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  Footsteps echo down the hallway outside my bedroom. I freeze.

  Crap, someone’s here.

  With that realization, my logical self springs back into life with a loud ‘told you so’. My lust demon fades. I lower my voice to a whisper. “Someone’s outside.”

  “It’s Cissy. I recognize the step.” A conspiratorial gleam flickers in his mismatched eyes. “So, we’ll be very quiet.”

  My breathing comes low and quick. “Quiet. I can do that.” I close my eyes as he kisses my neck. “Maybe.”

  Another logical realization appears in my distracted mind. Quiet or not, there isn’t much separating me from unwanted visitors. I shoot a worried glance at the door. “Is it…”

  “Locked? Of course.”

  Heat, sense and pleasure careen through me. My lust demon roars to life again, growling how there’s too way much clothing here, and not nearly enough moaning. I grit my teeth, trying to get her under control.

  “Full disclosure.” I’m panting at this point. “I’ve never really let her out.”

  Lincoln leans in, nipping my earlobe in his teeth. That’s so not-helping my lust-demon-control issues. “Her who?”

  “You know. Her-her.” Right now, eloquence isn’t my strong suit.

  Lincoln pauses, propping up his weight back onto his forearms. His gaze meets mine, his face doing that unreadable-thing. “Your lust demon?”

  I nod. “Even when I’m alone, I kind of keep her on a leash. It’s not easy. But with you, it’ll be impossible. I think she might be really noisy and, uh, physical.”

  Lincoln’s mouth slowly winds into a Cheshire-cat-style grin. “Oh, I can handle noisy and physical. Don’t worry.” He lowers his voice to a sexy whisper. “Do whatever you want to do. I’ll follow your lead. No one will know a thing, Myla.”

  My tail hovers by his collar, ready to slice the shirt right off. Man, it would be so easy. Nakedness could be ours.

  Lincoln leans in close, his mouth just above mine. “In case you’re wondering, I hate this shirt.” Translation: If you want to slice this off me, feel free.

  The arrowhead end of my tail toys with his shirt-collar. Lincoln closes his eyes, soaking in the feel of my dragon-scale skin on the nape of his neck. Inside me, my lust demon instinct grows stronger. The drive to tear everything off him is almost irresistible.

  And I can control my lust demon. Possibly.

  My tail slides around to Lincoln’s throat, tugging right below his chin. We’re here. And all of this feels amazing. Plus, there are no guarantees about our crazy futures. Why wait? My eyes flicker red with lust.

  Lincoln lowers himself on his forearms, stopping when his mouth’s a breath above my own. “That’s it, Myla. Set her loose.”

  All right, big fella. You asked for it.

  A knock sounds on my bedroom door. We freeze.

  The knock repeats. Someone’s here.

  Aw, fuck fuck fuckity FUCK fuck.

  A muffled voice sounds through the thick wooden door. “Myla?”

  No question who that is. “Hi, Cissy.”

  “Your Mom’s been calling and calling. I have a limo waiting outside for you. We need to go to an emergency press conference. Guess who’s gone public with her complaints about the Ghost Towers?”

  Ugh. That would be Adair.

  “Alright, Cis. Be right out.”

  Lincoln gives me one last kiss before rolling off the bed. “I’m afraid I must meet your lust demon another time.”

  I open my mouth, not sure what to say. On one hand, I’m colossally bummed out that Lincoln and I aren’t kissing anymore. On the other hand, I can’t say I’m too upset that I can keep right on avoiding my inner lust demon. Which hand is the right one?

  Tough call, really.

  I straighten my Scala robes and decide to worry about my lust demon later. Right now, it’s time for my first serious press conference.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cissy, Lincoln, and I sit in a limousine on our way to Adair’s so-called emergency press conference. Lincoln’s in a fine mood, especially since minutes ago, he almost met my inner lust demon again. He starts rolling the windows up and down, picking through the wet bar, and in general playing with every button, lever and knob in the limo. He even rolls open the skylight and stands up through it as we drive along. I pull on his pant leg.

  “Down here, honey.”

  He crouches over. “Wow. Not that I don’t like riding Bastion, but limousines are phenomenal.”

