I haul the Libra Ghoul over to my favorite window seat. I sit down, open the book, scan the index, and find the section on ghoul half-breeds, reading:
Ghouls may mate with creatures from other realms. The offspring will appear in human form throughout their mortal lives, a phase which is known as the larvae stage.
I stick out my tongue. Yuck, I’m a larvae right now.
Upon death, the larvae mature into their wondrous ghoul form. In their mortal state, half-breeds are notorious for failing to follow rules and procedures. Once dead, however, they develop a natural appreciation for Group Think and process.
Whoa. I’ll turn into some rule-loving nincompoop one day. I shiver, fight the sense of nausea in my stomach, and return my attention to the book. A section called Group Think catches my eye.
Mature ghouls are not isolated organisms like other unfortunate creatures. They share a single consciousness led by the most perfect of our kind, the Oligarchy. This superior form of connected living is called Group Think. Thanks to it, the thoughts of our great leaders constantly pulse through the minds of every ghoul.
I snap the book shut with a sneer. Someday I’ll have the Oligarchy in my head 24-7? That sucks with a capital ‘S.’ Maybe I’m better off not knowing my heritage.
Footsteps sound from the other side of the Library. “You’ll find her in here, your Highness.”
My stomach spirals with shock. There aren’t a lot of your Highnesses running around Purgatory. Suddenly, Cissy and Zeke’s offer of the library makes perfect sense. Those little creeps. Okay, it was totally sneaky of me to hit the thrax compound with every intention of causing trouble. But Cissy and Zeke are being pretty sneaky here, too. If they want me to play nice with others, an ambush isn’t the way to do it.
“Thank you.” The voice is definitely Lincoln’s. I can tell by his clipped tone that I’m in for it. Ugh.
I re-open the Libra Ghoul and pretend to be super-interested. Footsteps march in drum-roll rhythm across the library floor, then pause nearby. I look up. Lincoln stands before me in his leather pants and velvet tunic, his mismatched eyes glowering. A jolt of adrenaline races through my bloodstream.
Bring it on.
“Hello, Miss Lewis.” He sets his feet apart; his broad shoulders stiffen. Battle stance.
“Hello, Mister The Prince.”
“I had an official audience with the Ghoul Minister today. It seems he didn’t approve your delivering his message.”
I close my book. “And?”
“So, you admit you raided the thrax compound without authorization?”
I tap my cheek. “So, you admit that a lowly quasi girl successfully raided your super-awesome demon-hunter compound?”
“Your actions were rude and startling. The Lords were not prepared.”
I sniff. “They were wearing chain mail, carrying weapons, and in the middle of battle training. I call that a fair fight.”
He shakes his head from side to side. “My men don’t expect strange girls in unitards to appear out of nowhere.”
I raise my pointer finger. “One, it’s a dragon-scale fighting suit, not a unitard.” I raise another digit. “Two, what exactly do they expect girls to do when they’re attacked? Half the best Arena fighters are women.”
“That’s not how it is in Antrum.”
“What’s an Antrum?”
“Where I live, where all thrax live. Back on Earth, deep underground.”
“That makes sense. Not knowing girls fight; it figures you all live under a rock.”
Closing his eyes, he takes in a deep breath. “No one speaks to me like that.” A muscle twitches along his jaw.
My eyes narrow. He’s not the only one who doesn’t like back-talk. “Welcome to Purgatory.”
“The Earls demand you attend a tournament of demon fighting prowess to celebrate the autumnal equinox. As senior members of the thrax nobility, they will battle on the field of honor.”
“Humph.” No way am I joining that sausage party. They can prove their manliness on their own time. “Sounds like a ‘we’ll show her’ kind of thing.”
“The Lords have a right to display their skills under traditional circumstances.”
“Well, there’s one thing they need to do first.”
Lincoln folds his arms over his chest. “And what’s that, in your experience?”
“Say. Please.”
The Prince rakes one hand through his brown hair. “Disrespectful.”
He thinks I’m disrespectful? “Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.”
