Angelbound (8 page)

“Ha, ha, very funny.” I step inside. “And it’s orange, not red.”

Zeke rubs his chiseled chin. “Yes, Elmo’s not the right Muppet for you. Beaker maybe? Ernie?”

Cissy steps directly in front of me. “Hi, Zeke! Wanna dance?” She hitches one leg out to show the high slit in her dress. Damn, that girl looks like a million dollars.

I cross my fingers behind my back. Please, please, please let him notice her. Just once.

Zeke’s caramel eyes twinkle with a reddish glow. “I’d love to, uh…” He snaps his fingers. “It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“Cissy.” She steps closer to Zeke. “My name’s Cissy.”

“Wow. Are you new in school?”

“No, we’ve been in the same class since Kindergarten. You broke my nose playing dodge ball in third grade, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Zeke nods slowly. “Sorry about that.” He brushes one finger down the bridge of her nose. “You look fine now, though.”

Cissy’s face turns about eight shades of red. “Thanks.”

I pull down my fist and whisper ‘yeah!’ Neither of them notice, which shows how far gone they both are.
Finally.

“Follow me.” Zeke grabs Cissy’s hand and they disappear into the crowd.

I watch them go, wondering what it’s like to feel all blushy for a guy. I suppose that’s step one, while step two is actually kissing. Not that I know anything about either.

Ah, well. Back to the party.

I step around the ballroom floor. This must be the prettiest spot in all Purgatory. Great glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling. A line of balconies arch over the long wooden dance floor. A specially-designed stage perfectly fits the jazz band.

The floor is packed with ghouls and demons, but angels and thrax walk
around too. I even spy the Oligarchy and Verus. Staring at the different faces, I smile from ear to ear. Maybe this is the angelic plan Walker was talking about. We may be nearing a new age of cooperation between angels, ghouls, thrax, quasis, and demons.

Then again, maybe not.

In one scrambling and biting mass, all the demons cluster into a corner, staring around the room with a look that says ‘yum, dinner.’ At the center of their group stands Armageddon, his long arms folded across his narrow chest. The human from today’s match flashes through my mind’s eye, and I have a mad desire to race across the room and give the King of Hell a piece of my mind. I take a deep breath and ball my hands into fists. Tonight’s probably not the night to lecture Armageddon.

The guests within twenty feet of Armageddon all whimper and sulk away. That’s his greater demon aura knocking into them, overwhelming them with terror. Combine that aura with my neon orange dress and heels, and tonight’s
definitely
not the night to take on the King of Hell.

I force myself to look away. My gaze finds Cissy and Zeke dancing up a storm. Cissy’s eyes glow with a bit of demon-red (which means half the room envies her and she knows it). Meanwhile, there are ruby sparkles in Zeke’s irises too (which means I
cannot
let him drive Cissy home, and I know it).

Considering how they’re dirty-dancing, I’m not driving Cissy home any time soon. I’m spending the next hour or so alone, but it’s worth it to see Cissy’s dream come true, such as it is. I decide to circulate through the crowd, sizing up
the different faces. Which ones could tell me something about my father?

I spy an older quasi woman with oodles of silver hair and diamonds. Her long peacock tail perfectly matches her green gown. She’s eating a shrimp so slowly, I know her demon power is sloth.

Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders. You have to start somewhere.

I step up to the stranger. “Hello, I know we don’t know each other, but I was wondering if you went to any diplomatic events, say, eighteen years ago?”

Bit by bit, the woman sets the shrimp in her mouth and starts to chew. I take that to mean ‘yes.’

“Well, I was wondering if you knew any of the diplomats from those days. The quasi guys in particular?”

The woman swallows, then slowly turns to face me. She eyes me carefully. “Are you…Are you?” My heart beats so quickly, I think it will explode.

I grab her wrist. “Do I look like someone? Who? A diplomat?”

“Are you the floor show?” She points to my dress. “What’s that Muppet’s name again? Fozzie Bear?”

“No, I’m not the floor show.” I bite my lips together. “Excuse me.”

Clearly, it’s time for a new party survival plan.

Setting aside the quest to find my father, I discover that if I stand under a balcony, the shadows hide my orange-ness. An extra bonus is that no one can see me and/or make Muppet comments. I’ve hoarded a pile of canned soda and sugary snacks on a nearby table. My night is full.

In fact, I’m having a sweet time when two figures step into the darkness
beside me.