  Cissy and I exchange a look of disbelief. Sure, Lincoln lives underground in a locked-down version of the Middle Ages, but I figured he’d ridden a limo at least once before. After all, he is royalty.

  “Have you ever been in a limo before?” asks Cissy.

  “No, why would I?” He stands back up in the skylight.

  I tug on his pant leg again. “Down here, still.”

  Lincoln crouches once again. “Yeah?”

  “Emergency press conference planning going on here. You need to participate.”

  “Right now?” He looks so disappointed; I hate to burst his bubble.

  “How about this? One of these days, we’ll ride around in a limo for as long as you want. How’s that for a deal?”

  “I like.” Lincoln plunks back onto the seat beside me, a silly smile on his face. “Alright. Ready to focus on the emergency press conference.”

  Cissy hands us each manila folders. “It’s being held at the Thrax Embassy.”

  Lincoln’s grin melts away, along with any sense of playfulness. “I wasn’t made aware of it.” He flips through the pages inside the folder. “Acca informed Father, though.” The muscles along his jawline tighten with rage.

  I scan the documents myself. “Adair’s formally announcing results from her investigation of the Ghost Towers tonight. What a very-very suspicious emergency, considering we’re slated to find Lucifer’s Orb tomorrow morning. Methinks she’s trying to steal our thunder.”

  The limo turns off the back roads and heads into more populated areas. Almost immediately, quasis start to fill the roadsides, holding up signs that say ‘quasi lives first’ and ‘iconigration now’. The crowd boos, shakes their signs, and screams obscenities as we drive by.

  I point to the window. “What’s up with this? I thought we were flying under the radar with the Ghost Tower risks.”

  Cissy shakes her head. “Adair’s been giving speeches around the Thrax Embassy for days. Local schools, coffee houses, that kind of thing. Now, the quasi population around here is in a full-blown panic.”

  My hands ball with frustration. “So, we focus on the warehouse for two days and this is what happens. Adair takes to the streets.”

  “It totally sucks,” says Cissy. “But, we hardly have enough staff to cover regular Diplomatic work, let alone following around Adair.”

  “I know, Cissy.” I set my palms onto my eyes. This situation bites. So. Hard. “The biggest question is what to do now?”

  Cissy’s mouth thins into a determined line. “We have to nail this press conference, Myla. Otherwise, Adair will use the TV, radio and print coverage to spread that same panic all over Purgatory. Have either of you done damage control in a press conference before?”

  “Antrum doesn’t have an independent press,” explains Lincoln. “At least, not when it comes to royalty.”

  “And I’ve only had Scala-love interviews. Everyone’s been so thrilled that I’m from Purgatory, it’s been one fluff piece after another.” A pang of worry constricts my throat. How’s this press conference going to work, exactly? I’m the girl who causes damage, not controls it.

  We turn down onto a major street and the handful of quasis at the roadside turn into rowdy crowds. More signs. More screaming as my limo drives by. Some of my people actually hold clubs and guns above their heads. A new sign gets added into the mix: ‘Cursed Scala, Cursed Purgatory’.

  Hells Bells. For the first time, I’m very-very glad Purgatory doesn’t have any cell service or Inte
rnet. Otherwise, we’d already be in full-blown riot stage by now.

  The limo pulls up to the Thrax Embassy, a small stone castle whose even smaller front yard is crammed with people. I count three TV vans from Purgatory alone. Hundreds of reporters and photographers jostle for position. I see folks from Antrum, the Dark Lands and even Heaven. Thousands of protestors line the streets. My heart sinks to my toes. The situation’s already veering dangerously out of control.

  Cissy curls her fingers around the door handle. “Here’s the drill. Adair will make her announcement. After that, Myla will say a few words. Lincoln, Xavier, Camilla and I will be on-stage for backup.” She looks me over and frowns. “Maybe it’s better if Camilla spoke, instead. You’ve never done anything like this before, Myla.”

  “True enough.” I rub my chin, considering. Cissy’s right. Mom does damage control all the time. She could easily take this press conference, too. I picture myself standing at the back of the stage, looking goddess-like while Mom works the crowd. Some of the anxiety eases from my neck and shoulders. That could totally work.

  “You really think Mom can do it?”

