I scan the Arena grounds. More weirdness is afoot. Usually, there’s at least one extra ghoul on the stadium floor. Today, there’s only Walker and Sharkie. The exit archways sit empty as well, except for the one directly across from me. In there, Lincoln paces in the shadows, his body tense as a coiled spring. He turns in my direction. Our gaze meets. There’s no joy of lovers connecting, only the focus of two warriors waiting for…What?
Sharkie thumps his staff on the ground. At each of the four points of the compass, a member of the Oligarchy appears along the lip of the stadium. Turning as one, they open four massive portals along the Arena’s top tier. Angels and demons pour into the stands.
I catalog the crowd. The angels look as they always do: white wings, linen robes, and blue eyes. I inspect the demons and gasp. This group isn’t the usual grab bag of colors, shapes, and sizes. Today, the demons are all tall, bulky, and ripped with muscles. Great wings, as dark and angled as a bat’s, hang off many of their backs. Without making a sound, they take their seats with military precision. At least five thousand of them pack the towering stands.
I’m used to a howling jumble of demons. Over the years, I’ve stopped noticing them. But today’s silence sets my nerves on a knife’s edge.
I look to Sharkie. He’s panting out his nose-holes, black sweat dripping down his cheeks. Walker steps to my side, setting his hand on my shoulder. In the distant archway, Lincoln turns his baculum into a fiery broadsword.
Unholy moley. Whatever’s coming, it’s bad.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The crowd of angels and demons take their seats in record time. Verus and Armageddon are last to process into the stadium. Angels in white armor flank either side of Verus. I recognize Rhiannon and Levi. Extra protection for Verus; not a good sign.
Squinting, I examine the dark balcony. Armageddon’s surrounded by massive stone-skinned demons. Clementine sits there too, a satisfied smirk twisting her piggish face. I grip my hands behind my back to hide how I’m shaking.
The match is ready to begin.
Sharkie thumps his staff one more time. “Angels, ghouls, and demons, I bring you–”
Armageddon raises his pointer finger, his voice echoing through the stadium. “I request the presence of the Scala and Scala Heir.” He shoots a snide glance at the Oligarchy. “Do you agree?”
Huh. As if they’d ever disagree.
The Oligarchy speak in unison. “Call the bearers.”
Minutes tick by. I hop in place, cracking my neck from side to side. Man, I hate waiting around. Pisses. Me. Off. My inner wrath demon awakens, sending my tail in arc over my shoulder. New emotions—rage and frustration—combine with the terror that overwhelmed me before. Makes me feel better, actually. My shoulders loosen, getting ready to hit something.
Finally, a long portal opens in the center of the Arena floor. Out of it steps six ghouls carrying a stretcher. The Scala lies atop it, deep in sleep. Nearby stands the Scala Heir in her white robes. Her head is held high (a little too high, in the opinion of the real Scala Heir) as she scans the crowd.
Adair raises her hand. “I’d like to say something, if I may?”
Sharkie bows. “Of course, oh, Scala Heir.”
“I was so touched when this random ghoul visited me and asked if I could join you people today. It really shows you’ve come to revere me. Thank you. Really.”
I shoot a glance toward Lincoln. His gaze shifts between me and Adair; he shakes his head from side to side. I know exactly what he’s thinking: she should never be here without any thrax to protect her.
Dingbat.
Sharkie pounds his staff onto the stadium floor. “Now we shall–”
Armageddon sniffs. Sharkie and the stadium fall silent. “I was not finished.”
My muscles tighten as fear crawls up my spine. I don’t like the smug grin rounding Armageddon’s mouth. What could he possibly have to say? Get on with the match already.
Muscles twitch in the emcee’s gray neck. In her balcony, Verus grips her throne, her blue eyes narrowing into slits. A long pause follows, then Sharkie stammers out one word: “Ye…Yes?”
Rising to his feet, Armageddon shoots his thin arms high. “ATTACK!”
My body freezes with shock. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
What happens next takes seconds, but each one ekes by in what feels like years, beginning with demons streaming out of the stands and onto the Arena floor. I gasp, suddenly realizing why all the part-Furor fighters in Purgatory—every top quasi warrior we have—were brought together in the Arena today:
To wipe us all out at once.
