Acca Read online

  Being looked at in abject horror gets really old, really fast.

  But I am not deterred. No, I have a coping plan for dealing with my future thrax subjects. In my opinion, that plan involves avoiding unpleasant realities and stalling anytime I have to visit Antrum. Right now, it also means looking for another demon bar. Opening the fridge, I root around in the sketchy bottom pullout drawers. There’s one hidden under a bag of mushy apples. “Score.”

  “Myla, we should leave soon.”

  I tear open the second wrapper. “Absolutely.”

  “Which means we need to change our clothes.”

  “Fine.”

  “And considering we were both fighting a pair of rather nasty demons, we should also shower.”

  I bite off another chunk. “Yup. Any minute.”

  Lincoln grips the waistline of his shirt and pulls it over his head, inch by yummy inch. I toss my half-eaten demon bar on the countertop and stare my eyes out.

  Damn, my guy is gorgeous.

  Lincoln is all muscle-y without being obnoxious. And he has all these battle scars from fighting demons, too. Delish.

  Lincoln undoes the top buttons of his camo pants. They’re almost low enough where I can see something interesting, but not quite. My inner lust demon roars to life inside me, draining all coherent thought from my head. My mouth falls open as I manage to squeak out one word. “Hey.”

  A smug grin rounds Lincoln’s mouth. “Let’s get ready.” He steps closer, stopping only when our bodies are inches apart. My heart is pounding so hard, I can hear my pulse whoosh-whoosh in my ears. He leans in until his mouth is right above mine. “I’m taking a shower. If you come with me, perhaps we could discuss our bet.”

  With that, he saunters out of the room.

  Damn.

  Bastard.

  He’s totally going to get me to stop stalling, follow him, and smooch. Lincoln killed the dyad demons. That means I should really make him use up his “next kiss” request at the very first opportunity, or he’ll torture me for ages.

  I stare at my half-eaten demon bar. He also wants me to stop eating crap. I’m no dummy. This is all part of a huge plot against my Myla-ness. Well, I won’t put up with it. Folding my arms over my chest, I rest my hip against the counter. “I’m not following you, you know.”

  The distinct rip of a zipper sounds from the next room.

  Stay strong, Myla. I’m a competitor. A winner. Lincoln does this all the time. Manipulating me with my lust demon. I won’t stand for it anymore.

  I will not give in.

  The rush of water sounds as Lincoln turns on the shower. My lust demon roars in my head. All my resolve crumbles into nothingness as I rush from the kitchen and speed over to my parents’ bathroom.

  Now, let the record show that my parents have a truly epic shower. It has about a million nozzles that shoot the perfect temperature of warmness from all directions. I’ve been wanting to try it out with Lincoln for ages. Sure, I may be a virgin and have limited experience with men, but I have a vivid imagination and a hot fiancé. Total lust demon bonus.

  I step inside the steamy bathroom. The place is all white tile and stainless steel fixtures. The shower is a clear glass number, so I can easily see Lincoln’s naked backside. This moment is basically lust demon nirvana.

  At last. I can truly ogle his glutes with abandon. And his back and arms, too. Let’s not forget about those.

  Lincoln glances at me over his shoulder and smiles. That’s what you call a boudoir grin. A come-hither look.

  I am so coming hither.

  I grip the handle to the shower door. Lincoln rakes his hand through his brown hair, which is all wet and streaky, just like his skin. Wow, that’s a great look on him.

  “Myla?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your clothes.”

  I look down. Damn, I forgot about my jeans and zip-front sweater. I give Lincoln a sly smile. “You know exactly what you do to me, don’t you?”

  He winks. That’s a yes.

  Reaching to my throat, I start unzipping my sweater at the neckline. That’s when the worst words in the English language echo into the bathroom.

  “Hi, honey! We’re home!”

  Ugh. I really need to get my own place.

  Lincoln chuckles and nods toward the door. “You better get out of here.”

  My lust demon isn’t having any of this. “But we’re getting married on Sunday anyway. It’s now Wednesday. That’s less than a week. We’re pretty much hitched.” I’m actually mighty proud of myself. Despite being mindless with lust, I got out a somewhat logical argument.

