Armageddon bares his teeth. “The thrax poisoned his mind against me. You all know this.” He pounds the table with his fist. “I want Arena access to my son.” He scans the table with a predatory glare. “I wish to see him move souls.”
I inhale a stunned breath. I knew the Scala was Armageddon’s son, but I didn’t realize the old demon wanted anything to do with his child. A tremor of fear rattles my shoulders. Armageddon’s calculating something, weaving his invisible plans. He did this when he schemed his takeover of Purgatory; it gives me the creeps.
O-72 wags his massive gray head. “This is not possible. Ghouls only allow certain demons into any Arena event. The rules are the rules.”
“I see.” Armageddon laces his three-knuckled fingers together by his long neck. “We all bend the rules. Sometimes.” He skewers O-72 with a look that speaks of hidden secrets that Armageddon has stockpiled for just such an occasion. “You, of all of us, should understand that.”
O-72 clears this throat. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Armageddon lowers his hands, his mouth curling into an evil grin. “That’s all I ask.” He rises to his feet. “We’re done here.”
Mom points directly at Armageddon’s chest. “Where are you going?”
I gasp. Damn, Mom! Going toe-to-toe with the future King of Hell. My chest tightens with bands of worry.
Xavier raises his hand. “If Armageddon wishes to retreat, he may.” Something in his tone says the word ‘retreat’ is laced with some particular memory, one that Xavier is flaunting in the demon’s face.
Armageddon twists his head to glare at Xavier, a low hiss sounds from his throat. “Your time will come.”
Xavier’s blue eyes flare brightly. “We’ll see.”
Mom knocks on the tabletop with her fist. “We have important matters to discuss here today.” She taps the manila folder with her pointer finger. “Let’s get back to it.”
Armageddon curls his finger to O-72. “Come with me.”
O-72 dutifully rises to his feet and follows Armageddon from the room. He couldn’t be more under the demon’s control if marionette strings trailed from his robes. Mom watches the pair leave, her face still as stone.
I bite my lower lip anxiously. Not a good look from Mom. She’s about ready to lose her freaking mind on someone. At least, it’s not me.
Mom rounds on Xavier. “Why didn’t you back me up? Armageddon should never have been able to leave the meeting early.” She pushes her manila folder away from her, and it flies halfway down the table. “We can’t let him collude with ghouls and override the authority of this office.”
Xavier laughs. “Please. I’ve watched ghouls and demons fight each other for thousands of years. They’ll plot for a time, and then they’ll fight over some nonsense and go home. Demons are chaos and destruction. Ghouls are rules and regulations. Oil and water don’t mix.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times, Armageddon is different.” Her eyes flare red. “We can’t let him go unchallenged.”
Every cell in my body screams that she is right. I want to jump into the dreamscape and start shaking Xavier by the shoulders, telling him to listen to Mom or I’ll kick him in the shins. But I can’t do anything.
But Xavier doesn’t seem to hear my mother, let alone me. He leans back in his chair, his head gently shaking from side to side. Standing behind them both, Tim looks so mousy and frightened, I’m surprised that he doesn’t duck under the table to hide.
Xavier drums his fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve seen Armageddon’s type before. He doesn’t have the staying power to really change the system.”
Ha! Armageddon tears down the whole freaking system single-handedly. Please, listen. Please, please, please!
Mom rubs her neck with her hand. “Have you heard him go on about his son? It’s strange. He wants access to Maxon and will do anything to get it.”
Xavier laughs. “Do you hear yourself? A demon loves his son. It’s insane, Camilla.”
“I didn’t say he loves his son.” Mom sets her palms on her eyes. “He’s plotting something, something big, and he needs Maxon for it.” She lowers her hands until her gaze meets Xavier’s straight on. “Armageddon is dangerous. We’re all at risk.”
Her look of worry sets my stomach churning. I so want to jump to her side, wrap my arm around her shoulder, and tell her that I’ll be with her soon.
Xavier has the same general idea. He leans forward, his blue eyes searching Mom’s face. “I’d never let anything happen to you, Camilla. You have nothing to worry about.”
