“We can talk about this later.” I half-rise from the bed.
Mom sets her hand on my arm. “No, you’re right. You deserve to know your heritage.”
I sit back down beside my mother, my mind spinning. “I don’t get it. Why did you and I survive?”
Mom bites her lip. “A friend sacrificed everything so I’d be safe. When you were born, the protection applied to you as well.”
My throat tightens. “Who was that person? Was it my father?”
Mom squeezes her eyes shut, fresh tears glide down her cheeks. “That’s all I can tell you right now, Myla.”
I know my mother well enough to realize one thing: that answer means ‘yes.’ Yes, your father died to save us both. And more. A web of dark secrets still hangs around this house. Part of me wants to grab her shoulders, force her to tell me more and tear the sadness from our lives. Another part feels super-guilty for having pushed as hard as I have. She looks red-eyed and miserable.
Trembling, Mom sets her hand over her mouth. “I need some time alone.” She sucks in a shaky breath. “We’ll talk again after Verus’s next visit.”
I rise to my feet. Rage, empathy, and guilt battle it out inside me. I force myself to step toward the door. Best to end this before we both lose it. “Okay, Mom.” I walk away, gently closing the door behind me. Her quiet sobs echo through the house.
Listening to her crying, my internal battle of emotions ends. Empathy wins, big time. I don’t want to upset Mom any more for one day, so I’m extra-quiet while getting ready for school. Even Betsy’s on her best behavior; she doesn’t kick or buck as I drive away. The day zooms by in a blur of classes and chatting with Cissy. I forget all about Mom’s sadness.
When I walk through my front door again, I find Mom’s still in her room with the door closed, quietly sobbing. My heart sinks. Finding out about Mom’s past is sure different than I thought it would be.
Chapter Eight
Cissy and I sit in our usual seats in the back row of Biology class, waiting for the other students to settle in. My best friend bobs up and down in her chair. “Did I tell you Zeke’s parents are back from their trip?”
Only twelve times. “Yes, you mentioned it, Cissy.” The day after I first visited the Ryder library, Zeke’s parents went on a week-long diplomatic tour. Before leaving, they called Cissy’s house, saying that under no circumstances should she visit the mansion. For a few days, she and Zeke tried hanging at her place, but her parents are still having issues with Zeke’s reputation. Long story short, they’ve been counting the days until the Ryders return.
And if I’m being totally honest with myself, they’re not the only ones counting. I can’t wait to get back into the library and see what I can find out about my mother’s past and father’s identity.
Cissy doodles in her notebook. “I’m going over to the Ryder mansion after school. You coming?”
“Hells, yeah.” I didn’t realize it was a question. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Cissy chews her bottom lip. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to. Last week you left pretty early. I was worried you didn’t like hanging out in the library.”
Oh that? Only when thrax Princes show up. “No, I’m totally into it. I’ll be there after school.”
“Good news.” Cissy leans across the aisle and taps my desk. “Hey, did you see that?” She nods toward the front of the class.
Craning my neck, I spy a large glass case by the teacher’s desk. It’s a three-foot cube that’s perched on a small silver table. “Cool. The Lady always keeps it interesting.”
The Lady is LDY-99, our Biology teacher. With charcoal skin that stretches over her skeletal frame, the Lady looms seven feet tall in her hooded black robes. Her distinguishing marks are her halo-like afro, oversized eyes, and little round glasses. She’s definitely the coolest teacher at school.
“Today, I’ve a surprise for you all.” The Lady steps up to the empty glass case. “We’re going to learn about Reperio demons.”
I do a happy-dance in my chair. Reperio are awesome.
The Lady picks up a garbage can and chucks the contents into the display. Scraps of paper, broken pencils, and paper clips settle to the bottom of the case.
After that, the garbage starts to move.
The scraps of paper form into little men with eraser-eyes. The broken pencils splinter into skirts for tiny ladies with wooden bodies and paper clip heads. They prowl the display floor, pounding on the glass, and swearing up a storm.
“Every demon has a name and classification. Who knows what these are?”