  “Oh yeah,” replies Cissy. “I mean, she knows Soul Processing as well as you do, right?”

  Wrong. The tension returneth.

  “No, Mom’s had enough to do without learning my job, too.” Worry settles back onto my shoulders, heavy as stones. “No, Cis. I’m the Great Scala and this is my responsibility.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure, I’m sure.” Total lie.

  “Okay,” says Cissy. “We’re on.” She pushes the door open and steps out first. The crowd on the Embassy lawn goes crazy. Two lines of Purgatory police in black riot gear hold back the mob on either side of us, creating a makeshift aisle to the front door. Dozens of flash bulbs go off in my face. Everyone yells questions at once. It’s an assault without weapons, and that awakens my inner wrath demon. I snap into battle-mode, my mind quickly running through strategies galore. My next step instantly becomes clear.

  Get your goddess on, Myla.

  Taking a deep breath, I step out into the fray. Lincoln walks beside me, taking my hand in his. Together, we stroll through the thin aisle made by the Purgatory police. I scan the crowd in a way that says: I can send you to Hell in an instant, so back the fuck off.

  It works. The aisle becomes less crowded, fewer flash bulbs go off and the questions die down.

  So far, so good.

  Lincoln and I follow Cissy through the Thrax Embassy until we reach a small auditorium in the back of the castle. Cissy’s told me about this place. It’s where Dignitaries run free seminars for quasis on topics like ‘why the thrax are color coded’, ‘how to make sure we won’t kill you on sight’, that kind of thing.

  Today, the small auditorium is crammed with reporters, all of them jostling for position. Up front, a tiny stage holds a podium decorated with the crest of Rixa, Lincoln’s House. Along the back of the platform stand Mom, Dad and Adair. The crowd is a sea of strange faces, except for Walker. Seeing his encouraging smile makes me feel better. It means a lot that he hustled over here on short notice.

  Cissy, Lincoln, and I press our way through the crowd. As we move along, Adair stares at Lincoln in a way that’s somewhere between adoration and rage. She’s so creepy, it isn’t funny.

  Once we step onto the stage, Lincoln turns to me. “Mind if I kick things off? The podium has my crest on it, after all.” I glance over to Mom, quickly shifting my pointer finger between Lincoln and the podium. She nods quickly.

  Excellent. That nod means that Lincoln’s good to go.

  “Mom says it’s fine. Have fun.” I kiss Lincoln on his cheek. Several lightning bolts worth of flash bulbs go off.

  “Thank you.” Lincoln steps up to the podium and taps on the microphone. An electronic thud-thud echoes through the auditorium. The crowd quiets.

  Lincoln scans the room, his chin held high, and crown perfectly centered on his head. He looks very regal and badass. “Good evening, everyone. I am Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus, High Prince of the House of Rixa. This is my Embassy and these are my Diplomats who run it. For the record, this emergency press conference was called without my approval. Anything said here tonight does not represent the full will and opinion of those who rule Antrum.” He stalks to the back wall of the stage and glares at Adair, who quickly rushes up to the podium.

  “Hello, I’m Adair, the Great Lady of the House of Acca, rulers of Antrum for countless millennia. I was also first to be initiated the Scala Heir after Maxon Bane.”

  Fresh anger pulses through me. The first to be initiated? What the what? Adair’s entire initiation ceremony was a fake. She admitted so herself. And it was one thing when Adair spewed out this garbage to Lincoln and me. It’s another thing to say it to the press.

  Adair gestures to Lincoln. “I thank my esteemed colleague for his introduction, but I can assure you that the royal family was made perfectly aware of this emergency press conference. So, without further ado, I would like to officially announce the initial findings of my investigation into the dangers of the Ghost Towers.”

  The room goes quiet and Adair scans the room, prolonging the moment.

  My rage level skyrockets. If there’s one Adair-related thing I hate more than her lies, it’s her drama. My tail arches over my shoulder, snapping into battle stance. I don’t even bother to tell it to heel. At this rate, I may very well fight her on-stage in front of everyone, press be damned.

  “Here’s what I have to say,” announces Adair. “You think those are Ghost Towers? They’re pressure cookers, ready to explode any moment!” She does jazz hands. Actual jazz hands.

