Scala (20 page)

We're here.

Lincoln and I step off the Pulpitum platform in Antrum. A massive cave surrounds us; it's made entirely of dark stone. The ground is filled with ancient-looking trees and a half-ruined temple. Now that we've arrived, one thought consumes me.

My last big lie to Adair was that I could zap my igni to Heaven if she overtook Lincoln's mind. Did she buy it? Or, did she only say ‘yes' to get Lincoln closer to her powers?

I turn to face Lincoln, cup his face in my hands, and exhale a sigh of relief. His eyes are still mismatched. No demon-red glow. Adair totally bought my story. I've never appreciated the ghouls, but man, do I ever at this moment.

Thank you, oh Ghouls, for so thoroughly destroying every last scrap of information about the Great Scala. You've made it possible for me to lie my ass off today.

A dozen Acca guards stand around us in a semi-circle. None of their eyes are red, so they're helping Adair of their own free will. Traitors. More faces for my to-destroy list when and if we get out of this.

The Acca Captain grunts the word ‘go' at Lincoln and me, so we follow him away from the transfer platform to a long, jagged ledge of rock. There, the Captain raises his arm. Our group pauses.

All the guards stare at Lincoln and me, their eyes filled with an eager loathing. The air hangs heavy with anticipation. Like smoke, it constricts my lungs, making it hard to breathe. My tail coils behind me, cobra-like, waiting to strike.

I hate moments like this. We're trapped in the great pause before a greater battle. Bring it on, already.

Leaning forward, I scope out the grounds beyond the stone ledge. A steep incline rolls down below us. At the base of this slope, a wide valley opens up. The shadowy space is filled with a huge, broken-down ruin.

I picture the sign from the Pulpitum. Mercor Temple. This is the place. Here things will end with Adair, one way or another.

The Captain holds out his hands. “Baculum.”

Okay, I totally knew it was a long shot that they'd let us keep our weapons, but I still hate handing over my baculum to this dip. Lincoln gave me these, and I'm very protective of them. I make a quick mental note of where the Captain stashes our stuff, namely the left-hand side of his tunic. Based on Lincoln's gaze, I can tell that he's doing the same thing.

“Let's move out.” The Captain marches down the incline to the valley below. Lincoln and I follow.

In the dim light, the temple looks like a square framework of broken grey stone. In some places, great trees have grown up through the smashed rock. The ground is damp and foul-smelling.

Across the scene, Adair stands atop a wooden stage set against the temple's far wall. I roll my eyes. Great, more dramatics. She's wearing her fake Scala robes for the occasion, which pisses me off. The Acca guard march us until we stand right before the stage. The angle forces me to stare up at her. Not my favorite view.

Up close, the stage is broken and putrid, like everything else around here. Black paint has long since chipped away, showing underlying wood that's yellow with mold.

Adair surveys us each in turn, smiling. “Greetings.”

Father always says that in battle, you have to take the initiative and never let go. So, here comes my initiative.

I jump onto the stage. “Let's skip the pleasantries,” I say. “Do we have a deal, Adair? You move the souls the way Purgatory sorts them—including me—and I give you the rest of my igni.”

Adair looks anxiously to her guard. She doesn't like being so close to me while the soldiers are outside of easy fighting range. She's right to worry, too. I went super-easy on her in the warehouse. She's no idea what I'm capable of.

“Well, Adair?”

“Agreed.”

“Good. Want the rest of my igni?” I turn my palms face her directly. “Come and get them. I said I'd give them to you. I didn't say I'd make it easy.”

Adair looks unsure.

“Come on,” I continue. “You did it before, at the warehouse. You've got demonic blood in you now. Surely, you're not afraid of me.” I gesture towards Lincoln. “And as an extra bonus, you could claim the last of my igni right in front of you-know-who. Now, that's got to make your inner psycho happy. It's a very good deal.”

Adair still hesitates. Time to bring out the big guns.

I turn to Lincoln and roll my eyes. “I told you. She doesn't have what it takes to walk across a stage, let alone be Queen of the thrax or the Great Scala. I'm the one you should choose.”

