Angelbound (11 page)

Except me.

I shake my head. Maybe I just inherited the wrath side of the Furor ‘lust and wrath’ combo. Another thought slams into me, this one far, far worse. Since I’m part ghoul, I might only be attracted to
ghoul
guys. That realization is depressing, repulsive, and, unfortunately, all too possible.

Eew, eew, eew.

***

“Myla, you’ve been called to serve.”

Yawning, I open my eyes. Two weeks have passed since I last fought in the Arena. Since that day, Cissy and Zeke have become the poster children for public displays of affection, Mom’s stepped up her morning interrogations, and I haven’t gotten a single new dreamscape from Verus. Life has certainly taken a nosedive.

Man, do I ever need to kill something.

Walker stands at the foot of my bed. I roll over, stretch, and peep at my Darth Vader alarm clock. 5 AM on the nose.

“Hey, Walker.” I sit up straight. “How pumped am I that you’re here?”

Walker’s mouth winds into a grin. “Very pumped, obviously.”

“I’ve been itching for a match for weeks.” I throw back the covers and hop to my feet. “Wait. You don’t think this’ll be another match like the last one, do you?
If I see another good human sacrifice herself to Hell, I swear I won’t be able to stop myself from doing something.”

“I’ve been assured you have a suitably awful opponent today.”

“Sweet!” I pause, folding my arms over my chest. “Wait a second. I have a bone to pick with you.”

“A bone? Oh my.” He winks.

“Stop being cute and sarcastic.” I waggle my finger in his face. “I have it on good authority that you know exactly who I am. You’ve been holding out on me, Walker.”

“The night of the Ryder party.” He tilts his head to one side. “You were listening under the window, weren’t you?”

“Damn straight I was.” My inner demon starts to stir. Anger pools in my blood. “Now, spill your guts. Exactly what do you know about who I am?”

“I know you’re like a sister to me, and I’d never do anything to hurt you.” He sighs. “If I don’t tell you things, it’s because I can’t.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “I’ve heard that one before.” I stare into his liquid-black eyes and, damn, he does look like he wants to tell me everything. My anger quiets. I really do think he’d spill his guts if he could.

Crap. It would be so much easier if I could just yell at him for a while.

“I do have
some
news I can share with you today.” He points to a large box by his feet. “This is for you, from Verus. She’s taken quite the interest in your welfare.”

I crouch to the floor and tear open the box; smooth black fabric shines inside.
“A real combat suit!” I turn the garment over in my hands, it’s like a unitard made of flexible steel that’s topped with a mesh hood. “This thing is amazing.”

Walker rocks on his heels, grinning ear to ear. “Do you want to try it on?”

I grip the suit to my chest. “Are you kidding?” I leap to my feet. “You didn’t tell Mom about this thing, right?”

“Nope.”

“Then don’t say a word. I want to surprise her.”

“As you wish.”

I rush into the bathroom and slip on my new garment of awesomeness. The mesh hood is especially badass. My heart thumps happily in my chest as I tiptoe down the hallway and peep around the doorway to the kitchen. Mom’s back is to me as she rattles around the cabinets. Walker sips java at the table.

Perfect.
Neither of them sees me.

Taking a deep breath, I pause outside the kitchen doorway, my back flattened to the wall for optimum stealthy-ness.

“Hey, Mom. Don’t move, okay?”

Mom’s voice sounds from inside the kitchen. “Why, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I swear. Can you close your eyes?”

“Sure, honey.”

I creep to her side. “You can look now.” Her chocolate eyes pop open. “Ta-daaaaa!” I whip the off the mesh hood for extra drama.

Mom’s hand leaps to her mouth. “My word!”

“Isn’t it awesome?” I twirl around. “It’s a gift from the angels.” I karate kick the
air to demonstrate the suit in action. A bubble of new-garment happiness surrounds me.

Stepping to my side, Mom runs her hands over the fabric on my arm. “This isn’t Kevlar, it’s something else. Maybe–”

Walker finishes her thought. “Dragon scales.”

“Hells bells, what do they think you’ll be doing?” A muscle twitches along her jaw. “Is it safe?”

My happy-bubble bursts with a vengeance. Oh no, we’re back to the ‘what’s safe for Myla’ conversation. I stop mid-karate kick. “It’s totally safe-rrrr, Mom. This suit is the bomb.”

Mom rubs her neck with one hand. “Don’t you worry
why
they’re giving you this thing?”

