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  The voices grow louder as more igni appear. Hundreds materialize and start flowing around Lincoln and me. The sight is lovely—it’s like being surrounded by fireflies. Still, something about the whole thing feels off. I frown. “This isn’t right.”

  Lincoln scans the power shields that surround us both. “We need more. Our energies should be linked together, just like the dyads. Can your igni to form a cord between us?”

  “Good thinking.”

  “That’s why I wear the crown.”

  I roll my eyes. Maybe Lincoln’s been hanging out with me too much. The man is getting downright snarky. “Did you hear that, my little ones? We need you to make a rope that connects Lincoln and me.”

  In response, the igni giggle while winding themselves into a cord of power that winds between me and Lincoln. I search through my soul, wondering if our energies are joined. A fresh pulse thrums through the center of my being. My eyes widen with a realization.

  It’s Lincoln’s heartbeat.

  “They did it.” I can’t help but smile. “I do feel you.”

  “And I you.”

  Our gazes lock. We’re linked, body and soul. I want to live forever in this moment. However, that’s not to be. Lincoln and I have to kick some ass. “You said you had a charm to could get us inside?”

  Lincoln pulls another item out of his pocket. This one looks like a paperclip. He jams it into a crack in the concrete wall. “That ought to do it.” He turns to me. “Shall we?”

  “One sec.” Today, I’m wearing my dragonscale fighting suit, which comes with certain necessary accessories for situations such as this one. For starters, there’s a facemask under my collar, which I now pull out to cover up. After that, I quickly slip on my matching dragonscale gloves. Normally, I double and triple-check that the seals on my wrist and neck are in place, but we’ve spent too much time out here already. “I’m all set.”

  “Assault Plan Delta?” asks Lincoln. Thrax have different preset scenarios for battle. Assault Plan Delta is a two-person attack where Lincoln turns his baculum into a net made of angelfire.

  “Check.” Battle energy whizzes through my system, making it hard for me to stand still.

  “Let’s begin.” Lincoln speaks the word to activate the charm. “Displodo.”

  The paperclip sizzles like a sparkler, only one made with purple fire. For a few seconds, nothing happens.

  After that, the entire wall implodes.

  With an earsplitting crack, the concrete before us shatters. Bits of stone fly off into the reception area. A gaping hole opens in the gray wall. Mourn and Dusk stare at us, openmouthed. They have returned to their regular human forms, and damn, do they ever look pissed.

  I crack my neck from side to side.

  Bring it on, guys. We’re ready for you.

  3

  Dusk and Mourn waste no time getting into battle mode. Mourn raises his left hand; black particles of power appear around his palm. At the same time, Dusk transforms into another humanoid insect. This time, she becomes a massive red scorpion. At least, the back end of her is a scorpion, anyway. That part comes complete with a tail and a poisoned stinger. From the waist up, Dusk is still her human self. Only now, she’s covered in a thick exoskeleton. I hate to admit this, but she looks pretty tough.

  On reflex, my hands go to where my hood connects to my fighting suit. The seam isn’t secure because I rushed getting ready. It will just have to do.

  Lincoln raises his arms high, a baculum gripped in each hand. A line of angelfire winds between the two silver rods. The flaming cord quickly weaves back and forth until it becomes a full net made of white fire. Lincoln tosses the fiery web toward Mourn, who uses that moment to release his dark spell.

  Black particles fly away from Mourn’s hand. The black cloud heads straight toward Lincoln and me. I steel myself, waiting for the magic to strike. Will the igni be able to protect us? The dark mist presses in close around our shield of igni. The tiny black particles vibrate as they try to break past the power that surrounds Lincoln and me.

  They don’t get through, however. The igni hold.

  I grin. That means it’s time to fight.

  Since his baculum is netting up Mourn, Lincoln pulls out a regular short sword from the sheath on his hip. Raising the weapon high, Lincoln leaps through the newly made break in the wall and races straight for the tether cord that links Dusk and Mourn. With any luck, Lincoln’s regular blade will slice right through their connection.

  For my part, I have a dual-action scorpion-human bitch to deal with.

  I leap through the hole in the wall and rush straight for Dusk. She skitters forward on all her buggy legs, and damn, that woman can go fast. As she closes in, I sock her with a series of body kicks that send her flying. All of which bring up some interesting points.

