“Sure.” He gestures to the mixer. “Let me show you.”
Our gazes lock, and the world seems to freeze for a full minute. I’m suddenly very aware that we’re all alone in my house. No parents. Nowhere to be. Just time, quiet and each other…Something that hasn’t happened in weeks. The air crackles with electricity and anticipation. The lust demon side of my lust-and-wrath combo powers awakens within me.
A sneaky smile rounds my lips. “What are you going to show me?”
“Why, the mixer, of course.”
My heart kicks harder as I wonder what Lincoln really plans to do. I turn to face the bizarre contraption on the countertop. “Okay, I’m listening.”
Lincoln slips up behind me, the firm contours of his chest brushing against my back in a way that’s most distracting, especially for someone who’s supposedly demonstrating household appliances. He firmly grips the countertop on either side of my body, and then speaks into my ear, his voice all low, slow and growly. “Almost every group in the after-realms has magic users. Thrax and the House of Striga, Furor and the Hexenwings, even humans. Any one of them could place different hexes and spells on each of the buttons here.”
“Why is it that everything you say sounds sexy?” My voice comes out a bit husky, as well. “This is a mixer.”
He nuzzles into my neck, sending pleasant shivers down my torso. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. As I was saying. My Alchemists know how to detect that magic, and then undo it. For you, they could change it. Make it do whatever you want. Even find the Orb.”
“Whatever I want? That could work.” I grin and lean backwards, allowing my body to press more tightly against his. Damn, that feels niiiiiiiiiiice. “We have to be careful, though. After the ghouls, my people freak about outsiders doing anything major in our government.”
“Walker has his secret portals in and out of Antrum. No one would ever have to know.”
“There could be other problems, too.” My mouth starts talking without any conscious direction from my brain. “Quasis have inner demons. They can be hard to control. Maybe even frightening.”
“I’m not worried.” He leans in closer, his voice turning growly voice again. “Inner demons are rather intriguing, don’t you think?”
I pause, a realization appearing in my mind. “We’ve stopped talking about Alchemy, haven’t we?”
“Yes. I believe we’ve begun discussing your inner lust demon.”
Crap, I think he’s right. Somewhere between Walker’s portals and the words ‘don’t you think?’ I totally segued onto my adjustment issues with my inner lust demon. As in, I’m actively avoiding dealing with her presence.
Lincoln nuzzles my ear. “You haven’t shown her to me since the night of the ball in Purgatory.”
“Yup.” For a reason. That was the night of the infamous ‘hedgerow maze incident’. Whenever my inner lust demon gets out, she makes me go nuts and do crazy stuff. On that fateful night, I almost stripped down naked and tackled Lincoln in a hedgerow maze, with all of thrax nobility hanging out at a Ball nearby. That sure was classy.
Lincoln shifts his weight, so his upper thigh presses between my legs from behind. “I’d like to see that part of you again, when you’re ready.”
And, yow, that feels good. I start to reconsider my avoidance strategy. Maybe my lust demon and I only need to spend more time together. After all, Lincoln and I see each other so rarely, and then mostly in public. Not a lot of bonding opportunities, there.
From across the mansion, I hear the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.
Someone’s home. Huh. Can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Myla, is that you?”
I cup my hand by my mouth. “Yeah, Mom. I’m in the kitchen.”
Dad’s voice sounds next. “We brought pizza!”
Lincoln nips my ear with his teeth, sending one last shiver of desire down my belly. “We’ll have to continue this discussion later.” He steps away and leans against the opposite counter. We share an awkward smile while my inner lust demon coils and fumes inside my soul. She isn’t happy about this situation. Not one bit.
But for now, there’s nothing either of us can do about it.
Chapter Five
My parents, Lincoln and I sit around the kitchen table, polishing off our second pepperoni pizza. Dad nibbles at his slice for show; the rest of us chow down.
Mom positively beams at Lincoln. “It’s such a treat to see you.” With her auburn hair, curvy body, and long dragon-scale tail, my mother looks like an older version of me, only in a purple suit.
