Scala

by Christina Bauer

  I tilt my head to one side, still trying to wrap my head around this. “So until you get the jewels, we can’t get engaged.”

  “I will find them, Myla. Make no mistake.” He rubs his neck with his hand. “This situation with my father and Acca is frustrating in the extreme, that’s all.”

  A spark of inspiration appears in my mind. I know exactly what to do. Someone here needs a little pep talk, and I know just the one to give.

  I pull Lincoln to his feet. “Remember when we were in the gym with my father, and I was all freaky because I’d just lost my igni?”

  “Sure.”

  “You said I needed to tell Dad what happened. Keep things moving forward. Well, that’s exactly what we need to do now. Focus on putting together the finest sting operation in the history of the after-realms. Let’s take care of Adair, and I’m sure your father will find those jewels.”

  “This idea has some merit.” He laces his fingers with mine, and swings our arms between us. “What do you suggest, then?”

  “How about we go to my place and run through some scenarios for Operation Take Down Adair? I even have a few that involve killing her.” I bob my eyebrows up and down. “That’ll make you feel better.”

  He smiles, a genuine one at last. “And here, I thought I was the Master of Pep Talks.”

  “I’ve a feeling we’ll be taking turns at pep talks for a long time to come. It’s all part of being a team.”

  He wraps me in a deep hug. “With you, it is.”

  “Damn right.” I nuzzle into his shoulder, my chest filling with warmth, love and, best of all, hope.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It’s late at night when I approach the back door of the warehouse. Today’s been one Hell of a long day, starting with the Grand Unveiling and continuing with a quick trip to Antrum.

  And it’s not over yet. The moment I walk through this door, Operation Take Down Adair begins.

  I scan the darkened alley leading into the warehouse, nervous energy making me shift my weight from foot to foot. All of Walker’s guards left a few minutes ago. The alleyway sure looks empty, but then again, I’m not a hunter like Lincoln. With any luck, Adair’s still following me around, same as she’s been doing for the last two months. I need her to enter the warehouse, say something incriminating, and end up in jail.

  I twist the door’s rusted handle; it opens with a long creak. I step inside, my footsteps echoing eerily through the darkened warehouse. Turning on the flashlight in my hand, I scan the empty aisles around me. Everything looks deserted although, in truth, that’s far from the case. Lincoln and Company got into this place about an hour ago. Now, they’re waiting in position in case Adair takes the bait.

  And that bait would be the Orb and me. Alone. Unprotected.

  Come and get us.

  I navigate through the network of aisles and wooden crates until I reach a box labeled Maxon Bane. I slip off the wooden top; it lands with a thud on the concrete floor. The interior is empty. I pat around the crate’s wooden walls, like I’m searching for the Orb. I want Adair to think that I’m coming back to check if the crate’s really empty because, hey, it really wasn’t. Now, all I need is for Adair to show.

  My heart kicks faster in my chest. Come on, Adair. Show up, already.

  Turns out, I don’t have long to wait.

  Suddenly, an igni cord wraps around my waist, lifting me from the ground. For a moment I’m held aloft, my legs dangling. After that, the cord slams me against the aisle behind my back. There, the twenty-foot-tall stack of boxes topples over, causing a domino effect on the rows nearby. With a deafening boom-boom-boom, three aisles tumble over in succession.

  I lay on my back for a second, feeling the tug along the igni cord around my waist. It’s Adair, trying to pull power from me through the cord. Now, I know how the transfer works. Our palms need to be connected. I’m careful to keep my hands far away from the cord. Still, the rope of igni winds up my chest, starting to crawl vine-like down my forearms.

  The cord curls closer to my hands, and panic zooms up my spine. Once the cord hits my palms, it’ll be the same deal as in the Ghost Tower. I can’t block the transfer. Can’t reverse it, either. My only option is to slow how quickly Adair can take my igni.

  Not a great option.

  I summon my own igni. They blast off my arms like piston rods, whipping across the toppled aisles. The igni-shafts slam into Adair’s stomach, and then retract once again. Adair gets pummeled against the stacks of boxes behind her. With more ear-splitting booms, four more aisles topple over in domino-style.