  Number one. Kicking an exoskeleton hurts like fuck.

  Number two. Dusk can’t get booted very far before her tether stops her. It looks like she and Mourn have about ten yards of room to play with. Good to know.

  Number three. Dusk has some excellent fine motor skills, despite the fact that her hands are covered with insect shells. I know this because the bitch ripped my hood off as I sent her flying over my head.

  Damn. I really should have taken an extra minute to get my gear on properly. Something to remember for next time. I actively ignore the little voice in my head that says there may not be a next time. Screw you, voice.

  Dusk regains her footing and glares at me, her irises flaring red with demonic power. “Your skin is exposed now, Scala. One scratch from my stinger. That’s all it will take.” Her scorpion tail sways menacingly behind her. “And you’ll be dead.”

  My wrath power streams through every nerve ending I’ve got. My mind clears as I go into battle mode. My thoughts turn eerily calm as I calculate the vectors and approaches between Dusk and me. There are a few that seem super promising.

  Think you’re taking me down? Think again.

  Meanwhile, Lincoln hacks away at the tether between Dusk and Mourn. He’s not making any progress. In fact, his blade is half melted from the effort.

  Mourn lets out a howl of pain. The angelfire net has burned through the dark shield of power that surrounds him. Now, a crisscross pattern is burned into his face. Mourn whips off his coat. That can’t be good. Using the fabric to cover his hands, Mourn tosses the fiery net aside. The baculum extinguish. Lincoln scoops up the metal rods from the floor.

  Dusk and I circle each other. “Did you see that?” I ask Lincoln. No question what “that” is. It’s how Mourn’s face currently looks like he got hit with a waffle iron, thanks to the baculum’s fire.

  “I did.”

  “Assault Plan Gamma Xi.”

  “Perfect.”

  Mourn reaches behind his back and pulls out a pair of daggers. The edges of the blades gleam with green goop. More poison. He holds his weapons in a loose grip for tossing. The demon’s not going to fight hand-to-hand with Lincoln. Good pick, actually.

  While Mourn stands still, Dusk gets moving. She races for me, her tail going berserk behind her. The stinger end slams into the linoleum floor as she races along. Damn, she has some force behind that thing. It smashes straight through the floorboards, sending plumes of dust into the air.

  My tail arches over my shoulder. The arrowhead end curls forward in a move that says, Come at me.

  “That’s right, boy.” I make the same motion with my hand. “Come on. If you didn’t bust up the floor so much, you’d be here already.”

  Dusk leaps into the air, all her eight legs moving to pin me down. As she lands, I punch her right in the larynx while my tail gives her a solid torso hit. She tumbles down beside me but quickly rights herself. After that, Dusk lunges for me, her armored fingers reaching for my throat. I drop and slide across the floor, making a path right under her torso. As I move beneath her, my tail cuts a line through the exoskeleton on her belly.

  Nothing like a dragon-tail to slice through wha
t bugs you.

  A few yards away, Lincoln reignites his baculum as a pair of short swords. Mourn whips his first dagger at Lincoln and misses. Barely. Lincoln rushes toward the tether line.

  Mourn releases the second dagger. It lands harmlessly on the floor, embedding itself up to the hilt. That Mourn’s got a good arm. He’s also got more throwing daggers. The guy already has two fresh ones prepped to go.

  Lincoln doesn’t wait for another volley of weapons. He brings his arms down, aiming the flaming short swords straight for the tether. The fiery blades easily slice through the cord of dark energy.

  Their tether is toast. The battle’s looking up.

  At this point, Mourn and Dusk lose their freaking minds. Both shriek in rage. Dusk is pretty distracted, so I take the opportunity to do an aerial somersault over her scaly back. While I’m midair, my tail cuts through the tip of hers, severing the poisoned stinger. It falls to the ground with a satisfying whump.

  I make sure to land so I stand nose-to-nose with Dusk. My plan? Use my favorite weapon—that would be my tail—and make the killing blow. I’m deep in battle mode and laser-focused on my enemy.

  But, yeah. I also want to win the bet with Lincoln.

