The Brutal Time Special Edition

by Christina Bauer

  Why, yes. Yes he did.

  Octavia strides into the kitchen. She’s wearing non-royal clothes—namely dark jeans and a button-down—but still looks every inch the queen. Maxon stands up on his booster chair. “Gamma! Gamma!” He reaches for her with sticky hands. I’m about to warn Octavia to wait until I de-pancake my boy, but she simply scoops him up. Maxon plants a big maple-syrup kiss on her cheek while wiping off his hands on her shirt.

  “Good morning, my sweet Maxon,” she croons.

  “Gamma! Gamma!” Maxon wraps his little arms around her neck.

  Octavia looks to me. “Hello, Myla.”

  “Hey there.” I lean back in my chair and think this through. Octavia never does anything without about five ulterior motives. “We weren’t expecting you today.”

  “Maxon was,” counters Octavia. “I promised to take him to the stables at the Ryder mansion.”

  “Horses! Horses!” Maxon hugs Octavia with extra energy.

  I drum my fingers on the tabletop. “We’d planned on Dad watching Maxon today.”

  “Your father didn’t want to tell you,” says Octavia. “But there’s been trouble at the Ghoul Reconciliation Convention.”

  My eyes widen. This is Mom’s big event to get quasis and ghouls to set aside their differences. “What happened?”

  “A few ghouls thought reconciliation meant they were being invited to take over Purgatory once more.” Octavia rolls her eyes. “Camilla is handling it.”

  I nod. “Mom can deal with anything. That said, Dad is a pro at flashing his archangel wings and glaring at the opposition. It’s really helpful politically.”

  “Precisely. Which is why he’s joining her today.”

  Now that I know at least one of Octavia’s ulterior motives, it’s time to move onto other topics. “Sorry about your clothes.”

  “Not a problem. I have plenty of extra things stored in Maxon’s room.”

  Hearing his name, Maxon decides it’s been too long since he’s shouted the same word repeatedly. “Horses! Horses! Horses!”

  “Let’s get you cleaned up first, my perfect grandson.”

  I’d roll my eyes at the perfect grandson line—it’s especially odd considering my kid is wearing about four pancakes—but meh. Octavia can go over the top, but her heart is always in the right place.

  As Octavia carries Maxon off to his bath, Xavier and Lincoln step into the kitchen. I hop up to give Dad a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry to hear about the Reconciliation Convention. Guess the trip to Heaven is off.”

  Sure, Lincoln and I can hit the Pearly Gates ourselves, but it’s a lot of hassle. The angels don’t like the living roaming around their realm, no matter who their parents are. And everyone is especially protective of the fading angels. Long story short, it’s easier to have Dad along.

  “As a matter of fact, plans have changed,” says Dad. “Drusus has decided to follow some guardian angels to Earth. They’re working on one of his extended sons.” In angel speak, extended means there are a bunch of great-great-great-grands that go before the word son. Angels live forever, so they don’t get caught up in the number of generations. You’re an extended fill in the blank and that’s all.

  “How many guardian angels?” asks Lincoln.

  “A triad,” answers Dad.

  I hiss in a breath. “A triad?” That’s bad news. Normally, humans only get one guardian angel. They send teams when a truly awful soul is about to do something super-wrong. As in, welcome to Hell bad.

  “I’m afraid so,” says Dad.

  “Is it this a crux for the human?” Cruxes are the big decisions in a human’s life that determine their afterlife.

  “It is,” confirms Dad. “Do you still wish to see Drusus today?”

  “Absolutely.” I look to my guy. “What do you think? Still want to join me?”

  “Same here,” states Lincoln.

  Dad smiles. “In that case, I’ve a charm that allows you to see fading angels.”

  I shoot Dad a thumbs-up. “I’m in.”

  “Same here,” adds Lincoln

  Dad closes his eyes and murmurs a silent incantation. A golden haze forms behind my father’s back before golden wings appear. Reaching behind, he plucks out a pair of feathers.

  I look to Lincoln and frown. The question is there if unspoken: Do you know what Dad’s up to?