I scan the top lip of the stadium. The Oligarchy stand stunned, their skeletal heads wagging. They stumble about for a bit, then step into their own portals and disappear. The main exit goes with them.
Thanks a lot, assholes.
In the white stands, the angels form an ad hoc group around Verus’s balcony, but it’s unclear if they want to protect her or look for escape. Either way, these aren’t warriors. The demon fighters close in with military precision, slaughtering their way through the angel spectators to reach Verus and her entourage.
My body shivers with icy shock. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
Spreading her wings, Verus takes to flight. Some of her guard fight the demons in hand-to-hand combat, others take to the air and surround their Queen. A pack of demons pump their bat-like wings and rise into the air as well. The two sides claw, swoop, and stab each other in a dog-fight above my head.
The sight is surreal, overwhelming. The world moves by in super-slow motion. My heartbeat booms in my ears. I inspect the Arena floor, looking for the archway where Lincoln was waiting. He’s no longer there.
Walker touches my shoulder, snapping me back to attention. “I’ve used Group Think to call my brothers and sisters in the Aquilinea. They’ll transport as many angels as they can.” He scans the crowd. “We need to get you out of here.” He frowns. “There are too many people around to easily open a portal, but I’ll have to try.”
“What about Lincoln?” I scan the nearby crowd, seeing little past the close press of bodies.
Walker closes his eyes. “He’s on the Arena floor.” He grabs my hand. “I’ll come back for him right after I move you.”
“Got it.” Bracing myself, I wait for the familiar buzz of a portal opening.
Nothing happens.
Around us, the stadium breaks out into full-bore pandemonium. Screams echo through the air. Demons, angels, and quasis scramble about, their bodies a jumble of bloody, hand-to-hand combat. Lincoln’s caught somewhere in that tangle of war. My chest tightens. We all have to escape, now.
I search Walker’s face, panic swirling through me. “What’s wrong?”
His features contort. “Give it a moment, there are so many—”
But Walker’s interrupted. Two dark and nasty Crini demons step in front of us, making for sixteen giant octopus legs to fend off at once.
Unholy moley.
The first Crini grabs Walker around the belly and squeezes. Now, Walker can barely breathe, let alone open a portal.
I round on the first Crini, my eyes blazing with fury. How dare you lay a tentacle on my Walker?! I dig in my heels, ready to leap up and kick in its face, when the second Crini takes a swipe at my back.
Dammit! Walker will have to wait.
I duck low while my tail goes to work, slicing through two of my attacker’s arms. I quickly shoot a glance at Walker; his arms and legs are braced between the creature’s long black beak and huge red eyes. It’s taking all his strength not to get stuffed into the Crini’s mouth.
That gives me an idea.
My Crini lunges at me again; this time I hold stock-still. The creature’s arm wraps about me, pulling me toward its snapping jaws. I play possum until I’m inches away from its beak, then stab my tail through its eye and brain. The demon howls, then falls over dead. Hah!
I’m dropped in a heartbeat, only to get scooped up by Walker’s
monster. Fresh rage blasts through me. This slimy monster picked the wrong girl. The Crini wraps two massive arms wrap about my body; a third holds my tail firmly in place.
Dammit, this one’s clever.
Panic zooms through me. I can’t move my arms, legs, or tail. The Crini’s great eyes flip between me and Walker, debating the better meal. Its gaze locks on me. Not good. With a curl of its tentacle, the demon moves Walker away from its mouth. After that, he pulls my head toward its jaws instead.
I writhe and struggle, but it’s no use. The Crini opens its long beak. Green razor-sharp teeth line its mouth. Saliva drips from its huge pink tongue. Everything takes on a dreamlike quality. I seem to float outside myself as the monster drags my head deep within its jaws.
This is it. I’m about to get killed. Somehow I feel numbed instead of terrified.
I wince, my hands balling into fists. I struggle to break loose from the monster’s grip, but it’s no use. All I can do is wait for a CRACK as its teeth sink into my skull.
Instead of biting down, the creature’s jaws loosen. Its tentacle-arms fall slack, allowing me to twist out of its grip. I gain solid footing and scan the Arena.