With that, Adair finally takes the bait. Her eyes flare demon-bright as she races towards me, her shoulder aiming straight for my gut, same as she did in the warehouse. Only back then, I took a fall so we could get a confession out of her. This time, I have other plans.

Lincoln sees his chance and springs into action. Gripping the Acca Captain's head, he twists it until the neck snaps. As the man falls, Lincoln reaches into the Captain's tunic and grabs his baculum.

Meanwhile, I allow Adair to ram her shoulder into my gut and slam me onto the floor, just as she did in the warehouse. New warriors always use the same attacks over and over, as long as they worked in the past. Total rookie mistake.

I let my head slam into the floor and then, I lie still. I've never been knocked out before, but I've done it to other people a ton of times, so I've a pretty good idea what it looks like.

Adair paces back and forth before my prone body, an evil smile on her mouth.

Out of my half-closed eyes, I see Lincoln battling it out before the stage, his baculum ignited into two short-swords as he goes to town on the Acca guards. They've got him surrounded, but their approach is perfectly suited for a short-sword counter-attack. It doesn't look like it right now, but I give all those warriors about two minutes to live.

Adair flaps her hands at the guards. “Be careful, now! Don't hurt him. I want him brought back to Acca, safe and alive.” She chuckles softly. “I promised I wouldn't possess him, but I never said capture was off the menu.”

I blink my eyes wildly, as if I'm just coming to. Adair sees the movement and pounces on my torso. While straddling my rib cage, Adair presses her palms against mine, holding my hands flush against the ground. I make a great show of writhing under her like I can't get up.

The next time Adair speaks, her mouth is only inches above my own. “Now, you'll see what death looks like.”

I don't think so.

I command my tail to move. It arcs high, the arrowhead end flexed into a fist. Quick as lightning, it swoops low, pounding Adair right in the gut. The force of my blow sends her flying across the stage. Adair's head slams onto the wooden floor with such force, the planks splinter and snap. She lies on her back, unmoving. I hop up onto my feet and size up Adair.

“Now, that's what a concussion looks like.”

I race over to Adair's body. Meanwhile, Lincoln's finished off the guards, so he leaps up onto the stage to do the same. Kneeling by Adair's side, Lincoln sets his fingers against her neck. “She's alive but unconscious.” He tosses me my baculum.

I kneel down beside Adair as well. “Now, we wait for her to wake up and see reason.”

Lincoln raises his right eyebrow. “You really think that'll happen?”

“Not a chance. We'll ask her for my igni back, she'll say no, and then—” I don't want to talk about the killing part, but we both know that's the most likely end game.

Lincoln rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I don't think she'll see reason, but she may follow tradition.”

“I'm listening.” No one knows better than me the power of tradition, rules and brainwashing. I see it every day.

“Ever since our encounter at the Ghost Towers, I've been considering the best way to approach Adair. Last time, I ordered her to speak to me. But I think there's a higher ritual that I can invoke.”

“You mean, like a thrax ceremony or something?”

“Precisely. She and her House have given oaths of fealty to Rixa. If I ask her something in the names of those oaths, she can't turn me down. In theory, anyway.”

My tail makes a stabbing motion at Adair's chest. I smack the arrowhead end. “Down, boy. We're talking to her first.” I shift my attention to Lincoln. “Go ahead. Give it a try.”

Lincoln gently sets his hand on her upper arm. “Adair?”

Her eyes flutter open. “Lincoln.”

“Am I your Prince?”

“Yes.”

“Will you honor your oath to my House and title, as you and your ancestors have done before you?”

Adair stares into his face for a moment. “I don't know.”

My breath catches with a mixture of surprise and joy. She's thinking about it. Actually considering sticking to her oaths. I take back all the nasty stuff I said about thrax worshipping ceremony. Go tradition!

Lincoln's voice takes on a steely tone. “I am your Prince. You made these vows knowing their import. Now, will you honor them?”

“I…I…” Adair hunches over, her body curling forward in pain.

Lincoln leans in closer to her. “You can keep your title. Stay Great Lady of your House. All will be forgiven if you give Myla back her powers.”

“No, no, no.” Adair curls her body into a tighter ball. “Too soon to pay.”