Squinting in the dim light, I size up the pair of strangers. The first man is older, tall and burly with long white hair past his chin. He wears a classic tuxedo that matches the one on the figure beside him. The second stranger is a boy with broad shoulders and a rigid military stance. His hair is shorter, earthy brown and loose. Since it’s super quiet under the balcony, I can’t help but listen in.

Okay, maybe I could help it, but I’m a little curious and a lot bored.

“I don’t understand why we’re here, father.” It’s the boy.

“More orders from the angels, son.” The older man has a deep and rolling voice. “They want closer relations between the realms.”

My heart thumps in my chest. Angels? Closer relationships between the realms? Maybe we really are on the edge of a new era. I smile, thinking about a ghoul-free life where I choose my own job, clothes, anything. The boy speaks, interrupting my thoughts.

“I understand. What should I do?”

“Try to socialize; meet some quasis in particular.” The father’s eyes glimmer in the shadows. His irises are mis-matched: one blue and one brown.

They’re thrax. High-fives to Miss Thing for actually teaching something useful.

“Quasis aren’t people,” snaps the boy. “They’re demons.”

What?!
My hands clench into fists. Actually, we’re mostly human, thank you very much.

“Angels say they’re different. Try to keep an open mind.” The father points to the dance floor where Cissy shimmies up and down Zeke’s thigh. “Take that girl,
for example. Why don’t you ask her to dance? She seems quite, uh,
friendly
.”

I roll my eyes.
What an old-guy thing to say.
Sure, Cissy’s a little over the top right now, but she’s been dreaming of this night since she was nine. I glance at my friend and smile. Cissy looks absolutely blissed out. Maybe a wee bit slutty as she paws Zeke’s abs during the mambo, but who cares? She’s eighteen; it’s her job to be stupid.

The boy folds his arms over his chest. “That quasi has a dog’s tail and acts like one in heat.”

My blood simmers with anger.
What an
ASSHOLE-GUY
thing to say!

The boy grips his fist behind his back. “Besides father, you know I’m no diplomat.”

You think?!

“Where’s my best soldier?” The older man punches his son’s upper arm. “I know I can rely on you for this mission.”

The boy nods briskly. “Of course.”

“That’s my boy.” Grinning broadly, the father marches off into the crowd and starts glad-handing a pack of ghoul diplomats.

I sip the rest of my soda, glaring at the boy’s silhouette. My inner demon begins to stir. I imagine wagging my finger in his face, screaming the differences between demons and quasis. Or even better, I could leap beside him and land one good kick behind his kneecaps. I’m so distracted that instead of setting my empty soda can back on the table, I drop it to the floor with a crash.

Turning on his heel, the boy steps to my side. “Are you alright, Miss?” Up
close, I can see that he’s my age with mismatched eyes, one wheat-brown and the other slate-gray. His face is square with a strong jaw and scooped-out cheeks. For some reason, I can’t stop staring at his full mouth, wondering what it would be like to brush my lips against his. He looks mighty tasty indeed.

Wait a minute. Me thinking about kissing anybody? When does that happen?

Pull yourself together, Myla
. You downed too many candy bars, that’s all. Clearly, this is some kind of sugar-induced hallucination.

I take a deep breath, refocusing my sugary brain on how this dirt-bag insulted Cissy. “I’m fine.” My voice comes out low and sharp. “I dropped an empty can, that’s all.”

His mismatched eyes lock with mine. Our stare quickly turns intense, enveloping. “You look familiar.” He leans in a bit and I inhale his earthy scent, a mixture of forest pine and leather. “You don’t visit the Ryder stables, by any chance?”

Oh, you mean the Ryder stables where I break in all the
freaking time
to hunt demons? Little doxy monsters go there to pester the horses; I’ve appointed myself stable exterminator, on the sly, of course. But there’s no way can he know that, though. The question must be a weird coincidence.

I anxiously shift my weight from foot to foot. “Nope.”

A ghost of a smile rounds the boy’s mouth. “Ah, my error then.” He bows slightly. “My name’s Lincoln.” He scans me from head to toe, his gaze resting on my tail. “You must be a quasi, um, ‘demon.’” His voice lowers when he says the word ‘demon.’

“I’m ‘Myla.’” My voice lowers when I say ‘Myla.’
I have a name, creep.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Lincoln rakes his hand through his mop of brown hair. “Would you…” He has the look of someone about to force himself to do something disgusting. “Would you like to dance, Myla?” He glances toward the ballroom floor, locks his gaze on Cissy and Zeke, then sneers. “It seems to be something
your kind
enjoys.”

