The Brutal Time Special Edition

by Christina Bauer

  “Yes,” all three say together.

  Whaaaat?

  My guy and I exchange a pointed look. Speaking only when asked a direct question? That’s a total red flag for non-creative dumbassery. And talking in unison? An even bigger warning sign.

  Still. Maybe these three just need more information.

  “Great idea.” I point to Lincoln’s control pad. “Let’s show these folks what’s up.”

  Lincoln presses some buttons. A holding tank comes down, which is a clear glass-like structure that’s filled with souls. Inside, the transparent spirits lay in neat rows on what looks like a rolling hill. All of them are blissfully asleep.

  I gesture toward the spirits. “See these souls?”

  “We do,” they all reply.

  Wow. I really wish they would stop speaking in unison.

  “Well,” I continue. “Some did not live purely good lives. You can tell because if you look really closely, there are black spots where their mortal hearts used to be. Back when the ghouls ran Purgatory, we all know what would happen to spirits like these.”

  Ginger Girl raises her hand. “Me, please!”

  “It wasn’t really a question. I said, we all knew the answer.”

  Ginger Girl hops in place. “Right here! I got it!”

  She’s so not dropping this. “Sure.”

  “They all got sent to Hell!” Ginger Girl says the word Hell with a little too much enthusiasm for my taste.

  “That is true,” I agree.

  “So I got it right.” Ginger Girl beams. “Do I get a gold star or a cookie now?”

  I frown. Maybe I heard her wrong. “Did you say—“

  “I’d rather a gold star.” Ginger Girl holds out her palm.

  My eyes widen. “No, you do not get a gold star.”

  And with that, it’s official. I’m supposed to be brainstorming with a trio of brilliant thinkers. Instead, this discussion is as annoying as fighting Papyrum demons, and those minor monsters give out tons of paper cuts. I should be shocked, but I knew this was possible. After all, the contest ended before all the questions were asked. Maybe we skipped the independent thought section.

  Ginger Girl stomps her foot. “Then what about a cookie?”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Nope.” Cookies are for creatives.

  In every situation, there comes a time to let go. I am almost there with this particular trio. Still, I’ll give one last attempt. Perhaps I need to keep things high level. Sure, these folks may not be able to help with the fading angels, but they could do snack runs or something. Allimari takes forever to find a decent cookie.

  One last try.

  I clasp my hands together in the motion of pleading people everywhere. “Can one of you help me, your Great Scala, with anything at all?” I ask. “Even a little bit?”

  “No,” they all reply.

  Well, that’s honest. I make shoo-fingers toward the door. “You can go, if you like.”

  Suddenly, deep peals of thunder rumble overhead. My ears pop. Lighting flashes beyond the windows. The Ghost Tower shakes with such force, great cracks tear up the concrete walls. An electric kind of energy fills the air.

  Magic.

  The three quasis stare around in open-mouthed fear. One thing I’ve learned as the Great Scala: if I freak out to a level five, then everyone else takes their terror to eleven. So I act super-calm while I whisper-speak to Lincoln from one side of my mouth.

  “Do you know what this is?” I ask.

  “Powerful magic,” he replies.

  “Anything more specific on that for me?”

  “Ah, no.”

  Fresh thunder rumbles. More lightning strikes. The sense of magic in the air turns so thick, it’s as if stones were weighing on my chest. The bare light bulbs along the walls burst in a flare of light.

  Complete darkness surrounds us.

  The ghost tower turns silent.

  And my odd inner voice takes this moment to come to life again. Once more, she speaks in a voice only I can hear.

  You and Lincoln are safe. I protect you both.

  My forehead knits in confusion. Protect us? From what? The fact that I still have to wait two hours for a ginger snap?

  A moment later, the lights flicker on once more. Only their appearance has changed. This is the first ghost tower ever, so the bulbs here are bare and simple. But now? They look like fancy orbs with multi-colored facets to them. I scan the room, wondering what else has changed.

