Maxon

by Christina Bauer

  “Nope. Arx Hall.”

  All the guys stare at me like I just sprouted extra arms and legs. Maybe even a second head. I know they don’t see elementals often—and a monarkki maybe never—but there’s something more to it than that. I get the feeling that Maxon doesn’t take guests home too often. Girls especially. And that fact is way more satisfying than it has any reason to be.

  Reign it in, hormones. No more hot losers.

  Zee shakes his head. “Arx Hall is crawling with people. We need to keep a low profile on this. I mean, look at her. She’s blue.”

  “Lianna can change that.” Maxon turns to me. “Right?”

  “Sure,” I say quickly. I whisper a fast incantation so I look like a regular thrax in jeans and a T-shirt. “Do I need to wear something else? I haven’t figured out how to conjure different outfits yet.”

  “Nah, you’re fine,” says Maxon. “I’ll tell Transfer Central that you’re a Tärkein that I caught sightseeing on Earth. Happens all the time, and the Tärkein always dress modern when they sneak away.”

  “Still,” says Uther. “She’ll cause a frenzy. You don’t bring home, you know… Guests.”

  Ah ha, knew it! I can’t help but smile a little bit.

  “We’ll be fine,” says Maxon. “I know hidden passageways to the South Wing.”

  “The South Wing?” repeats Uther. His stance wobbles as if he’ll pass out from shock.

  “Yeah,” says Maxon.

  Now it’s Nizam’s turn to repeat those three words. “The South Wing.”

  “I said yeah, didn’t I?”

  “Those are your private chambers,” says the guy with the hunting hawk. “Even we don’t go there.”

  “Come on, guys,” says Maxon. “You all make it sound like I’m bringing her into my bedroom or something. The South Wing is huge. A castle in itself. It’s not that big a deal.”

  Uther kicks at the sand with his boot. “I’ve never been to the South Wing.”

  “And my hunting lodge would be far more secure,” says Ty.

  “How about we let Lianna decide?” asks Maxon.

  Five sets of eyes fix on me. The urge to run for cover is almost overwhelming. Ever since I can remember, I’ve avoided crowds and attention. I slow my breathing and do my best to look cool. I should probably stay at the hunting lodge. It’s secure and I don’t find this Tyberius guy attractive. I should do the safe thing.

  My mouth has other ideas, though.

  “Arx Hall sounds fine,” I say. “I’ll stay there.”

  “See? Arx Hall.” Maxon gestures to the transfer station. “Now get.”

  The guys slowly walk into the Pulpitum. After a minute, a flash of light comes through the station’s arched doorway. That must mean they’ve been transferred to Antrum.

  “We’re up,” says Maxon.

  I stare at the darkened arch, a nauseous feeling settling into my stomach. Suddenly, a hunting lodge in the middle of nowhere seems like a much better idea than some castle packed with strangers. I’ve lived my entire life inside an isolated cabin or in hiding. What if the thrax find out who I am? Will I be mobbed?

  Maxon laces his fingers with mine. His skin is warm and a little rough. Really comforting. I decide that since this is a neutral, non-sexy activity, it’s totally fine to keep holding his hand.

  “Come on,” says Maxon. “I’ll take you.” He grins, shows his dimples and, yeah, I’d follow him over a cliff. He probably uses this move all the time to seduce the unsuspecting. Or in my case, the totally suspecting who can’t help themselves anyway. A heavy wind bursts in from nowhere and I couldn’t care less. Thoughts of Zephyr feel miles away. Being near Maxon, it’s like nothing bad can happen to me. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve felt secure in I don’t know how long. Since before my parents died, probably.

  We walk into the Pulpitum, hand in hand. The moment we step inside, torches burst to life along the walls. The floor lights up into concentric circles of white on a large silver disc.

  A smooth female voice echoes around the chamber. “Greetings, Prince Maxon.”

  “Hey, Diana. How’s life at Transfer Central?”

  “Boring until you came along. Who’s your guest?”

  “Runaway Tärkein.” He winks at me, so I don’t correct him.

  “Another one?” asks Diana. “Wait a minute. I’ll pull the alert.”

  “Hold off on that, will ya?”

