Scala Page 10

  Mom’s words start the wheels of my mind a-turning. The Orb has been found…Or has it? The idea I’d started to form before now solidifies in my nasty little noggin. It’s a totally kick-ass, awesome concept.

  “Wait a second, everyone. I think we can use this situation to our advantage. Mom, can you do an emergency press conference to confirm that there was no Orb in the warehouse? You know, tell everyone that it’s still okay and not to lose their minds.”

  “Surely,” replies Mom. “But why would I ever do that? Our people will take it as a sign that Adair’s right. They’ll only get more agitated.”

  “I know, but I have a idea for defeating Adair. And for it to work, she needs to think we don’t know the Orb is still in the warehouse.”

  Mom’s eyes narrow. “I’m listening.”

  “For months, Adair’s been one step ahead of me. But I believe that she screwed up tonight, trying to grab the Orb. Now, we can use that information to take the fight to her. I want to set up a sting operation right here, in this warehouse. Get her to admit what she’s really done so we can slap her ass in jail. You know, before she causes even more trouble. But to do that, she has to think that we don’t know the Orb is here. She’ll come back to get it, I’ll be here and—pow—that’s when we get her confession.”

  “I don’t know, honey,” says Mom. “Even if you get the evidence, we can’t hold her in Purgatory for longer than twenty-four hours. That’s inter-realm law. Lincoln’s parents must agree to jailing her in Antrum.”

  “I can get their consent,” says Lincoln quickly. “Call the press conference for two hours from now. Myla and I will go over to Arx Hall and get my parent’s okay. If we get that to you before the press conference starts, will you say the Orb wasn’t found today?”

  Mom steeples her fingertips under her chin for what feels like a decade, minimum. “Alright, you’ve got it. Two hours only.”

  Lincoln kisses me gently on the cheek. “I like this, Myla. Taking the fight to her.”

  Something in Lincoln’s words resonates through the deepest parts of me. This isn’t the old Myla Lewis running headlong into danger without thinking. This is the Great Scala, using my warrior-brain to take the offensive in a smart way. And as Dad always says, ‘when it comes to battle, take the offensive and never let go’.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lincoln and I cross the enormous cobblestone yard that encompasses Pulpitum VII, Purgatory’s official transfer station to Antrum. I’ve ridden a thrax transfer platform with Lincoln a few times before, and it’s hella-fun. However, once we reach Antrum today, our fun-time will be over. We need to convince Lincoln’s parents to help us take down Adair. Not a lock.

  We close in on the Pulpitum, which is a temple-style structure built in Roman times. It’s circular in shape and surrounded by tall stone columns. We locals call it ‘the can’ because the interior is tall, cylinder-like and made of solid rock. One small slit-like opening marks the only way in or out. An obnoxious amount of thrax guards surround the place, all of them wearing black body armor with the Rixa crest.

  As we get closer, the guards recognize Lincoln and salute in sync. He waves at them in a friendly-yet-regal way. They’re all supposed to stare straight forward, but most of them steal a look or two in my direction. As the Great Scala and Lincoln’s Angelbound love, everyone’s heard of me but few have actually met me. My tail alternates between waving at the guards and doing karate-style chops. That thing can be such a smart-ass sometimes.

  Inside the Pulpitum, fire crackles in a series of bowl-like sconces set on tall metal braziers. At the center of the floor, there’s a smooth metallic disc about ten feet wide. That’s the transfer platform. Excitement thrums through my veins. Thrax transfer-travel is a blast.

  Lincoln pauses just inside the entryway. “Activating standard station. Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus.” A grid of white laser beams crosses the Pulpitum floor, performing a body scan on both of us. The one place thrax go high-tech is on anything to do with security or demon patrol. Pulpitum cover both areas.

  A woman’s voice echoes through the chamber. “Identity confirmed. Glad you’re returning home, Your Highness.”

  “Appreciate the well wishes, Cassandra. How’s the team at Transfer Central? I heard another Agent had an accident.”

  “Julian took a nasty fall. He’s recovering in the infirmary.”

