Angelbound (13 page)

My forehead creases with confusion. “So, what’s the problem?”

“My parents heard these awful lies about Zeke.” Cissy shivers. “Now I’m supposed to have an official chaperone with me at all times and, well, I know how much Mom and Dad trust you.”

“They think I’m a weird-tailed Arena fighter.”

“But they know you’d kill anyone who tried to hurt me.”

I pop another bite of salad into my mouth. She has a point.

Cissy starts blinking again. “Pleeeeeeeeease, Myla?”

I let out a low groan. The rumors about Zeke aren’t wrong, but I’ve known Mr. Smarmy McSlutster since kindergarten. He’s never let a girl meet his friends, let alone his family. I honestly think he’s okay around Cissy. Plus, if I can get access to diplomatic records, I may find something out about my father.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

***

The rest of the day is a blur of boringness, including the long drive home in Betsy. I step through my front door to a very happy mother.

“Welcome home, Myla!”

“Hey, Mom.” I give her a kiss on the cheek.

Mom plunks down onto the living room sofa and pats the empty spot next to her. “Guess what, sweetie? I was able to snap a few pictures of you and Cissy in your gowns before you got into the car. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

I sit down beside her. She presses the images into my hand. I look and wince. Even with all the flounces cut off the dress, it was still mighty puffy, like a neon pumpkin.

“Cissy looks beautiful.” I sigh. “And I look very orange.”

“You’re
both
lovely. Be sure to show these to Cissy.”

I set the photos into the pocket of my hoodie. “I will.”
In another lifetime.

Mom smiles and pats my hand. She’s in a good mood. That means now’s the perfect time to get the Maternal Inquisitor to approve regular afterschool trips to the Ryder mansion.

“So, Cissy’s started dating this guy named Zeke Ryder.”

“Oh, I know the Ryder family from before the war.”

Wow, another random fact from Mom’s mystery past.

It’s going so well, I decide to keep things moving. “Now that Cissy’s dating Zeke, she goes to the Ryder mansion after school. Her parents want a chaperone, so they asked me along.”

Mom bounces in her seat. “Oh, the Ryder mansion’s beautiful! I have a map around here somewhere.” She takes to her feet and disappears into her room.

Okay, it’s totally sketchy that Mom has maps of the Ryder mansion squirreled away. She returns to the living room and plunks down onto the sofa, a pile of folded papers on her lap.

Opening the top map, Mom runs her finger across different points. “The Ryder mansion’s shaped like a giant letter ‘U.’ In the center of the building–the base of the ‘U’–is the reception hall. From there, you go to the West Wing–that’s where
the Ryders live–or the East Wing.” Mom sighs. “The East Wing’s especially beautiful. It holds the ballroom, diplomatic offices, and library.”

“Diplomatic offices, huh?” I let the words hang out there. Mom doesn’t take the bait.

Instead, she points to another spot on the map. “Oh, and there’s the hedgerow maze right between the two wings. A lovely fountain’s at the center. After that, the grounds have tennis courts, botanical gardens, and all sorts of other things to entertain diplomats.”

“Whoa. Zeke’s house is way huger than I thought.” How-oh-how am I going to segue this conversation to get actual answers about Mom’s past?

Mom makes a tsk-tsk noise. “The grounds are actually a lot smaller now. You should have seen it before the war.”

“I would’ve liked that.” Man, it’s taking all my personal control (of which I have very little) not to push her right now for details.

“The library’s a marvel, be sure to check it out, Myla-la.” She flips to a different map that shows only the East Wing. It’s a long and thin rectangle made up of four floors. “The first floor’s the ballroom, the second’s diplomatic offices. The library covers both the third and fourth floors.” She shakes her head from side to side. “That library is unbelievable. The records cover everything from quasi government to demon history to ancient diplomatic archives.”

My personal control issues reach the breaking point. “Aren’t I doing a great job not asking you about the diplomatic stuff you did before the war?” My mouth starts moving on its own. “I mean, it’s pretty clear you worked in the diplomatic
offices in the Ryder mansion. Maybe you met my dad there? Researched stuff in the library together or something?” I lean forward, my restraint level at zero. “Am I right?”

Mom opens her mouth as if to speak, but the words choke in her throat. She lets out a long sigh instead. “Has Verus sent you any dreamscapes yet?”

“Not since the first one we talked about.”