  Around me, Adair’s cords stretch, flicker and loosen. This didn’t happen at the Ghost Tower. What could be causing Adair’s igni bindings to weaken now?

  The answer appears in my mind, simple and perfect.

  “You need to be connected to my palms to have a really strong grip, Adair.” I conjure a huge pair of igni clippers and snap the ties between us. Adair’s cord disappears. “So, guess who’s never getting near my hands again?”

  I hop onto my feet. Now that I’m in battle-mode, my Scala robes have changed into armor. I brush my fingers across the baculum-holster on my thigh. I’d love to ignite these things, but angelfire isn’t any good against igni. I’m better off keeping my hands free so I can counter Adair’s next igni-fueled attack.

  Across from me, Adair rises to her feet, unhurt. Whoa. She must’ve gotten some nasty demon blood in her. My last igni-punch should have at least taken her breath away. Adair straightens the skirt of her yellow gown. “Stop making it harder on yourself,” she says primly. “I want my igni.”

  Meaning she wants to steal my Scala powers. If only she’d say that in plain English, I could use it as a confession.

  “I owe you nothing. You’re here to steal my powers.” I’m tempted to add a ‘riiiiiiight?’ to the end of that sentence, but that fall into the ‘not too subtle’ category of sting operation. I’m already pushing the envelope as it is.

  Adair raises her arms again. Another igni cord blasts at me, heading straight for my waist once more. I leap high into the air, do a somersault, and land safely out of harm’s way. In response, I conjure an igni wrecking ball that swings across the warehouse floor, taking out Adair as well as five more aisles of crates.

  This is fun and all, but neither of us is getting the upper hand. And at this rate, we’re bound to knock over the aisle where Lincoln and everyone else are hiding. I need a new strategy, and fast. My warrior sense kicks in, running through approaches and options. An idea appears in my mind. I nod once to myself. It’s worth a try.

  The next igni-cord that Adair sends my way, I dodge it while making an offer. “How about a quick truce? Let’s see if we can talk this out before we kill each other.”

  “Before I kill you, more like. Why don’t you send me to Hell?”

  “So you can steal my igni? Not going to happen.” I lower my arms. “Let’s discuss options. Short truce?”

  She doesn’t need to answer, really. I know I have my truce because she’s stopped sending the same igni-cord attack at me for the umpteenth time.

  I slowly walk towards Adair, my arms down and palms facing forward. “Here are my terms. Want my igni? Come and get them like a warrior. Let’s fight one to one, not use igni as shields. You’ve got the blood of a demon in you now. Show me how strong you are. Take what’s yours, if that’s what you think my powers are.”

  We’re a yard apart when I stop.

  Adair’s mismatched eyes narrow. “You’re an Arena warrior.”

  “I thought you were the Great Lady of the greatest House, Acca. The first Scala heir. The first Angelbound to Lincoln. Are you telling me now that you’re too frightened to fight?” I slap on the snarkiest grin I can manage. “Let me guess what kind of demon blood you have in you. Slug class? Insect, perhaps? No doubt, it’s something small and slimy that hides in the shadows. Lowest of the low.”

  It’s the ‘lowest of the low’ bit that gets her.

 
At those words, Adair’s eyes flare demon-red. Pay dirt. It took me years to learn to control my inner wrath demon. As Adair’s about to discover, that inner fighter will make you do all sorts of stupid stuff if you aren’t careful. I don’t want to be a premature gloater, but I can’t help but smile, just a little.

  Adair bends over at the waist and races towards me, ready to head-butt me in the stomach. As she rushes forward, I work hard not to roll my eyes. Here’s exactly the kind of stupid move that I was hoping to goad her into. Head butting? Really?

  Adair’s skull rams into my belly, slamming me onto my back. I make a great show of pretending to pant for air, like the wind was knocked out of me. Adair straddles my rib cage and presses my hands against the floor, careful to keep our palms flush against one another.

  The set-up is in place. Time to get a confession.

  “What are you…” Pant, pant, pant. “Going to do now?”

  “Steal your powers, of course.”

  Bingo. A massive jolt of happy runs right through me.

  The ignited end of a baculum sword appears at Adair’s cheek, the rest of it attached to a very pissed-off Lincoln. He speaks two words in his most menacing-yet-Princely-way: “Get up.”