I raise my hand and answer before she calls on me. “They’re Reperio Minusculus, classification Possideo.”
The Lady adjusts the glasses on her nose. “Yes, they are Reperio Minusculus.” She steps over to her desk. “But I’m fairly certain they’re classification Insultus.” She opens up a thick leather-bound book from her desktop and flips through the pages. “No, you’re right. They’re Possideo. How about that?”
I roll my eyes. Unbelievable. Even ghoul biology teachers don’t know demon basics. Everyone acts like they’ll disappear if we ignore them.
Behind the glass, the little demons make lewd body gestures at our teacher. The Lady glances between them and me. “You fight evil souls in the Arena, don’t you?”
“Yup. Demons too after I’m done with the souls.” I point to the glass case. “Want to know the easiest way to kill Reperio?”
A soft gasp echoes around the room. The Lady’s eyes open wide. “No, no, no. We all love our demon allies.” She quickly steps back to the display case. “Let’s talk about something else, class. Ah, I know. I’ll explain how to feed, clothe, and entertain our little friends.”
Cissy whispers to me from across the aisle. “Look Myla, I know you used to keep notebooks on how to kill demons, but–”
“Oh, I still take tons of notes. And Walker sneaks me into Arena matches pretty regularly. I’ve seen other fighters go after Reperio and the easiest way to kill them is–”
“Myla Lewis!” The Lady stares at me, her large black eyes look ready to burst from her head. I scan the room. The other students look at me like I just announced my frozen head collection. “For the last time. Stop sharing kill strategies for our demon allies.”
My eyes glow with rage. Demon allies, my ass.
Cissy shoots me a desperate stare. “After school, Myla. The library? Remember?”
The library, right. If the Lady sends me to Principal’s office, I’ll be suspended for sure. Knowing my mother, that’ll mean no library trips for months. I need answers more than I need to make a point about demons. I bite my lips together, hard. “I understand, LDY-99.”
“Thank you.” The Lady spends the next hour explaining how Reperio demons like to eat Cheetos, dress in rotten food, and be entertained with any kid of fart noise.
Unholy moley, what a waste of time.
***
“Greetings, Myla. You’re called to serve.”
My eyes pop open. It’s early morning and Walker stands at the foot of my bed. Please let me not be dreaming. I’ve been dying for an Arena match for weeks, ever since I downed that Deacon guy. I cross my fingers under the comforter. “Am I dreaming?”
Walker folds his arms across his chest. “No, it’s really me.”
“An Arena match. Yes!” I jump out of bed and smile my face off.
Walker rubs his sideburns with one hand. “We must depart shortly.”
“I’ll be ready super-fast.” I hunt through my dresser for the least raggedy sweatpants. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Walker still lurking by my bed. I arch my eyebrow. “This is the part where you leave my room.”
Walker fidgets in his long robes. “Of course. I’m sorry, Myla.”
“No problem.” I gesture to door. “Since I’m going to the Arena, I bet Mom’s already worrying herself to death in the kitchen. You can keep her company.”
Walker patters out of my room, closing the door behind hi
m.
I get ready in record time and sprint to the kitchen. Mom sits at the table, lazily paging through a travel magazine.
“Good morning, Myla sweetie.” Her face stretches into a warm smile. “I understand you’re going to the Arena today.”
Well, that’s a little fishy. Normally, Mom’s a heartbeat away from a coronary by this point.
“Yup, I’m off to battle the bad people.” I karate-kick the air and hear my sweat-pants rrrrrrip. “Okay, maybe not in these pants.” I roll my eyes. “What am I thinking? I should wear my fighting suit.” I jog back to my room and change.
Mom calls to me from the kitchen. “Set those sweats onto the couch before you go. I’ll patch them this morning.” She sounds downright chipper.
Hmm. That’s a lot fishy. Time to ask some questions.
I return to the kitchen and make myself a hearty sugar cereal breakfast. “So, who am I fighting today?”
Walker frowns. “You’re not fighting anyone. The angels requested you be present for a ceremony.”
My morning instantly deflates. “A ceremony?” I grimace. “There’s no chance of fighting, none at all?”