“Ah, well.” She rises to her feet. “Maybe soon.”

With that, Mom walks away and hides the maps again.

Damn.

***

I race up to the front door of the Ryder mansion and slam on the bronze knocker. I am so freaking late meeting Cissy and Zeke, it isn’t even funny.

The pristine white door whips open, revealing a blissful Cissy. “Welcome to the Ryder mansion.” The way she works the entrance, you’d think she and Zeke had dated for years instead of weeks.

“Hey, Cissy.” I step into the reception hall. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Betsy broke down again.” Over the years, carburetors, wadget screws, and manifolds have all become my personal bitches. Normally, I appreciate the extra smoke, drama, and grease, but today it was a big hassle. I loathe being late.

“No worries.” Cissy makes goo-goo eyes at Zeke. “We were just chatting.”

I scan the reception room. It’s two stories tall and filled with ornate golden furniture and matching nick-knacks. Normally, it contains Zeke’s parents, too. “Where are the Ryders?” To say Zeke’s parents took an instant liking to Cissy is
the understatement of the millennium. For the last two weeks, Zeke’s Dad has been hovering beside the pair of them, glaring at his boy with a look that says ‘don’t screw this up, literally.’ Today’s the first day I can actually play chaperone.

“They’re playing tennis.” Cissy wraps her arm around Zeke’s. “Do you want to join us in the West Wing?”

Ah, no. I see enough of the ‘Cissy and Zeke Love Show’ at school. My goal here is plain and simple: get some intel on my dad. “Thanks, but I thought I’d check out the East Wing today.”

Cissy leans her head against Zeke’s shoulder. “Are you sure? We’d love to hang with you.”

Ah,
sure
you would. I appreciate Cissy trying to be nice, but I couldn’t be more of a third wheel if I were a tricycle. “Thanks, but I’m good. I honestly want to check out the East Wing.”

Cissy tilts her head to one side and frowns. “What aren’t you telling me, sweetie?” She elbows Zeke in the ribs. “I told you, she’s hiding things from me lately.”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” Cissy’s mouth curls into her ‘thinking frown.’ That means she’s debating about making it a group field trip to the library. Searching my ghoul heritage is nasty enough on its own; I’d rather not have an audience.

“Really-really.” I shoo them toward the opposite hallway. “You kids run off and have a good time.”

Cissy stands frozen, her forehead creased with worry. Zeke sets his hand on
her shoulder, guiding her about to face him. Once they’re eye-to-eye, he shoots her a come-hither smile. “I’d love to show you our stables today.”

Cissy blushes. Oh, yeah. She’s coming hither. “That would be great.”

I wave good-bye as the pair turn toward the West Wing. They step away, their footsteps clacking down the marble hallway in perfect sync. As they stroll along, Cissy stays snuggled into Zeke’s side, his arm wrapped firmly about her shoulders. Something in the movement makes my throat tighten. Will I ever feel that way about someone? At this rate, probably not, unfortunately.

A shiver rattles my shoulders. Maybe my ghoul heritage means I can’t love any guy who still has a pulse. Yuck, that’s a depressing thought.

Shake it off, Myla. You’ve work to do.

Turning about on my heel, I face the long hallway to the East Wing. It’s all gleaming marble floors, tall gilded mirrors, and anxiety-inducing mysteries. Mom said it held a ballroom, offices, and library. My mouth twists as I consider the options. Nodding to myself, I decide to start my search in the fourth-floor library. From what Cissy’s said, that’s always open and usually deserted.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten my spine and march up to the fourth floor. The library’s a labyrinth of tall wooden bookshelves. The scent of dust and old parchment fills the air. I scan for other visitors, but the place is empty. Good.

I find a section marked ‘history’ and haul out a particularly large, leather-bound volume. Bay windows with cushioned seats line the library’s far wall. I slide into the nearest window seat, open the book in my lap, and gaze through the glass to the mansion’s grounds outside. Far below me, figures mill about the
hedgerow maze. My tail flips to the title page:

Quasi Diplomacy: A History

A rustling sound echoes from the other side of the library.

“Cissy, is that you?”

Silence.