Mom reaches across the table, wrapping her hand around Xavier’s. “I hope you’re right, Xavier.” Energy flares around them when they touch.
Tim looks just about ready to puke or scream, I can’t tell which. I watch his tortured face and realize one thing: if this ghoul is my father, then he’s definitely the jealous type. His mouth presses into such an angry line, I’m shocked he doesn’t break a tooth. Maybe that’s why he isn’t part of our lives. My heart sinks to my toes. Or maybe Mom lied to me about Tim being my father in the first place. I wag my head from side to side. Not possible. Mom’s a lot of things, but a liar? Not one of them.
Mom gives Xavier’s hand a little shake. “But unfortunately, I have a lot to worry about.” She tilts her head to one side. “First on the list is you, Xavier Cross. I’m doing my job without backing from the angels. We need to be strict with Armageddon right now, and to do that we must stay in lock step–”
Xavier’s eyes gleam bright blue. “No, you don’t need to worry about Armageddon.” He grips her hand more rightly. Tim watches the movement and gasps.
Tim’s not the only one who’s shocked. Why-oh-why isn’t that angelic whatever-he-is not listening to the truth? As Xavier’s eyes glow brighter, Mom’s turn glassy and dead. My body goes on full alert. Xavier’s using angelic influence on her, the dirt bag. I want to jump into the image and kick his ass across the room. Maybe twice.
Mom rubs her forehead with her free hand. “Yes, there’s nothing…” She pauses; then she shakes her head vigorously. Her eyes flare demon-bright. “How dare you try to use angelic influence on me!”
Alright, Mom! Way to shut that move down. I exhale a ragged breath, my alert level returning to something like normal.
Mom rises to her feet. “This is outrageous. I’m placing a formal request for a new angelic Ambassador and for a censure of Armageddon.”
Xavier frowns. “They won’t listen to you like I do, Camilla. You’ll be committing career suicide. Your ideas will sound insane.”
“That may be, but my paperwork will be filed by week’s end.” She storms from the room with Tim behind her. Xavier watches her go, his face turning white with worry. The look on his face is so loving and gentle, I want to give him a hug, even though he is a bit of a nut job.
Before me, Xavier’s body transforms into sand once more. With a low hiss, the entire scene melts back into the desert floor. I sit back on the gray sand. My mind runs through every detail of what I’ve just seen. Armageddon’s obsession with Maxon…how the first of the Oligarchy was controlled by Armageddon…And Mom’s battle to get the threat taken seriously. Sulphur sears my lungs, wind pelts my body, but none of it seems to matter.
I wake to the sound of scraping metal. I open my eyes, seeing gray sky outside my window. I yawn, slip out of bed, and walk into the kitchen. Mom stands before the table, holding a flat block of wood with a long metal arm: a fabric slicer. She pulls the razor-sharp arm up and down, making long cuts on black cloth.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Good morning, Myla.” I examine her face. Mom’s skin is creased with lines. Her hair is coarse and streaked with gray. Her once-vibrant smile is now a look of constant worry.
What did the war do to her?
Mom makes another cut with the slicer. “I hope I didn’t wake you up. It’s faster to cut hoods this way.”
I lean against the chipped countertop. “It’s fine.”
“How’d you sleep?” The way Mom asks the question, I think what she already knows the answer.
“Not so good. Verus sent me another dreamscape. I saw you in some Senate committee meetings. Did you really know Armageddon before the war?”
“That I did. For thousands of years, ghouls and demons had never trusted each other enough to team up. That all changed with Armageddon.”
“I see him at matches sometimes.” I picture the long pointed face, blade-like nose, black stone skin, and fiery eyes. “He’s terrifying.”
“He was always frightening, but once Armageddon became a greater demon, he hit a new level of awful.” She shivers. “I’ve heard that now, no human, angel, or ghoul can stand to be near him for more than a few minutes.”
“I’d believe that.”
She makes another slice with the chopping arm. “He blackmailed or bribed all the ghouls who became the new Oligarchy. Purgatory’s defenses allow only a handful of demons to enter at a time. Armageddon convinced the ghouls to open enough portals for an entire demon army to enter our lands.”