  The three quasis are gone. Not a big shock. They probably ran out in the dark.

  Lincoln’s data pad has vanished. Okay, he might have dropped it or something.

  And the floor is now white plastic instead of concrete. Weird, but pretty minor. Plus there was some heavy duty magic flying around. Floor transformation isn’t that big of a deal in terms of spells.

  That’s when I see it.

  All the clouds are gone, which means that the soul storage containers have disappeared.

  That’s a huge problem. Those hovering clouds were chock-full of spirits. Now they’re gone. My stomach drops. What just happened? Who took all the souls?

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  I speak to Lincoln from one side of my mouth again. “Is someone at the door?”

  “Oh yes,” he replies.

  Slam!

  The front door opens. A demon steps through. The guy is tall and pale with slicked-back hair. He wears a white suit over an open, black shirt. His massive amounts of chest hair are accented by a round medallion while his golden tail ends with an arrowhead shape. My own tail perks up to arch over my shoulder. That settles it. Even my tail knows this isn’t just any demon.

  Hells Bells.

  This is none other than Lester, the Archdemon of Lust. As in, one of the nine archdemons that offset the nine archangels. Even worse, Lester brought back-up singers and dancers with him. And no, I am not kidding.

  A pack of twenty minor demons follow Lester into the ghost tower. They’re of many different skin tones and ages, but all wear matching white suits that go along with their pale bat wings and white tails. No question about it: Lester is into disco. Not sure how I feel about that.

  I take it back. I’m totally freaked out.

  My life is one long parade of odd stuff. But this? Next generation strange.

  I stand perfectly still, my gaze frozen on the sight before me. An idea appears. Maybe I’m hallucinating.

  Yes, that’s it.

  Magic clouds my mind.

  I nudge Lincoln with my elbow. “Psst.” I nod toward the hopefully-fake disco guy. “Is that Lester, the Archdemon of Lust?

  Lincoln rubs his jaw in a slow rhythm. “Yes, it is.”

  “Shouldn’t he be locked up?”

  “Absolutely.”

  A voice in the back of my head starts screaming, the demonpocalypse is nigh! I’m still pulling for some kind of magical hallucination, though.

  Lester struts across the floor to pause before me. His dancers stand behind him in a classic V-shape that’s popular in music videos on Earth. “Hey, hottie.” Lester winks at me before turning to Lincoln. “And Consort to the hottie.”

  I raise my hand. “I have a name, Lester. I’m Myla.” There are some things I never back down on. Calling me Myla is one of them.

  Lester sniffs. “Like I care.” The archdemon spins about in that disco move than ends with his finger sticking in the air. “I’ve been sent to talk to you both. Somehow, you survived our demonpocalypse.”

  “Did you say demonpocalypse?”

  Come on, magical hallucination. You can stop any time now.

  “Yes, remember a few minutes ago?” asks Lester. “There were thunder bolts and lightning very very frightening? That was the demonpocalypse. The Crimson Scourge went back in time and changed history. Now, we’re all free.”

  My blood chills over. I was just adjusting to the concept of Lester running around. This is so much worse. “All nine archdemons are loose?” I ask.

&n
bsp; Lester bobs his brows. “All nine.”

  “What about the archangels?” asks Lincoln.

  “Let’s just say they’re not in the picture,” states Lester. “Thanks to a little change in history, there are no thrax anymore. No angels, archangels, quasis, ghouls, humans … You and lover boy are all that’s left. Someone cast a spell that allowed you to survive.”

  My eyes widen. A spell helped us survive? Was that from my new smooth-talking mental parasite? I thought she was only interested in forcing me to chat with chicks. Now she’s somehow saving me from a demopocalypse. Not that I’m ungrateful, but it’s one thing to think someone’s hanging out in your brain and handing out friendship tips. It’s another matter to know you have a megawitch hiding in your unconscious.

  Is this the work of the wrath coven? Verus? I got nothing.

