Scala (11 page)

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 fireworks-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.

I raise my fist to shoulder-height. “Right here, right now, this moment. We have a chance to change things. To take back what was stolen from us when Armageddon invaded twenty years ago. I need you to be strong with me. I need you to support these souls and have patience. And if you're in this room, I need you to have something more. Restraint. As members of the press, you have the ability to incite riots that could tear Purgatory apart.”

I point towards the door. “You've all seen the angry mobs on the way here. I urge you to be responsible. Wait until tomorrow morning. I assure you, we will find that Orb. And finding it, we will fully return to the Purgatory that we once were.” My eyes glow a bright shade of angelic blue. “I am the Great Scala, and that is my promise.”

I quickly hustle over to Mom, and speak in a low voice. “What should I do next?” Now that I'm away from the microphone, I'm starting to question my choice of holding a major press event in seven hours. “Do you think it was a good idea to have a Grand Unveiling? Should we cancel it or something?”

“Not at all. Opening up tomorrow's Unveiling to the press is a brilliant idea, Myla. You quieted the crowd and stopped any rioting tonight. Next, we need to
get to the warehouse and plan the event at double-speed.” She gestures towards the stairs leading off the stage. “You and Lincoln should leave now. I'll close things out here.” Mom steps up to the podium and begins to speak, but I don't hear her words. Instead, I focus on grabbing Lincoln's hand and finding our way back to the limo. Once we're safely inside, he wraps me in a big hug.

“Excellent work. Octavia couldn't have done any better.”

A happy blush crawls up my cheeks. Getting compared to Octavia? That's high praise, indeed. “Thanks.”

He cups my face in his hands. “What a Queen you'll make one day.”

For a few blissful seconds, all I can think about are Lincoln's gentle hands and kind words. After that, the adrenaline in my system goes haywire, focusing on all the things that could go wrong tomorrow. “I'm not so sure about that. We've only got seven hours left to plan this Grand Unveiling. And we must allow Adair to attend since she's our Thrax Diplomat. But what if she tries more sabotage? I hope I didn't trade one fiasco tonight for something worse in the morning.”

“Hey, you made the perfect call tonight.” He gestures to the tinted windows. Although an angry crowd still covers the sidewalk, the streets are now clear. “No riots, right?”

I nod slowly, forcing myself to take calming breaths. “True.”

“The way I see it, we have seven whole hours left to plan. We'll miss some things, sure. But we'll get more right than we do wrong. I believe in you, Myla.”

I wrap him in a tight hug. A feeling of love and warmth blooms through my chest. “Thank you.”

“Any time. I'm well-known for a good pep talk before battle.”

I gently kiss his cheek. “I can see why.”

The limo driver rolls down the partition between the front seat and back. “Where to?”

Lincoln leans forward to chat up the driver. As we pull away from the curb, I'm feeling mighty pleased with my bad self. Opening up tomorrow's Grand Unveiling to the press really was a good call. The streets are indeed safe tonight.

That's when I see it. A thrax reporter with glowing-red eyes. Demon-bright.

I grab Lincoln's hand. “Come, look!”

He slips up beside me. “What's wrong?”

“The reporter in the purple tunic. Do you see his eyes?”

He leans closer to the window. “Yes. Is something wrong with them?”

“Of course, there is.” I point at the window. “They're…”

But the eyes aren't red anymore. They're the mismatched hues of every thrax.

“They're what, Myla?”

I plunk back into my cushy seat and let out a long groan. “It's been a super long-day. I might be seeing things.” I shake my head. “Mom said we should meet up at the warehouse. Let's get over there.”

“How about we get you some java along the way?”

“I like that idea very much.” Once I start seeing things, it's definitely time for extra coffee.

6:14AM.

I pace across the warehouse floor, anxious energy zinging through my limbs. Three minutes from now, our Grand Unveiling of Lucifer's Orb will begin. Yipes. Beside me, reporters from across the after-realms are packed along the back wall, seated on tiered risers that reach from floor to ceiling. All their gazes are glued onto the movement of a little tin bird.

At the far side of the warehouse, the enchanted bird in question flits above the aisles, landing one box, then another, continuing on in its mission to find Lucifer's Orb at precisely 6:17AM. All last night, Lincoln and I packed this warehouse with every security precaution we could think of: alarms, guns, secret agents, obvious guards, you name it. Once that Orb is found, it's staying in our control, end of story.

I quickly check the risers and my heart lightens. Two minutes to go and still, no sign of Adair. Maybe the extra precautions weren't necessary, after all. The knots of worry in my neck loosen, making me feel more calm and optimistic. Not so chill that I stop pacing in front of the risers, though.

Lincoln waves me over. He stands on the left-side of the tiered seats, alongside my parents, Cissy, Walker, and the Alchemists. I'm feeling so good now; it takes an effort not to skip over to him.

“What's up?”

“You might want to stop pacing in front of the reporters.”

“Why, I'm not bothering anyone, am I?”

“Far from it. The male members of the audience appreciate your parade in the extreme. I know I certainly am.” A mischievous gleam dances in his eyes. “It's very-very cold in here, Myla.”