Scala (5 page)

“So there's one disease where a Scala loses igni. Whatever. You're the most powerful Scala in a thousand years. Adair's just trying to rile you up.”

“Most likely.” I raise my pointer finger, as if an idea's just occurred to me. “Hey, why can't she stalk you for a change?”

“Antrum's totally locked-down. If she got within fifty yards of me without an official reason to be there, my guards would chuck her in the dungeons like that.” Lincoln snaps his fingers. “So, unfortunately, you have to be the focus of her mania.” He bows slightly at the waist. “My sincere apologies.”

“Well, now that you're here, I'm sure we can share the load.” I tear open another Demon bar.

Lincoln's right eyebrow lifts in disbelief. “Aren't you going to ruin your dinner?”

“What are you, my mom? Besides, my parents won't be back for hours. Dinner is late-night thing around here, if we get to it at all.”

Lincoln sets aside his carrots, a sudden gleam in his eyes. “So, I've been thinking about your warehouse problem.”

“And?”

“What if I call in the thrax Alchemists?”

I munch more Demon bar and ponder. For thrax royalty, Alchemists are like food tasters, only with magic. Everyone wants to control the King and Queen of the Thrax, and lots of bad-minded folks try enchantments, potions, you name it. Thrax Alchemists test stuff for evil magic.

“It's a thought at that,” I say.

“Do you think Walker would be insulted? He's been running this operation all along and you'll be bringing in new faces.”

“No, he's a practical guy. There's a huge warehouse of magical stuff to search through. I'm sure he'd love all the help he can get.”

“Well, he'll love the Alchemists, that's for certain. They're more scientists than sorcerers.”

“But do they know a lot about enchantments and stuff on machines? Looking at Walker's note, I guess the warehouse is full of them.”

“Sure.” He gestures to the mixer. “Let me show you.”

Our gazes lock, and the world seems to freeze for a full minute. I'm suddenly very aware that we're all alone in my house. No parents. Nowhere to be. Just time, quiet and each other…Something that hasn't happened in weeks. The air crackles with electricity and anticipation. The lust demon side of my lust-and-wrath combo powers awakens within me.

A sneaky smile rounds my lips. “What are you going to show me?”

“Why, the mixer, of course.”

My heart kicks harder as I wonder what Lincoln really plans to do. I turn to face the bizarre contraption on the countertop. “Okay, I'm listening.”

Lincoln slips up behind me, the firm contours of his chest brushing against my back in a way that's most distracting, especially for someone who's supposedly demonstrating household appliances. He firmly grips the countertop on either side of my body, and then speaks into my ear, his voice all low, slow and growly. “Almost every group in the after-realms has magic users. Thrax and the House of Striga, Furor and the Hexenwings, even humans. Any one of them could place different hexes and spells on each of the buttons here.”

“Why is it that everything you say sounds sexy?” My voice comes out a bit husky, as well. “This is a mixer.”

He nuzzles into my neck, sending pleasant shivers down my torso. “I don't know what you're talking about. As I was saying. My Alchemists know how to detect that magic, and then undo it. For you, they could change it. Make it do whatever you want. Even find the Orb.”

“Whatever I want? That could work.” I grin and lean backwards, allowing my body to press more tightly against his. Damn, that feels niiiiiiiiiiice. “We have to
be careful, though. After the ghouls, my people freak about outsiders doing anything major in our government.”

“Walker has his secret portals in and out of Antrum. No one would ever have to know.”

“There could be other problems, too.” My mouth starts talking without any conscious direction from my brain. “Quasis have inner demons. They can be hard to control. Maybe even frightening.”

“I'm not worried.” He leans in closer, his voice turning growly voice again. “Inner demons are rather intriguing, don't you think?”

I pause, a realization appearing in my mind. “We've stopped talking about Alchemy, haven't we?”

“Yes. I believe we've begun discussing your inner lust demon.”

Crap, I think he's right. Somewhere between Walker's portals and the words ‘don't you think?' I totally segued onto my adjustment issues with my inner lust demon. As in, I'm actively avoiding dealing with her presence.