  Lincoln shakes his head. “Even after we’re married, we won’t have love showers with your parents around.” He turns away from me again and douses his hair under the spray. The guy looks like a shampoo commercial. It’s hypnotic.

  “Myla baby?” Ack. Mom’s voice snaps me out of my trance. I rush out of the bathroom and close the door behind me. My parents stand out in the hallway, looking really smug. That’s when I realize my sweater is zipped down past the point of decency. I pull that sucker up and fast.

  “Hey, Mom. Dad.” Fuck my life.

  “Lincoln’s in there.” The way Mom says it, that’s definitely not a question. It doesn’t help that she’s all Madam President today, what with her purple suit, platform heels, and judgy expression. Sometimes, I feel like I’m just a younger-looking version of her. Not today, though. I don’t think my face could ever make that particular frown. Clearly, Mom’s not happy about the whole love shower thing. Well, this isn’t my favorite life moment, either.

  Shoot me now.

  I realize my parents are staring at me. Maybe they have been for a while. At last, Dad looks contemplative in his gray suit. No judginess there. Then again, he’s an archangel who’s been alive since the dawn of time. This can’t be his first love shower type situation.

  I worry my lower lip with my teeth. What was Mom saying again? Oh, yeah. The not-a-question about who’s in the shower.

  “Yup, Lincoln’s in there, all right.” My face burns about six shades of red.

  “I warned you about this,” says Mom. “You mustn’t place yourself in situations where you’ll be tempted to have sex until you’re ready. Verus cautioned you, too.”

  “I’m well aware of what Verus said.” That meddlesome oracle angel is always ruining things. I mean, not including the part where she manipulated Lincoln and me to get together. That rocked.

  “The igni want you to have the Scala heir,” continues Mom. The fact that she’s given me this speech a hundred times won’t stop her, though. “You can’t even sit on the same toilet seat as Lincoln and not get pregnant. The same thing happened to me, you know.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  “Your father and I used a condom and about twelve spells against fertility but—”

  I raise my hand with my palm forward, the universal signal for “whoa there, partner.” “Too much information, Mom.”

  “Cam,” says Dad. “Maybe we should—”

  It doesn’t help. Mom’s on a roll. “Not that we don’t want a grandchild. We do.”

  “That’s crystal clear.” I raise my pointer finger high. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s change the subject.” I shoot my father a pleading look. “How’s everything with you, Dad?”

  “Fine.” Dad gives me a conspiratorial wink, which I totally appreciate. “Hey, I have another idea. Why don’t we visit the living room and give Lincoln some privacy? Besides, I want to hear all about your latest evidence-gathering mission about Acca.” Like always, Dad wears his gray suit with a blue tie. He’s the definition of dashing with his cocoa-colored skin, bright blue eyes, and gleaming white-toothed smile. I love him to pieces.

  “You’ll adore this one,” I say. “There were demons involved.”

  Mom frowns. “What kind of evidence were you gathering, exactly?”

  I am so happy with this change of topic, I can’t even tell you. Before Mom and Dad go
t back together, my relationship with my mother was one long conversation about me wanting to fight in the Arena…And her worrying herself sick about that fact. Long story short, this is now-familiar territory: Mom kvetching about me taking risks while doing something. So much better than the whole love shower situation.

  “I can’t wait to tell you.” I hightail it to the living room like my ass is on fire. One I get there, I find the familiar outlay of high-back chairs, dark tables, and velvet curtains. All it needs is Dracula and a few bats, and the look would be complete. Stupid ghouls. Who told them they could decorate?

  Dad plunks down onto a high-back chair. “So, what did you kill?” As General of the angels, my father knows his demons and battles. More stuff to love about him.

  “Lincoln took down a pair of dyads. I helped, but he got in the final blow.” Jerk.

  “Dyad demons.” Dad’s brows rise. “Those are rare.”

  All the color drains from Mom’s face. “What? Were they dangerous?”