  Lincoln shakes his head. No idea.

  Dad then places the feathers between his palms and whispers another spell over. This time, I strain to hear the words. Archangel incantations are their own kind of magic. I’d love more details, but asking now might throw Dad off his shtick and ruin the spell.

  The two feathers glow between my father’s palms. When the brightness dies down, the spell is complete. The feathers transform into a pair of golden butterflies.

  That’s pretty nifty, right there.

  “Hold out your right palms,” says Dad. Lincoln and I do as requested.

  The moment my hand is outstretched, the first butterfly flits over to land on my palm. The magical creature then melts against my skin. One moment, a magical insect is on my hand. The next, I’m sporting a new golden butterfly tattoo on the same spot. Beside me, the same thing happens to Lincoln.

  Dad gestures towards us both in a motion that says ta-daaa! “Now, you can see Drusus.”

  I inspect my new ink. “I’ve never had a tattoo before. Is this permanent?”

  Dad shrugs. “Do you want it to be?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that.” There’s no way I’m keeping or chucking anything until I find out what this butterfly thingy really does. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Happy to help.” My father steps toward the exit and pauses. “One last thing. You’ll find Drusus at the offices of Thornberry And Cross, Public Relations, Chicago.”

  Lincoln nods. “I know the area. There’s a Pulpitum transfer station not too far away.”

  “Best of luck.” Dad slips on his conference sash. It’s a yellow number that goes from his shoulder to his hip and reads, Ghoul Reconciliation Convention.

  Aaaaaaaand Dad puts it on upside down.

  Not that I’ll tell him.

  Clearly, my father is anxious to be at Mom’s side. Besides, if I start chatting about my parents’ convention, I won’t be able to resist asking why they’re being so tight-lipped about it. No television coverage. No papers. No whispers when I’m around.

  It’s downright odd.

  Sadly, there isn’t time to focus on my parents and their strange ghoul-related behavior. Once Dad’s gone, Lincoln and I prep for our own mission. With any luck, we may discover something that can actually help the fading angels.

  Oh, yeah. And not end the world.

  15

  Lincoln

  An hour later, Myla and I stand outside a tall glass building in downtown Chicago. Crisp fall breezes whip bits of paper around our ankles. Large letters above the entrance read, Thornberry And Cross, Public Relations. Humans come and go through the revolving front door, some toting pride or greed demons on their shoulders.

  Not that these mortals are aware of their Hell-born parasites, mind you.

  Both Myla and I wear human-style suits today. All the better to blend in. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out two thin wrist cuffs. The glint of purple shines deep within the metal. Magic.

  I turn to Myla. “These will make us invisible. We still need to keep our voices down, though.”

  “Sure.” She half-slips the cuff on her wrist and then stops. “And we just put them on in front of everybody?”

  I shoot her a sly look. “When the everybody in question are humans, sure.”

  Myla chuckles. “I take it back. Humans are pretty oblivious when it comes to magic.”

  We both set the magical cuffs on our wrists. For a moment, our bodies seem to shimmer with a thin layer of glittering purple mist. After that, we vanish to human sight. I can still see Myla, though. Only now, she appears as semi- transparent.

  “Drusus is intereste
d in a mortal named Charles Bishop,” says Myla. “This is a huge building. Do you think we can find him?”

  “I’m thrax,” I reply. “We’ve a charm for that.”

  Reaching into my jacket pocket, I pull a small pad of paper. At first, the top sheet is blank. Then purple writing appears across the surface. Magic. This notepad has been enchanted to show Charles’ location. I read the words aloud. “Sixth floor, main conference room.”

  Myla’s tail arcs over her shoulder. The arrowhead end flattens toward me in a clear call for a high five. Which I grant, obviously. Never leave Myla’s tail hanging; it’s what I live by.

  Together, Myla and I slip inside the building and take the elevator to the sixth floor. The conference room in question takes more hunting to discover. Turns out, there are a ton of meeting rooms on this floor. Any one of them could arguably be the main one. Eventually, we find a glass-walled space that’s deserted save for one young man with a turned-up nose and loose black hair. He sits at the far end of a long table, talking into the round speaker phone before him.

