“It’s been a long time, that’s for certain.” She blushes. “I don’t know, Xavier.”
I can see Mom’s knees turning into Jell-O from here. I purse my lips, considering. Maybe she did hook up with him.
“Come on, leave the Senate building for just one afternoon. I am Ambassador after all. We can talk about nothing but work, if you like.”
Their gazes meet for a long moment. Mom licks her lips. “Alright.”
I smile. Ice cream and a walk. That’s so cute, I want to pinch their cheeks.
The pair head toward back door of the Senate chamber. Mom waves to Tim. “I’m so glad you’re here. Can you clear my schedule for this afternoon? The Ambassador and I are going out.”
Tim nods. “Yes, Senator Lewis.” A muscle twitches along his neck. He watches them leave, his irises flaring demon red.
So, Tim definitely had jealousy issues. I consider asking Mom about that, and then rule against it. With my luck, I’ll find out he went berserk and shot up the Senate chamber over her.
Before me, the scene in the Gray Sea turns back into grains of sand. The figures of Mom, Xavier, and Tim disintegrate into the ground.
I awake to the sound of Mom humming a nonsense tune. I stretch and yawn, then slip out of bed and pad into the kitchen. Mom stands by the stove, clicking on the gas burner below a frying pan. She smiles. “What do you want in your omelet?”
“I’ll eat cereal, thanks.”
“Let’s take a break from Frankenberry. How about peppers and onions?”
“Yum.” I slide into my favorite seat at the kitchen table. “I had another dreamscape last night.”
Mom whisks some egg whites in a small bowl. “Do you have any questions for me?”
I squeeze my eyes tight. I won’t ask the question, I won’t ask the question, I won’t ask the question.
I open them. Eh, I’ll ask the question.
“Did you hook up with that Xavier guy?”
Mom holds still for a moment, then pokes at the omelet with her spatula. “Yes.”
“Xavier’s not my real—”
“No.” Her tone says this is not up for discussion without a fight. And this morning, I’m not in a fighting mood.
I sigh. Oh well, it was worth a try.
“Why don’t we see Tim ever?”
I wince. Here comes the bad news. He’s dead or berserk or joined Hell’s evil clown pavilion.
Mom hums and pours the egg mixture into the pan. “He and I had a falling out. He wanted more from our relationship. I told him it was a one-time thing.”
“That’s it? He doesn’t want to see his awesome daughter?”
“No, I’m sorry Myla.”
I brace myself, waiting for the waves of sadness because ghoul-dad doesn’t want in on my life. But my feelings can be summed up in one word: meh. I’m strangely okay with this whole thing. I shrug.
Mom jiggles the pan with one hand. “Now I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“The other day when you went to hang out with Cissy, what’d you really do?”
I scan the room as if a good story will be written on the wallpaper. “Ah, nothing.” Could I be a worse liar?
Mom picks up an envelope from the counter. “Walker delivered a letter early this morning. From the Queen of the Thrax.”
Dang.
“What’s Walker doing playing mailman for the thrax?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Mom sprinkles spices into the pan. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
“Yup.”
“I see.” She turns down the burner. “The Queen of the Thrax is a diplomatic issue. Maybe I’ll give the Ryders a call; perhaps they’ll have some insight.” She shoots me a sly grin.
I’m so nailed. The last thing I want is her chatting with the Ryders and finding out about the three Lords I flattened, my yelling match in the Library, and who knows what else.
“Okay, I went to this demon hunter tournament with Cissy. The thrax are a bunch of quasi-phobic girl haters and I can’t wait until they crawl back under the rock they came from. That’s it.”
Mom sets my plate in front of me. The omelet sure smells yummy. “The Queen wants you to attend another tournament. This one celebrates winter and names the greatest warrior in Antrum.”
I stuff a bite of omelet into my mouth. “This tastes really good, Mom.” I swallow. “I don’t know why the thrax bother to celebrate the seasons in Purgatory. We have two of them: muddy and not-so-muddy.”
Mom slips into the chair across from mine. “That wasn’t an answer to my question.”