  I rub my neck. I don’t want to alarm my mother. She still gets crazy-fidgety about the idea of my fighting baddies. “Maybe.”

  Mom sets her hand on her throat. “Oh, no. The Earl of Acca must have sent them against you.”

  For the record, Mom may worry about me, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t right most of the time. I have lots of experience with fear and Mom-management, though. It’s best to tell the truth early and while using short, one-word sentences.

  “Yes.”

  “That damnable Earl of Acca.” Dad lands his fist on a nearby table with a thunk. “The man wants to rule the thrax again. He will stop at nothing.”

  Another item for the record: Dad’s totally right, too. The House of Acca had the throne before Lincoln’s House took power. That was hundreds of years ago. Even so, Acca has never adjusted to the new reality.

  Lincoln strides into the room. Wow, that guy can sure shower fast. He’s changed into his official prince kit, which involves a long black tunic over fitted leather pants. “Acca also sent a klepto demon to steal our evidence book.”

  Mom gasps. “Not Desmond? He’s a little odd, sure. But I thought he was harmless.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, now he’s a little dead.”

  Mom puts on her presidential voice. “Myla, you should have more respect for life.”

  “Hey, Desmond tried to trap Lincoln and me. We chased him to get the codex back, and he led us straight into a pair of dyads. Technically, the demons killed Desmond, not Lincoln and me.” I make a wincey-face. “The three of them are over in sector 27. Hospital DH-27B. Sorry about the mess.”

  Dad shrugs. “All in a day’s work. I’ll get a team on it.”

  “Thank you,” says Lincoln. “Desmond also said something about sending the codex to the Wheeler Institute. Does that name ring any bells?”

  Mom shrugs. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I’ll look around. The place sounds vaguely familiar.” Dad leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The lines of his face turn rigid with rage. Not a good sign. “This has Armageddon’s name written all over it.”

  Here’s where things get tricky. Dad and Armageddon have a long and nasty history. About five hundred years ago, Dad led the angelic forces when Hell invaded Heaven. The net result was the infamous Battle of the Gates. A then-common demon named Armageddon rallied a whole legion of baddies to attack my father. Dad led the opposing forces and got them all to retreat. Long story short, Dad kicked Armageddon’s butt and banished all the demons from Heaven. That was ages ago. Armageddon still holds a grudge, though. Years later, when Armageddon became the King of Hell, he traded Mom’s safety for Dad’s incarceration in the underworld. My father spent twenty years as a prisoner of Armageddon, a demon who thinks that torture is fun.

  Needless to say, I avoid any mention of Armageddon if I can help it. Even so, in the way that Mom sees risks to my safety in everything? That’s how Dad is with Armageddon. And just like Mom, he’s also usually right.

  I try to put on my most unreadable face. It’s a long shot, but it’s still worth a try. “I don’t think we need to bring Armageddon into this.” Notice the double-speak here? I said we don’t need to bring Armageddon into things, not that he wasn’t there already. It’s a verbal trick I learned from Lincoln.

  Dad’s eyes glow blue with angelic rage. “So, Armageddon is involved.”

  Clearly, I need to work more on that particular verbal trick.

  “Yes.” I take care to keep my voice level and calm. “It’s all part of some backup plan between the Earl and Armageddon.” Once again, ever since the Battle of the Gates, the King of Hell has had it in for my father and my family.

  “I’ll get to the bottom of this; don’t worry.” Dad fixes me with his I’m-an-archangel-and-I’ll-kick-ass face. That’s a good sign. It means he’s handling the Armageddon angle pretty well so far.

  I force on a smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “In the meantime,” says Lincoln. “We need to get that codex back to Antrum.”

  “Right.” I slowly rise. “I’ll change into my Scala robes.”

  Mom’s face brightens. “Don’t forget. Tomorrow is your big day in court.”

  “I won’t forget.” Not that I could if I wanted to.

  We make our goodbyes, and I head off to get ready. I try to force myself into a happy mood. After all, I’m getting married in less than a week. The codex is back in our possession. Even better, the book is filled with the perfect evidence to bring down Acca and protect Lincoln’s throne.