  Could that be Charles Bishop?

  Myla grasps my upper arm. “That’s him. He looks like a young version of Drusus.”

  I’ve never met Drusus, but Charles looks like he fell out of a men’s fashion magazine. The man sports an athletic build that’s well accented by his tailored blue suit. Charles also has intelligent blue eyes, rosy cheeks, perfectly tousled hair, and a trimmed goatee. If I needed to add a photo of PR Human to the thrax archives, a picture of this fellow would be perfect.

  While still invisible, Myla and I tiptoe into the conference room. If Charles were paying attention, he’d notice how the glass door swings open and shut, seemingly on its own. Yet Charles notices nothing. The human is simply too enthralled by his phone call.

  A tinny female voice echoes in from the speaker. “Any word on our project?”

  Charles stands over the phone, his arms braced on the table. “We’ve gotten the confirmation,” he replies.

  On my palm, the tattoo of the butterfly pulses. Images fly through my mind. These aren’t my memories. Instead, I know they’re something related to the call.

  What did Xavier load into this butterfly spell, anyway? I’d be surprised, but this is Myla’s father, after all. The man has forgotten more esoteric magic than I’ll see in my lifetime.

  I glance over to Myla. She’s staring at her palm as well.

  “You, too?” I whisper.

  Myla nods. “It’s something to do with the call.”

  Now that I know I’m not alone in this vision, I close my eyes and allow the pictures to wash through my mind. I see a researcher in her lab. The name Penny Brice hangs from a tag on her white coat.

  Penny Brice. I’ve heard about her. The angels are excited since she’s found a new drug treatment for multiple kinds of brain injury. Brice wants to make the formula public and have the drug produced as a generic. Less money gets made but more lives are saved.

  Back with Charles, a voice echoes in from the speaker. “Penny Brice is a thief and a liar,” says the woman on the phone. “You were supposed to find a paper trail to prove that she stole drug research from Xax Pharmaceutical. We must have the patent on any of her drugs. No one is giving our market away.”

  “I understand the project, ma’am,” says Charles.

  The nasal voice echoes in from the phone again. “So when will we see some headlines on how Brice stole our research? That’s what we pay you for.”

  Beads of sweat form on Charles’ forehead. “It’s taking a little longer than we thought.”

  My stomach twists. As king, I’ve done my share of interrogations. You get a sense for when someone is doing something they know is wrong. Like Charles. In this case, I’ve no doubt that Charles is being paid to set up Penny Brice and steal her research. No doubt, Xax Pharmaceutical would like the original patent for this drug treatment. They could then enjoy years of higher prices before any generics are allowed.

  But at the cost of how many lives? A weight of sorrow settles onto my shoulders. This is wrong. Charles knows it.

  All of a sudden, three beams of light appear across the conference room. I glance to Charles. The human remains oblivious. Which means this is more magic.

  Once the enchanted beams fade, a trio of guardian angels stand behind Charles. If the three see me and Myla, then they make no sign of it. Instead, all their focus is centered on their human.

  “Don’t do this,” says one angel.

  “You can’t imagine the pain it will cause,” adds another. Their voices are like sweet music. It reminds me of how Myla describes the sound of her light igni, the power that pulls souls to Heaven.

  The third angel sets his hand above the cell phone that’s propped on the table. A beam of blue magic cascades from his palm, settling onto the small device. The image on the device changes. Where there was once the picture of an email message, there now appears photo of Charles and his family. The third angel is trying to make a point and encourage a connection.

  You love your family, yet you’re hurting the loved ones of others.

  In the world of guardian angels, this is called creating a serendipity. It’s their main way to influence humans.

  A new shaft of light crosses the conference room. This one is more sickly and thin than the others. When the brightness fades, another angel is here. Unfortunately, his body is barely visible, more like a conglomeration of dust motes than anything else. Even so, I can see this figure is indeed a more grizzled version of Charles.

  It’s Drusus.

  Myla rushes to his side. “Drusus, it’s me. Myla.”