Dammit. She’s in awesome form today. “I’m not going.”
She lets out a low whistle. “You really hate the thrax, huh?”
“You got that right.” I chow down on more of my breakfast.
“Myla, it’s unprecedented for thrax to be in Purgatory at all, let alone interacting with quasis. Normally, they kill anyone with demon blood on sight.”
“So you’re taking the thrax side in this? You haven’t been through the play-by-play. That thrax Prince has been totally insulting.” I remember how he said I deserved to be thanked for saving the Earl, even though I’m a demon. Thanks for nothing, asshat. I tap the tabletop with my pointer finger. “And another thing. Even when you think he’s not being insulting, he ends up being insulting. I don’t care what his title is, he’s going to treat me with respect.”
“We’re not talking about the Prince here. For someone like the Queen to reach out to a quasi is unheard of. Refusing her invitation could set back diplomatic relations with the thrax for decades.”
“Boo hoo.”
“This isn’t just about you, Myla. Suppose we need thrax allies down the road? You have to think of the greater good.”
I picture the demon inspections at school. Things have never been this rough.
“Fine.” I frown. “But I hate it when you make sense.”
Mom smiles. “I’ll try not to in the future.” She taps the card on her chin. “She must be a clever one, this Queen.”
I freeze with a bite of omelet half-way to my mouth. Lincoln’s Mom is sneaky? “What makes you say that?”
“She had the invitation hand delivered to you, care of me. She must have known you wouldn’t attend without some encouragement.” She flips the card over. “She also wrote a note that a dressmaker would contact us. I’m guessing you need motivation in that area as well?”
As I munch my omelet, I consider the two dresses I’ve worn in the last decade: the neon carrot and the great white pouf. What a pair of disasters. If I could wear my fighting suit 24-7, I would. “When it comes to dresses, I have one thing to say: blech.”
“I’ll take that as a cry for wardrobe help. I’ll give the tailor your measurements.”
I let out a long breath. “Thanks, Mom.” I grit my teeth in frustration. Another thrax tournament. More sitting around in overly large formalwear, trying to talk nonsense with a bunch of nincompoops. If only Cissy could be there. I pause, an idea forming.
“Hey, can I see that invite?”
“Sure.” She hands it to me.
“Cool, it says I can bring a friend. Cissy will be thrilled.” And I’ll have a wingman for the event. Nice.
Mom rises to her feet. “I need to run some errands today, so I’ll drop you off at school.” She glances at the wall clock. “We better leave soon.”
I set my plate in the sink. “Can’t Walker take you around?”
“I can go myself. There’s no need to keep bothering Walker.”
I grin. Mom’s showing some of her old spark and independence. “Sounds good to me, Senator.”
As Mom drives me to school, she talks about working with the thrax as Senator of Diplomacy. Basically, they only bothered her office if something happened that could make them leave Antrum or, even worse to them, compromise their over-the-top security systems. They live underground for a reason: the demons would love to wipe them out a
nd try to, often.
I fiddle with Betsy’s air vents. “Do you remember anything else?”
“Let’s see. The current ruling family came to power in the Middle Ages.”
“Makes sense. They got a little stuck there, I think.”
She chuckles. “This was seven hundred years ago, I think. Demons had just invaded Antrum. The archangel Aquila was called in to help.”
“Why her?”
“Archangels are very rare, very powerful. The story is that Aquila fell in love with a thrax and her children became the House of Rixa. They’re the only ones who can use these special weapons, I can’t remember the name.”
I picture Lincoln with his fiery broadsword. “Baculum.”
“That’s it. The Rixa drove out the demons and have ruled Antrum ever since.”
I let out a breath with a frustrated huff. Back at Zeke’s party, I was excited that Miss Thing taught me how thrax had mismatched eyes. Who knew there was so much more I wasn’t learning? “Wow. They don’t teach us any of this stuff in school.”
“Of course, not. They’re too busy brainwashing you into being slaves.”
My eyebrows pop up. That’s rather sassy talk from Mom.