Rage boils through me. “Do you mean ‘our kind’ as in my friend with the dog tail?” I hitch my thumb to the dance floor, where Cissy and Zeke are mid-cha-cha. “You remember? The one in heat?”

Lincoln folds his arms across his chest. “What I said was true.” His upper lip curls with disgust. “I can hardly bear to watch.”

“So, you find quasis repulsive.”

“What do you expect?” His mismatched eyes open wider. “You’re part demon. I’m a demon hunter. Asking you to dance was a kind gesture on behalf of–”

“Kind gesture?!” I’m so itching to kick him. “I’ve got a gesture for you.” I turn on my heel and walk away, my tail waving good-bye to him from my backside.

Marching onto the dance floor, I grab Cissy’s arm. “The lust-a-thon ends. Now.” At this point, I’m in a full-blown rage tsunami. My eyes glow bright red.

Cissy knows my wrath-mode when she sees it. “No problem, Myla.” Frowning, she gives Zeke a quick peck on the cheek. “Later, sweetie.”

As we march from the room, I hear Zeke blah-blah-blahing about getting Cissy’s phone number. She gives my hand a little squeeze.

“That was the perfect exit.” She almost skips to the front door.

I speak through gritted teeth: “Glad I could help.”

We drive away from the Ryder mansion in silence. Cissy stares at her hands in what I call her ‘guilty mode.’

As we drive home, my fingers tap the steering wheel in a nervous rhythm. I can’t stop thinking about that thrax boy. It’s mega-irritating. “I’ve a question for you, Cissy.”

Cissy turns to me, her eyes large and watery. “I totally didn’t mean to desert you at the party. You had every right to drag me off the dance floor. But Zeke and I were dancing and I lost track of time.” She puffs out her bottom lip.

“No, it’s not that.”

“Really?!” Cissy sets her hand on her rib cage. “Because I totally feel bad about it.”

“Don’t worry, honestly. I’m happy for you, girlfriend. I’ve got another question for you.”

“Okay, whew.” Cissy leans back in the busted front seat, and props one knee onto the dashboard. “Shoot.”

“Hypothetical question. Suppose there’s a guy–”

Cissy holds up her pointer finger. “Is he hot?”

How I hate admitting this. “Yes.”

“Okay. I like this game already. Please continue.”

“So, this hottie guy is a total and complete dick. Yet you still think about kissing him and–”

“Stop right there.” Cissy raises her hand shoulder height, palm forward. “The
answer is kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.”

“You didn’t hear the question.”

Cissy turns to me, her blonde ringlets jiggling. “What
is
the question?”

“Okay, you got me. What would you do in this situation?”

“As I said, kiss him.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

Cissy glances out the window. “I thought this was just a hypothetical.”

I grip the steering wheel so tightly, my knuckles could pop out of my skin. “Of course, it is.” A hypothetical about that Lincoln guy.

Cissy stares out the window for another moment, then stops. “Hang on there, amiga.” Her head snaps toward me, her mouth pursed. “What’s this
really
about?”

“Nothing. A little girl talk on the drive home from the party.” I turn to her and wink. “Zeke looked mighty handsome tonight, by the way.”

Please take the bait and change the subject. Please, please, pleeeeeeease.

Cissy drums her manicured nails on the dashboard. “If you weren’t mad at me for ignoring you, why drag me off in a huff?”

“I didn’t huff.”

“Myla, your eyes were blazing bright red.”

“Okay, maybe I huffed a little bit.” In a lovely bit of kindness from the universe, Cissy’s house appears to my right. I pull over the car. “I’m fine, totally. I just wanted to ask a hypothetical question and say how handsome Zeke looked. That’s all.”

Cissy’s eyes narrow. “If you say so.”

I make a great show of checking my watch. “Oh, wow, look at the time. I gotta go or my Mom will freak!”

Cissy slowly exits the car. I can almost hear the rusty gears of her brain working overtime. I’m going to get a call later, you can bet on it. The moment she’s clear of the curb, I rev the engine and speed home (as much as anyone can speed in Betsy). I stomp through the front door.

Hopefully, the drama for the evening is over.

I chuck my keys onto the kitchen table and march straight through the living room on the way to bed. I hardly register that Mom sits front-and-center on the living room couch, a pile of ghoul robe patterns beside her.