Note to self: be more stealthy.
Iggy and I wait outside the port-a-potty for a few humans to do their thing. No doubt, they’re using it as a regular port-a-potty, which means it must be activated based on my demonic or angelic blood. All of which is cool, but there’s only so long I can stand around before I start to fidget.
Too much time has gone by. Will I even find Ethan and the other Earls now? I shift my weight from foot to foot while the last human finishes up.
Finally, the mortal leaves, and it’s time for Iggy and me to take a turn. I whip open the port-a-potty, hurry Iggy and me inside, and then slam the door behind us. For his part, Iggy spends the entire episode giggling. He’s having the time of his life.
Glad one of us is enjoying this.
We wait inside the port-a-potty for a few moments before a mixture of black smoke and flashing red lights surround us. That’s a spell happening, or I’m not the Great Scala. Once the haze clears, I can’t believe what’s happened.
Iggy and I are now inside a massive and deserted laboratory. In some ways, it’s like the one in Times Square: the place has curved walls made of smooth plastic. What’s different here is that everything is black instead of white, and tall glass tanks line the floor in neat rows. Inside each pillar, a humanoid figure hangs suspended in a dark haze. I’ve seen these before.
Cloning tanks.
Gripping Iggy’s hand more tightly, I steal down one of the aisles. There must be hundreds of cloning tanks here, and inside each one is a naked Ethan.
Eew. Just eew.
I hold up my palm so I don’t have to see Ethan’s junk, and scan the nearest tank. The small black placard reads Ethan 9375-R. My blood chills over. Weren’t all the Razor Guards given names like that one?
Yes, yes they were.
Which means all the Razor Guards are clones of Ethan. I wish I could say I was shocked, but that seems like a totally Ethan thing to do. Now, all the bandaged-up faces make sense. I stand on tiptoe and check one of the Ethans floating in the tank. Both his eyes are already drooping, just like Evil Lincoln’s did back in Antrum. They’re also sagging enough that I can see the irises match. These clones are definitely human.
But why would Ethan create so many Razor Guards?
Some small part of me says that this has something to do with the threat of visible demons, too. An image appears in my mind. Lincoln in pain as something that looked like magma churns under his skin. Only the King of Hell has used that trick. The hair on my neck stands on end. Ethan wouldn’t be in league with Armageddon on this, would he? I mean, the guy’s a thrax. He’s not that crazy.
Speaking of the crazy one in question, a voice echoes across the huge room. It’s Ethan. “This is where we store our clones,” he says. The Earls murmur something. I can’t make out exactly what they’re saying, but no doubt it’s along the lines of “you’re so awesome Ethan.”
Man, do I ever hate that guy.
Ethan’s voice sounds once more. “These will become Razor Guard soldiers that you can order into battle without risking your own people.”
My jaw tightens with rage. The Earls may not be risking their own people, but someone else is paying the soul price to power these Razor Guards. That would be thrax from the lesser houses. And my Lincoln.
The Earl of Striga speaks next. “I’ve heard rumors that you’re cloning demons as well. Is this true?”
For the record, I love the Earl of Striga right now. Yay, Lucas!
“That’s nothing but lies.” Ethan’s voice warbles. “I’m not cloning demons, and certainly I’ve never been in league with Armageddon.”
Wow. There goes Ethan again, volunteering that he’s innocent of something he wasn’t accused of. Only, why would Ethan be in league with Armageddon anyway? It’s all too strange.
“Come along now,” continues Ethan. “The next chamber is far more interesting.” Footsteps sound as the group walks away from Iggy and me. I can’t see them past the many rows of tanks, but there’s no mistaking the squeal of a door opening and closing. After that, the room is filled with perfect silence.
They’re gone.
Iggy starts dragging me across the floor. “We follow the bad men. Go, go, go.”
I lean over. “This will be easier if I carry you.”
“Yes, Great Scala.”