  “Another fall?” Lincoln frowns, considering. “Keep me informed.”

  “I will, Your Highness. We don’t have you scheduled for transfer today. Is this for demon patrol?”

  “We bring news of Lucifer’s Orb, which is demon magic, so it qualifies. Queen Octavia will have approved the rush transfer, as well as my guest.”

  A long pause follows. “Yes, both are approved. Destination?”

  “Arx Hall Pulpitum.”

  “Confirmed and ready at your signal.”

  We step onto the metallic disc. On a thrax platform, the correct way to travel is in a huddle with your arms looped across the shoulders of the person next to you. Lincoln and I get into position.

  Once we’re settled, Lincoln speaks again. “Launch transfer on my mark. 3, 2, 1.”

  With a jolt of movement, the circular platform whips downwards, hurtling through the ground. The temple’s circular walls are replaced by a blur of soil, water, and stone as we careen through the earth. From time to time, the disc lurches from one side to another as it avoids some obstacle, mostly seams of diamonds and lava flows. Their glittering presence flashes along one side of the platform as we pitch in a new direction, always keeping in a downward trajectory.

  Another jolt hits, and then the platform comes to an abrupt halt. We’ve stopped at the end of a gilded corridor. The Arx Hall platform.

  Octavia and Connor are already waiting for us.

  “Myla, so good to see you.” Octavia is petite with long brown hair that’s wound into a neat chignon. She wears a simple medieval-style gown of Rixa black with a scoop neck and long, loopy sleeves.

  “Lincoln, my boy!” Connor is barrel-chested and full of energy. He wraps Lincoln in a bear hug before nodding in my direction. “Myla.”

  “Connor.”

  Octavia clasps her hands together at her waist. “Why don’t we visit the Feasting Hall?” Without waiting for a reply, she leads us all to a wooden chamber with plaster walls and an arched ceiling. Long feasting tables with matching benches fill up the floor.

  Connor gestures to one of the benches. “Shall we sit?”

  “I’d rather stand,” says Lincoln coolly. It’s his way of saying he’s all business today.

  “So, what are we here to discuss?” asks Octavia. “Your message was most cryptic.”

  I pull a document from my Scala robes and hand it to her. “Adair is using magic in a way that breaks inter-realm law. She’s stealing my powers. This parchment outlines my charges.”

  Octavia purses her lips and scans the page quickly. “Has this been filed with the Thrax Embassy?”

  “Not yet,” I reply.

  Connor leans against a nearby wall and kicks his left ankle over his right. “Well, how could you file? Powers. It’s not like stealing real property.”

  Lincoln pulls out his own set of papers and hands them to Connor. “I thought there might be confusion on that point. Illegally taking powers is exactly like stealing any other kind of property. In fact, capital punishments are recommended for taking magic that ensures the after-realms run properly. Myla’s igni certainly qualifies in that category.”

  The barest smile curls Octavia’s lips. She’s so loving this. Adair and the House of Acca have been on her hate-list for ages. “These charges require some proof,” adds Octavia. “What do you have?”

  I force on my confident demi-goddess face. I’ve only met Lincoln’s parents a handful of times. Now, I’m about to ask them to imprison one of their so-called Great Ladies. Sure, she’s a barking lunatic, but even I know this is a ballsy move for a new girlfriend.

 
“Here’s the thing,” I explain. “We’re setting up a sting operation in Purgatory. I think Adair will confess before witnesses. If she doesn’t, then I’ll drop the entire matter.”

  Octavia returns my papers to me. “You seem rather confident in her guilt.”

  “Rock solid.”

  “Why come here, then?” asks Connor. “You don’t need our permission for a sting operation.”

  “True,” I reply. “We need you to jail her once we prove her guilt, however.”

  Connor’s face takes on the look of a cornered animal. “That’s assuming she’s guilty anyway. And what’s this I hear about a Curse? I’ve gotten reports that murderous ghosts are about to roam Purgatory, as well. That’s one mess we thrax don’t look forward to cleaning up.”