“Good to be seen,” says Lincoln.
Mom glances at the wall clock. “Aren’t you usually back in Antrum by now?”
“Yes, but I’d like to stay for a while, if that’s alright with you.”
“Of course,” says Mom. “It’s kind of your parents to spare you.”
“Mother will have her price, as always.”
I stop mid-chew. If Queen Octavia has a price, I’m probably not going to like it. “What is it?”
Lincoln stares at me out of his right eye. “You know what she wants, Myla.”
Oh, crap. Now, I remember.
There’s one thing Lincoln’s Mom has been going on about for weeks: a Ball of Welcome in my honor. So far, I’ve been dodging her, saying that a Ball would take me away from Purgatory for too long. But now that Lincoln is MIA from Antrum to help me, I can’t really say I won’t leave Purgatory for her. I make my yuck-face. “Yeah, I know what she wants, alright.”
Mom’s eyes sparkle with hidden laughter. “She already contacted me about it. Requested that your father and I attend as well.”
Dad leans back in his chair. “You’re not alone, Myla. Formal events aren’t my favorite thing, either.”
My father and I share a smile. He has handsome features, a chiseled jawline, cocoa-colored skin, and bright blue eyes. His grey suit hangs a little loose on his once-buff frame. Armageddon imprisoned Dad in Hell for nearly two decades. I freed my father a few months ago, but Dad’s still not back to full strength.
“Let’s move onto more pleasant topics.” Dad rubs his palms together. “Anything in particular you two want to discuss tonight? Future plans, maybe?”
I roll my eyes. No question what Dad’s hinting around about. As an archangel, my father’s been alive since the beginning of time. Until I came along, he never had a child. Now that he’s got the hang of it, he wants me married and giving him a grandkid, pronto.
I’m having none of it. “We’re not talking about weddings right now.”
“Then, I’ll ask someone else.” Dad turns to Lincoln. “Anything you want to say?”
“If I were enacting the thrax betrothal ceremony for a High Prince,” says Lincoln. “I wouldn’t do it over pizza. To begin with, it takes time to get the betrothal jewels out of the Royal Vaults.” He sets his hand on mine. “And it all requires far more of a sense of occasion.”
Marriage. The thought buzzes through my nervous system, charging every inch of me with all kinds of happy. How awesome would it be to wake up next to Lincoln every day? Quite awesome, indeed.
Under the table, my tail twists lovingly around Lincoln’s ankle. He peeps over in my direction, his mismatched eyes alive with excitement. We’ll really do this one day. Get married and be together.
My pulse races with anticipation. Seems like Lincoln’s already got plans in the works, too. And a betrothal ritual? Jewels? Those thrax have ceremonies and sparkly stuff for everything. Not that I’m complaining. This is one situation where the extra falderal and romance would be much appreciated.
Dad’s grin gets larger, if that’s possible. “Fair enough.”
Mom kicks her feet up onto a nearby chair. “Mind if I talk shop for a bit?”
“Go ahead,” I reply. “What’s on your mind?”
“I received a message from Cissy’s office tonight. Adair’s launching an official investigation into the Ghost
Towers. I’d heard about the trouble with Ghost Tower Six today. What’s the latest?”
I picture the fractured containment wall at the Ghost Tower, complete with that spectral hand reaching through the break. A shiver of dread twists up my spine. “The Tower’s now stable, but we’ve got a million new souls coming into Purgatory each month. I don’t know how much more storage we have.”
“We can’t stop souls from entering Purgatory, that’s for sure,” says Mom. “Besides, isn’t Walker close to finding the Orb anyway?”
I tear apart my pizza crust into small bits. “We’ve some bad news on that front. Turns out, the Orb is actually hidden in a huge warehouse filled with magical junk. Lincoln’s bringing in some specialists from Antrum to help us find it, but we’ve no idea how long it will take.”
“You’re bringing in the Alchemists, then,” says Dad. “That’s a first-class idea.”
“I agree, excellent thinking from both of you,” adds Mom. “You’ll get Soul Processing back on track in no time.”