“No, I don’t.” Anger lathers up my throat, turning my voice harsh. “I’m sure they have their sneaky reasons, and honestly, I don’t care.” I step up to her, wrapping my hands around hers. Her fingers tremble beneath mine. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.” My anger tightens into desperation. “I need you to have a little faith in me.
Please.
”

Mom sucks in a few deep breaths. “Have a good match, Myla.” I can tell it’s taking everything she has not to lose it.

I let out a long breath. Not-losing-it is as good a start as any. The knot of emotion in my throat loosens ever so slightly.

“Thanks, Mom.” We share an awkward smile. After that, I release her hands and step over to Walker. “Ready?”

His button-eyes twinkle. “Always. You?”

“Battling an evil soul?” My inner demon roars to life inside my belly. Excitement zings through my nervous system. “Bring it on.” Reaching out, I wrap my hand around his.

Together, he and I disappear from the kitchen, tumble through empty space, and emerge on the Arena floor.

***

I blink my eyes, adjusting to the stadium’s brighter light and my now-woozy stomach. I so hate portal travel. Around me, there stands Walker, Sharkie, and XP-22. A new face skulks nearby as well: a Crini demon, which is basically a seven-foot tall monster octopus. I shrug; I’ve killed my share of Crini in my time. This one has stumpy tentacles; Cissy could even take it out pretty easily.

Sheila must be out sick.

As the angels and demons enter the Arena, I practice lunges, spins, and kicks in my new suit. The rest of the world melts away. Pulling down the hood, I leap in front of XP-22 and growl. He almost jumps out of his robes. It’s beyond awesome.

Sharkie thumps his staff, snapping me out of my garment love-fest. I glance around the Arena; all the angels and demons are in their seats and ready to go.

Our emcee raises his staff. “To begin the match, we ask for a few words from our fearless leader Armageddon–”

Verus rises to her feet. “I shall begin by saying a few words.” She turns to the King of Hell. “Have you found the Scala Heir yet, Armageddon?”

Armageddon’s upper lip twists into a sneer. “No.”

Verus’s wings stretch wide. “I see. Such inefficiency in government. We need to–”

Armageddon leaps to his feet, his eyes blazing red. “WE WILL FIND THIS FOOL, I PROMISE YOU!” Bits of spittle fly from his mouth as he speaks. His three-knuckled fingers ball into fists. Taking a deep breath, he resettles into his chair, eyes still blazing red. He dismissively waves one hand. “Let the games begin.”

Smiling, Verus retakes her seat as well.

Long moments of silence, heavy as stones, fall about the Arena.
What in Hell was that all about?
Armageddon almost lost his marbles. Adrenaline pumps through my veins by the gallon; my tail arcs by my shoulder. Something is wrong here, very wrong. These two are in the middle of some kind of power play, and everyone in this Arena is another piece on their game board. A shiver of fear rattles my spine.

Sharkie thunks his staff on the Arena floor, interrupting my thoughts. The emcee’s voice echoes through the Arena. “I call forth the soul.”

A spirit appears beside Sharkie. This time, the ghost is a powerhouse of a man with a barrel chest over stout arms and legs. Skull tattoos cover his body. I let out a sigh of relief. Finally, an opponent worth the effort.

Sharkie turns to the human soul. “Deacon Lee, have you chosen trial by combat?”

The spirit’s misty eyes scan the Arena. “Yes.”

“You have three opponents to choose from. First–”

“I choose the girl.”

Huh. I’ve been in matches since I was twelve, and the souls always need to have it explained to them who they can choose and why. Sometimes, twice. It’s totally sketchy this guy
not only
knows the rules of the game, but
who
he wants to play with. On instinct, I scan Verus and Armageddon. The lead angel’s face is unreadable, but the King of Hell? He looks mighty pleased with himself.

A fissure of unease opens inside me. This is so not good.

Tilting his skeletal head to one side, Sharkie’s eyes glow bright red in their sockets. “So be it.” He waves to the exit archways. “All others, depart.”

The Crini demon is first to slink away, its eight puny legs creeping in an odd rhythm. Walker and XP-22 follow closely behind.

Deacon crosses his heavy arms. “And I want a weapon.”

My jaw just about drops off my face. Nobody gets a weapon. Not me, not the evil souls. Never. The sketchy quotient of this match just went through the roof.

Sharkie sniffs from his nose-holes. “No.”

Deacon turns to the Arena audience. “This girl is clearly part demon. I’m a man. Don’t I deserve the means to defend myself?” The demons screech and howl with delight; the angels sit in anxious silence.