I remember Adair saying the same thing at the warehouse when we captured her, and then later, at the Ball of Welcome. “She's talked about this before. Something about paying a price for everything.”

Lincoln speaks louder. “What's happening, Adair? Maybe I can help.”

With a wild groan, Adair flings back her arms and head, her spine twisting in a painful arc behind her. “Too soon to pay!” Fast as lightning, her body twists and elongates before us. Her limbs turn gangly; her fingers stretch until they have three fat knuckles. I outright gasp.

Unholy Hell. Adair is turning into Armageddon.

Only, while the King of Hell's flesh is black and smooth as stone, this merged version has human-like skin that's colored grey. Adair's Scala robes reform into a charcoal-colored tuxedo, as well. It's almost identical to the one always worn by the King of Hell.

This must be the payment Adair mentioned before. She made a deal with Armageddon. It makes perfect sense. If you want to gain demonic powers, there's no one stronger than the King of Hell. And Armageddon isn't the type to do something out of the kindness of his heart. There would certainly be a price.

The reformed Armageddon pokes at his stomach. “I'll have you know I was quite busy torturing some Seraphim when you decided to get all wobbly about our deal. Actually contemplating giving back your igni, after all we've been through?
Sad little thrax.” He frowns. “The very thought made me call in my debt early, and I never like changing my timelines. I wasn't planning on taking this odious form until you'd moved a soul or two.”

Armageddon looks up. The lines of his face freeze with shock, as if he's noticing Lincoln and me for the first time. “Although, seeing the situation, I'll change my mind. Nice work, Adair.”

I ignite my baculum. “You can't be here. I locked you into Hell.”

“Well, I'm not here, technically. I'm still in Hell. The little thrax sold her soul to me for a vial of my blood.” He cups his hands and looks at his nails. “I'm just taking possession of her spirit early, so to speak.”

“Possessed.” The word echoes through my mind. “So once Adair moved some souls, then you'd move into Adair.”

“Now you're getting the idea. Never occurred to you, did it?” He steeples his three-knuckled fingers under his chin. “I love it when I'm brilliant. With Scala power, I can take over the after-realms. Now, what were the three of you discussing?”

“Adair needs the rest of my igni. All of them are required in order to perform an iconigration.”

“Really? And I thought she was exceptionally gullible to sell her soul to me so quickly. No, my sweet ex-Scala, I know how igni work. I've seen enough iconigrations with my son to last a lifetime.” A too-wide smile stretches across his long, thin face. “Now, I'd like to introduce you to your new accommodations in Hell. Hope you hate them.” Armageddon closes his eyes and igni appear around his hands.

Hells Bells. Armageddon is about to move us to Hell with my igni. With control of my Scala powers, he'll easily have all the after-realms at his feet.

Think, Myla, think, think.

Seconds crawl by until the realization finally appears.

This isn't Armageddon, really. The King of Hell is an immortal greater demon who's locked away forever. This is Adair. And she's as mortal as you can get.

My mouth twists with disgust. But destroying the King of Hell means killing Adair. More igni swirl up Armageddon's arms, preparing to form a Soul Column. A sad fact seeps through my mind.

This isn't Adair anymore. She's long gone. It's Armageddon.

I turn to Lincoln. “This ends, now.”

“Agreed.”

Moving in sync, we ignite our baculum as broadswords and charge at the merged form of Armageddon and Adair. Bringing down our weapons in a coordinated arc, we slice off Armageddon's altered head, our movements smooth as scissors. The possessed body falls forward onto the ground, lifeless. Still in its Armageddon-like shape, the cadaver lies on its belly, the severed head resting just above its shoulders.

I stare at the prone body, an awful chill crawling across my skin. I killed Adair. Not another evil soul or foul demon. A mortal. Sure, she was merged with Armageddon and about to take over the after-realms, but still. It's an awful thing to destroy life.

I kneel beside her, folding my hands in my lap. A prickly feeling of guilt slowly winds up my throat. Bit by bit, it climbs until it contorts my mouth with pain and stings my eyes with tears. I never meant to fall in love with Lincoln or become the Great Scala, and it's all Adair ever wanted. Now, I've killed her. How did it come to this?