“Knowing you, always.” Walker sips his coffee. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and really piss off Sharkie.”
“Good, because I just ripped my last pair of clean sweats. It’s the fighting suit or nothing.” I turn to Mom. “And you’re totally okay with all this?” I haven’t had a Maternal Inquisition yet or anything. It feels downright weird.
Mom loads her coffee cup with cream and sugar. “I’ve known the angel Verus since before the Wars. She and I discussed this. You can attend.”
“Oh, I see.” If Mom says I can go, this must be totally boring. I eat my Frankenberry cereal one sugar puff at a time. It’s like my last meal before hitting the guillotine.
Walker hovers by my shoulder. “We must depart now, Myla.”
Anger burns through my belly. “If you gave me a little notice before these Arena visits, I’d be ready faster.”
Walker shares a sly look with my mother. “You never complained before.”
“Well, I’m complaining now.”
Mom turns another page in her magazine. “Just because you’re not fighting evildoers this morning doesn’t mean you can be grouchy with Walker.”
Ugh. I hate it when she’s right. “Sorry, Walker.”
“You’re forgiven.”
I swallow my last bite of cereal. “Okay, let’s hit it.”
Walker opens a portal in the center of the kitchen.
Mom blows me a kiss. “Have fun, sweetie!”
“I’ll try.” I give her a halfhearted wave. “See you after school.”
Taking Walker’s hand in mine, I steel my shoulders and step through the dark door. We tumble through space for what feels like hours. I almost puke at least twice before stepping onto the Arena’s dirt floor.
Around me stand a dozen quasis. Men and women, black and white, young and old…This group could not be more different, except for one thing: they all have long pointed tails like mine.
They’re all part-furor. Fighters like me. I can’t help but size up the other warriors. I could take anyone of these folks down, easily. And although most of them have fighting suits, none are as dragon-scale badass as mine.
Hey, it’s not a competition, but I’m winning.
Sharkie does his emcee-thing. The Oligarchy, angels, and demons all take their places in the Arena. An eternity ticks by while I stand near the other fighters. I pass the time playing rock-paper-scissors with my tail. My stomach growls. I must be missing lunch.
THUD. THUD. Sharkie sets his staff against the ground. “Angels, demons, and ghouls! We’ve a special announcement today from the fearless leader of our troops, Armageddon!”
The demon seats go ballistic. The angels clap politely.
Armageddon stands from his stone throne, his long black face twisting into an especially evil-looking grin. “We have found the Scala Heir.” His eyes glow with menace. “As promised.”
Verus takes to her feet. “Excellent. If this is indeed the Scala Heir, then we should be able to perform the Scala Initiation ceremony right now.”
Armageddon slowly reseats himself into his throne. “Of course.”
Verus points to our group of fighters. “Please line up along the base of the Arena wall. You’re witnesses to the changing.”
A Scala changing? That could be cool to watch. To be safe, I pick out a spot by an exit archway, the easier to duck out if things get really boring.
Verus raises her arms. “Let the initiation begin!”
All the angels take to their feet. The air echoes with the rustling of wings and robes. They speak in one voice. “Has the Scala Heir been found?”
Verus lowers her arms. “Yes. Among the thrax nobility.”
Thrax nobility? My stomach sinks to my toes. Yuck.
Moving as one group, the angels extend their white wings. Half the arena becomes blindingly bright. They speak again as one: “Let them bring the Scala Heir to us to be awakened and angelbound.” They all retake their seats.
“We will bring out the Scala Heir.” Verus smiles softly. “But first, the realm that produced the Heir will take the Arena floor. Today, this honor goes to the thrax. The thrax are divided into many Houses, the greatest of these being Horus, Striga, Kamal, Acca, and Rixa. All five will appear before us today. First is the House of Horus, the descendants of the Nubian Pharaohs.”
I exhale with relief. Nubian Pharaohs? That means Lincoln isn’t likely to take the Arena floor. At least, not yet.
I pick at the lint under my nails with my tail. Not that I care what he does, of course.