  So why do I feel a buzz in my body, the same one that happens right before a big battle?

  I can’t escape the sneaking suspicion that everything is about to go to Hell. Literally.

  6

  After the infamous “love shower incident” with my parents, I get ready in record time. Now our limo is taking Lincoln and me to a Pulpitum, which is a magical transfer station for Antrum. I’m wearing my white Scala robes. Lincoln’s still in his princely getup. Normally, I’d be excited to spend some time with my honey. But we’re going to Antrum to put the Rixa Codex back into the storage vault. That means we may face the Earl of Acca.

  Not exactly a barrel of laughs. The thought of seeing that creepy Aldred makes me sick.

  I glance out the window. We’re driving through another random back alley. Huh. I knock on the black divider panel to the front seat. Our regular limo driver is out sick, and one of the gardeners, Gunnar, is filling in. The dude looks like a Viking and acts like a pussy. I’ll be glad when our regular driver is back.

  I knock on the divider again. “Hello?”

  Gunnar’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Yes, Great Scala?”

  I push down the red intercom button. “We should have been at the Pulpitum ten minutes ago. Are you lost?”

  “Um, no.” Gunnar’s voice shivers with fear. “I’m not lost. Not at all. Why would you ever think that?”

  Oh, yeah. He’s so lost.

  I hit the button again. “Make a right on Beelzebub Avenue and follow it until you hit the round building. You can’t miss it. The thing looks like a cupcake.”

  Which reminds me I never finished that second demon bar. The great scala is hungry.

  More crackling sounds as Gunnar drops the handheld microphone thingy in the front seat. He does that twice before he gets the thing firmly in his grip again. “But your followers might be there.” Gunnar’s voice starts wobbling so much, he might have been yodeling. He’s totally scared of my groupies. Not that I blame him, mind you. Some of them are pretty scary.

  Lincoln shakes his head. “Your fans always camp out at the Pulpitums. There’s no way to avoid it. Besides, my parents were expecting us hours ago.”

  I pat my messenger bag with the magic codex inside. “Plus, we still need to get this into the vault.” I hit the microphone button again. “Just keep going, Gunnar. We’ll be fine.”

  “Yes.” His voice comes out as a peep.

  As if on cu
e, a crowd of my quasi-demon fans spills over onto the roadway. There are about fifty of them in total. They quickly surround the limo and block the street. That’s quite an achievement, considering how there are clearly some quasi-sloth-demons in the mix. Gunnar slows down to a crawl. The crowd huddles closer, trying to peep past the tinted windows. Random shouts echo around us.

  “Great Scala, come out where we can see you.”

  “Promise me I’ll go to Heaven. I’ll do anything.”

  “Bless me, Great Scala.”

  A middle-aged woman steps up to my window. Her rat tail lashes behind her as she yells at the top of her lungs. “Marry a quasi!”

  A demon growl rumbles through my chest. That kind of comment really ticks me off. I get that they need time to stop hating thrax, but my choices are just that. Mine.

  The woman leans in closer. “Don’t turn your back on your own people!” It’s a good thing these windows are tinted, or this random chick would see a very unladylike hand gesture from yours truly.

  Lincoln sets his hand over mine and guides my arm down. When he speaks, his voice is super-gentle. “Try not to let them bother you.”

  He has a point. I inhale and exhale a few calming breaths. My inner wrath demon calms a little.

  Lincoln gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Better?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Lincoln really is a sweetie.

  I straighten my shoulders and get ready for the nasty shouts that are sure to happen once we step out the limo door. So what if my people don’t want me to marry Lincoln? I can handle it.

  As we close in on the Pulpitum, I’m starting to feel pretty good about my bad self. That’s when the crowd launches into “Save our Scala,” an awful song that goes with the tune of “Kumbaya.”

  “Save our Scala now

  Save her now

  Save our Scala now

  Save her now

  Save our Scala now

  Save her now

  Oh, save our Scala

  From marrying that evil, lying bastard.”

  My tail lashes behind me in an angry rhythm. How dare they? I mean, I know my people don’t like Lincoln. But songs? Really?