Lincoln inhales slowly, his fists open and close. Turning on his heel, he stomps away. Leaning back in my perch, I lace my fingers over my belly and watch him retreat. He’s got a strong back, long arms roped with muscle, and a bottom half that does justice to those black leather pants. Though the front side of him is pretty tasty, too. His mouth, I must say, is particularly yummy-looking.
Whoa there. I should not stare lustily at snobby Princes. Come to think of it, since when do I stare lustily at guys, period? I shake out my hands and shift my head from side to side. That fight threw me out of whack, big time.
I hop to my feet, a broad grin rounding my mouth. That fight threw me out of whack because I WON. I’m so proud of my bad-self, I almost dance out of the library and down the steps, mentally replaying every word of my verbal ass-whooping. I reach the reception hall and freeze.
Cissy and Zeke stand by the front door and, dang, they look mighty peeved. Again.
Cissy sets her fists on her hips. “The thrax High Prince just left his meeting with the Ghoul Minister. He was not happy.”
I put on my innocent face and blink. “What makes you say that?”
Cissy frowns. “He just blew past us.”
Zeke points to the West Wing. “And the diplomatic conference room is right below the library. What do you say about that?”
“I say that’s sure strange.” I shrug. “That Prince is pretty temperamental for a demon hunter, huh?”
Zeke folds his arms over his chest. “Did you two fight again?”
“Fight?” I scratch my neck. “We never fight.” Technically. We yell at each other a lot, though.
Cissy turns to Zeke. “Can you give us some girl-time? Myla and I need to talk.”
Zeke glares at me for a full minute. “Sure.”
Cissy opens the reception hall’s back door and gestures to the hedgerow maze behind the mansion. “This way, Myla.”
I walk through the doorway and onto the yellowing grass. Cissy follows me, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The muscles along my jaw tighten with determination. I will not feel guilty this time around. She and Zeke totally ambushed me.
Cissy spins around to face me. “Spill it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s me here.” Cissy rolls her eyes. “You’re not leaving this spot until I get some information. I know you two fought. Honestly, you’re causing like, huge inter-realm incidents here.”
I let out a dramatic gasp. “Come on! Who sent the Prince of Pissed my way with no warning? What did you think would happen?”
Cissy stares at her toes for a minute. “That was Zeke’s idea. I told him it wouldn’t work.”
“Well, it didn’t.” Leave it to Zeke to come up with a lame plan like that one.
Cissy sighs. “So, what exactly did happen?”
I puff out a breath. “The Prince demands I attend a tournament so his steak-head Earls can show me how awesome they are.”
“And you said?”
“I said they had to say ‘please.’” I fold my arms over my chest. I’m totally in the right here; no way am I backing down.
Cissy groans. “What is it between you two?”
“Uh, hatred?”
“No.” Cissy slowly scans me from head to toe. “No, it’s not.”
I roll my eyes. Cissy can be so thick sometimes. “Uh, yes-yes it is.”
“You can�
�t see it, but I can. You care about this guy.” Her eyes flicker red with envy. “More than you care about me.”
Her words slam into me, knocking my breath away. Sure, I think about Lincoln a lot, but only because he’s being such a dick. She’s wrong. Totally wrong. “I care about kicking him in the head, that’s about it. You’re my best and only friend.”
Cissy’s voice turns low and menacing. “He fights you and holds his own. You can’t resist a good battle, Myla.” Her irises blaze with scarlet light. “But you should be my friend first.”
Anger boils up my spine. “What a coincidence! I’d like it if you were my friend first, too. I totally came clean about the Prince and you laughed it off. Then you ambush me in the library. Not okay, girlfriend.”
Cissy’s eyes narrow into fiery red slits. “You’re right. I should have believed you when you said you fought with the Prince and didn’t care about Zeke. I never should have sent you to the library unprepared. For that, I’m sorry. Truly.” She speaks in a super-low and creepy voice. “Now prove you’re more my friend than his enemy. Go with me to the tournament.”
