Scala (6 page)

Lincoln gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “What's going on?”

“The igni have a message for me. They're singing, right now, inside my head.”

Mom leans across the table, her eyes widening. “What are they saying?”

I close my eyes to better focus. “They're are saying something about the Furor. A Furor necklace. And the Furor Empress, too. It's her amulet. They want me to find it. I think the dark igni were singing about this before.” I open my eyes, and the music fades from my mind. “Does anyone know what they're talking about?”

Mom shakes her head. “Never heard of it.”

Dad's face becomes still as stone. “What do you know about the Furor?”

“Not much. All I learned in High School was sucking up to ghouls.”

“Furor have magic casters,” explains Dad. “They're a tribe called the Hexenwings. They create enchanted stones; no one really knows how they manage it. Royalty have specific stones associated with them, to give them special powers. Rubies for the Emperor, Opal for the first-born daughter, Obsidian for the first-born Prince…”

I can see where this is going, and I don't like the destination one bit. A tension headache crawls around my temples. “And the Empress?”

“Bloodstone.”

My world freezes for a moment.
Don't panic, Myla. It could be a coincidence.

Mom lets out a soft gasp. “I heard about this thing called the Bloodstone Curse. It sucks away a Scala's powers and gives it to someone else. Are the Curse and this necklace related?”

“I'm afraid so,” says Dad.

Okay, time to panic.
My heart starts pumping a mile a minute. The igni asked me to find something associated with the Bloodstone Curse. Is this their way of telling me that I have it? Could they possibly be giving my powers to someone else?

“The last time a Scala couldn't move souls, I was there,” explains Dad. “I've a broad knowledge of demon lore, so whenever someone's stuck with a mystery ailment, they call me in. We didn't know what was wrong until we borrowed the Bloodstone Amulet. It's unique. Shows the Empress the status of her powers. We tried it with the patient and discovered that his igni were slipping away, moving to the Scala Heir on their own. That was, oh, two thousand years ago now. Today, most people probably remember the Curse and not how it got its name.”

“I've read everything I can find on Scalas,” I say. “There's always something about the Bloodstone Curse, but no mention of any amulet.”

“Those damned ghouls,” exclaims Mom. “They wiped out all our libraries, all our records, especially anything to do with the Scala.”

The firm lines of Dad's face soften with sympathy. “This isn't the first time someone's talked to you about the Curse, is it?”

“No. Well, not directly anyway. Today, Adair asked me if I wasn't moving souls because I didn't have the power anymore. I think she was hinting around about the Curse.”

Dad's eyes glow angel-blue. “How dare she? I saw you send Armageddon straight into Hell with your powers. You freed me from his prison, something I never thought could happen. You're strong, Myla. And your bond with your igni is strong. There must be another reason why they want you to have the necklace. We'll figure it out.” He reaches across the table and sets his hand on mine.

I stare at Dad's wide, muscular hand wrapped around my smaller one. All my life, I'd wondered who my father was, and if I'd ever find him. Now, he's here and more supportive and awesome than I ever dreamed of. My eyes sting with a mixture of love, awe and gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”

Mom pulls out one of her ever-present notepads and starts scribbling orders for her staff. “We'll need to make a diplomatic request for the necklace.” She pauses, tapping her pen against her chin. “However, it might not work coming from Purgatory. Unfortunately, under the ghouls, we ignored the Furor for decades. Cissy's only starting to rebuild ties there.”

“I can ask them,” says Lincoln. “I saved a Furor child at the Winter tournament. They were very grateful.”

“Let me take this one,” counters Dad. “I killed the father of the current Furor Emperor. He was downright ecstatic. I'll go to Furonium tomorrow and make a personal request for the amulet.”

“And I'll call in the Alchemists,” says Lincoln. “They'll be here first thing in the morning.” His confident gaze meets mine. “Together, we'll find the Orb and restart Soul Processing. I know it.”

And seeing that fearless look in his eyes, I think he may just be right.