I swing Iggy onto my hip and take off at a run. He doesn’t weigh too much, so we make great time. The place is also totally deserted, which is a nice bonus. I’d think it was a little fishy, what with the room being empty and all, but honestly? I’ve had nothing but crap luck for days. It’s about time something went my way.
About halfway across the darkened floor, I hear it.
The roar of a man’s voice in pain.
It’s Lincoln.
He’s here.
Changing direction, I take off after the sound of my angelbound love. Iggy’s long fingers grip on to my trench coat. “Why we no follow Ethan?”
I don’t answer him. The only thing I can focus on is the sound of Lincoln’s pained roar.
Finally, this nightmare will be over, one way or another.
Chapter Twenty-One
I run all out for a short while. Although the passages are deserted, a muffled voice echoes from up ahead.
Could be a guard.
I slow my pace, let Iggy slide down from my hip, and take his little hand in mine. Together, we tiptoe down a round passageway made of smooth black plastic. It’s not so much a hallway, really, as a person-size tube. A shiver rolls across my shoulders. This always happens when I’m walking around one of Ethan’s buildings. I get this creepy feeling like Iggy and I are a pair of blood cells making our way down an empty artery.
Weird.
A fresh scream rips through the air. My back teeth lock. I know that voice, and it’s no guard. That’s definitely Lincoln. Even worse, there’s a hoarse edge to his cries that I’ve never heard before, like he’s been yelling for hours. My love must be in so much pain. Somehow, I’m able to stop myself from taking off at a run. We haven’t run across any Razor Guards yet. Lincoln can’t be unguarded. There’s no way I can rush into things.
Be careful, Myla. This is too important.
Our blood vessel hallway takes a sharp turn up ahead. Lincoln’s voice grows louder. Making a shh face with my finger, I let Iggy slip down to stand on his own again. After that, I plaster my back against the curved black wall. Iggy does the same. As I inch closer to the turn, I keep a death grip on the little dude’s hand. What can I say? It’s a coping mechanism. As long as Iggy and I stay palm to palm, a pulse of serenity moves through both of us.
In my case, it’s the only thing keeping me sane.
Angling my head, I peer around the turn in the passageway. Up ahead, the artery simply ends in a round wall. There’s no visible door. Even so, three of Ethan’s Razor Guards are lurking around, so the door must still be there, only it’s hidden with a binocular lock.
I scan the guards quickly. They stand in a row, each one in full Nazi-style regalia: tall boots, long jackets, and brimmed caps. Black linen bandages cover their faces. So creepy. One of them has a composite bow strapped over his chest. Felton told me about those guards. They use the same arrows that went after my Lincoln in order to send prisoners away extra fast.
Note to self: get rid of the bow guard fast.
A low moan echoes out from behind the dead-end wall, interrupting my thoughts. My heart cracks.
Lincoln’s still in pain. I have to get through that door. Now.
Leaning forward onto the balls of my feet, I get ready to take off at a run.
I take a half step toward the guards before I pause. What am I thinking? This isn’t the old Myla who can just charge in now and ask questions later. I need to consider the baby before rushing into battle.
After taking in a few deep breaths, I decide to regroup with Iggy in the concealed area of the hallway. Kneeling down, I turn to the little dude and speak in a voice only he can hear. “Re
member when we talked before about fighting?”
Iggy nods vigorously. “Bigga boom.”
Unfortunate fact: Iggy is not a good whisperer. I make a quick shh face. “No bigga boom,” I say quietly. “Maybe we try something else, though.”
Closing my eyes, I try to focus on what that “something else” could possibly be. Suddenly, the answer is so obvious I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.
I can fight with igni power.
Here’s the deal. On earth, my igni have taken a human form. But in the after-realms, my igni always appear as little lightning bolts of power that swim around in the air. Every Scala develops specialties with how they mold the little guys. The last Scala made ropes to bind people up. Now, I haven’t had my powers for very long, but maybe I can make the lightning bolts do something useful, too. I’ve seen the power dripping from Iggy’s palms. Maybe I can help him focus it.
