Scala (9 page)

“I'd rather you talked to Xavier right now. Whatever Adair did back there, I've never seen anything like it. If anyone knows what tricks she's pulling, it's your father.”

I check my wristwatch. Almost 8PM. Dad doesn't need much sleep, so he's probably working out right now. “Alright.” I finally release Walker. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” A low hum sounds as Walker creates a new portal. He steps through it and disappears.

Lincoln enfolds me in a huge hug. “Are you okay?”

“I feel fine, now.”

“Sorry I had to break the containment field, but I couldn't think of any other way to make her stop. She looked so scared when I held up the long-sword, I figured she'd panic and run.”

“And you were right. It was a good plan.”

I pause, rubbing my temples with my fingertips. All the events of the past two months swirl through my brain. Adair following me around…becoming Thrax Diplomat to Purgatory…causing trouble with my Tower Wardens…and now, stealing my igni. There's a pattern here, a systemized plan of attack. I need some battle strategy advice.

And Dad's the greatest General in the after-realms.

Lincoln and I turn down another creepy-dark hallway in my mega-mansion home, our footsteps echoing in weird ways on the black marble. After the Ghost Tower igni-steal with Adair, we're hitting the gymnasium to talk to my father.

As we close in on the gym, the corridor echoes with familiar noises: the unmistakable thwacks, rips and slashes of a battle. Based on the way the punches sound when they connect, the opponent's one of the dummy demons that Dad brought in for battle practice.

Lincoln arches his right eyebrow. “Xavier has faux-demons in here?”

“Oh, sure. He brought in his best equipment from Heaven. You won't believe what he's done with our gym. Gutted a whole wing of the building to build it.”

A sense of pride bubbles up through me. It's so cool to have a badass archangel demon-fighting Dad.

We reach the gymnasium's open door and stop. Inside, the place is huge, white and topped with a high ceiling. Padded mats cover the floor in four quadrants, each one holding different equipment. Every weapon imaginable lines the walls.

I scan the room, ready to say my hellos. What I see stops me cold. Dad spars against one of the dummy demons, which has seemingly come to life for the battle practice.

Only, it's not just any demon. It's Armageddon.

I grip Lincoln's palm more tightly. Part of me knows the King of Hell isn't really battling my father right now. Dad's fighting an enchanted mannequin that comes to life for practice only. But dang, whoever enchanted that thing did a good job. It's freaking terrifying. Armageddon stands seven feet tall with gangly thin limbs and black skin that's smooth as polished stone. His long face is divided by a blade-like nose and ends in a pointed chin. He moves with lightning speed, trying to place his hands anywhere on Dad's exposed flesh. Armageddon's preferred method of attack is to touch your skin and suck out your soul.

My attention turns to my father, and my jaw falls open with wonder. Dad's baculum are ignited as two short-swords. His movements are a blur as he blocks Armageddon's attacks. With each volley and thrust, intense emotions wrench across my father's face: rage, anguish, and fear.

A heavy sadness settles into my body. To save Mom's life, Dad spent twenty years in Hell, and Armageddon tortured him the entire time. Dad has the power to heal, so Armageddon tore off my father's wings off every day, torment that only got worse when his wings regenerated.

Sensing our presence, Dad pauses in his volley. He calls out one word: “Halt!” The sparring dummy freezes, turning from a life-like version of Armageddon into a putty-colored model of the same shape and size. My father turns his attention to me, panting for breath. “Hello, there. I was wondering when you'd stop by. I suppose your mother told you about the Bloodstone Amulet.”

My mind stalls out for a moment. In all the excitement of Adair in the Ghost Tower, I forgot all about the amulet. Dad was making an emergency trip to visit Emperor Tempest and try to borrow it.

“No, I haven't seen Mom all day. What's up?”

“I have the amulet with me. Would you like to try it on? See if it works?”

A chill of foreboding crawls up my back. This necklace will tell me if I've lost any of my igni. I steel myself, ready for anything. “Sure, let's have a look.”

Dad walks over to a nearby cabinet and pulls out a small velvet box. “Here it is.”