Lincoln nuzzles my ear. “You haven't shown her to me since the night of the ball in Purgatory.”

“Yup.” For a reason. That was the night of the infamous ‘hedgerow maze incident'. Whenever my inner lust demon gets out, she makes me go nuts and do crazy stuff. On that fateful night, I almost stripped down naked and tackled Lincoln in a hedgerow maze, with all of thrax nobility hanging out at a Ball nearby. That sure was classy.

Lincoln shifts his weight, so his upper thigh presses between my legs from behind. “I'd like to see that part of you again, when you're ready.”

And, yow, that feels good. I start to reconsider my avoidance strategy. Maybe my lust demon and I only need to spend more time together. After all, Lincoln and I see each other so rarely, and then mostly in public. Not a lot of bonding opportunities, there.

From across the mansion, I hear the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.

Someone's home. Huh. Can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

“Myla, is that you?”

I cup my hand by my mouth. “Yeah, Mom. I'm in the kitchen.”

Dad's voice sounds next. “We brought pizza!”

Lincoln nips my ear with his teeth, sending one last shiver of desire down my belly. “We'll have to continue this discussion later.” He steps away and leans against the opposite counter. We share an awkward smile while my inner lust demon coils and fumes inside my soul. She isn't happy about this situation. Not one bit.

But for now, there's nothing either of us can do about it.

My parents, Lincoln and I sit around the kitchen table, polishing off our second pepperoni pizza. Dad nibbles at his slice for show; the rest of us chow down.

Mom positively beams at Lincoln. “It's such a treat to see you.” With her auburn hair, curvy body, and long dragon-scale tail, my mother looks like an older version of me, only in a purple suit.

“Good to be seen,” says Lincoln.

Mom glances at the wall clock. “Aren't you usually back in Antrum by now?”

“Yes, but I'd like to stay for a while, if that's alright with you.”

“Of course,” says Mom. “It's kind of your parents to spare you.”

“Mother will have her price, as always.”

I stop mid-chew. If Queen Octavia has a price, I'm probably not going to like it. “What is it?”

Lincoln stares at me out of his right eye. “You know what she wants, Myla.”

Oh, crap. Now, I remember.

There's one thing Lincoln's Mom has been going on about for weeks: a Ball of Welcome in my honor. So far, I've been dodging her, saying that a Ball would take me away from Purgatory for too long. But now that Lincoln is MIA from Antrum to help me, I can't really say I won't leave Purgatory for her. I make my yuck-face. “Yeah, I know what she wants, alright.”

Mom's eyes sparkle with hidden laughter. “She already contacted me about it. Requested that your father and I attend as well.”

Dad leans back in his chair. “You're not alone, Myla. Formal events aren't my favorite thing, either.”

My father and I share a smile. He has handsome features, a chiseled jawline, cocoa-colored skin, and bright blue eyes. His grey suit hangs a little loose on his once-buff frame. Armageddon imprisoned Dad in Hell for nearly two decades. I freed my father a few months ago, but Dad's still not back to full strength.

“Let's move onto more pleasant topics.” Dad rubs his palms together. “Anything in particular you two want to discuss tonight? Future plans, maybe?”

I roll my eyes. No question what Dad's hinting around about. As an archangel, my father's been alive since the beginning of time. Until I came along, he never had a child. Now that he's got the hang of it, he wants me married and giving him a grandkid, pronto.

I'm having none of it. “We're not talking about weddings right now.”

“Then, I'll ask someone else.” Dad turns to Lincoln. “Anything you want to say?”

“If I were enacting the thrax betrothal ceremony for a High Prince,” says Lincoln. “I wouldn't do it over pizza. To begin with, it takes time to get the betrothal jewels out of the Royal Vaults.” He sets his hand on mine. “And it all requires far more of a sense of occasion.”

Marriage. The thought buzzes through my nervous system, charging every inch of me with all kinds of happy. How awesome would it be to wake up next to Lincoln every day? Quite awesome, indeed.

Under the table, my tail twists lovingly around Lincoln's ankle. He peeps over in my direction, his mismatched eyes alive with excitement. We'll really do this one day. Get married and be together.