Uh-oh. My heart sinks to my toes. Cissy’s envy demon is kicking in, big time. Sure, she shows demonic jealousy when girls like Paulette talk about Zeke, but that’s small stuff. Her full-blown envy attacks don’t happen often, but when they do, I don’t want to be anywhere near the blast radius.
My mouth brightens into what I hope is a convincing smile. “I’m your friend first, last, and always, Cissy.” I chuck her on the upper arm. “You know that.” Out of the corner of my eye, I scan the mansion’s grounds, looking for safe lines of exit.
Cissy’s eyes keep burning red with jealousy. “Then prove it.” Her mouth compresses into a straight line. “Go with me to the tournament. Show me that I’m more important to you than he is.”
I raise my hands to shoulder level, palms forward. “Look, I know I caused trouble delivering that message, but you and Zeke totally set me up too. In the library, you didn’t—”
“Stop right there.” Her voice stays creepy-calm as her eyes flicker with fire. “I don’t care about the message. I don’t care about the library. I care about one thing.” She steps closer. “What’s. Mine.”
My mouth contracts into a tiny ‘o’ shape. I’ve never, ever seen Cissy’s envy demon this riled up. She’s a little scary right now, and I know scary. My mind freezes with shock. “I’m not sure what to say.”
She steps even closer. “Say you’re going to the tournament.”
With my palms still at shoulder-level, I waggle them from side to side in the universal sign for ‘calm down.’ “Let me think about it.” I cock my head to the right, considering. A tournament could be cool—I’d love to catch some new demon-fighting tricks. Then, I picture Lincoln’s face. Anger boils through my body, melting away all thoughts until I can’t remember why I was contemplating this stupid tournament in the first place. “Not a chance.”
Cissy bares her teeth, her eyes flaring with an almost blinding red light. She turns on her heel and marches away.
Oh, no.
This hasn’t happened since the third grade, and it’s the kryptonite to my super sassy-mouth:
The silent treatment from Cissy.
Once she’s a safe distance, I rev up Betsy and putter home, assessing my new friendless state along the way. Cissy’s out of control right now, but she can’t stay fired up forever. At least, I don’t think she can. I bet she’ll return to her normal, sweet self in a few days, tops. Yeah that’s it. I march through my front door, say my hellos to Mom, and plunk onto the couch to spend some quality time with the Human Channel.
Half-way through a Scooby-Doo marathon, I fall into a deep sleep. Within seconds, I’m dreaming of the Gray Sea.
Chapter Eleven
In my dreamscape, I return to the dark sands of the Gray Sea. I stand on the warm ground, the stench of sulphur thick in my lungs. Kneeling to the earth, I set my hands onto the desert floor. A ring of white flame appears. The sand within the circle rises, forming into the shape of my mother. More of the desert crawls upward, creating the outline of a room surrounding her.
The ring of fire flares brighter, then it fades away. Before me, the figures change. Instead of being made from sand, they’re now flesh and bone. I scan the scene, seeing a busy Senate chamber made of white marble. Wooden benches line the floor, all of them filled with quasis in purple robes, their many different tails swaying in the same slow rhythm. In the front of the space, my mother stands behind a tall wooden podium. The Senators watch her from the benches, their attention fixed.
Mom grips the podium’s edges. “My proposal with Senator Myung is an important step forward in fair after-life treatment for human souls. Too often, souls reach Purgatory without any comfort or support from the guardian angels who protected them during their lifetime.”
Xavier slips through the back door of the Senate chamber and stands along the far wall. He wears a gray suit with a blue tie that highlights his turquoise eyes. As he watches Mom, his stern face softens into a smile. A warm feeling spreads through my chest. The two of them must have worked out their differences. Nice job, Mom.
My mother scans the crowd. “This bill will help guardian angels find their human’s soul after death, just as previous legislation helps their tempting demon find them today. Please respect our sacred role in keeping Purgatory a neutral and fair space for souls.”
Mom scans the senate floor. All eyes are fixed on her.
“Next week, remember the human souls entering Purgatory every day, every moment. Vote in favor of the Myung-Lewis bill. Thank you.”