“I’ll make you a list of books for your next visit to the Ryder library. I’ve let them fill your head with trash for too long.” She pulls up to the drop-off area in front of school. “And here we are.”
“Thanks, Mom. See you later.”
“Bye, now.”
As she drives away, I realize Mom said goodbye without hyperventilating and asking me to be safe. Awesome.
I walk into school and find my best friend leaving the little girl’s room.
“Morning, Cissy.”
“Hey, Myla.”
I wag the invitation by my ear. “Have I got a surprise for you!” I place the envelope in her hand. “And you’re going with me.”
Cissy opens the letter, reads, and jumps up and down.
“This is amazing! The Queen of the thrax, wow. The Ryders will be so excited. Can I show Zeke?”
“Sure, knock yourself out. I’ll catch up with you later.”
My first class is with my worst teacher, Miss Thing. I pick a seat in the last row, pull out my notebook, and scribble ‘I hate Prince Lincoln’ over and over.
Miss Thing raises her arms. “Class, today we’ll learn about Earth’s most important holiday. It’s a month-long celebration of ghoul superiority called Halloween.” She pulls open her top desk drawer. “I’ve some precious artifacts of this sacred celebration that I’ll pass around. But first, who can tell me why Halloween’s important to quasis?”
The room is silent.
“How about you, Paulette?”
Paulette looks up from her Prada purse. “What?”
Miss Thing groans. “Why’s Halloween important to quasis?”
“Because it’s about ghouls?”
“Exactly! And what’s important to ghouls is important to you.”
I frown. I’ve seen enough reruns on the Human Channel to know Miss Thing is wrong on this one. I raise my hand.
“Yes, Myla?”
“Isn’t a Halloween a human holiday where they dress up in costumes and go door to door for candy?”
She lets out an exaggerated gasp. “You’ve been watching that clap-trap human channel on public access television.” She shivers. “That’s all a pack of lies and you’re a fool to believe a word.”
I smack my lips. I’m the fool here? This from the same woman who says all the Oligarchy are hotties. I return my attention to my very important notebook scribbling. Screw her.
Miss Thing lifts a bag of tiny yellow and orange candies from her desk. “Can everyone see these? They’re called candy corn. Every Halloween, humans fill large bowls with candy corn and do not eat any. Why? The corn symbolizes the gold nuggets they’ll one day give to ghouls.” She hands the bag to a nearby student. “Pass these around and be careful about it.”
Zeke saunters into the room and winks at our teacher. “Hello, lovely.”
“Hi there, Zeke.” She makes goo-goo eyes at him, which is just disgusting.
I slump lower in my chair and grit my teeth. When I’m late, Miss Thing practically skins me alive.
Zeke slips into the chair next to mine. “Hey, Myla.”
“Hi, Zeke.”
Miss Thing brings out a plastic pumpkin. A basic face is painted on it with geometric shapes. “Class, this is called a jack-o-lantern.” She holds the pumpkin reverently above her head. “On earth, humans carve likenesses of their favorite ghouls out of pumpkins. This one is me.”
I eye the jack-o-lantern. The bald part is spot-on, but it needs red lipstick.
As Miss Thing goes through more items in her desk, Zeke leans over the aisle. “It’s so great that you’re finally being a grown-up about all this.”
“About what?”
“The thrax. You know, going to the winter tournament and taking Cissy along. It means a lot to my family. Thanks.”
“Well, it’s all about you, Zeke.” I smack my lips. “Per usual.”
Zeke taps his desktop with his pen. “Hey, it’s me.” Not sure if he’s ignoring my sarcasm or not catching it. Either way, it is him. “So, you’ll order a regular gown this time?”
My upper lip twists. This isn’t my favorite subject. “Yup.”
“You’ll have to order soon. The event’s in three weeks.”
“My mom’s on it.”
“And you’ll get ready with Cissy so there’s no funny business?”
My blood starts to boil. “I’ll get ready with Cissy because she’s my friend.”
“And you’ll—”
“Excuse me, Zeke, but I’m missing a really important lecture right now on Zagnut Bars.” I point to Miss Thing. “Let’s just stop talking and start paying attention to Miss Thing, okay?” Otherwise you’ll end up with another black eye.