My pulse races with anticipation. Seems like Lincoln's already got plans in the works, too. And a betrothal ritual? Jewels? Those thrax have ceremonies and sparkly stuff for everything. Not that I'm complaining. This is one situation where the extra falderal and romance would be much appreciated.

Dad's grin gets larger, if that's possible. “Fair enough.”

Mom kicks her feet up onto a nearby chair. “Mind if I talk shop for a bit?”

“Go ahead,” I reply. “What's on your mind?”

“I received a message from Cissy's office tonight. Adair's launching an official investigation into the Ghost Towers. I'd heard about the trouble with Ghost Tower Six today. What's the latest?”

I picture the fractured containment wall at the Ghost Tower, complete with that spectral hand reaching through the break. A shiver of dread twists up my spine. “The Tower's now stable, but we've got a million new souls coming into Purgatory each month. I don't know how much more storage we have.”

“We can't stop souls from entering Purgatory, that's for sure,” says Mom. “Besides, isn't Walker close to finding the Orb anyway?”

I tear apart my pizza crust into small bits. “We've some bad news on that front. Turns out, the Orb is actually hidden in a huge warehouse filled with magical junk. Lincoln's bringing in some specialists from Antrum to help us find it, but we've no idea how long it will take.”

“You're bringing in the Alchemists, then,” says Dad. “That's a first-class idea.”

“I agree, excellent thinking from both of you,” adds Mom. “You'll get Soul Processing back on track in no time.”

“Thanks, Mom.” A sunny sense of pride radiates through me. “I certainly hope so.”

With that complement, I'm feeling downright awesome and in control. Then, my gaze runs across the old-fashioned phone set onto our kitchen wall. Any second now, that thing could ring again, not with a code-red failure this time, but with a full Tower meltdown. My chest tightens with worry and doubt. “Sometimes, though, I wonder what would've happened if I hadn't stopped my first iconigration. I mean, the Old Scala would never have questioned sending everyone to Hell.”

“Nonsense,” says Mom quickly. “You know how your father and I feel about what you're doing. It's a very brave move to shut down Soul Processing. You have our full support. And we'll help keep Adair's investigation quiet for as long as possible. Don't let the nay-sayers get you down, honey.”

Huh. Mom's been warning me about the dangers of nay-sayers since I was two years old. Now, her words wrap around me once again, comforting as a blanket. “With you as my Mom, the nay-sayers don't stand a chance.”

Dad's features firm up. I know this look; he's going into what I call Father-General-mode. “We've got you covered from the military side, as well.” His
voice carries a note of grim determination. “If there's rioting again, I'll call in troops from Heaven, no problem.”

My father means for that statement to be reassuring, but it's not. At all. Instead, I start thinking about Purgatory's infamous Ghost Riots. The tightness and anxiety in my chest grows downright painful. Thoughts of those bloodthirsty mobs have been torturing me for weeks.

“Riots?” My voice comes out a little shaky. “I hope it doesn't come to that.”

A memory appears in my mind's eye. I'm nine years old, sitting on our old ratty couch back in Lower Purgatory. Far-off explosions and screams rip through the night air. I curl into Mom's shoulder, my entire body trembling with fear. Walker sits in the armchair across from us, his colorless face set into grim lines. If the mobs reach our street, he's here to portal us away to safety. Outside our living room window, the night sky's horizon is lined with shifting shades of red. Purgatory is burning.

Mom guesses my thoughts and worries. “Don't get too concerned about rioting for now,” she says soothingly. “You two focus on working with Walker and getting things going again. Just, you know, quickly. Like a few days. Maybe a week, tops.”

“Sure, Mom. We'll do the best we—”

All of a sudden, the sound of ethereal singing fills my head. It's high-pitched, childlike and lovely. I press my fingertips to my temples. This shouldn't be happening now. I didn't summon any igni.

Still, the music continues. My brain fills with sweet voices that only I can hear. These are the light igni, the power that draws souls to Heaven. Evidently, they've decided that now is a good time to converse via somewhat-sappy music inside my brain. I exhale a slow breath. At least, unlike the dark igni, I can listen to their singing without wanting to scream.