Cissy, Walker, and I step into my stainless-steel kitchen, large boxes balanced in our arms. It's been two days since Lincoln's Alchemists showed up. Since then, they've kept the three of us busy with regular warehouse-runs to grab magical stuff for them to examine in my kitchen, aka our new Alchemy HQ. There are too many spells and enchantments in the warehouse for the Alchemists to work quickly—plus my kitchen has lots of gadgets and snacks—so they've taken up residence here.

Cissy and Walker speed into the kitchen, setting down their boxes on a nearby countertop. I pause inside the threshold, scoping things out. On the right-hand side of the room, Lincoln's seated at the head of our long steel table, while his Alchemists fill up the other chairs. They're six handsome guys with mismatched eyes, all of them wearing white lab coats that have silver eagles stitched on the right front pocket. The group's super-engrossed in the piles of odd junk that cover the tabletop, everything from typewriters to compasses to chia pets. They don't notice when we come in.

I set my box onto an obliging counter. “Hey, everyone.”

Lincoln looks up, his mouth winding into a huge smile. “Hi, Myla.”

At his words, all the other guys snap to attention as well. Six bodies immediately stand straight and tall with their fists gripped firmly behind their backs. Military stance. The thrax must start training that particular move in Kindergarten. Unfortunately, it makes me feel a little awkward.

“Guys, you really don't have to do that.”

The Head Alchemist, Erik, has white blonde hair and wildly mismatched eyes of dark brown and ice blue. “But that's a proper greeting for the Great Scala.”

“Well, honestly, it's creeping me out. As the Great Scala, I hereby order you to call me Myla and not hop around when I enter the room.”

“As you command, Great Scala.”

I shoot him a dry look.

“I mean, that's cool, Myla.”

“Thanks.”

Erik and the rest of the Alchemists retake their seats. Over the last two days, they've been working non-stop, trying to figure out what's up with the warehouse. Walker's certain the Orb is in there; the only question's where.

Lincoln steps over and takes his hands in mine. Today, he's wearing faded jeans and a black Elvis T-shirt, which I find hilarious. Everyone in Antrum knows who the real King is, even without the shirt. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” I reply. “No more igni concerts. And I've been doing some practicing, too. Remember when we were in the bunker, right before we fought Armageddon?”

“How could I forget?”

“Back then, the Old Scala did this thing where he cast igni ropes around us. I can't make Soul Columns, so I've been practicing those, just to see if they're listening to me.”

“And?”

“Working like a charm. How're things in here?”

“The guys are having a blast.” He turns to the team. “Can you report out, Erik?”

“Sure, Linc.” I'm still adjusting to Lincoln having a nickname, but I guess these guys are buddies of his from when they were all ten years old. Erik turns towards Walker and Cissy. “I didn't see you two come in.”

Walker shoots them a friendly wave. “You were busy playing with the last round of toys I brought you.” As a ghoul, Walker's well over six feet tall with pale, colorless skin. As a cool guy, he has a brush-cut, sideburns, and fairly decent muscle tone.

Cissy rattles one of the boxes on the countertop. “We found even better stuff this time around.”

Erik rubs his palms together and scans the table, his mismatched eyes glittering with excitement. “Here's what we've figured out so far.” He picks up a plate-looking thing made out of metal. “This is a torquetum from the 1400's. It belongs in a museum, not a warehouse. It's the first step in a magical path that leads to this.” He sets down the torquetum and picks of a pair of old-fashioned wire-rimmed glasses. “And then, the spectacles are connected to yet another enchanted thing.” He holds up a wound-up piece of plastic shaped like a figure eight. “This one's from the Earth.”

I can't help but laugh. “That's a Thigh Master. I've seen commercials for them on the Human Channel.”

“Crazy, right?” Erik sets the item back onto the tabletop. “The connections go on and on and on. It's like a long magical chain that links every item in the warehouse. The Orb is at the end of the line, but it could take months to find it end by hand. Maybe even years.”

I rub my neck with my right hand and frown. “So, any options?”