“Whatever.” Zeke turns to face our teacher. I watch him for a moment, wondering if I did the right thing to invite Cissy at all.
Oh, well. I’ll find out soon enough.
Chapter Fourteen
I step up to a typical-looking ranch house in Middle Purgatory and ring the doorbell. Outside, the place looks just like my home: a one-story gray ranch house on a bland street of other one-story gray ranch houses. A few seconds pass before a beautiful blonde couple opens the door.
A willowy-tall woman tilts her head to one side, setting her blonde ringlets jiggling. “Hello, Myla.”
Damn, Cissy’s mom totally hates me. “Hi, Mrs. Frederickson.”
“I’m here, too.” Cissy’s dad’s handsome face droops into a frustrated frown. He hates me too. It’s the tail. Most quasis don’t see Furor as demons per se, since they have two deadly sins and all. We’re more like freaks of nature, which is how Mr. Frederickson is glaring at me right now.
“Hello, Mr. F.” No point using his full name; he loathes me anyway. I pop onto my tip-toes and peer over their collective shoulders. “Is Cissy home?” I look beyond her parents, seeing the familiar interior of oriental rugs, gilded furniture, and modern art.
“Myla!” Cissy bursts through the wall of her parents, grabbing my hand. “The gowns arrived last night!” She drags me past the parental gatekeepers and through their elaborately-decorated house. I’ve been here a hundred times, but I’m still shocked that any walls can hold so many tiny shelves, statues, and pricey knick-knacks. Cissy leads me into her bedroom and kicks the door shut behind us. “I had to empty half my closet to make room for them.”
Something colorful on the wall catches my eye. “Hey, you got a new painting.” I stare at it and wince. “What is it?”
“Some kind of human modern art thing my dad scared up. Jackson Polly-somebody. Dad got a deal on it.” She tilts her head, setting her blonde ringlets bouncing. “I think it may have fallen off a truck, if you know what I mean.”
I scan her room, looking for anything else that’s different. My bedroom’s stan
dard ghoul issue: drab carpet, blah bed, and non-descript dresser. It hasn’t changed since I was two years old. Cissy’s room looks like a decorator show house from the old quasi republic days. There’s a matching bed-set, plush carpet, and line of funky paintings on her walls. Her dad is constantly adding new goodies from his black-market deals.
My best friend pulls the cover from her gown. It’s an emerald-green sheath with long looping sleeves that’s trimmed with black velvet.
I lean back on my heels and stare. “That looks lovely. What do the colors mean?”
“Green means I’m a single woman in a relationship. The black ribbon says I’m a guest of the House of Rixa.” She pulls the cover off my gown. It looks like the first one, only it’s blood red.
“What does red mean?”
“That you’re a single lady who’s unattached.”
“Why don’t they have me carry around a price list too? Sheesh.” A pair of stacked boxes catch my eye. “What’s in there?”
“Shoes and stuff.” Cissy holds her gown against her torso and models in the mirror. “This is even nicer than what I wore to the autumn tournament.”
I step over to the boxes and pull out my matching shoes. Inside the box I also find a complex set of winding strips like mummy wrappings. I pick mine up with two fingers. “What the heck are these?”
Cissy glances over her shoulder at me. “Your underwear.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
She sets one hand on her hip. “See? If you’d gone with me to the tailor instead of having your mom send in measurements, you’d know all this stuff. Thrax are nuts about their traditions, and those are traditional thrax undies.”
“I’m not wearing them.” Dropping the strips back into the box, I look at them out of my right eye. “I don’t even know how to get these things on.”
“You’re wearing them and I know exactly how to put them on you.” Cissy glares at me. “They look like typical underwear when they’re on, don’t worry. From what the Ryders told me, thrax are insane about this kinda stuff. If someone saw you in the bathroom wearing anything else, it could turn into a diplomatic horror story.”
My upper lip curls. “I don’t know, Cissy.”
“Oh, stop being a baby and put on your free gorgeous gown. We don’t want to be late.”
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