Careful to avoid the couch, I plunk onto one of the love seats. “You should know something before we begin,” I state. “Verus has been calling me and I haven’t quite gotten back to her yet.”
Translation: I’m totally ignoring Verus. Why? The oracle angel is an over-worrier. Last month, she said that if I ate a new deep-fried cheeseburger from McPurgatory, then it would end the after-realms. I ate that burger like a boss. Nothing happened.
“I’m aware you two haven’t connected,” says Dad. “That’s why Verus got in contact with me. She’s worried about you and the fading angels.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Verus says that if you aid those angels, you could end the world with a demonpocalypse.”
“She’s exaggerating.” Lifting my hand, I show off the Band on Epochs on my thumb. “If I use this ring to travel through time, then yes, I could cause serious trouble. But I’m not dumb as a rock, so I won’t do that.”
“Yet you still have the ring.”
“It’s kind of stuck on my thumb.” In an act of oddness, the signet ring tumbles off my hand to land on the carpet. “Or rather, it was stuck before.”
This situation just keeps getting odder and odder. I scoop up the ring and grip it in my fist. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if it sprouted frog’s legs and hopped away.
Dad shakes his head. “You do realize that no Great Scala before you has ever attempted to help those angels. Your predecessors all ran across the same prophecy you have, one way or another. The vision states that you can possibly help the fading angels, but it will risk the world.”
An odd chill runs through my veins. “So what are we talking about here?”
“Verus asked me to get that ring from you, no matter what.”
I narrow my eyes. “And what would you do with the ring?”
“Place it in Heavenly storage, same as with the other magical items from Lucifer.”
“But Verus wants to go full Frodo on this, doesn’t she?”
“Frodo?”
“It’s from this human book, The Lord of the Rings. The main character, Frodo, chucks a ring into a lava pit where it melts down to zero. Or rather, his frenemy chucks himself and the ring into the lava. It’s complicated. Long story short, Verus wants to destroy the Band of Epochs, yes?”
“She does,” confirms Dad. “But I don’t. When Luce made this ring, he was still my friend and our leader. He wouldn’t have created such a powerful item unless he saw a positive use for it one day.”
I scrunch my mouth to one side of my face and think. There’s a big decision to be made here. Namely, do I share with Dad the fact that his ex-bestie was already setting up serial killer shrines and drawing death porn of Colossus?
In my mind, the answer appears in big neon letters: Hell, no.
“I totally agree, Dad. It must have a good use.”
“Well, before we get too ahead of ourselves, I should take a look at that ring. It might be a decoy, you know.” My father holds out his hand to me. The request is unspoken but clear.
Give it to me.
On reflex, I clutch the ring against my chest. Dad just confessed how Verus has been begging him to stop me. Still, if Dad were going to nab the ring, he would have done it already. So I hand the thing over.
Father turns over the item on his fingers. “The real Band of Epochs empowers you to travel to the past or future. It can only support a limited number of journeys.” Dad presses the hefty signet ring between his palms and whispers an incantation.
“Time and flight
Morn and night
Truth and flame
Reveal the same.”
When my father pulls his hands apart, there are five thin rings on his palms. All have a familiar angel feather pattern, only slimmer.
“This is the true Band of Epochs,” declares Dad. “Only five journeys through time remain.” My father presses his hands together again, saying another, shorter spell.
“Sleep now.”
When my father opens his hands once more, the ring has returned to being a hefty signet band. Dad reaches his hand toward me. The ring sits on his outstretched palm.
I wave my father off. “You can take it to magical storage or whatever … if that would make Verus chill out.”
“It most definitely would,” says Dad. “It’s not easy for Verus, you know. We only hear the awful prophecies. She’s the one who has to get the visions of the world actually ending.”
“Out of curiosity, how does the time travel part work?” I don’t plan to use the ring, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want full deets while I have an expert nearby.
“When you wish to journey through time, you hold the band between your palms and speak another incantation.”
“World and care
Take me there.”
My brows lift. “That’s all?”
“The ring chooses the best time and place for you to visit.”
I smack my lips. “Hey, now. You know a lot about this thing. Did you help design it?”
“Guilty as charged.” Dad chuckles. “Oh, there’s something else I wanted to share with you. This may aid your personal mission to find knights of the roundtable.”
I frown. “How did you hear about that?”
Dad squirms. “Verus again, only…”
“Only?” I prompt.
“Your mother and I have been talking about it for a while. We even used the same phrase, Myla’s knights of the round table.”
I slump into my chair. On the one hand, maybe I should get Myla Sucks At Her Job T-shirts made. Looks like there may be some demand. An image pops into my mind—the fragment of the Scala quilt that I saw before. I’m still that unfinished piece, alone. That said, pretending I’m perfect doesn’t help save the fading angels. So I straighten my spine and ask the obvious question.
“What are you and Mom thinking?” Because I know they talked about something.
“That you need more information,” says Dad. “With Cryptan gone, there’s a new keeper of the thrax ancient archives—his niece Remy. Word is, she’s rediscovering all sorts of important things. As the new archivist, she may have something useful for you.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll definitely visit her. And …” I scrunch up my mouth, trying to think of the right words. “Thanks for worrying about me.”