  “The transfer won’t start otherwise.”

  “Hit the system reboot on your console. You’ll have sixty seconds to transfer me with no record.”

  “I could get in deep trouble for that.” The woman lets out a long sigh. “Why can’t I say no to you?”

  “Cause it’s impossible.” He smiles and shows off his dimples. “Arx Hall delivery station VI, Diana.”

  “Just for you.” Her voice gets all husky. “Just this once.”

  I roll my eyes. How about we ‘just’ stop saying ‘just?’

  “Wait for my signal.” Maxon turns to face me. “Know how a Pulpitum works?”

  “In theory, sure.”

  “But you’ve never ridden one.”

  I shake my head.

  “Antrum is miles underground. The lit-up circle under your feet is a disc that we’ll ride into the Earth. We need to stay at the center and hold on tight.”

  My mouth falls open. “Hold on to each other, you mean?”

  The hint of a smile rounds his mouth. “Yeah.”

  You can do this, Lianna. Don’t act like it’s a big deal. Thrax ride these things every day.

  Trying to act casual, I slide my arms around his waist and learn a valuable lesson: It’s one thing to see that someone’s ripped. It’s another to touch them through their very stretchy body armor. My skin tingles with awareness.

  It’s only a body. He’s only a guy. I’m sure half of Antrum looks like him. Don’t over-react.

  “Is this okay?” I ask.

  Maxon gives me another one of his rumbling chuckles. This time, I can feel it in my thighs, too.

  “That works, yeah.” Maxon slides his arms around me. Now, we’ve got full body-on-body action going, and mine doesn’t want to stop with a hug. I have this crazy desire to wrap my legs around his waist, grab his hair, and kiss Maxon for all I’m worth.

  Clearly, my hormones and I need to have a little talk. I have bigger things I should be thinking about, like avoiding Zephyr, claiming my crown, and ruling the water elementals.

  “On my mark,” says Maxon. “Launch in three, two, one.”

  The disc under our feet tumbles into the ground. Soil, rock, and lava fly by as we lurch deeper into the ground. I lean into Maxon’s shoulder and enjoy the ride until a jolt hits us and we stop. I scan the space, seeing that we’ve arrived in a large brick room. The place looks totally deserted. Piles of wooden shipping boxes are strewn everywhere. Cobwebs drip down from the ceiling.

  It takes some serious concentration, but I force my arms to unwind from Maxon’s torso.

  Clearly, my hormones require way more than a talk. I’m thinking total smack down.

  “This dock hasn’t taken any shipments for years,” says Maxon. “The Pulpitum still works, though. I use it to sneak in and out of Arx Hall.” He points to a far wall. “The hidden passages to the South Wing start over there.”

  Once again, he takes my hand. My heart does a flip-flop in my chest.

  Maxon opens a creaky wooden door that leads to a long, thin passage. Together, we sneak through a maze of hidden walkways. Every so often, we step through dark rooms that Maxon calls larders. Basically, they’re underground refrigerators without any electricity. Arx Hall has a ton of them, too. Butter, meat, jam, salted fish… The list goes on and on. Finally, the passage empties out onto an ornate wooden hallway. The place is overflowing with pennant crests, suits of armor, and medieval knick-knacks. More torches burn along the walls.

  I try to keep a straight face. Inside, I’m more a little shocked. When I see the thrax on Eart
h, they’re always tricked out with the latest demon-fighting armor and gizmos. Down here, they’re definitely stuck in the middle ages. I heard about this from my parents but I figured they were exaggerating.

  They weren’t.

  We pause before a huge set of golden doors. Guards stand on either side, both wearing silver armor. In unison, they flip up their visors and stare at me like I came from another planet.

  Subtle, guys. Really subtle.

  “Your Highness,” says the first guard.

  “You’re home,” says the second.

  “And you have someone with you,” adds the first.

  “Listen carefully.” Maxon’s voice comes out all low and serious. “You don’t see me, you don’t see her. Got it?”

  They both flip their visors down. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Maxon pushes open the door. Together, we step inside, straight into another time warp. Instead of the middle ages, I’ve now returned to the modern era. Everything’s done up in some combination of black, white, granite, steel, or leather. There’s recessed lighting, funky abstract art, and a huge home theater system. Plus, the kitchen’s got every gadget I can think of, and a few that I didn’t even know existed.