  Adair looks into Lincoln’s eyes. “No, my love. I have to take—” But then, her gaze rests on the array of folks standing behind Lincoln. “How are you all here?”

  I hop back up to standing and I must admit, it’s a pretty impressive group we pulled together at the last minute. There are my parents, Octavia, Connor, Cissy, and about a dozen Rixa knights in blood-red armor. These guys run the top-priority jail for especially bad thrax.

  My tail and I exchange a high-five. We did it. We actually caught Adair.

  Suddenly, my heart feels so light, I could float out of this warehouse. It’s probably bad form to do a happy-dance right now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Badly.

  Mom steps forward, pulls out a parchment, and reads the official charges against Adair. There’s a lot of awesome stuff in there about why stealing igni power is one of the worst crimes in the after-realms. Dad suggested putting that in. Nice touch.

  Once Mom’s done, Octavia takes the sheet from her hand. “We accept the prisoner transfer.” She motions to the Knights. “Take her to the dungeons.”

  It was Connor’s idea to put Adair into the dungeons at Arx Hall. They aren’t exactly a five-star hotel, but they’re pretty close. I pushed for a more dungeon-y setting, but there’s only so far I can push at this point.

  All the blood drains from Adair’s face. “You can’t do this. Not after the price I paid.”

  That isn’t the first time she said that particular phrase. “What price are you talking about, Adair?”

  “You’d know nothing of such things,” she snaps. “You’re an imposter. I am the True Scala.”

  I’m tempted to say something snarky about what makes a True Scala, but I don’t want to be a sore winner.

  The Dungeon Knights end the moment by marching Adair towards the warehouse’s back door. The heavy dread that’s been weighing on me for weeks lightens to nothing. This is it; Adair is captured.

  Oooooooh, yeah.

  Adair tries to break away, babbling how she deserves to get her life back, but the Knights are a pretty agile bunch despite their armor. They easily recapture her and push her towards the door. It’s such a pretty sight, I could cry.

  What a day.

  This morning, Adair sabotaged my Grand Unveiling. Twelve hours later, and she’s heading off to jail, led by thrax guards, no less.

  Octavia steps up to my side. “Job very well done, my dear.”

  “Thanks, Octavia. Couldn’t have done it without your support. Now, I can really focus on getting ready for my first big iconigration.” It’s only forty-eight hours away. Yowza.

  “Obviously, the iconigration is a top priority,” answers Octavia smoothly. “But, don’t forget. Your Ball of Welcome is tomorrow night.”

  Oh yeah, oops. “That, too.”

  Octavia tilts her head to one side. “I hope you’re looking forward to it.”

  I brace myself, waiting for the typical sense of dress-up-party-yuck to settle into my belly. It doesn’t. In fact, I feel downright pumped for the Ball. Getting rid of Adair makes everything seem that much better, I guess.

  “You know what, Octavia? I am looking forward to it.” I exhale a satisfied breath. “Most definitely.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I sit at a tiny make-up desk in my chamber at Arx Hall. My ladies’ maid, Clover, stands behind me as she fiddles with my hair. Clover’s on the short side with a rail-thin body topped by a large, moon-shaped face. Like all thrax, she has mismatched eyes of brown and blue. Her uniform’s a simple peasant dress of black cotton with a long white apron.

  “How would you like your hairstyle for tonight’s Ball?” she asks.

  “Down my back is fine. Just what you’re doing.”

  “We could try something more formal, too. It is a Ball of Welcome in your honor, after all. I have some diamond hairclips around here. Let me show you.” She steps away and starts scanning the nearby tables.

  I frown. The Ball starts soon and I don’t want to be late. This room’s so cluttered, it could take hours to find anything in the piles of statues, vases, tea sets, and music boxes.

  “Ah, here they are!” exclaims Clover.

  “Great news.” Looks like I won’t be late, after all.

  Clover steps up behind me, showing me some hair clips decorated with diamond eagle claws. I give them a quick once-over. The design is lovely but the execution is huge. I’d need a beehive hairdo to make them work, and that’s just for starters.