A trumpet call echoes through the air. The dirt floor shakes as the House of Horus does who-knows-what in the maze of hallways leading to the Arena floor. More trumpets blare as a dozen two-wheeled chariots barrel out of a nearby archway, each one driven by a pair of gray stallions.
The Arena floor rattles beneath my feet as the chariots charge around the stadium. My mouth bursts into a grin. These guys are so badass, it isn’t even funny.
As they tool around the Arena floor, I can see that the drivers are tall men with ebony skin, solid frames, and long dreadlocks. They wear brown linen pants topped by black leather tunics. The image of a looping Egyptian eye is sewn onto their chests in bronze thread.
The chariots ride in different formations, their paths creating a complex series of circles and lines. Golden bridles glimmer in the horses’ mouths. The chariots crisscross into the most complex pattern yet. Then, they stop in neat rows in one corner of the stadium. Whoa. I can’t believe they didn’t bump into each other at least once.
I clap wildly, but everyone else is silent. Oops. I pop my hands behind my back.
“Second is the House of Striga,” says Verus. “Their skills in sorcery and witchcraft are famous across the five realms.”
From the opposite archway, two-dozen men march onto the arena floor, their bodies thin and lanky. All have olive skin and square faces. Purple beads are woven into their long brown hair. They wear the brown leather pants, silver chain mail, and velvet tunics decorated with a purple pentagram. The stick-men march into the middle of the stadium floor, align themselves into a huge circle, and quickly bow their heads. A low chant echoes through the air. A massive ball of red flame appears by the stadium floor.
I gasp. I’ve never seen magic before.
The scarlet orb zooms up into the sky and bursts like a firework. The Striga men march to another corner of the Arena, taking their place beside the House of Horus.
I bob on the balls of my feet, excited to see what the next House has in store. Sure, it’s a bummer I’m not battling anything right now, but this show almost makes up for that. Almost.
“Third is the House of Kamal,” says Verus. “These thrax are renowned for their skill with animals.”
More thrax march into the stadium, this time their cotton tunics hold the image of three claw scr
atches in deep blue. The Kamal warriors form a line across the center of the Arena floor, about twenty fighters in all. Their bodies look lean and sinewy; their cocoa faces are set into determined frowns.
Scanning the faces, I look for some girl fighters, but can’t find one. Hmm. The other Houses didn’t have female warriors either. That is so weird. I wonder if all the thrax women run around batting their eyes and feeling guys muscles like that Adair girl? Hmm. Not sure I want to know the answer to that question.
The Kamal let out a loud whoop. Tigers burst from the Arena archways, racing toward the floor’s center. Falcons swoop down from the sky; long blue ribbons hang from their talons. All the creatures settle in place, one animal for each warrior. They roar and shriek so loudly, I think my eardrums will burst. The warriors bow slightly; the animals fall silent. The Kamal march in unison, taking their places beside the other Houses. The falcons perch on their warrior’s arm, the tigers stand at their fighter’s side. All the animal’s bodies remain still as stone.
My mind whirls through all the demons that’d be easier to fight with a Kamal tiger or falcon at my side. I bob my head approvingly. Those would come in mighty handy, indeed.
“Fourth is the House of Acca. These thrax are renowned for their abilities with a crossbow.”
I lean against the stonewall, hitching my right foot across my left. This is taking a long time, but the warrior displays are super-interesting. Who knew there were so many ways to fight demons besides hand-to-hand? I work hard to look casual and actively ignore the unwanted images of Lincoln’s mouth that keep popping into my mind. An anxious feeling tightens my stomach. Stop thinking about him, damn it.
Twenty warriors walk onto the Arena floor, their black velvet tunics sewn with the image of a gloved yellow fist. All have stout bodies, pale skin, and golden hair. Each fighter wears metal-studded gloves and carries a silver crossbow. The Acca warriors march to the floor’s center and stand in a long line. Moving as one unit, they all fire a single metal bolt straight into the air.
I purse my lips. That’s not so impressive. I know zero about crossbows, and I could do that, easy peasy.
Angelbound Page 12