  Lester twirls, stops, and does that thing where he laces his fingers and makes them into a wave shape. “Great news. I’m here to offer you asylum. You can join my dance troupe. That way, you can remain alive until I tire of you. How’s that for a deal?”

  I’m ready to tell Lester to stick it, but his demonic back-up singers start singing the refrain of Staying Alive, but with new words.

  Deal deal deal deal

  Lester’s is making a deal

  Making a deal

  My body prickles over in shock. Disco demons are bad enough. But the singing is just over the top, even for my life.

  Deal deal deal deal

  Lester’s is making a deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal

  Ohhhhhhh OH!

  After a few more dance moves, the back up group pauses. Lester then gestures to me and Lincoln. “Well?” he asks.

  I tap my chin, like I’m seriously considering this option. “Wow, that’s really tempting.”

  Lester winks. “Of course, it is.”

  Lincoln takes my hand. “Myla and I will step outside for a few minutes and talk this over. Can you wait for an answer?”

  “You got it.” Lester turns to his group of demonic back-up singers. “You know what we have time for now? Disco contest!”

  Everyone cheers as the ghost tower floor lights up with colored blocks. The fancy new bulbs cast strobe action around the room. The back-up singers launch into an Abba medley.

  Lincoln and I speed walk to the exit. As we rush along, one thought repeats in my mind.

  This can’t be a real demonpocalypse.

  22

  Myla

  Lincoln and I leave the ghost tower. A horrible sight greets us as we step outside. The landscape is a ruin of rubble in every direction. There isn’t a soul around. My Purgatory is gone. Probably the rest of the after-realms, too.

  Fuck fuck fuckity FUCK fuck FUUUUUUCK.

  Notice how I put an extra fuck in there at the end? Things are just that bad.

  I turn to Lincoln. “Let me get this straight. Everyone is gone. Our parents, Maxon, Walker, Cissy?”

  “It appears so.” Lincolns shakes his head. “Sadly, I’ve no reason to doubt Lester’s word. We could do a thorough review of the after-realms, but I suspect this is all we’ll find. Ruins.”

  Lincoln leans back on his heels while rubbing his chin. That’s another one of his thinking-faces. Meanwhile, I’ve got an idea of my own and it’s to call for supernatural assistance.

  Closing my eyes, I summon my igni, AKA the little supernatural lightning bolts that empower me to move souls to Heaven or Hell.

  Come to me, little ones. Could use your help.

  There’s no reply, but that doesn’t mean anything. My igni are always flighty. Still, I hope they’re okay.

  My gaze locks on the barren landscape. With each passing second, my pulse speeds faster.

  Everyone is gone.

  I picture Maxon jumping on the couch … my father’s white-toothed grin … Walker lying his ass off … And Drusus letting out his infectious chuckle. As every image flies through my mind, my heart cracks a little more.

  I punch my leg in frustration. “Damn! I specifically did not what this to happen! If I kept the ring, things would have been fine.” I turn to Lincoln. “Right?”

  “Correct.”

  Some little part of me says I’m going off on a tirade, but more of me doesn’t care. I just lived through a freaking demonpocalypse. I need time to process.

  I throw up my arms. “But no, Verus wanted the Band of Epochs put into Heavenly storage. And that’s when someone must have stolen one of the mini-rings. And let’s be honest, that someone is probably the Crimson Scourge. Now an evil mage has traveled to the past and caused a demonpocalypse.” I plunk down onto my butt, which is an uncomfortable choice, considering how there’s nothing but rubble around to sit on. “I’m spent.”

  Lincoln taps his lips. I’ve seen this move before. It means he’s come to some conclusion. “We’ve faced the end of the after-realms before, right?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “And in each case, we prevailed. So there’s no need to panic.”

  I hold my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I might be panicking a little bit.”

  “Same here.” Lincoln sighs. “Let’s recap what we know. The Crimson Scourge probably stole one of the mini-rings from the Band of Epochs and started the demonpocalypse. However, your ring still holds four trips through time. That’s enough for you and me to travel back to the past and then return to the present.”

