Angelbound (32 page)

Mom purses her lips. “I can’t want to hear this.”

“You know what?” I lean back in my seat. “I’ve got nothing. Drop me off at school.”

Mom cracks the tiniest smile. “They shouldn’t have demons in a classroom anyway.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to go to school?”

“Nice try.”

I hit school sometime after lunch. Cissy spots me the second my sneakers hit the hallway. “It’s good to see you feeling better, sweetie.” She plants a quick kiss on my cheek.

“Thanks, Cissy.”

“So I thought you weren’t coming back to school until tomorrow. What happened?”

What happened? Lincoln happened. Heat climbs into my cheeks as I remember the Prince’s kiss and his sweet words.
Not that I’m telling Cissy anything about that.
The last thing I need is the return of the envy monster. I clear my throat. “I felt better.”

Cissy sets her hand on my arm. “Are you okay? You look flushed.”

I force a cough. “Yeah, I’m fine. Still recovering.” Hells bells, could I be any more suspicious?

Cissy gives my arm a gentle pat. “Don’t push yourself, sweetie.”

I exhale. “You’re so right.” And so not suspecting anything. Sweet.

“Oh, you won’t believe what happened at school. Someone stole all the Biology demons.”

“No. Way.” I grin, my eyes flaring red. Talking about kissing Lincoln? A bad idea. Bragging about stealing Reperio? A requirement.

“Hells bells! Myla, did you have something to do with that?”

“I most surely did.” I wag my eyebrows up and down. “I totally stole the Reperio and released them at a thrax dinner. Isn’t that the best idea in the history of ever?”

Cissy sighs. “I won’t lecture you on why that was completely insane. If you’d been caught, it would have been another diplomatic nightmare. Not to mention the fact that stealing from school is illegal.”

I click my tongue. “This is one of your non-lecture-lectures, isn’t it?”

Cissy tries to grimace, but smiles instead. “You are trouble, Myla Lewis.”

Funny, that’s what Lincoln said too.
I remember the Prince’s kiss and feel all fuzzy inside. I must have a pretty goofy look on my face, because once I return my attention to Cissy, she’s now suspecting something, big time.

“Why’d you release demons at a thrax dinner?” She smacks her lips. “Does this have anything to do with Prince Lincoln?”

Play it cool, Myla.
“Oh, him? He’s just a friend.” A friend that I kissed once and now want to strip down and lick, that’s all.

“Are you holding out on me?” Her eyes flare red.

Wooo-ee. I need to vamoose before she goes all envy demon on me. “Sorry, Cissy. I gotta run or I’ll be late.” Turning on my heel, I rush off before she has a chance to stop me.

Whew. That was close.

“Good morning, Myla. You’re called to serve.”

I open my eyes and yawn. “Hey there, Walker. I haven’t seen you in ages.” In fact, the last time I saw him was three months ago, when I fought Deacon in the Arena and almost tackled Lincoln. Who knew I’d end up kissing the guy? Since then, I’ve gone to both the thrax autumn and winter tournaments. Time has flown.

Now it’s just a few days after celebrations for the New Year. Too long, really, between visits from my honorary undead older brother. Normally he sneaks me in to see someone else’s match at the Arena at least once a month.

I mock-frown. “I’ve missed you, Walker.”

My heart thumps sadly.
I miss Lincoln, too.
I haven’t heard a word from him since the winter tournament two weeks ago. It’s really bumming me out that I was some kind of one-kiss-stand for him. Nightshade’s now a permanent resident at the Ryder stables; I take her out for regular jaunts near the thrax compound. Each time, I hope to run into a particular someone, but no such luck. I’m too proud to do more than that.

I let out a low sigh. Okay, I’m actually
not
too proud to do more than that, but the thrax have their little campground on some kind of mega lock-down these days.

Walker sizes me up carefully. “I’ve missed you as well.” He rubs his long sideburns. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

I flip off my covers and set my toes on the chilly floor. “Why’s that?”

“You’re the greatest warrior in Antrum.”

“Oh, yeah.” I step over to my dresser, open the top drawer and pull out my golden breastplate. “Queen Octavia hooked me up with armor and a spot in the tournament.” I set the breastplate over my gray nightgown and model it for Walker. “I took out an Arachnoid in this thing.”

Walker grins. “I wish I could have seen it.”

I wink. “Perhaps another time.” I carefully set the breastplate back into my drawer. “So, who am I fighting today?”