“Wow. They didn’t teach us that in school.” Frowning, I angrily pick at the chipped counter with my thumbnail. School sucks.
“I’m not surprised.” Mom makes another slice. “The demons routed our defenses and set up a puppet government of ghouls. Since then, as long as the ghouls send extra souls to Hell, the demons support their rule.” She shivers. “But I don’t think Armageddon will be happy with a puppet government in forever. It’s not in his nature.”
I lace my fingers behind my neck and let out a long breath. Let’s sum up the awfulness here. I have a ghoul for a dad, a silent treatment for a best friend, and a Mom with a ton of depressing history to think through. My vision turns hazy at the edges.
Mom eyes me closely. “Why don’t you stay home from school today? You don’t look well.”
I picture facing Cissy and the silent treatment at school. I feel a little sick to my stomach.
“You’re right, Mom. I’m going back to bed.” I’ve been awake for less than an hour, but it’s already been that kind of day. I slump into my room, curl under my covers, and fall fast asleep. A contented smile curls my lips as I fall off into a dreamscape-free sleep.
***
I stay home the rest of that day, and the next, and the next. Mom’s really cool about it. She makes me frozen dinners and lets me watch all the television I want. A full week goes by before I trek back to class.
As I putter along the familiar route to school, my face stretches into a confident grin. After a whole week, Cissy must feel sorry for her super-sick best friend, transforming her envy demon into ancient history. In fact, I bet she’ll just say hello and chat away like nothing ever happened.
Yeah, that’s it.
I park Betsy, step into school and scan the crowded hallway. Cissy stands beside by her locker. I walk to her side and slap on my most winning smile.
“Hey there, Cissy.”
Silence.
“I’m feeling much better, thanks for asking.”
Cissy slowly turns to face me. The moment her eyes meet mine, her irises flash so brightly, I shield my eyes from the glare. With a low growl, she slams her locker and stomps off down the hallway.
My stomach twists with disappointment. So much for chatting away like nothing happened. Damn, her envy demon is a bitch when it’s up.
I go to class and pretend to look interested at whatever garbage the Old Timer has to say, but actually I’m brainstorming awesome one-liners for Cissy. I know if I can get her to laugh at lunch, she’ll crumble (and I’ll avoid the thrax tournament). My favorite line is: “Talk to me and I’ll brush your tail.” I nod silently. This will work for sure.
That’s when a thud sounds at the class door.
Everyone freezes as all eyes turn to the stranger. A dark figure looms through the door’s small glass window. The intruder’s skin is black and smooth as polished stone. My body tenses.
That looks like Armageddon. Hells bells. He’s coming to kill off the ghouls, just like Mom predicted. My tail arches over my shoulder, ready to strike.
The Old Timer waves the intruder away. “Come back later. I’m in a very important lesson.”
The stranger knocks again, this time hard enough to set the doorframe shaking. “Inspection!” The voice sounds like hundreds of people whispering at once.
My mind races through the different types of demons. Which one would have a voice like that? The sound is grating, mysterious, and completely terrifying. Demonic wrath curls up my belly, preparing me to fight.
The Old Timer crinkles his nose, making his handlebar moustache twitch. “I wasn’t informed of any inspection.”
“Demon inspection.”
The Old Timer straightens his robes and rushes over to the class door, swinging it wide open with a flourish. “Welcome to my classroom, oh mighty demon.”
The figure lurches into the room. Tall and slender, it looks like a smaller version of Armageddon, right down to the fitted black tuxedo. The Old Timer speeds to the demon’s side, gesturing to the room full of students.
My inner demon growls with anger. The Old Timer’s showing us off like it’s dinnertime and we’re so many sides of beef. My mouth stretches into a dark smile. Just try something, you two. Anything.
“Mighty demon, this class is called Lessons in Servitude. Is there a particular skill you’d like to see? Robe cleaning, massage, bowing and scraping?”
“I’m not here to see anything.” The edges of the demon’s thin red mouth twist into a smile.
The Old Timer coils the end of his moustache with one finger. “Then, what are you here for?”