Holy crap, what happened there? I scope out the Arena’s floor. Lincoln stands nearby, his baculum sword blazing. The Crini lies in two neat halves by his feet. I exhale a long breath, relief filling every cell in my body.
“I owe you one.” I smile.
He grins, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. “I know.”
I chuckle, more than thankful for the smile.
The Prince grabs my hand; his fire-sword disappears. “Walker’s free, let’s get out of here.”
Relief washes over me. Walker’s okay and we can leave! I scope out the stadium floor. Walker stands nearby, his arm gripping his belly, his face writhing in pain. A portal lays open beside him, its shape flickering in and out of focus.
We don’t have long. Walker’s so hurt, he can barely keep a half-portal open. We need to get him help and us to safety. Lincoln and I race toward the opened portal.
A high-pitched scream rattles our eardrums, freezing us both in place. Lincoln winces. “I know that voice.”
“I do too. It’s Adair.” My heart sinks. Why didn’t that high-maintenance dip leave with the Scala?
Squinting, I see Adair standing beside the lifeless hulk of a Manus demon. The creature lays face-down on the Arena floor, its body a mound of bloody wounds and matted black fur.
As I watch Adair scream and flail, my mouth scrunches onto one side of my face. This is what you call a ‘classic moral dilemma.’ On the one hand, I have Walker, clearly injured and struggling to open a portal so he can save himself, me, and the man that I love. On the other hand, I have Adair, who walked into this situation like a dumbass and arguably deserves to die. On top of everything, I’m part demon. Nobody really expects me to do the right thing here. I could grab Lincoln, shove us both through the portal, and easily talk my way out of it later. Uh-oh, I totally panicked. My bad! Inside my soul, my wrath demon growls, encouraging a fast exit.
A fast exit? Not a bad thought, really.
Once again, Adair screams like her head will explode and, damn it, I feel sorry for her lame ass. Nitwit or not, she doesn’t deserve to die alone on the Arena floor.
Crap, I’m about to do the right thing again, just like I did for her father at the Winter tournament. Hopefully I won’t live to regret it.
I motion to Walker. “Close the portal. We have to get Adair.” Walker nods, the black door disappears. He stands still for a moment, grips his belly tighter and then crumples onto the Arena floor.
Hells Bells.
I kneel at Walker’s side. “Are you alright?” My hands anxiously flutter near the general area of his belly. Playing nursemaid isn’t exactly my strong suit.
Walker speaks through gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine. The Crini demon caused some–” he winces “–internal damage. I have the gift of self-healing from my grandmother. I just need a little time.” His face looks milky-pale.
Archangels have list of powers a mile long, their offspring usually inherit only one or two of them. I let out a long breath. If Walker can self-heal, he’ll be fine. I only wish Lincoln or I had that ability too.
I give Walker’s hand an awkward pat. “Take as long as you need.”
The Prince taps my shoulder; I rise to my feet. “What’s up?”
He points across the Arena floor. “Tinea demon.” A muscle twitches along his upper lip. “And it’s heading straight for Adair.”
“Of course, it is.” My heart sinks. The Tinea’s a humanoid worm about five feet tall with a sinewy body, greasy brown skin, and a great gaping hole of a mouth. Its head is an eyeless lump covered with fine, hair-like quills. Diamond-sharp claws shaped like rotors spin at the end of its rope-like arms and legs.
This thing is so badass, it isn’t even funny. And I’ve never even heard of someone killing one. Knots of tension crawl up my legs and back. We are so screwed.
Tineas are the demon of choice if you want someone kidnapped or dead. Once they lock on your voice and gait, they never give up. Armageddon must have sent this one after Adair. I inspect the stadium floor, looking for the old Scala. There’s no sign of him or his ghoul carriers. They probably high-tailed it out at the first sign of trouble and forgot all about the Scala Heir.
Well, Armageddon didn’t forget.
“I’ll stall the demon.” Lincoln reignites his baculum. “Make sure she doesn’t move or make any noise.” I nod. Tineas hunt by touch and sound. If Adair stays quiet and still, it won’t find her.