The chamber’s silent for a moment, then members of the Senate begin to clap. The applause quickly swells. I join in and cheer, every cell in my body bursting with pride. Go, Camilla!
Bowing slightly, Mom steps away from the podium. The room echoes with low chatter as everyone rises to their feet and moves on with their day. A small group of Senators encircle Mom, asking questions. Tim rushes through the back door of the room, his long robes fluttering with each step. He gently touches Mom’s upper arm.
“Senator Lewis, we must depart for the committee meeting.”
“Thank you, Tim.” She rests her hand on his shoulder. He shivers.
Together, they leave the chamber. Xavier watches them go, and then he follows a short distance behind. They step through a series of long marble passageways until reaching a small wooden door. Xavier hangs back in the busy hall.
I watch Xavier as he keeps a careful distance from my mother. His movements are protective, almost possessive, but not in a creepy-stalker way. Hmm. I might be starting to like this guy.
Tim holds the door open. “The committee will meet in here today, Senator Lewis.”
Mom steps inside. “Thank you.” She and Tim walk to a long wooden table surrounded by heavy leather chairs. As they take their seats, two new figures step into the room. One’s a familiar-looking ghoul in a long black robe. The other is Armageddon.
My body goes on full alert. Armageddon’s here? I want to break through the dreamscape, grab Mom’s hand, and run for it. Instead, I feel rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but brace myself against jolts of panic.
Mom scans the newcomer, her face rounding into a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Ambassador.”
Wait a second. Mom used to work with Armageddon? Whoa. I scan their faces. No one seems affected by his greater demon aura. They should be slammed with fear, but all of them—especially Mom—appear genuinely calm. My mind whirls until the reason’s clear: Armageddon turned into a greater demon when he became King of Hell. Clever. There’s more to his takeover of Purgatory than I first suspected.
Armageddon’s long black face wears an unreadable expression. “Senator.”
Mom turns to address the ghoul. “Greetings to you, O-72.”
O-72 nods. “We thank you.”
Suddenly, I realize where I’ve seen that ghoul before. Slap a red robe on that guy and he
’s one of the Oligarchy today. I’ve seen him at matches a dozen times.
Armageddon, Mom, and an Oligarchy ghoul? What in blazes is going on here?
My sleepy mind struggles to understand what I’m seeing. I’ve adjusted to the concept that Mom was a Senator. In fact, it’s been awesome seeing her in action. But finding out that she dealt with Armageddon drives a lead feeling into my stomach. I know how this story ends, and it can’t be good that Mom was in the middle of it.
Xavier walks into the room. “Good afternoon, everyone.” He slides in to a leather chair across from Mom.
Armageddon eyes Xavier’s every move, his face unmoving, his irises flaring bright red. “Ambassador Cross.” His upper lip twists, exposing a sharp canine. Shivers of anxiety rattle my spine. Clearly, Armageddon hates Xavier with a vengeance. What happened between these two?
Mom motions to Tim. “Let’s begin.” He pulls a manila folder from within the folds of his robes and hands it to her. “Thank you, Tim.” She sets the folder before her on the tabletop. “Our first item of the day is a diplomacy tour of–”
Armageddon leans back in his chair. “No. I have unfinished business here.” He steeples his three-knuckled fingers under his pointed chin. “You know what I want.”
O-72 lets out a long breath. “I’ve heard it many times, Armageddon. Maybe someday you’ll become the King of Hell, but right now you’re a common demon, fourth class.”
Armageddon visibly cringes at these words. “So you keep telling me.”
Beads of black sweat appear on O-72’s forehead. He adjusts the neckline of his ghoul robes. “The rules are the rules. Only two categories of demons go to iconigrations and Arena matches: the first class and the King of Hell. Not fourth class demons. Not you. Be thankful you’ve been appointed delegate to this Council. It’s a great honor for someone with your humble background.”
Armageddon’s eyes narrow. “But not the honor I want. My son moves souls at the Arena. I want to be there.”
Mom stays unflappable. “We appreciate that your son is the Great Scala. Perhaps you could arrange to see him outside of the Arena?”
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