  I bob my head, thinking. “And while we’re meandering around history, maybe we can prevent the demonpocalypse from ever happening.” A memory appears. “I asked Verus if the demonpocalypse were reversible.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That she’s an awesome oracle.”

  Lincoln’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “Which in Verus-speak means yes, it’s reversible.”

  I kick at more rubble and try to rally. Not happening. That’s when my tail balls into a fist shape and fake-punches my upper arm. This is its way of saying, buck up buttercup.

  I give my tail a scratchy-pat, which is its absolute favorite. “Nice suggestion, boy.”

  “And what’s what?” asks Lincoln.

  “We need to fight this thing.” I rise. “Dad says the Band of Epochs chooses where to best send us. All we need to do is speak the spell, break a mini-ring, and we’re off.”

  Lincoln beams. “I love your spirit.”

  “In that case, we better leave before Lester gets curious.”

  Holding the Band of Epochs between my palms, I cast the separation spell like Dad showed me. Soon four thin rings appear. I pass two bands to Lincoln, who grips one in each hand.

  “Any reason to wait?” I ask.

  “Not that I can think of.” Lincoln scans the landscape one last time. “It’s not like there are any supplies around.”

  After setting my first ring on my thumb, I then grip my second ring between my fingers, ready to break it in two. Lincoln does the same. Lifting my chin, I inhale, ready to state the incantation my father taught me.

  At that moment, the ghost tower doors burst open. Lester is here.

  “What do you say?” asks the archdemon. “Ready to accept my terms?”

  In reply, Lincoln and I snap our rings while quickly speaking the spell.

  “World and care

  Take us there”

  The broken halves of my ring flare with purple light. I grin. This is working. I look over to Lincoln. His band hasn’t broken. There’s no light. No magic.

  Damn.

  I reach toward Lincoln. Before I can touch his skin, purple mist surrounds me. Vapor clogs my lungs and blocks my vision. My legs turn rubbery as I crumple to the ground. My eyes flutter shut; consciousness fades. At this moment, everything I know is gone.

  Even Lincoln.

  23

  Myla

  The next thing I know, I stand a grassy field beside a dirt road. My head feels like someone’s been using it as a bongo drum for six months, minimum. I try to focus, but it isn’t easy.

  Where am I, anyway?


  Stepping in a slow circle, I scan my surroundings. A sunny sky arches overhead. Purgatory is perma-cloudy, which means there’s no way I’m back home. So where is this place? I’m certainly not in a cave, cloud, or cemetery. Which rules out Antrum, Heaven, and the Dark Lands.

  Only one option remains: Earth.

  I glance at my hand. A ring glistens on my thumb. My foggy mind tries to process this. There was something important about this ring and time travel. The answer appears.

  The Band of Epochs, that’s what this ring is called.

  More of my brain starts to function. For some reason, I used this ring travel through time. Only question is, now that I know where I landed, I need to know when I arrived.

  A small cart appears on the road up ahead. It’s essentially a wooden box on wheels pulled by a pair of horses. On the side of the wagon are painted the words, Pendragon Academy.

  My eyes widen. I remember that name. There was a book about King Arthur and the Pendragon. Does that mean I’m back in medieval times? I scan the skies. No planes soar overhead. In every direction, there are nothing but fields, trees and more trees. Fresh, crisp air surrounds me. Long story short, there’s no tech, buildings, or pollution.

  Huh. Chances are, I’m in Arthurian times.

  My heart lightens a little. The wrath coven was right again. Evil but accurate. I’ve journeyed to the time when I can chat up King Arthur.

  A new idea hits me.

  Maybe there are more options in the supernatural assistance column than just the wrath coven.

  I’m talking igni.

  True fact: I shouldn’t even be able summon my igni on Earth, but I just did some magic ring stuffy-stuff. Rules may not apply. I close my eyes.

  Come to me, little ones.

  Sure enough, a swirling column of tiny lightning bolts appears before me. A sense of rightness settles into my soul.