  “They’re very pretty, Clover. But I don’t think they’re me. Thanks, anyway.”

  “As you wish.” She takes a brush to the back of my head. “So excited to hear about the iconigration, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  I straighten in my chair, a sense of pride swelling within me. “No, I don’t mind you saying that at all.” The iconigration is all set for tomorrow morning. Inside my heart, my igni pulse with excitement at the very idea.

  “Any luck getting Lady Adair to give you those…” She clicks her tongue. “What are they called again?”

  “Igni.”

  “That’s right.” Her eyes grow large with alarm. “Or is it not proper to ask such a question?”

  “No, you can ask. It’s fine. Adair did take some of my igni. We’ve been trying to get them back, but no luck so far.” I tried pushing, pulling, cajoling and bribing. Nothing. After that, the House of Striga has cast every spell, charm and enchantment in the book. My igni still won’t budge. Whatever spell-n-demonic-blood combo Adair is working, it’ll take some time to crack the code. I will crack it, though.

  “That’s a shame,” says Clover.

  “I’ve enough igni for my first iconigration, though. That’s the big one.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear, anyway.”

  A knock sounds at my door.

  Clover inclines her head, making her long braid of brown hair swoosh to one side. “Who calls upon the Great Scala?”

  “It’s me, dear.” That’s Octavia’s voice.

  I fidget on my cushy little seat, nervous energy bounding through me. I hadn’t expected Lincoln’s Mom to stop by and I’m not ready yet. Normally, I’m not the kind of girl who worries if she looks perfect, but right now? I totally worry if I look perfect.

  Clover turns to me. “Shall I bid her enter?” The thrax have all sorts of funny rituals; anything related to the King and Queen gets downright hilarious.

  I almost say ‘shall we stop talking like we’re clones of Shakespeare?’ But I stop myself. “One sec.” I smooth out my Scala robes. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

  Clover pulls the hefty door open, revealing Lincoln’s mother standing in the hallway beyond. Octavia looks gorgeous in a black velvet gown embroidered with silver thread.

  I never can remember the
thrax ritual for greeting royalty, so I do what I always do. Make it up. “Hey, Octavia. How’s it going?”

  Octavia makes shoo-fingers at Clover. “Go find somewhere to be useful.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Clover curtsies. “I’ll put fresh linens on the Great Scala’s bed.”

  Octavia steps up behind me, setting her dainty hands firmly on my shoulders. She meets my gaze through the little mirror at my make-up desk. “I came by because I simply couldn’t wait. I have excellent news for you.”

  My face brightens. “What’s that?”

  “I’ve made an inquiry into the status of the Royal Vaults.”

  Butterflies start doing their pitter-patter thing in my belly. Royal Vaults? She can only be talking about one thing. Lincoln’s search for the Rixa betrothal jewels.

  “I’m so sorry for the delay, my dear,” says Octavia, shaking her head. “Not able to find the jewels? Ridiculous. Turns out, all the guards and staff at the Vaults were from the same House.”

  “Let me guess. Acca?” Anger winds through my arms; I so want to punch something. Instead, I grab a brush, ready to go to town on my hair. I barely raise the thing from the tabletop when I snap the handle in two.

  “Oops.” My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Didn’t realize that was so dainty.”

  “Don’t worry about it, my dear. I have similar reactions to Acca all the time. To answer your previous question, yes, they were absolutely behind the troubles at the Vaults. I had them all thrown in the dungeons, but they left things in a terrible mess. Catalog cards wrong, safes moved around, that kind of thing. Clearly, it’s some kind of ploy to stall out your betrothal. Now, my people are cleaning things up. They’ll find the jewels soon.” She gives my shoulders a squeeze. “I’m very excited for both of you.”

  Acca, at it again. Unbelievable. I flex my fingers, my hands itching to break something else on the table.

  “Octavia, can I be honest with you?”

  “Always, my dear.”

  “Why isn’t there in inquiry into these things? Acca should be disbanded or something.”

  “I’ve been trying to do that for twenty years, but the King…” She exhales a long sigh. “He favors Acca, we’ll leave it at that. Perhaps with you and Lincoln together, you can give him the strength to stand up to them. Maybe he’ll become the man he once was when I married him.”