  Whoa. In a surprise move, Connor tries to steer the conversation away from Adair-slash-Acca’s guilt and onto my problems. Note to self: one of these days, ream Connor out about his Acca-love program. It’s ridiculous.

  “I am perfectly healthy and our Ghost Towers are secure. All of that is Adair’s cover story for stealing my igni. Until she’s behind bars, she’ll continue to cause us trouble. She’s the one who’s really placing Purgatory at risk.”

  “What are the specifics on this trap?” asks Connor. “Must be quite a scheme.”

  Riiiiiiiight. It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. Like we’re telling Connor diddly.

  “I’m sure the children wish to keep the details to themselves,” says Octavia simply. A long pause follows as she glares at Connor. Whole conversations hide inside that glance.

  While the stare-fest continues, I give Lincoln’s parents a careful once-over. What is it between them and Acca, anyway? They seem super-close except for this one area. It’s obvious that Octavia hates that House with a passion, while Connor doesn’t necessarily like Acca, but he certainly gives in to them all the time.

  At length, Connor looks away. “You don’t need to go into specifics. We understand the gist of your operation.”

  “Excellent,” says Lincoln. “So, what do you say?”

  “I see no reason not to support you,” declares Octavia. “If you get the proof, we will uphold inter-realm law and place Adair in our prisons. Don’t you agree, Connor?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Inter-realm law and all that.”

  Okay, that’s about the lamest endorsement I’ve ever heard.

  I whip out my snarkiest tone. “Well, thanks for the support and all that.”

  Connor looks dumbfounded for a full minute.

  Lincoln and I share a look, and I know he’s fighting the urge to burst out laughing. Thrax are raised to never say ‘boo’ to their King. For me, mouthing off to power comes quite naturally.

  Octavia quickly changes the subject. “I hope you’ll get this nonsense fixed right away. We’re holding Myla’s Ball of Welcome tomorrow night. If Adair’s sabotaging things, I certainly don’t want my event affected.”

  Oh, crap. I totally forgot about that Ball of Welcome.

  Images flash through my mind. Dresses. Shoes. Small-talk. Waltzing. Arrrgh. No question. I need to sweet-talk my way out of this.

  “Come to think of it, there’s a lot going on this week, what with the sting operation and all. Maybe we should put off the Ball for a while and—”

  Octavia fixes me with a stare that could melt lead. I fight the overwhelming urge to cower and yell ‘yipe-yipe-yipe’ at the top of my lungs. Damn, but when she wants to, Octavia can be scary. And I know scary.

  “Or, on second thought,” I add quickly. “We could still have the Ball tomorrow night.”

  “As I’d hoped,” replies Octavia. “My seamstresses are working on a lovely over-gown for your Scala robes. That way you can keep them on and still look thrax traditional.”

  “Thanks, Octavia, that sounds—” What should I say about this over-gown thing? I mean, if she’s gotten me nun-chucks, I’d have tons of comments. My mind becomes a total blank as a single word escapes my lips. “Nifty.”

  Nifty? Really, Myla? Yow, it’s been a long day.

  “You’re most welcome,” retorts Octavia. “I’ve made other interesting plans for the Ball as well.” With that, she launches into a long explanation of all her Ball preparations. I do my best to listen, but I can’t help noticing that Lincoln pulls his father aside for a heated discussion. I’ve never seen Lincoln so angry.

  A chill of foreboding creeps up my skin, making me shiver. Based on the way my life is going lately, I’d bet a million dollars that their talk has something to do with Adair.

  And something mighty unpleasant, too.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lincoln and I rush onto the transfer platform in Arx Hall. All through the ride back, he doesn’t say a word. Every time I try to look at him, he glances away. Whenever I ask a question, I get a one-word answer. If I take his hand in mine, he gives my palm a quick squeeze before letting go.

  No question about it. Lincoln’s fight with his father has him mega-bummed out.

  Once we reach the Pulpitum in Purgatory, I find us a quiet bench on the nearby cobblestone yard. A few silent minutes pass while we soak in the grey Purgatory day. Finally, Lincoln meets my gaze. A sad smile rounds his lips.