I bump fists with Lincoln and race off toward Adair. As I speed along, my gaze falls on the Arena’s upper levels. An icy jolt of fear runs through me. The top lip of the Arena is covered with demons as they crawl, fly, and demolish their way out of the stadium.
They’re off to overrun Purgatory.
Nausea overtakes me. Anyone I’ve ever known—students, teachers, and even the old mechanic who tries to fix Betsy—could be murdered today.
I shake my head from side to side. No time to think about that now.
Scanning the grounds around me, I find the Arena floor has mostly cleared out, only a half-dozen quasis and demons still battle it out nearby. A handful of Walker’s Aquilinea brothers and sisters roam the grounds, opening portals for any angels that remain. Too many white-robed bodies lay lifeless on the stone seats. My throat tightens with grief.
I shift my gaze upwards. The skies are now clear; I can only hope Verus escaped while I was fighting the Crinis. I cross my fingers. Please, let her live.
Off in the stands, Armageddon sits still and tall in his dark throne. He licks his thin lips and catalogs the stadium. The seats are smashed, the archways shattered, and bodies of all kinds lay everywhere. His gaze lingers on the Tinea and he smiles. “Phase one is well in hand. Follow me.” He and his entourage scale out of the Arena.
The tension in my back loosens a bit. At least that’s one less thing to worry about.
Adair’s only a few yards away now, looking willowy and bored in her white robes as she stomps about the stadium floor. I raise my arm. “Hey! Adair!”
Her tiny eyes glare at me over a pug nose. “Who are you?”
I stop before her and peel off my mask. “I’m Myla Lewis.”
“Oh yeah, you’re the one who stripped at the ball.” She sneers. “Cunnus girl.”
Normally, I’d knock her block off at this point. Instead, I take a deep breath and ball my hands into fists. “Look, Adair. You’re in serious danger. There’s a demon after you.”
She giggles. “No, there’s not.” A Crini lurches past us on its way out of the stadium. “Watch this.” She taps a tentacle with her finger. “Hello!”
The Crini examines me and Adair, its red eyes flaring demon-bright. The monster creeps closer, its long tentacles raised high. I move into battle stance, my tail arching over my shoulder.
Across the stadium floor, the Tinea
fights Lincoln, its diamond claws sparring with the Prince’s baculum sword. Angling its head-lump toward the Crini, the Tinea lets out a series of angry chirps. I don’t speak Tinea, but I’m guessing it’s something like ‘back off buddy, I got her.’ The Crini pauses, shivers, and slinks away.
Adair grins. “See, what I mean? They won’t touch the Scala Heir, although this thing–” she kicks the dead Manus demon “–almost crushed me when it fell over.”
“The other demons avoid you because Armageddon sent the Tinea.” I’m careful to whisper every word. “As long as you stand totally still and keep your voice down, the Tinea can’t track you. So stay quiet and don’t move, okay?”
“Sure, whatever.” Adair glances around the stadium floor, her body language screaming ‘she’s not with me.’
Rage coils inside my belly. I’m trying to save Adair’s life and, like her jackass of a father, she’s too stuck-up and stubborn to see it.
Adair speaks in a full voice. “Look, all I’m worried about is a ride home. I should never have agreed to stop by the Arena this morning, only the ghoul asked so nicely.”
Ride home? Is she serious? “Demons are attacking Purgatory, Adair.”
“So?”
I’m about to say ‘so your people probably evacuated,’ but she’s keeping her voice down (sort-of) and not moving. Why push it? “I’m sure someone will be here soon.”
Adair freezes. “Lincoln!” She jumps up and down. “My Prince is here to save me.”
Enough, already. My hands grip her upper arm. “What part of ‘stand still and shut up’ was unclear?”
“Lincoln! Oh, Lincoln!” She tugs us both toward the Prince and the Tinea.
I dig my heels into the Arena floor and hold her arm firm. “Adair, what did I say? Stay quiet and don’t move. Lincoln is fighting a demon right now.”
She squirms harder under my grasp. “Let me go!” She turns to me. “How dare you–” She freezes, her eyes carefully inspecting my face. “Hey, when did you get those blue irises?”
Angelbound Page 36