Walker lowers his voice. “I have a surprise for you. We’re actually seeing an iconigration.”

I clasp my hands. “No. Way.” Iconigrations are when the Scala moves multiple souls to Heaven or Hell at once. I’ve only seen these a few times. Mega cool.

“Oh, I found a way.” He sets one finger over his mouth in a ‘shh’ face. “Just don’t tell your mother what we’re up to.”

I mime zipping my mouth shut. “Got it.” Mom freaks out when I do anything different. I have a feeling an iconigration would send her through the roof.

“See you in a bit.” Walker steps out my bedroom door, careful to close it behind him.

I shower, change into my fighting suit, and walk into the kitchen, a smarmy smile on my face. Iconigrations are the best.

Mom sits at the table, holding a mug of steaming coffee. She takes one look at me and frowns. “What’s going on, Myla?”

I put on my best ‘innocent face’: eyes wide and blinking like mad. “Walker’s taking me to the Arena for another death-match. You know, the usual.” A pile of Demon bars sit on the counter. I grab one and dive in.

“Did you have any strange dreams last night?”

“Nope.”

“Make any new friends?”

Besides the thrax High Prince?

“Cissy’s still my best friend, Mom.” Misleading but true.

Mom rounds on Walker. “What soul is she battling this morning?”

“The CEO of a financial conglomerate back on earth. Nasty fellow.” Unlike me, Walker’s a really good liar.

Mom eyes me carefully for a full minute. Her fingers slowly drum the tabletop. “I suppose it’s all right.”

Sweeeeeeeeeet.

I swallow my last bite of breakfast. “Let’s get going.”

Walker lowers his head. A crackling sound fills the air as a portal opens by our fridge. I take Walker’s hand in mine.

“See you later, Mom.”

She looks at me out of her right eye. “Uh-huh.” After my little performance with the Reperio demons, she’s on constant sneak-alert for everything I do. Not that I blame her.

Walker and I step into the portal, tumble through empty space, and walk out again into a darkened archway off the Arena floor. I’m actually starting to like portal travel.

I lean against the stone wall and look out across the stadium. Everything’s deserted.

“There used to be great ceremonies before an iconigration,” says Walker. “Now the Scala shows up, creates soul-columns and leaves.”

A low hiss echoes through the air. A portal opens along the Arena’s top level. Through it steps the tallest ghoul I’ve ever seen and someone I never wanted to see again: Armageddon.

I turn to Walker. “What’s tall, dark, and demonic doing here?”

He shrugs. “He comes to see his son sometimes.”

My tail arcs over my shoulder. My body goes on full alert.

Another figure steps out from the portal: a tiny woman in a high-necked red silk gown with a bustle on the back. She looks like something from earth in the 1800s, except for her pink skin, pig-snout nose, and tiny black eyes. Her hair’s a long piggy tail that winds into a bun behind her head. In her hoof-hand she holds a silver briefcase.

Armageddon, a ghoul and a few Manus demons all seat themselves in the
black marble balcony. The King of Hell snaps his fingers over his shoulder. “Clementine. Now.” The pig-demon rushes onto the balcony, taking her seat beside Armageddon’s black stone throne. She opens the briefcase in her lap and fiddles with whatever’s inside. A high-pitched buzz rings softly in the air.

I nod to Walker. “What do you think Armageddon’s up to?”

“Who knows? He’s always doing strange things. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Humph. That attitude got Purgatory overrun in the first place.

A long portal opens in the center of the Arena floor. Through it steps six ghouls carrying a fancy stretcher. The old Scala lays atop the makeshift cot in his white robes, fast asleep. A thin white blanket is tucked beneath his chin.

One carrier-ghoul gently touches the Scala’s thin shoulder.

The old man’s cloudy eyes open a crack. “Ah, J-27.”

The ghoul bows. “It’s time to call the souls to Heaven, Great Scala.”

Walker taps my hand. “He just said–”

“I understood him.” My body freezes.
Hey now, I just understood freaking Latin.
“How in Hell do I understand Latin?”

Walker seems awfully interested in staring out at the Arena floor. “When he wants to, the Scala can make the crowd understand him.”

I smack my lips once.
That sounds mega-fishy.
I never heard the Scala had that power. I tilt my head to one side, trying to figure out if Walker’s telling the truth. “Are you lying to me?”