Did that last bit come out strangely? Maybe, but Dad still seems to get it. My father and I share a warm smile. It’s a nice moment, so I let it hang there before moving onto more tricky topics. “One more thing while you’re here. I want to visit Drusus again.”
“Your fading angel.” Dad’s mouth thins. “Sorry to say, the part of Heaven where Drusus exists has serious limitations. Those who are almost fully faded can not be forced to materialize. It would require a particular spell.”
“And since you’re a super-powerful archangel, I’m guessing you might know what magic could help?” Dad gives me a dramatic sigh, which means I’m half way to convincing him.
Dad rises. “I’ll consider it.”
“Well, I plan on leaving here at 10 AM tomorrow for my visit to Drusus, in case you want to join me.” I go up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. “And thank you for watching Maxon.”
“Are you kidding? I love it.” Dad wraps me in a big hug. “And I love you too, Myla-la.”
Dad doesn’t say it, but I can tell by his fierce hug that he’s super worried about me. And he’s right. Out of all my nutso adventures, something tells me that this quest for the fading angels might be the riskiest of all.
10
Lincoln
At this hour, putting Maxon to sleep requires a full repeat of the classic bedtime routine. In this case, that means a bath, fresh pajamas, and a half-hearted attempt at toothbrushing. All of this is immediately followed Maxon taking a big leap onto his new favorite place.
The big boy bed.
As in, no more cribs.
This is a thing.
Which brings us up to the present mo
ment. Maxon already body-slammed the bed. Now he bobs on his mattress. “Arthuuuuuuuuur!”
“I’ll get the book.” Turning, I pull the worn leather volume from its place of honor on the top shelf.
“Arthuuuuuuuuur!”
“Hey now, we aren’t doing anything unless you’ve got a quiet body and a quiet voice.” We use this phrase a lot while raising Maxon. My son immediately stops bouncing and folds his hands neatly over the coverlet.
“Ready, Daddy.”
“All right, then.” I sit beside him on the mattress. Maxon snuggles up against me as I set the volume before us.
“The Tale of King Arthur,” I read.
“By Dalston Rusus the Bard.”
“That’s right.” I kiss the top of his head. “Good reading, bud.”
At this point, Myla slips into the room. She loves watching me read to Maxon. Our boy is a natural hunter, but he doesn’t yet sense when Myla sneaks around. My wife’s gotten rather stealthy.
After winking at Myla, I turn the page. “Once upon a time, there were eight archdemons who were led by the evil Colossus.”
Now, Maxon says I’m the best at reading. In my opinion, I think it’s because I ask lots of questions. My son likes being challenged. Which is why I gesture across the page. “Which one is Colossus?”
Maxon points to a misty figure standing alone on a hilltop. “That one. He could possess whole armies.”
“That’s right.” I pause, trying to think up a fresh question. “And which one is your least favorite archdemon?”
“Lester,” answers Maxon without hesitation.
Now Lester is the Archdemon of Lust, so it could be a bit of a family issue that Maxon ranks him lowest. This is especially true while Myla—who is part lust demon—stands behind us.
“Why Lester?” I ask.
“Mommy’s a lust demon. She’s cool. This guy is a loser.” Maxon points to the picture of Lester as evidence. The archdemon in question wears puffy shorts and a plumed hat that looks more like a fat pizza than anything else.
“You have a point, my son.” Lester is known for wearing the latest dance fashion and trying to seduce humans. For the Archdemon of Lust, his success rate is rather pathetic.
Behind us, I hear Myla’s muffled giggle. Leave it to Maxon to find the perfect answer.
I return to reading. “In those days, the thrax didn’t have a name. Instead, our people believed they were all regular humans who were cursed with the power to see dragons, demons and mages.” I pause. “And why did that happen, do you think?”
“Because humans who aren’t thrax can’t see anything from the after-realms.”
“That’s right. Most humans don’t see things like dragons. If one flies overhead, they’ll think it’s just a cloud or something. Unless…”
Maxon catches right on. “Unless it’s an archangel or an archdemon that’s casting a spell or hurting people. Those types are so powerful, even humans can see them in action. But that’s not okay, right?”
“Correct,” I reply. “Even Pop-Pops can’t use his angelic powers on Earth without getting in trouble.” I return to reading. “Back then, not a single thrax knew about our powers, or that their true heritage was part angel. And if a thrax did know they had abilities, then they didn’t realize how to harness their magic. That’s why it was called the brutal time.”
“Now Arthur,” says Maxon.
I turn another page. “Then came King Arthur. He was the first to name the thrax and organize our people. His knights of the round table became the first demon patrols.”
“Humans don’t know any of this, do they?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“So what do they think King Arthur did?”
I purse my lips and consider. “They know he became king by pulling a sword out of a stone. Arthur also gets credit for not using his power to hurt those weaker than him. Might for right versus might makes right. Oh, and they know King Arthur went after the Holy Grail.”
“Humans know nothing about the real King Arthur.” Maxon turns the page for me. “Let’s get the part where Arthur locks up all the archdemons.”