“Yes, we have an idea right here.” Erik picks up a little tin bird from the 1800's. It's blue with mechanical wings and a winding key in its side. “We think we can alter the spell on this toy so it will fly through the exact path the magical signal takes to reach the Orb. Should only take a matter of hours to find it.”

Cissy bobs up and down on her heels. “That's awesome, guys!”

“Great work.” I do my golfer's clap.

A silly-slash-pleading look crosses Erik's face. “Great Scala, I mean, Myla. Since you're so happy with my work, I was wondering if I might ask a favor.”

“Sure. What is it?”

Erik gestures across the table. “Some of these things you clearly won't need, and I might have a use for them.”

Lincoln's face warms with an indulgent smile. “More of your pranks, Erik?”

“You know me, Linc. Man's got to have a hobby.”

“That's for Myla to decide.” Lincoln turns to me. “What do you say?”

Have Erik clean out some of this magical garbage for me? That's a big yes.

“Sure, have your fun.”

Erik pumps the air with his fist. “Yeah.”

“Back to the warehouse, though.” I pick up the tin bird from the tabletop. “When can we try out your idea?”

Erik glances up at the clock. “Not until tomorrow morning. We're due back in Antrum in a few minutes.”

“Let me grab my stuff,” says Walker. “I'll portal you.” He steps out of the room.

I pull Lincoln aside. “Should we really have Walker portal these guys? I don't want his backdoors to get discovered. Don't you have some old transfer stations in Purgatory? Maybe Octavia could turn them back on for us. It's less obvious than using the official ones.”

Lincoln shakes his head. “I don't want anyone knowing what we're up to. Adair is bad news and she has too many allies in Antrum. I'm already under a lot of scrutiny, but my parents have it much worse. We can't be too careful.”

I rub my forehead, considering. “If you feel strongly about it.”

“I do. And don't forget, Walker knows how to be stealthy.”

“Good point, although he's not as stealthy as you are.” Ever since I was nine, Walker's been trying to sneak up on me, but he never can manage it.

Lincoln's mouth rounds into a toe-curling smile. “Well, that goes without saying.” He gently pulls my back against his chest, wrapping his long arms around my waist. It's a comforting position. I survey the kitchen, feeling some worry melt away. The Alchemists made huge progress today. Now, we have an actual plan to figure out how to find the Orb and restart Soul Processing.

Things are looking up.

The old rotary phone rings on my kitchen wall. Mom's working to upgrade technology in Purgatory, but we still don't have cellular service yet.

“I'll get it.” I set the receiver to my ear. “Myla Lewis speaking.”

The other end of the line is a cacophony of screams and crashing. “Great Scala, you're needed right away.” It's Ramone, the Lead Warden for Ghost Tower One. “We've got a code-red failure.”

“Be right there.” I hang up the phone and frown.

Things may not be looking
that
up, after all.

Lincoln and I rush over to Ghost Tower One. After a great day with the Alchemists, we launch into a not-so-great all-nighter. It takes ages to pinpoint what's wrong with the Tower. At last, we figure out that the electricity levels in the containment fields were off kilter, zapping all the ghosts awake and angry.
One spirit even broke out of the Carrier, but the Tower went on lock-down before he got too far.

Still, the whole thing was close. Too close.

It's late morning by the time Lincoln and I head over to the warehouse. The place is a huge long box made of corrugated metal and lined with shelves from floor-to-ceiling. The many aisles twist around in a way that reminds me of the hedgerow maze back at the Ryder mansion. Large wooden crates are stacked everywhere, all of them stuffed with magical junk. Like compasses that always point to Hell. Enchanted pens that'll only write praises about the ghouls. And my personal favorite, a box of old Scala robes that either belonged to Maxon Bane or were doused in ‘eau de old guy'.

We find Cissy, Walker, and the Alchemists in a nearby aisle. Erik's the first guy I run into, which is cool since he's the head honcho of this mission. We say our hellos and chitchat for a minute before I realize there's something off about his face. His skin looks as white as Walker's.

“Erik, are you sick or something?”

“No, I'm not. Guess what's different.” A mischievous gleam appears in his eyes.

Lincoln warned me about this. Erik and his pranks.