I turn the item over in my hands. It's a smooth disc of red stone, unmarked on either side, that's held on a long silver chain. I set it around my neck.

Instantly, the front of the amulet changes. The surface bubbles, turning into the image of two dragons facing each other, their claws extended and teeth bared. Their dragon-tails loop around to the backside of the disc, where they from a spiral that ends in the amulet's center. The roman numerals one to ten are marked along the length of the entwined tails, with ten at the outer edge and one at dead center.

“The back of the amulet shows the level of your powers,” says Dad.

“Got it.” I watch the entwined tails on the amulet's backside. Bit by bit, they turn black against the backdrop of red stone. The color reaches up to the numeral ten and pauses. “It looks like I have all my igni.” I exhale a relieved breath. Maybe Adair has been playing some kind of elaborate mind game with me.

Whew. Mind games, I can handle. Losing my igni, not so much.

The color in the tails starts to disappear. Not a mind game, then. Adair really did steal my powers. My rib cage seems to squeeze in on me.

The level on the amulet slips past nine, then eight. My breath catches. How many igni did she take? I fought against her stealing every one of them. The readout finally comes to a stop at seven. I grip the amulet tightly, feeling my palms turn slick with sweat. “This says my powers are at seven out of ten.” My throat constricts with grief and chock. “I've lost igni.”

With that realization, my mind empties of everything but a single thought. It's one thing to suspect someone's stealing the little supernatural children that power your life. It's another to see evidence that it actually happened. And they screamed so loudly as they were torn from me. Pain and terror.

My voice catches. “My igni.” Their loss hits me like a punch to belly, the agony overwhelming and raw.

Lincoln steps up beside me, gently setting his hand on my shoulder. “Tell your father what happened tonight at the Ghost Tower.”

I meet his gaze, my own eyes stinging with sorrow. “My igni.”

“I know this is hard, Myla. But we don't have a lot of time. Tell your father what happened. Maybe he can help.”

Little by little, I turn to face my father. “Just now, I got into a fight with Adair at Ghost Tower Four. I tied her up with an igni cord. It felt like she was using that cord as a connection. Taking my powers away from me.” I run my fingers along the amulet. “And this confirms it. But how could that be possible? At any point in time, there can only be two beings with the blood of an angel, human and demon. The Scala and the Scala Heir.”

Dad keeps his voice soft and soothing. “That's correct.”

“So how could she take my igni? Adair only has the blood of a human and angel in her.”

Dad's mouth thins to a frown. “The trick isn't getting demon blood in you. That's pretty easy to do. And fatal, if that means you'll have all three blood types at once. If I injected Lincoln with demon blood right now, he'd die a long and painful death.”

Lincoln nods sadly. “At some points in our history, it's been used as a form of execution. Excruciating way to go.”

“In any case, getting demon blood isn't the problem,” continues Dad. “The tough part is getting half-way through the Scala Heir initiation ceremony. After that, you can take all three blood types easily.”

I let out a long groan.
That explains it.

“Of course. Adair went through the Scala Heir initiation ceremony with me. She inhaled the special angel dust, got the sacred words said over her, and was proclaimed Angelbound by Verus. All she was missing was the demon blood.”

Lincoln shakes his head. “But that ceremony was a sham. Verus only did that to actually initiate Myla on the sly. Adair had her igni powers faked with magic from Gianna of the House of Striga. It was never real.”

“It wasn't real then,” corrects Dad. “But that's only because Adair didn't have the blood of a demon in her. All she'd need is an injection, and then the ceremony would be complete. I'm sorry to tell you this, but right now, Adair is some kind of Scala.”

The words keep echoing around my head, but they can't be right.
Adair is some kind of Scala.

I'm vaguely aware that my father's still talking. “I wonder who would have had enough knowledge of Scala lore to have given her that advice?” Dad rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Injecting demon blood into a thrax is an extreme death. Normally, no one would even consider it. And it's not like there are many Scala books left around, even in Heaven. Interesting. Perhaps she wanted the powers badly enough to take a wild risk.”