“Sure thing.” I return to reading. “But Arthur did more than create the thrax. He locked up all the archdemons in the dungeons under his father’s castle.” I lean I closer. “Can you point to the castle?””
“There.” Maxon points out a square structure with a blocky roof. “Pendragon castle.”
“Right again.” I go on. “After that, King Arthur did something even better. He decided to up Colossus separately. Arthur was supposed to get help from Merlin, but the wizard disappeared with a water nymph named Nimue.”
“That wasn’t very nice of Merlin and Nimue.”
“It wasn’t.” I tap the page. “But see here? Arthur was strong in magic. He trapped Colossus under his own castle of Camelot. And the world was safe again. The End.”
Maxon frowns. “Why didn’t Arthur just send all the archdemons to Hell?”
“The archdemons were so evil, even Hell didn’t want them.”
“Wow.” Maxon yawns. “When I grow up, I want to be King Arthur, and you can be the Pendragon.”
My heart warms. “I’d like that, too.”
Maxon curls up under the covers. “I’m ready to sleep now, Daddy.”
Sliding the book under my arm, I tuck Maxon into his big-boy bed. As I step away, Maxon whispers after me.
“I was just waiting for you and Mommy. I can’t sleep if I don’t sees you.” I don’t bother to fix his grammar error, sees you. He’ll figure it out on his own too quickly.
“It’s the same for us, Maxon.”
And so, Myla and I share a smile as I turn out the light.
11
Myla
Watching Lincoln read to Maxon is one of the cutest things in the history of ever. Normally, I can’t stop smiling my face off.
Not this time, though.
Instead of focusing on the sweet scene before me, all I can think about are those fading angels. What would King Arthur do in my place? I mean, the guy created the freaking thrax. He organized everyone into demon patrols and knights. He came up with new shapes for table designs.
Arthur even singlehandedly locked up a ton of archdemons, including their leader Colossus. And he did all this with a virtual dagger between his shoulder blades from where Merlin ran off … all so the wizard could hang out with some random water nymph.
Did I mention that Arthur didn’t have any special powers like my igni? He didn’t.
Much as I hate to admit it, the wrath coven might be right. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from King Arthur.
Lincoln finishes resetting Maxon’s favorite book on the shelf. Together we tiptoe out into the hallway. The moment Maxon’s bedroom door is closed behind us, Lincoln pulls me into a deep embrace. I must admit, my guy is a really good hugger. His voice sounds all low and sweet in my ear.
“What’s wrong?”
“The fading angels,” I reply. “King Arthur would have fixed this by now … and without risking a demonpocalypse.”
Lincoln brushes a sweet kiss across my lips, then takes my hand. “No one knows how King Arthur did anything, you know. And this has been a huge day. We’re both rather tired.”
“Hey, I’m not sleepy.” I force my eyes to open extra wide, which only makes me realize how I had them half-closed before. “Okay, I’m totally exhausted.”
“Let’s get some rest.” Lincoln leads me to our bedroom, where he gently removes my fighting suit and tucks me into bed. Every movement is filled with gentle adoration.
I think back to my seduction vow from earlier today. Some alone-time my husband is beyond overdue. Sure, I’m tired, but I’m part lust demon. Seducing is part of my DNA.
Once Lincoln slips into bed, I launch my plan into action. Namely, I press my body against his and kiss his face off. I’m able to keep that up for about fifteen seconds before I roll over and fall asleep.
Some lust demon. Bl
eugh.
12
Myla
In my dreams, I hang out on a cloud in Heaven. Drusus sits beside me. He’s an old guy with a shock of white hair, piercing blue eyes and a turned-up nose. He’s also got those apple-style cheeks that make it seem like he’s perma-smiling. Beyond that, he’s a standard-looking angel with his white robes, wings and sandals.
Leaning back, I kick my legs out. Heavenly clouds automatically take whatever shape you want to be comfy. I’m picking a lounge chair. A lopsided pouf of white passes by. Drusus points to it.
“That one reminds me of a pear,” says Drusus. This dream is taking place back when I first met Drusus, so he’s almost completely solid. It’s only if you check around the edges of his body that he looks a tad transparent.
I point out another cloud. “Oh, and that one looks like a pot-bellied pig.”
“Ah, yes.” Drusus laughs, and the sound is a cross between a snicker and a giggle.
“And why’s that funny?”
“When I was alive, I had a pot-bellied pig. Followed me about like I was Mary with my little piggy lamb.” I’ve heard about people’s eyes twinkling. Drusus’ actually do that.
“So what were you when you were alive? A farmer?”
A shadow falls across Drusus’ face. “We’re not talking about my mortal life. We agreed. Now it’s your turn.”
A row of tallish clouds gyrate before us. “These are easy. That’s a boy band.” Since this is a dream, the shapes are super detailed, too. Someone strums a guitar and everything.
“Truly,” agrees Drusus. “The drummer is rocking out.”
I lift my brows. “So you know what a boy band is?”
Drusus nods. “I’ve been watching one of my extended daughters play drums. She lives in the new world, a place called California.”
The Brutal Time Special Edition Page 5