  That’s my cue. He’s ready to talk.

  “What happened back there?” I ask.

  He exhales a long breath. “What didn’t happen back there?”

  “I mean with your father. I saw you two chatting after your parents agreed to jailing Adair. You looked not-too-happy.”

  “Well, it’s obvious where this is going, from Adair’s point of view anyway. If her plan works, she’ll take the rest of your powers. Become the Great Scala herself.”

  Every muscle in my body cringes with loathing. Adair taking my place? No freaking way. “You know I won’t let her do that. Ever.” Even as the words leave my mouth, a little voice in the back of my head says that I may be giving a knee-jerk answer.

  I pause, grip the edge of the wooden bench, and force myself to think past my first reaction. If Adair gets my powers, she’ll threaten every last thrax with Hell until she has what she wants, and what she wants is Lincoln.

  Suddenly, I feel very small, alone and powerless, a tiny fly caught in a complex web of forces out to destroy everything I have and cherish. “What if Adair succeeds? I can’t stand the thought of us being forced apart.”

  Lincoln shifts to face me, cupping my face in his hands. “Listen to me, Myla. You will be my Queen one day, mark my words. Adair will never come between us.”

  His eyes are fierce with resolve. However, I can’t ignore the nagging doubts at the back of my mind. “I want to believe you, but let’s be honest. Our sting operation has a fifty-fifty chance at best. Adair may not take the bait and go to the warehouse. And even if she does, she may not confess to her crimes.”

  “Then, if the sting operation fails, we’ll try something else.” He rests his forehead against mine. “I’m never giving up on you. Believe that.”

  The force of his determination coils around me, warm and strong. I’ve never felt more loved and protected. “I believe you, Lincoln.”

  When he speaks again, his voice is rough with emotion. “Good.”

  Leaning back, I carefully inspect Lincoln’s face. Something is definitely still bothering him. If Adair isn’t the problem, then his father is. I’m certain of it.

  “So, what did you talk to Connor about?”

  “This all wrong. I wanted this to be special, Myla.”

  “What?”

  “I asked my father for the royal betrothal jewels.” He takes my hands in his. “I want to make our engagement official.”

  My heart lightens. “That’s awesome.” I picture Lincoln and I married, spending all our time together. Killing demons, cuddling, fooling around, killing some more demons.

  The idea is so amazing, I can’t even think straight.

  I bob a little on the park bench. “I mean, we talked about it the other day over pizza
, but I didn’t realize you were really going for the jewels.” My tail musses Lincoln’s hair. “Knowing this is something you’re really thinking about? You’ve made me super-happy.”

  “Still, the first time we seriously discuss an engagement, it shouldn’t be on a random park bench in Purgatory.”

  So, that’s what he’s worried about? I don’t need champagne and roses to make the moment special. Okay, that honestly wouldn’t suck, but hey. Getting married will be the bomb, and I’m happy to have it happen, end of story.

  “Look, in my mind, our engagement happened when we fell in love and became Angelbound.”

  Lincoln keeps looking away, which is totally inconsistent with the typical upbeat ‘we’re getting engaged soon’ vibe. I set my fingers on his cheek and slowly guide him to meet my gaze. His eyes are filled with grief and doubt. The lighthearted feeling that hit me at the start of our engagement-chat turns into something leaden.

  “This is supposed to be awesome stuff and you look so sad. What’s going on?”

  “Father can’t find the jewels. Lost in the Royal Vaults.”

  “Okay, that doesn’t sound too believable. How do you lose betrothal jewels?”

  “You don’t. Father won’t give me them until things are sorted out with Adair, one way or another.”

  My chest tightens. Now, I can see the problem. Betrothal jewels are a super-old thrax tradition, dating from their earliest times. Before there were written marriage contracts, there were betrothal jewels. There’s only one set per House, no copies. Once you give them to another House, you marry someone from there, or else. But that tradition’s thousands of years old. Certainly, they’ve moved on from it by now.

  “Sure, I heard about betrothal jewels, but I figured you wouldn’t really…”

  “Oh, we really.”