  Whoa.

  “Why are you the only one here with electricity?” I ask.

  Maxon grins. More dimples. More yum.

  “Noticed that, did you?” he asks.

  “Hard to miss.”

  Maxon steps into the kitchen. “I’m a special exception to the middle ages rule. Ty charges a generator for me. Built me some other goodies, too.” He opens a huge industrial-grade fridge. “Want something to drink?”

  “Water, thanks.”

  Maxon pulls out a beer and hands me a bottle of water. He leans against the counter, flips off the cap with his tail, and takes a long sip. “I was thirteen when I stopped joining demon patrols. Only Class C jobs wait around for thrax to pick them off. Trouble is, the Class A demons are always the real killers, and they hide out in human cities. I decided to go after them. That means spending months undercover, and nothing says ‘I’m really a thrax’ like not knowing how to use a cell phone or some shit like that. So, I get every new gadget sent here and practice between missions.”

  “Your family good with that?”

  “Sure. Since I started doing this, demon kills against humans have dropped in half.”

  An unwanted memory appears in my mind. The only demon I ever met up close and personal. Silas. His rasping voice echoes through my memories as he calls me ‘his girl’ over and over. I wince, my eyes stinging with remembered pain.

  “Hey, you okay?” Maxon step closer. With gentle motions, he rubs his hands up and down my arms. “You said you just came into your powers. Do you need a healer or something?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  He leans in closer. “The politics of ruling, maybe? I suck at that stuff, but I know some experts.”

  “Thanks, I might take you up on that later.” I stare at the floor, my body trembling. I hate that he’s seeing me like this. “I’ve had a big day. Maybe I should get some sleep.”

  “Sure, you must be beat.” Maxon takes my hand again. “Take your pick of bedrooms. I think I have twelve here or something.” He pushes open a nearby door. “How’s this one?”

  I can’t focus on much except for the massive white bed against the far wall. All of a sudden, I can’t keep eyes open. I’m vaguely aware of stumbling over to the mattress and curling up on top of the covers. I mumble something while Maxon takes off my boots and wraps me in fresh blankets. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I feel safe and warm.

  My body wants to sleep, but my mind decides that now’s the perfect time to go berserk. Questions hit me rapid fire. How do I deal with Fisk? Is there any way to prove to the Water Valta that I won’t become another nutjob like Zephyr? What about my people? The dull ache in my chest flares up again. It’s the same pain I felt after I first took on my powers because water elementals are out there, suffering. I should be helping them.

  My mind keeps running through the same questions and worries until I think my skull will burst. At last, I decide that exhausted is no way to work through my issues. I’m safe and warm in Antrum. For now, the best thing I can do is rest so I have the thinking power to figure this stuff out.

  With that thought firmly in head, I finally drift off to sleep.

  Lianna

  Calm down, Lianna. It’s only another nightmare.

  You’re not really thirteen. And you’re definitely not Silas’s prisoner anymore. You’re actually asleep in Maxon’s chambers, remember? Open your eyes. Everything will be fine.

  Just.

  Wake.

  Up.

  My internal pep talk doesn’t work, though. I stay fast asleep. Even worse, my dreams force me down into Silas’s underground lair. My conscious self knows the space is actually cold and cramped. But in my dream, it stretches out onto an impossibly large scale. Cages line the walls, each one packed to overflowing with mice and rats. Their frightened, chirping cries echo strangely in the chamber. Huge barrels of bloody goop dot the floor. And in the center of everything lies my old cage. My thirteen-year-old self lies curled in fetal position, a thin blanket clasped tightly around me.

  Just like in reality, the dream-me is trying to sleep. It’s not happening for either of us.

  “Where’s my girl?” calls a wispy male voice. The way he says ‘my girl’ is possessive, hungry, and makes my teeth chatter with fear.

  Silas is calling for me.

  In the way of nightmares, Silas is suddenly there, looming over my cage. I’d guess back in Victorian London, Silas would’ve been an average-looking middle-aged bloke. He’s balding with a bit of a belly and a handlebar moustache. His brown suit perfectly matches his bowler hat. Sometimes he wears white gloves, only they quickly get soaked with blood.