“You know how you’ve had little igni come from your hands?” I hold my thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
“Iggy melt the bad men’s guns.”
“You also blew up the research building.”
Iggy shrugs. “Hard not to make bigga boom.”
“This is where I think we can work together. Just melt the bad men’s guns and not make bigga boom. What do you think?”
Iggy leans his Darth Vader head to one side. “Maybe. Great Scala would have to hold Iggy’s hand, though.”
That answer makes me so happy, I could cheer.
“That’s great, Iggy.” I don’t say this, but there’s no way I’m letting go of Iggy’s hand any time soon. “Here’s the deal. There are Razor Guards in the passageway up ahead. They have guns.”
“Bah.” Iggy sniffs. “Little boomers.”
“Well, those little boomers can cause me big problems. Let’s melt those little boomers, and then send more lightning bolts to knock out the guards and tie them up. What do you say?”
“Iggy try.”
My left palm rests on my stomach while my right grips Iggy’s thin hand. “Let’s do this.”
Closing my eyes, I focus my request with my mind. Sure, I could whisper again, but we’ve been noisy enough already. Plus when I’m back in Purgatory, I always use my thoughts when summoning my powers. Probably best to go with proven methods here.
“Come to me, my little ones.”
Iggy raises his free hand and stares at his palm. For the longest moment, nothing happens. Then, one of the best things I’ve ever seen comes to pass: a tiny lightning bolt of power detaches from Iggy’s hand.
Then another.
And a third.
The little igni have arrived. Sure, they haven’t shown up with ethereal voices like I usually hear in Purgatory, but I’ll still take it. I issue another silent command.
“Go melt their guns.”
The trio of little lightning bolts swim through the air. As soon as the bright wisps round the corner, the Razor Guards go berserk, unholster their guns, and start shooting at my igni like they were rabid bears. Each boom from their guns is ear-shatteringly loud.
Of course, igni are immune to gunfire, which makes the guards’ plan both useless and stupid. Not that I’m complaining.
While the bullets embed in the arched walls, my little lighting bolts zoom right into the muzzles of the guns. I think another command.
“Melt the guns.”
Sure enough, the guards yelp as their guns turn to molten steel in their hands. I grin from ear to ear. This is getting fun. And better yet, Iggy and I are still hidden around the corner. We may actually be able to do this.
Giving Iggy’s hand a squeeze, I issue another silent command.
“Go tie them up and knock them out.”
More little lightning bolts detach from Iggy’s palm. At this point, I’m feeling pretty good about my bad self, so I do what should never happen in battle.
I get distracted.
The next thing I know, the three guards have rounded the corner and are running straight at me with their arms outstretched. The long black blades of daggers gleam in their fists.
The world seems to freeze. How could I have been so stupid? Battle moves happen in seconds. Now that the guards know something is up, there’s no time to issue more silent-n-blabby commands. Instead, I shout my head off.
“Knock them out, Iggy!”
Iggy lifts his free hand. Hundreds of tiny lightning bolts instantly fly from his palm. The slivers of power shoot toward the Razor Guards, and fast as a whip, they all burrow under the warrior’s flesh.
After that, nothing else happens.
Hells Bells.
The whole “igni burrowing” thing bought us a few seconds with the guards, but that’s about it. Now, the trio charges at Iggy and me again. Once more, all their daggers are raised high. I haul my little buddy onto my hip and get ready to run my ass off.
That’s when everything changes.
Light blasts from the guards’ eye sockets and nostrils, burning holes through the bandages covering their faces. More tiny beams extend like little searchlights from the pores of their skin. For a moment, the guards’ bodies flare with light.
After that, all three explode in a poof of dark ash. My eyes widen.
I have to admit, I did not see that coming.
I rush over to where the guards once stood. The fact that they’re dead is terrible, but they were coming after me, my child, and my Iggy. We did what he had to do. And now, I have to find Lincoln.