I appreciate that Dad is in thoughtful-mode and all, but I need more information, fast. “So, how is Adair getting my igni?”

Dad shrugs, his move when he's setting aside his thoughts for another time. “Normally, the Great Scala gives the Heir some igni. Or all of it, if they choose. The Old Scala gave you his willingly, am I right?”

“He was glowing blue and dead at the time, but yeah, it was willingly.”

“Well, Adair knows you'd never do the same for her, so my guess is she got a spell somewhere on her body. Something to force the igni transfer.”

A memory appears in my mind. I'm standing in Cloud Tower Six as Adair gives me a creepy handshake. She'd just announced her Official Investigation. “Would the spell be on her palms?”

“Surely,” says Dad. “That'd be a great place to put it.”

“Adair first grabbed my palms in Ghost Tower Six. At the time, it made me feel strangely cold and icky. She must have launched the spell with that handshake.”

“Adair made the same physical connection with you tonight,” adds Lincoln. “She made the igni cord wrap around your palms.”

The full scope of Adair's scheme slams into me with a vengeance. My wrath demon awakens, heating my blood with rage. “Blazing Hell! She's really trying replace me as the Great Scala. She wants to return to—”

I catch Lincoln's gaze, and deep sadness fills his eyes. No question what she wants to go back to. The time before he fell in love with me. When Adair was named the Scala Heir, and Lincoln was going to marry her. That's what she now sees as her birthright, and she's going to take it.

My warrior instinct kicks in as her full scheme becomes clear. The Great Scala can send any innocent soul to Hell, as well as any purely evil soul to Heaven. It's an outrageous amount of power. The igni chose me to wield it because they thought I'd use it wisely. Not fry up half the after-realms in a sick bid to reclaim my old fantasy-boyfriend. If Adair gets this power, she won't stop at anything until she gets what she wants. And I can't see anyone standing up to her, either.

More rage pumps through my bloodstream. I will not allow Adair to steal my powers so she can force Lincoln into marrying her. And I refuse to see her become another puppet-Scala like the last one, Maxon Bane.

My irises flash demon red. “This is not happening. We need to entrap Adair. Expose her. I want her in jail and out of my way.”

Even as I say this, I know it means a lot of inter-realm falderal. Purgatory can't hold a thrax for more than twenty-four hours without essentially starting a
war. Lincoln's parents would have to agree to lock her up, which won't be easy, especially considering how Lincoln's father kowtows to Acca like it's his job.

Lincoln rests both his hands on my shoulders, forcing our gazes to lock. “Look, I'm not any happier about the situation than you are, but Adair can't distract us right now. You still have most of your igni. That should be more than enough to move souls. And more importantly, you have the faith of your people. They like what Adair says about going back to the ghoul-rules, but they're still following you. We need to stay focused on that warehouse. Get Soul Processing started again. Solidify your role. As long as Adair can't touch you, she can't take any more of your powers. We'll put an extra guard on you, make sure she never gets near you again.”

I tilt my head to one side, thinking through his words. My white-hot rage at Adair gradually cools into an icy resolve. “Yes, the real issue is getting rid of the Orb and moving souls again. We can easily ask Walker to find me some bodyguards.”

“Be careful,” warns Dad. “Make sure you have Striga guards in the mix. Your best magic casters. We don't know what we're dealing with here.”

My heart sinks. I so don't like the sound of that.

“What do you mean, Dad?”

“You're a great fighter, Myla. In part, that's because you have wrath power coming from your demon blood. The same thing applies to Adair. Whatever demon blood she's taken in, she'll gain those same demonic powers. Could be fighting, magic, or something else. My advice is to stay away from her.”

“I'll try,” I say. “She follows me around, so it's not easy.”

“Do what you can, I know she's a Diplomat.” Dad slips on his post-workout hoodie. “Let me give you one last piece of advice. Take the rest of the night off. Clear your heads. Have some fun. You've a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Good point. I can't remember the last time I took a night off.

“I like that advice, Dad.”

Cissy appears in the doorway. “Hey, everyone.” She holds up some small slips of pink paper. “Don't you check your messages, Xavier?”