  My tail arches over my shoulder, ready to strike, when Dusk pauses from her roars of rage. She jerks once, her body going stiff. After that, her eyes roll back in her head as she falls over, dead. I lean over her corpse. A short sword sticks out of her back.

  Crap, now that’s Lincoln’s kill.

  My guy stands over Mourn’s dead body. Clearly, Lincoln tossed his short swords simultaneously. He took them both out at once, which is not easy to do with short swords, as a rule.

  That’s super impressive.

  My battle rage wanes, giving rise to another emotion. I really want to kiss him, but I can’t. I lost the bet. Ugh. He’s going to be impossible.

  A smug smile rounds Lincoln’s full mouth. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He steps over to Mourn, picks up his baculum, and extinguishes it. “Are you sure?” There’s a shit-ton of swagger in his step as he walks over to Dusk and does the same thing.

  “Positive.”

  Lincoln stands right in front of me. Barely a wisp of air separates our bodies. His warm breath cascades over my lips. He tilts his head. “Want to kiss me?”

  “Maybe.” I slowly lick my lips. “You know how I love to watch you kill stuff.”

  Lincoln raises his hand, showing off the Rixa Codex. How exactly did he find the time to retrieve that book while taking out two Class A demons?

  Crap, now I really, really, really want to kiss him.

  Lincoln leans in even closer. “I’m not calling the kiss yet.”

  “I figured that out.” Jerk.

  “Maybe after we get our final interview for this.” He raises the codex higher. “I might change my mind.”

  I groan. Dang, I almost forgot the entire reason we were running around with the book in the first place. We were off to Purgatory to interview someone for evidence to place in the Rixa Codex. “Who are we supposed to interview again?”

  Laughter dances in Lincoln’s eyes. “That would be Mrs. Pomplemousse.”

  “That’s right.” She’s an ancient broad who was mistreated by Aldred. Her big claim to fame? Aldred confessed to her that he was in league with Armageddon, making her our best potential interview of all. There’s no way we can skip it.

  “Mrs. Pomplemousse.” I step back, shaking my head. “Why is her name more of a mood killer than three dead demons?”

  “Because it’s us.” Lincoln tucks the codex into his pocket.

  I scan the room. What a mess. “I’ll tell Mom to send a cleanup crew later. For the time being, we should probably haul ass to Mrs. Pomplemousse. We’re super late as it is.”

  “Agreed.”

  I silently vow that no matter what happens, I am not letting Lincoln torture me about this kiss. I’ll be Miss Cool. Miss No-Lust Demon. Miss Awesomesauce Who Can Lose A Bet And Not Give A Crap.

  Maybe.

  4

  Lincoln and I rush down an empty street that’s lined with identical row houses. Mrs. Pomplemousse lives at number 13. In this area, all the façades are two stories high, made of brick, and fronted by tiny lawns with mostly green grass. For Purgatory, that’s fancy stuff. Tall windows look out from the second floor of each dwelling. As we walk by, I get the sneaking sensation that those windows are actually eyes, and they all watch us with evil intentions.

  Great. I’m seeing nasty faces in buildings. Might be time for a nap.

  In short order, we reach Mrs. Pomplemousse’s door. Lincoln knocks. While we wait for her to respond, I lean on my guy’s shoulder. Before coming here, Lincoln and I made a quick stop at the limo where we changed into our “average person” outfits. I’m now sporting skinny jeans, Bolshie boots, and a red sweater. Lincoln’s got on camo pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt. The cotton waffle weave is very comfy to lean against, actually.

  Naptime sounds better by the minute.

  From the other side of the door, there comes a chorus of rattles and clinks as the occupant undoes what must be a half-dozen locks. The portal slowly swings open, showing a grandmotherly lady with a plump body and a dragonscale tail like mine. Yes! She’s a fellow wrath and lust demon. Furor class. How did I not know this about her?

  I frown. Oh yeah, I didn’t have time to read the briefing too closely. I really need to nail “preparing before you start something big” issue. First, there was the sloppiness with my fighting hood. Now, I didn’t even know Mrs. Pomplemousse was one of my demonic kind. It’s not like there are a ton of quasi-Furor out there.

  Oh, well. I’ll definitely start being more diligent. Tomorrow.

  “Hello, I’m Mrs. Pomplemousse. You must be Lincoln and Myla.” She’s wearing a too-tight suit for this occasion, complete with a matching pillbox hat and veil. It’s sweet.