  Silas kicks the side of the cage. “Wake up, my girl. There’s work to be done.”

  The thirteen-year-old me looks up from under my torn blanket. My blonde hair is a tangle; my face is lined with dirt and grease. The little thrax gown my parents made me wear is now a shredded rag. My dirt-encrusted hands grip the filthy blanket closer to my throat.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  Silas leans over the cage, his brown irises flaring red with demon-light. “Bring me a mouse. You know the kind I like.”

  I nod, my jaw clenching with impotent rage. If I bring anything living to Silas, he kills it, using the creature’s life energy to power his black magic. It’s never easy to give an animal to Silas, but the ones that he wants are especially hard to hand over. He likes animals at the very peak of their life force—just past childhood. It’s why he agreed not to kill me until I turned sixteen.

  I picture pulling handing another mouse to him and shiver.

  Silas pulls my cage door open. The nightmare-version of this sound rattles through my soul. I crawl outside and search through the maze of cages lining the walls. It takes forever to find the right mouse. What in reality was a small basement becomes a complex labyrinth in my dreams. My heart beats faster. If I don’t find what he wants quickly enough, Silas will beat me. Maybe he’ll figure out how to kill me before my sixteenth birthday, despite the magical deal he made with my parents. They didn’t fight back when he murdered them. In return, I have three more years before I join them in death.

  At last, I find the perfect mouse. It’s gray with a pink nose and based on how it skitters happily about its cage, it’s also full of life. The little creature quickly crawls onto my palm and looks up at me with trusting black button eyes. I choke back a sob and go off in search of Silas.

  It takes another long, dream-like trek to find Silas at his workbench. As I wander through the maze, I hear Silas sing one of his odd spiritual tunes—this one is something about lords and masters—and it makes my skin crawl with disgust and fear.

  He always sings right before he kills.

  At last, I re
ach a tall wooden structure set into the wall and covered with every kind of scalpel, bone cutter, and vise imaginable. It’s stuff that humans use for taxidermy, making stuffed animals out of dead ones. Silas takes the practice further with black magic.

  Silas gestures to the table in front of him. “What do you think, my girl? My greatest poppet yet.”

  I take a small step away. “I don’t need to see it, thanks.”

  “Ah, but you do.” He flashes me a sallow smile. “Your soul will be inside one of my poppets too, one day.”

  Which means he won’t give up until I look.

  It takes an impossibly long time to glance over Silas’s shoulder and see what he’s working on. It’s a rat, or it was one when it was alive. Now small metal clamps run down its back, holding its spine together. Tufts of straw and filthy cotton peep out between the makeshift sutures. The tail is studded with metal barbs, while the eyes are small black stones, oblong and mismatched. Bits of rusted wire have replaced its claws. It meanders across the bench-top in blind circles.

  “Almost perfect,” says Silas. “Only needs the gift of sight.”

  On reflex, I hold the shivering mouse closer to my chest. “I think it’s fine the way it is.”

  “That’s because you’re a soft-hearted fool.” He reaches his pale hand toward me. “Give me the mouse.”

  My arm trembles as I press the tiny creature closer to my chest. “No.”

  Fast as a heartbeat, Silas scoops the mouse of my hands. The little guy writhes and shrieks in his grip. I bite back another sob.

  Silas inspects the mouse. “You’ve brought a fine one today.” He leans in closer to me, inhaling the scent of my tangled hair. The sensation of him this near makes my stomach sick.

  “You’re already ripe. I could harvest you today, if I hadn’t made a binding deal with your parents.” He drags out his next words. “I can’t wait to claim your life force, my girl.”

  At those words, I flat out panic. Part of me is back with Silas, reminding myself that he can’t break a deal sealed with his own black magic. Another part of me knows that in my dreams, he does break the deal, every night. I work like hell to wake myself up. However, both versions of me are frozen in place, unable to do anything while Silas turns away. After pulling out a small hammer, he smashes in the mouse’s skull. The frightened creature is now a bloody mess on Silas’s bench-top.