“Thanks, Mom.” A sunny sense of pride radiates through me. “I certainly hope so.”
With that complement, I’m feeling downright awesome and in control. Then, my gaze runs across the old-fashioned phone set onto our kitchen wall. Any second now, that thing could ring again, not with a code-red failure this time, but with a full Tower meltdown. My chest tightens with worry and doubt. “Sometimes, though, I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t stopped my first iconigration. I mean, the Old Scala would never have questioned sending everyone to Hell.”
“Nonsense,” says Mom quickly. “You know how your father and I feel about what you’re doing. It’s a very brave move to shut down Soul Processing. You have our full support. And we’ll help keep Adair’s investigation quiet for as long as possible. Don’t let the nay-sayers get you down, honey.”
Huh. Mom’s been warning me about the dangers of nay-sayers since I was two years old. Now, her words wrap around me once again, comforting as a blanket. “With you as my Mom, the nay-sayers don’t stand a chance.”
Dad’s features firm up. I know this look; he’s going into what I call Father-General-mode. “We’ve got you covered from the military side, as well.” His voice carries a note of grim determination. “If there’s rioting again, I’ll call in troops from Heaven, no problem.”
My father means for that statement to be reassuring, but it’s not. At all. Instead, I start thinking about Purgatory’s infamous Ghost Riots. The tightness and anxiety in my chest grows downright painful. Thoughts of those bloodthirsty mobs have been torturing me for weeks.
“Riots?” My voice comes out a little shaky. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
A memory appears in my mind’s eye. I’m nine years old, sitting on our old ratty couch back in Lower Purgatory. Far-off explosions and screams rip through the night air. I curl into Mom’s shoulder, my entire body trembling with fear. Walker sits in the armchair across from us, his colorless face set into grim lines. If the mobs reach our street, he’s here to portal us away to safety. Outside our living room window, the night sky’s horizon is lined with shifting shades of red. Purgatory is burning.
Mom guesses my thoughts and worries. “Don’t get too concerned about rioting for now,” she says soothingly. “You two focus on working with Walker and getting things going again. Just, you know, quickly. Like a few days. Maybe a week, tops.”
“Sure, Mom. We’ll do the best we—”
All of a sudden, the sound of ethereal singing fills my head. It’s high-pitched, childlike and lovely. I press my fingertips to my temples. This shouldn’t be happening now. I didn’t summon any igni.
Still, the music continues. My brain fills with sweet voices that only I can hear. These are the light igni, the power that draws souls to Heaven. Evidently, they’ve decided that now is a good time to converse via somewhat-sappy music inside my brain. I exhale a slow breath. At least, unlike the dark igni, I can listen to their singing without wanting to scream.
Lincoln gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “What’s going on?”
“The igni have a message for me. They’re singing, right now, inside my head.”
Mom leans across the table, her eyes widening. “What are they saying?”
I close my eyes to better focus. “They’re are saying something about the Furor. A Furor necklace. And the Furor Empress, too. It’s her amulet. They want me to find it. I think the dark igni were singing about this before.” I open my eyes, and the music fades from my mind. “Does anyone know what they’re talking about?”
Mom shakes her head. “Never heard of it.”
Dad’s face becomes still as stone. “What do you know about the Furor?”
“Not much. All I learned in High School was sucking up to ghouls.”
“Furor have magic casters,” explains Dad. “They’re a tribe called the Hexenwings. They create enchanted stones; no one really knows how they manage it. Royalty have specific stones associated with them, to give them special powers. Rubies for the Emperor, Opal for the first-born daughter, Obsidian for the first-born Prince…”
I can see where this is going, and I don’t like the destination one bit. A tension headache crawls around my temples. “And the Empress?”
“Bloodstone.”
My world freezes for a moment. Don’t panic, Myla. It could be a coincidence.
Mom lets out a soft gasp. “I heard about this thing called the Bloodstone Curse. It sucks away a Scala’s powers and gives it to someone else. Are the Curse and this necklace related?”
“I’m afraid so,” says Dad.
