and bad as my own Italian remained, I detected something awkward in his syllables as well. “It makes me so happy to be welcomed into this beautiful convent, to see so many young women devoted to doing the work of God.”
    Cory put down her book.
    “As you all probably know, the Order of the Lioness in these Cloisters has long been a vital and treasured part of the Church. We were so sorry to see it die out in the nineteenth century and are thrilled to witness this revival now.”
    Ilesha folded her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, watching Father Guillermo curiously.
    “And of course,” he went on, “we have been watching this rebirth with much interest. The renovation of the Cloisters has given us much joy. The recruitment of Sister Lucia from her own convent to be your cook, the tacit approval of the monks who live next door …” He folded his hands in