  Lincoln bows slightly at the waist. Old ladies love that shit. “Apologies for our late arrival and casual appearance.”

  She purses her wrinkled lips. “Did you have to kill some demons?”

  “Oh yeah,” I answer. “Two of them.”

  “That’s wonderful, dear. I used to fight in the Arena myself when I was younger. Why don’t you come inside and have some cookies?”

  You don’t have to say “cookies” to me twice. “Why, I don’t mind if I do.” I walk past the threshold to find your basic grandmotherly setup. There’s faded green wallpaper printed with tiny flowers. The scent of old people and mothballs fills the air. Some overly poufy furniture surrounds a small table that’s been set for tea. And best of all? An impressive pile of cookies sits at the center of the tabletop.

  Time to make myself at home.

  I plunk onto a huge chair and scan the yumminess. Mrs. Pomplemousse has a nice assortment of munchies here, I must say, including ginger snaps, chocolate chip, and some kind of fudge thingies. All homemade. I might ask if she’ll adopt me.

  Mrs. Pomplemousse plunks onto the couch across from me and beams. “Don’t stand on ceremony, my dear. Eat up.”

  So I do. “These are really yummy.”

  Oops. I might have said that through a mouthful of ginger snap.

  Lincoln settles onto the chair beside mine. “Mrs. Pomplemousse, I must imagine this is all rather surprising, us asking you to provide a recorded interview and all. Plus, Myla and I are not anyone’s idea of typical company.”

  Mrs. Pomplemousse starts pouring herself tea. “You aren’t, but I’m a tough old bird. And Myla and I are both from the Arena. It takes a lot to shock us.”

  I raise my arm. “Testify.” This time, I have the sense to cover my mouth with my free hand while I chew and speak. Who says I won’t make a great Queen of the Thrax? I’m already getting this regal manner stuff down.

  “In that case, we’ll begin.” Lincoln sets the codex on his lap. “This is a magical book that will record your testimony.”

  �
��Oh, you don’t need to record me. I’ll go right into court and help you take that bastard down.” Her tail flicks behind her.

  “Thank you so much for the offer,” I say. “But that’s not possible.”

  “You see, we thrax have our traditions,” says Lincoln. “And only thrax and other parties who are directly involved in the lawsuit can come into one of our courts.”

  Mrs. Pomplemousse purses her lips. “That seems odd.”

  It’s no shocker that Mrs. Pomplemousse knows dick about the thrax. Purgatory used to be run by ghouls, and ghouls turned everything into a learning opportunity on sucking up to—wait for it—the ghouls! Television, libraries, magazine, schools…It all centered on the ways to make our overlords happy. There was never any information shared about other realms. As a result, most quasis know very little about the thrax, other than the fact that they’re demon hunters. And since quasis are part demon, they’re convinced all thrax want to kill them. Long story short, my people don’t have a lot of thrax love.

  Plus, ever since our engagement was announced, my people seem to really hate Lincoln. In fact, I spend an inordinate amount of time explaining to the Purgatory media how Lincoln doesn’t actually kill quasis on sight. That said, the quasi worries aren’t totally unfounded. To tell the truth, if Lincoln and I had first met in a dark alley—instead of at a formal ball—then, yes he might have taken out his baculum and challenged me to a fight. So there’s that.

  Still, the Lincoln-loathing does seem to be getting a little better. I had an interview last week where they didn’t only focus on the fact that Lincoln might murder me any minute.

  Baby steps.

  Mrs. Pomplemousse fidgets with her pillbox at and veil. Based on the suspicious gleam in her eyes, she still isn’t buying the whole story about thrax and their odd traditions.

  “Let me explain—” begins Lincoln.

  “I’ll take this one,” I say. “I am a quasi, after all.”

  “As my lady commands.”

  For the record, I’m making a huge sacrifice here to explain things to Mrs. Pomplemousse. Why? More talking means I cannot stuff another fudge thingy in my mouth. What I do for love. “You see, Lincoln’s people are demon fighters who live deep underground on Earth. Demonic forces would like nothing better than to break into Lincoln’s homeland and kill everyone. As a result, the thrax must be very careful about who goes in and out, especially in court.”