Okay, time to panic. My heart starts pumping a mile a minute. The igni asked me to find something associated with the Bloodstone Curse. Is this their way of telling me that I have it? Could they possibly be giving my powers to someone else?
“The last time a Scala couldn’t move souls, I was there,” explains Dad. “I’ve a broad knowledge of demon lore, so whenever someone’s stuck with a mystery ailment, they call me in. We didn’t know what was wrong until we borrowed the Bloodstone Amulet. It’s unique. Shows the Empress the status of her powers. We tried it with the patient and discovered that his igni were slipping away, moving to the Scala Heir on their own. That was, oh, two thousand years ago now. Today, most people probably remember the Curse and not how it got its name.”
“I’ve read everything I can find on Scalas,” I say. “There’s always something about the Bloodstone Curse, but no mention of any amulet.”
“Those damned ghouls,” exclaims Mom. “They wiped out all our libraries, all our records, especially anything to do with the Scala.”
The firm lines of Dad’s face soften with sympathy. “This isn’t the first time someone’s talked to you about the Curse, is it?”
“No. Well, not directly anyway. Today, Adair asked me if I wasn’t moving souls because I didn’t have the power anymore. I think she was hinting around about the Curse.”
Dad’s eyes glow angel-blue. “How dare she? I saw you send Armageddon straight into Hell with your powers. You freed me from his prison, something I never thought could happen. You’re strong, Myla. And your bond with your igni is strong. There must be another reason why they want you to have the necklace. We’ll figure it out.” He reaches across the table and sets his hand on mine.
I stare at Dad’s wide, muscular hand wrapped around my smaller one. All my life, I’d wondered who my father was, and if I’d ever find him. Now, he’s here and more supportive and awesome than I ever dreamed of. My eyes sting with a mixture of love, awe and gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”
Mom pulls out one of her ever-present notepads and starts scribbling orders for her staff. “We’ll need to make a diplomatic request for the necklace.” She pauses, tapping her pen against her chin. “However, it might not work coming from Purgatory. Unfortunately, under the ghouls, we ignored the Furor for decades. Cissy’s only starting to rebuild ties there.”
“I can ask them,” says Lincoln. �
�I saved a Furor child at the Winter tournament. They were very grateful.”
“Let me take this one,” counters Dad. “I killed the father of the current Furor Emperor. He was downright ecstatic. I’ll go to Furonium tomorrow and make a personal request for the amulet.”
“And I’ll call in the Alchemists,” says Lincoln. “They’ll be here first thing in the morning.” His confident gaze meets mine. “Together, we’ll find the Orb and restart Soul Processing. I know it.”
And seeing that fearless look in his eyes, I think he may just be right.
Chapter Six
Cissy, Walker, and I step into my stainless-steel kitchen, large boxes balanced in our arms. It’s been two days since Lincoln’s Alchemists showed up. Since then, they’ve kept the three of us busy with regular warehouse-runs to grab magical stuff for them to examine in my kitchen, aka our new Alchemy HQ. There are too many spells and enchantments in the warehouse for the Alchemists to work quickly—plus my kitchen has lots of gadgets and snacks—so they’ve taken up residence here.
Cissy and Walker speed into the kitchen, setting down their boxes on a nearby countertop. I pause inside the threshold, scoping things out. On the right-hand side of the room, Lincoln’s seated at the head of our long steel table, while his Alchemists fill up the other chairs. They’re six handsome guys with mismatched eyes, all of them wearing white lab coats that have silver eagles stitched on the right front pocket. The group’s super-engrossed in the piles of odd junk that cover the tabletop, everything from typewriters to compasses to chia pets. They don’t notice when we come in.
I set my box onto an obliging counter. “Hey, everyone.”
Lincoln looks up, his mouth winding into a huge smile. “Hi, Myla.”
At his words, all the other guys snap to attention as well. Six bodies immediately stand straight and tall with their fists gripped firmly behind their backs. Military stance. The thrax must start training that particular move in Kindergarten. Unfortunately, it makes me feel a little awkward.
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