Trouble is, to find my guy, I need binoculars from that guard. I kick around the piles of cinders with my boot. Everything is ash. No binoculars.
Damn.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This isn’t going well.”
“Great Scala is upset?”
Now honestly, I’m not upset with the result, really. I mean, those guards were coming to kill us. Any loss of life is horrible, but I’m a pregnant chick with a lightning-bulb buddy, I have to take what I can get.
“I’m fine. Please don’t worry.”
“Iggy do wrong?”
This is a trickier question to answer. When it comes to using our joint powers, Iggy and I still have some work to do before we’re able to fight without melting people. Oh, and let’s not forget the whole “taking too long to do things” problem. But Iggy and I need to focus on one challenge at a time.
“That was a good job,” I explain. “Still, we need to do better. We can’t keep exploding stuff. And we definitely need to spare the people.”
Now, I can’t see Iggy’s face under the helmet, but I’m pretty sure he’s sarcastically mouthing my words back at me. I shake my head. Every time I think my life can’t get stranger, the oddness finds me again.
Lincoln’s moans sound once more from the far wall, reminding me that there are far more important things to focus on, like finding my husband.
Taking off at a run, I rush over to the far wall and its hidden door. All the while, I keep my hand firmly gripped around Iggy’s palm. With every step, one thought echoes through my mind.
I’m almost there, my love.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Since we can’t open the door with binoculars, there are a limited number of ways Iggy and I can break through the wall and get Lincoln. First of all, there’s my tail. But that’s a noisy and time-consuming option.
Second, I can summon more igni power. However, last time that ended up with an explosion-type-situation that killed three guards. I glance down at Iggy. I have no confidence that we can blow open this door and still be quiet at the same time.
The tail it is.
Then, for once in my life, a genuine miracle happens. For the record, I’m not talking about the day when I found out my father was an archangel, although that was pretty cool.
No, I’m talking about this moment right now, when the door to the lab where my husband is being held captive opens up on its own. A lab tech walks out in a white hazmat suit.
Whoa. I never get lucky breaks of the fortunate
variety, so I’m taking this one. Some small voice in my head warns that it’s just too convenient. I tell that small voice to shut the hell up.
The moment the lab tech steps out the door, I grab the dude, spin him around, jam my forearm against his throat, and pin him to the wall like a bug. I scan the dude’s face under his white hazmat helmet. What I see is a major shock.
It’s Felton Weiner.
Again.
“Felton?” I ask. “Is that you?”
His eyes widen with terror. “How do you know my name?”
Up close, I can see how it looks like his skin is drooping from his cheekbones. “What’s wrong with your skin?”
“I’m not a clone.” The guy’s voice takes on a note of hysteria. “And I’m definitely not magically built to do Ethan Hunter’s bidding.”
I purse my lips. “That’s a rather specific set of things NOT to be, Felton.” I nod toward the now-closed door. “Here’s the deal. You’re going to tell me what’s inside that lab, and then? You’re going to open the door. And if you’re a really good Felton Weiner clone, I won’t have my little Darth Vader friend here incinerate you, hot-dog style. Do we have a deal?”
Felton nods quickly. “It’s just me in the lab. I’m only performing routine experiments, I swear. I just left the room to pee-pee.”
Normally, I’d make a snide comment about the pee-pee thing, but I’m in a rush. “Your bio break will have to wait. Open the door, Felton Not-A-Clone. Pronto.”
I flip Clone-Felton around so he’s facing what now appears to be a solid wall of plastic. After lifting his binoculars, Clone-Felton sets them against his face. Like before, a trio of prongs juts out, holding the device against his skin. With shaking hands, Clone-Felton twists the dials on the side. Within seconds, a regular door-shaped hole appears on the dead-end wall. I smile my face off.
“Thanks, Felton.”
My tail arches over my shoulder. The arrowhead-shaped end points at me as if to say, Can I please, please, pleeeeeease?
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