Sharkie slams his staff onto the ground. “The rules of trial by combat are not open to negotiation. The soul may choose their opponent but no weapons. This was decreed by the Spectral Treaty of–”

A slick voice echoes through the arena, silencing Sharkie. “I like him. The man’s got sass.” It’s Armageddon. The demon raises his black hand, snapping
his fingers. “Here’s your weapon, friend.” A long coiled whip appears before Deacon’s feet.

Unholy Hell.

I glance at Verus on her white throne; her blue eyes gleam. She quickly rises to her feet. “What say you, SKE-12? Is this how the match should proceed?”

Everyone holds their breath as Sharkie considers his reply. A droplet of black sweat trickles down his gray cheek. There’s more at stake here than a weapon, but I can’t put my finger on it. My fingers twitch anxiously at my sides.

Sharkie’s knobby Adam’s apple flicks up and down as he swallows. “The ghouls shall allow a single weapon for this fight only.”

Verus quirks her eyebrows. “Such a surprise.” Her glance flicks to me with a look that says ‘this turn of events is anything but a shock’. I feel like that’s meant to comfort me somehow, but it doesn’t.

My mind whirls through everything that happened this morning: Deacon choosing me so quickly, Armageddon conjuring a weapon for him, and Verus giving me a fighting suit. It all adds up to one fact.

Verus wasn’t the only one who noticed when I killed the Choker.

Clearly, Armageddon’s taken an interest in me as well. In his mind, I must be the only thing standing between him and a purely evil soul in Heaven. I pull my suit’s protective mask over my face, feeling new waves of adrenaline course through me. Of course, this was no surprise to Verus; she’s an Oracle. I grit my teeth in frustration.
Would have been nice to get more of a heads-up than a new suit, lady.

Sharkie slams his staff on the ground. “Let the match begin!” Deacon turns from misty ghost into solid human. He picks up the whip, shaking out its length before him. My breath catches. Fighting hand-to-hand? No problem. Battling an armed opponent? I am so fucked. For the first time since I was twelve, the thought flashes through my mind that I might actually die here. Terror zings through my nervous system.

Deacon flicks his wrist; the coil unfurls. Red hellfire erupts along the weapon’s length. The human’s face twists into an evil grin. Fast as a heartbeat, my opponent brings his arm up, snapping the whip down with a loud CRACK.

The next thing I know, I’m choking to death, a fiery whip wrapped about my neck. Terror courses through my nervous system, causing my inner demon to cower with fright.

Pulling up my tail, I try slicing the cord around my throat, but it’s no use. I have precious seconds of consciousness left. Turning to my enemy, I jump into the air, crouching my boots beneath me. I slam my feet into Deacon’s chest. My body jolts backwards as my heels connect with his ribs. Deacon stumbles, fumbling with the handle of his whip. I land beside him, trying to keep the cord as slack as possible.

This is my chance. Grab that whip before he regains control of it.

The world drips by in slow motion as the whip wobbles in Deacon’s hands. Lunging, I try grabbing the weapon from him, but at the last possible millisecond, his fingers grip it firmly again.

Oh, no. I watch helplessly as my last chance to steal away the whip
disappears. My lungs burn for air, turning my body numb with fear. Frozen with terror? Not the way to win a battle.

Deacon slams his arm down once more, bringing the whip along with it. The fiery cord around my neck pulls even tighter; my lungs scream for oxygen. At least, my new suit protects my skin from burning. Small comfort amid a huge panic.

The roar of the demon crowd rattles through my head. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m aware of Armageddon leaning forward in his dark throne, watching the match with glee, his eyes burning bright red. A horrible thought flashes through my mind: If I die here today, some demon like him could end up consuming my soul. The thought turns my muscles slack with shock.

Deacon runs into me full throttle, ramming his shoulder into my belly. He drags me along a few paces; my body slams against the Arena wall. I’m dimly aware of demons howling ever louder with pleasure. Pinned in place, I heave up my legs for another kick, but this time, my feet miss the mark. My limbs feel oddly heavy, my mind strangely calm as I realize an important fact:

Deacon just made the strategic error of the century.

My inner demon roars to life, my limbs flail with rage. As I writhe under the human’s grip, Deacon presses his face closer to mine. My vision turns fuzzy, the tattoos on his skin blur. Deacon’s knee makes contact with my stomach as he grunts: “You’re not the only one with a kick.”