  “You can see me?” asks Drusus. “I thought I’d faded from everyone’s view.”

  “Yes, I can see you.” She gestures toward me. “So can my husband, Lincoln.”

  Drusus grabs Myla’s arm like she’s a lifeline. “You must help me,” says Drusus. “Talk to Charles. You can become visible. Make him understand. He doesn’t want to end up like me.”

  Myla pales. “We discussed this. It’s not about Charles following a list of rules just to avoid punishment.”

  “It isn’t fair.” Drusus frowns. “Everyone does things like this. How can it be wrong?”

  It’s a good thing there are no breezes in here because if one hit me now? I’d tumble over in a heartbeat. How can it be wrong to deny people life-saving drugs? What did Drusus do in his mortal life—kick kittens for fun and profit? No wonder he’s not fitting in at Heaven.

  Back at the conference room table, Charles stares at his cell phone for a long moment. “Something’s come up,” he says. “I’ll call you back in five.”

  The line goes dead. Charles slumps into his chair.

  All of us stare at the mortal. Tension spikes in the room. This is it. The crux. Will Charles decide to do the right thing? He certainly seems to be considering it.

  The door swings open. A young man with white-blond hair and a predatory smile saunters into the room. “How did it go with Xax?”

  Charles doesn’t look the newcomer in the eyes. “Not clear yet, Mister Radovan.”

  “This is a big client for us. Time was, you were the kind of guy who made things happen.” Radovan stalks closer to Charles. “You know who’s an up and comer? Blake. Real team player. Wants a partnership, you know.” He points to the phone. “Do this.”

  Radovan leaves. Charles pauses, then picks up the phone.

  Oh, no.

  There’s a lot of pleading from the angels and Drusus, but this time, nothing breaks through to Charles. In fcat, the human seems to sense another force in the room, yet chooses to ignore it. Charles rises and turns his back toward the angels.

  Sure enough, once Charles turns, I see part of his problem. A greed demon is attached to his spine. It’s a long lizard-like creature with a pointed head and six eyes. Ringing sounds from the speakerphone before the line picks up.

  “Xax Pharma,” says the woman. It’s the same voice from before.

&nbs
p; “The story will run tomorrow,” says Charles. “It’s air tight.”

  “That’s what I pay you for. Which pubs will take it?”

  As the conversation continues, the greed demon hisses at the guardian angels. The trio leave in a columns of white light. Drusus also vanishes in his own pale beam.

  Myla hugs her elbows. I step to her side and wrap my arm about her shoulders. Sometimes, there’s nothing you can say that can top an embrace.

  “Drusus didn’t understand,” says Myla, her voice rough. “What Charles is doing is wrong. How do I change that? How can you teach someone to have a good heart?”

  I rub her back in long strokes. “Drusus faced his own cruxes when he was alive. It’s the definition of a crux that the human can either turn toward good or bad. Who knows? Maybe if Drusus’ guardian angel had tried another serendipity, it could have worked out differently. Maybe we would have grown.”

  “But that wasn’t what happened to Drusus.”

  “No,” I say solemnly. “It wasn’t.”

  Myla steps out of my arms. “There may be something else I can do here.” Her eyes light up red as she glares at the greed demon. “Think I can take that bad boy down?”

  I scan the demon and frown. “A demon that size? It’s a part of him.” There’s no need to explain the rest to Myla. She already knows that if we that demon now, then Charles is dead as well.

  Speaking of Charles, he continues to face away from us while staying deep in his conversation. On his call, they’ve identified twelve different places to run with the story. It’s just a question of which one will do the most damage.

  My heart sinks. One word keeps rattling around my brain, Damage. Charles and Xax are scheming to hurt an innocent researcher. I look to Myla. She’s trying to help others as well. Will her fate be the same as that of Penny Brice?

  While Charles keeps talking, Myla shakes her head. “There are so many angels like Drusus. To fix this, it’s like the wrath coven said: I need my own knights.”

  “You always have Walker and me.” Myla shoots me a sly look. “Not that you can’t do this on your own.”