“This.” A bit of the demon’s cheek peels off into a butterfly-like creature with a blood-red body and thick black wings. The creature’s tiny face has bright red eyes, a turned-up nose and an itty-bitty mouth lined with gleaming black teeth. Its dark wings pump furiously, causing its gangly arms and legs to sway in mid-air.
I let out a breath. Now I know exactly what monster this is: a Papilio demon. It’s nasty, but nowhere near as awful as Armageddon.
The demon’s body peels off into more evil butterflies. In no time, little flying demons flutter through the air in one great dark cloud. The humanoid demon’s bulk shrinks into a misshapen lump, and then disappears. In its place, a swarm of Papilio zoom about the classroom, upending chairs and startling students. Some of the little nasties get their arms tangled in my hair. Gross.
A bunch of kids start to scream; their sad cries set off my wrath reflex in a huge way. My eyes burn with rage as I start planning attack vectors and the best ways to skewer Papilio with my tail. It’s bad enough we have to sit in this school and listen to ghoul lies all day long. Demon attacks are off the curriculum.
The Papilio whiz about, pulling stuff out of backpacks, pockets, and purses. They shred books, crush coins into lumps of metal, and pull out hair by the handful. I rise to my feet, my hands balling with rage.
The swarm whips about me, then flips their focus, heading toward the Old Timer’s desk. He stands in front of it, his back against the desktop, his arms stretched forward.
My tail relaxes. The Old Timer gets a turn. Nice.
“Per Article 7 of the Spectral Treaty, inspections are limited to quasis only. This is a ghoul teacher’s desk.”
The Papilio encircle the Old Timer’s desk, tearing through his stuff with a vengeance. The floor quickly becomes littered with pens, papers, and shredded books.
The Old Timer sets his fists on his bony hips. “These are my personal items! I’m a ghoul! I have rights!”
The little demons titter with a hundred whispery voices. A group of them grab one end of the Old Timer’s moustache and pull, hard. It breaks loose with a rrrrip.
The Old Timer’s gray hand pats his upper lip. “How dare you!”
The demons chuckle even louder, then swarm out the room and down the hall. The Old Timer follows after them, shaking his bony fist shoulder-h
igh.
I slip back into my chair, a satisfied grin rounding my mouth. All our failed test papers and bad report cards lie in shreds on the classroom floor. That’s good, but it’s even better to watch a ghoul find out what demons are really like.
Like I’ve said all along, they’re anything but our noble allies.
Chapter Twelve
I march across the greenish-yellow lawn at school. Setting my thumb into my mouth, I bite down on my nail and wince. Yowch. I’ve chewed every fingernail to a nub. The stupid thrax tournament is coming up this weekend. It’s been one week, four days, and six hours since I last spoke to Cissy.
I’m starting to crack.
I glance at my watch. I’m due at the muddy field behind school in two minutes. I step around the back of the building and scan for my class. My eye twitches as I spot a group of kids standing in the center of the sloppy green.
Jogging up to my gym class, I jam my hands into my hoodie pockets. I don’t say hello to anyone and no one greets me, either. You’d think after almost two weeks, I’d start to make new friends. Sure, I tried talking to other kids, but we form groups by our deadly-sin powers, and wrath’s pretty rare. And Furor-wrath, like me? Rare to the level of freaky.
I tried chatting up the few wrath-quasis at school, but they just wanted to kick my butt. It’s a wrath-thing; you like to see how you rank in the hierarchy. Unfortunately, that would’ve ended with them in the hospital, not a new best friend for yours truly. Zeke’s lust-bunny buddies always ask me to join their lunch table, but Cissy’s there too. And every time we make eye contact, her envy demon roars to life. It’s just weird. All in all, I’ve spent a lot of quality time eating Demon bars in a corner.
The Old Timer and Tank step into the center of the group. Tank blows a long tweet from his whistle. Everyone falls silent.
Our gym teacher sets his monstrous hands on his hips. With his skyscraper build, bald head, and solid chin, he’s a tower in his black robes. Beside him, the Old Timer looks like a gray stick in a blanket with half a moustache.
Angelbound Page 17