  Every muscle in my body screams take Adair down, right now. Lincoln senses my rage, and slips his hand into mine. I grip his fingers so tightly, I’m surprised he doesn’t yelp with pain. Still, his touch centers me again. Somehow, I’m able to hold it together while the press reacts to Adair’s show.

  And react they do. The reporters go wild. More flashing. More shouting. The audience begins to move as an angry mob, pushing towards the stage in waves.

  “We’re on the brink of new Ghost Riots, my friends. I tell you, every quasi in Purgatory could be murdered at any moment. The bottom line is simple. You need to someone to move those souls now. I am the Scala Heir.” She raises her arms high and igni materialize around her palms. “Once I become the Great Scala, I’ll move those souls for you, I promise. All I need is the opportunity.”

  Opportunity, my ass! What Adair’s asking for is nothing less than my assassination. Once I’m dead, she’ll get the rest of my igni, easy-peasy. The truth slams into me like a punch to the gut. Sneaking around…causing trouble…stealing my igni…all of Adair’s actions have worked towards a single goal. Causing the mass riots, fear, and panic that end in my assassination and her ascension as the Great Scala. Bottom line: she thinks I stole her life, and now she’s stealing it back. Unholy Hell.

  “And if you don’t believe me, I’ve brought Tower Warden Celia Graham to speak with you tonight. She’s worked inside those ticking time bombs herself. She’ll back up every word I have to say!”

  Celia? Really?

  That’s it. Rage courses through every cell in my body. My eyes flare demon-bright. I march up to the podium and glare death at Adair. “Step aside.” My tail arches menacingly over my shoulder. “And if you try to lay a finger on me, that’s one less finger you’ll gave. Understand?”

  The room falls eerily silent. Every eye becomes locked on Adair and me.

  “I speak the truth,” chirps Adair. But her voice comes out more as a question.

  “Move it, Adair. Now.” My eyes flare an even brighter shade of red, and Adair quickly returns to her place against the wall.

  Nice.

  Closing my eyes, I summon enough igni to pack every inch of airspace in the auditorium. Their little silver bodies whirl about, diving around the reporters’ feet, spinning through their hair and equipment, and bursting firewo
rks-style above their heads.

  Soft oohs and ahs fill the air, which I find most satisfying.

  I’m careful to keep the igni well out of Adair’s reach, however. I’m a theatrical leader, not a total dumbass.

  I snap my fingers; all the igni disappear. Leaning forward, I speak into the microphone. “Hello, I’m Myla Lewis, and I’m the Great Scala. For the record, the Ghost Towers are secure. No one in Purgatory is at risk.” An idea appears in my mind. Well, it’s Cissy’s idea actually, but its time has come. “Tomorrow, my team will locate Lucifer’s Orb and move it out of Purgatory. Within a few days, I’ll hold my first iconigration. No more sending innocents to Hell. Come to the warehouse for a Grand Unveiling of the Orb tomorrow at 6:17AM. See it happen, live, with your own eyes.”

  Adair steps forward. You have to hand it to the girl; she does not give up. “What about the Bloodstone Curse? Isn’t it true that you’re stalling on moving souls because you no longer have enough power for an iconigration?” She wheels around to face the audience. “Myla’s been lying to you for months! About her powers. About the Bloodstone Curse. This Grand Unveiling will be yet another lie, you’ll see!”

  I keep talking into the microphone as if Adair isn’t behind me. “I know you’ve all heard rumors. About ghosts breaking free. About me having some kind of curse. The Diplomat’s speech might lead some to think you’d be better off with another Scala.”

  I grip either side of the podium tightly. “I say this to you with all my heart. It would be easy for me to move those spirits. Too easy. And easy answers are not what Purgatory is about. We exist to give souls an even chance at the right afterlife. Trial by Jury. Trial by Combat. It’s hard work. And it is only by your fair verdicts that souls should be judged and moved. No Orb should take that away from you.”

  Every eye is locked on me. The sensation reminds me of when I’m fighting a demon for ages without one of us getting any advantage. Then, at last, a killing blow becomes obvious. Only here, my Arena is this auditorium. The demon that I’m fighting is fear mongering from Adair. Now that I have the audience’s focus, I know the exact verbal moves that will kill my people’s terror.