Shrugging, I return my attention to the book:

Introduction by Sanctus Lewis

I stare at the words again. Sanctus Lewis. I have Mom’s last name, and Sanctus Lewis was her mother.
Could be a coincidence.
I read on:

As every quasi citizen knows, the Lewis family has been instrumental in the development of afterlife diplomacy, which is why I’m pleased to write this preface to the tenth edition of…

“We’re here!” A strange female voice rings in my ears, but I’m too engrossed to call out to its owner. I pull the pages closer to my nose. The book has a ton of blah-blah-blah about giving people a second chance at a good afterlife, then the author writes:

I’m proud that my dear daughter Camilla has been elected to the traditional Lewis family seat as Senator of Diplomacy, an honor that…

My first real clue! Mom’s name is Camilla, so Grandma definitely wrote this before she died in the Wars. I grip the edges of the book tighter. And Mom was a Senator?
My insanely over-protective and weepy mother?
I shake my head and turn the page.

“Lincoln, don’t!” A shrill giggle fills the air. “You’ll muss my dress.”

I freeze.

Did she just say Lincoln? Can’t be the same guy.

“Apologies. It’s such a lovely dress too.” It
is
the same guy. Ugh.

I try to focus on my reading, but I can’t help but overhear them. Okay, maybe I could help, but I’m curious what Prince Pompous is up to.

Lincoln speaks again. “The minister said the
Libra Scala
would be over here.”

“Oh, I think I see it.” She makes little grunting noises. “Oh my, the shelf’s soooo high. Could you please pull the book down for me?”

Scrunching up my features, I mime the words ‘the shelf’s soooo high’ and stick out my tongue.

“Of course, Lady Adair.” A soft scraping sounds as the book slides down.

“Thank you, your Highness.” She giggles again.

My back teeth lock while my tail slices something nearby. Glancing about, I spy a sunny yellow pillow, now lying in two neat halves on the window seat. Anger and shock zing through my body. I just skewered a pillow without knowing it. I don’t do stuff like that, even during a Maternal Inquisition. Why does this random guy get my demon up in such a raw way?

A smile sounds in Lincoln’s voice. “You’re welcome.”

Lady Adair lets out a loud sigh. “While we have a moment, I want to say something. I was so honored that you invited me to join Verus at the Arena match.”

“My pleasure. I thought you’d enjoy the battle.”

“The fighting was fine, I suppose. But I
really
enjoyed seeing you act so
graciously afterwards.”

There’s a long pause, then Lincoln speaks again. “You mean when I gave the demon an award?”

The demon?
I’m a quasi with a name. Creep.

“Yes. That demon girl was so lucky you didn’t kill her.”

“Well, I–”

“Demons don’t stand a chance against real thrax warriors.” Her voice sounds extra-syrupy when she says ‘real thrax warriors.’ I’m pretty sure my tail just sliced another pillow into shreds. My hands ball into fists.

Lincoln chuckles. “It’s not really fair to compare a thrax and a demon girl, Lady Adair.”

“I don’t know if you’d think me too forward, but–” I can almost hear her eyelashes frantically batting from here.

“But what?”

“May I feel the muscle of your arm?”

I make a puke-face.

“I’m not sure, Adair.”

“Just for one second? Please.” A long pause follows. “Oooh! So strong.” I picture his arms and, yeah, he’s pretty ripped. But I kinda hate myself for knowing that.

She sighs. “How could any girl ask you to ‘name the time and place’ to fight?”

Lincoln’s tone turns cold. “We need to return to the others now, Milady.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean…That is, I didn’t think…” Footsteps sound toward the door.
“Wait for me, your Highness!”

I listen to their voices and footsteps fade, rage boiling up my spine. It’s official.
Prince Lincoln, I hate you more than anyone else in the universe. Someday I’ll show you what a ‘real warrior’ can do.

Pacing around the squeaky wooden floor, I imagine how awesome it would have been to trip them both down the stairwell. Hitching the book under my arm, I march straight out of the library, down the stairs, and into the first floor ballroom. As I stomp through across the dance floor, my eyes catch movement through the tall windows around me. Thrax mill about the hedgerow maze outside, all dressed up for some kind of formal shindig.

Grr.

I leave Cissy a goodbye note in the reception hall (including a not-too-believable story of how the two pillows got destroyed) and stomp off to my station wagon. I almost get in six accidents on the drive home, mostly because I’m practicing ‘you’re a jerk’ speeches instead of paying attention to the road. Once in my own driveway, I’m barely aware of parking the car, marching into the house, and slamming the door behind me. I make a beeline for my room.