He turns to me, his face the picture of cool. “Why would I lie?”

Okay, he has a point. Back to watching the Scala.

On the Arena floor, the Scala feebly raises his right hand. A flurry of igni lightning bolts swirl about his palm. Two dozen ghosts appear on the stadium’s floor. I examine the one closest to me. Its shape quickly morphs between thousands of different faces and body types.
Icons.
Each one contains thousands of human souls.

I watch the icon bodies transform in a blinding flicker. It’s beautiful.

The Scala drops his shaking hand. The igni disappear. He gasps for air, his bony rib cage heaving up and down. The ghouls prop him upright. He catches his breath.

I shake my head. That is one really old dude. He looks like he could cork any second.

“In the quasi republic, the Scala moved hundreds of icons to Heaven at a time. Now it’s rare to see more than a few dozen.” Walker sighs. “Today, it’s the iconigrations to Hell that are packed to overflowing.”

I glance to Armageddon and Clementine. A soft scarlet glow shines from inside her briefcase. Strange red shadows crawl under her cheeks and snout. The buzzing sound grows louder.

J-27 touches the Scala’s shoulder again. “You must move them.”

The old man nods, his breath coming in rough gasps. He raises his wrinkled hand again; tiny lightning bolts whirl about his palm. The igni fly from his fingertips and whiz around the Arena floor. They settle around each icon, circling the morphing spirits in ever faster loops. The igni multiply, becoming pillars of white light.

I love to see those in action. Soul-columns. How the Scala moves spirits.

The Scala gasps; his eyes roll back into his head. The soul-columns become blindingly bright, then disappear, taking the icons with them.

The Scala drops his trembling hand. His breath comes faster and rougher than ever. Is he going to drop dead right here?

J-27 sets his fingers against the old man’s withered throat. The ghoul’s gray face turns pale as milk. “We must visit the healer right away.”

Armageddon leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stares into the briefcase in Clementine’s lap and grins. The light inside the case now blazes bright red. The buzzing grows louder.

I don’t care what Walker said. Whatever’s in that briefcase isn’t harmless plotting from Armageddon. It’s B-A-D. My skin prickles with alarm.

The King of Hell rubs his three-knuckled hands together. “Let’s see if this contraption is worth the price we paid.”

The six ghouls grab the Scala’s stretcher and bow their heads. The air crackles with energy. The edges of a portal appear and fade. Back sweat streams down the ghoul’s cheeks.

I shoot Walker a look. “What’s going on?”

Walker closes his eyes. “I don’t know. There’s no Group Think. That’s strange.”

“Do the Oligarchy talk in your head non-stop?”

“Always.” Walker’s face creases in concentration. “Though I can shut them off if I wish.” His focus grows more intense. “I’m not shutting them off now.”

Armageddon chuckles. “That’s enough, Clementine.” The pig-demon snaps her briefcase shut.

A portal immediately appears on the Arena floor. The ghouls smile nervously, lift the Scala’s stretcher and step through the black door-hole.

The demon leader takes to his feet. “We leave. Now.” He marches back to the stadium’s top level, orders his ghoul to open a portal, and vanishes into it along with Clementine and his Manus demon guard.

I frown. “He’s scheming again.”

Walker waves his hand dismissively. “He’s always scheming. I’ve seen strange things from him for twenty years now. I find that worrying about it isn’t productive.”

I open my yap, ready to argue my point, but decide not to bother. Normally, I’d fight with Walker on this for another ten minutes, minimum. But being in the Arena reminds me of Lincoln awarding my sword. Closing my eyes, I remember his mouth on mine in the botanical gardens and feel like a total fool. If he wanted to be in touch with me, he would have done it weeks ago.

Gritting my teeth, I bite back the urge to mope. “We should head back.”

Walker leans against the archway wall, his eyes glowing with a bit of red. “I hate to see the two of you like this.”

I absently pick moss off the uneven stones lining the wall. “The two of
who
like
what
?”

“You and Lincoln. Miserable.”

Wait a second.
Did Walker say what I thought he said?
“You know Lincoln?”
My body goes on high alert.

“I do.” Walker’s mouth droops into a frown. “But I swore to never breathe a word of it.” A muscle twitches along his jaw. “It’s the artist in me. Too soft a heart.”

I step closer to him, careful to make every inch of me look as pleading and pathetic as possible. “Come on, don’t leave a girl hanging.”