Acca

by Christina Bauer

  Lincoln glares at Aldred. “One’s unconscious.”

  I raise my hand. “That was me.”

  “The other?” Lincoln keeps up his stare-fest. “Came at me with his sword.” He doesn’t need to add the bit about the guy ending up dead.

  “Did you hear him?” Aldred gasps. “These two fight and kill for no reason. My guard is only the latest casualty. Don’t you all see? Our so-called prince is no more.” He points right at me. “He’s fallen under the spell of this lust demon, the same one who killed Cryptan.”

  The thrax in the right-hand seats all nod. A few even murmur out the odd “huzzah.”

  I set my fist on my hip. “Really, guys? Sure, I’m part demon, but I’m also the Great Scala. I could, can, and—let’s face it—after this I probably will send all your souls to Hell after you die. Doesn’t it occur to you to maybe suck up to me a little?”

  One of the minor Earls waves his fist in the air. “Demon! Temptress! You’re not meant to be the Scala. It’s always been a thrax, and will be so again.”

  “Quite right,” adds Aldred. “Her presence is a sign of our negligence. By leaving behind our precious traditions, we have brought this scandal upon our own heads. It wasn’t I who brought Armageddon into Antrum. It was them! They lured my sweet daughter to her death.” Aldred pounds his chest. “Under the rule of my House, none of this would have happened.”

  At this point, all the folks on Aldred’s side of the courtroom do the equivalent of whistling guiltily while staring at the ceiling and going nu-ne-nu-ne-nuuu. They all know what a mess it would be to have Acca run things; they’re too wussed out to say so.

  “Let’s think.” I tap my chin. “Why did you guys lose the throne? That’s right. Everyone was starving to death.”

  Aldred’s face flushes pink. “You demon-tailed bitch!”

  “That’s enough,” says Lincoln. His voice comes out deadly low.

  For its part, my tail touches my mouth as it blows air kisses at Aldred. His face goes from pink to bright red. Say what you want about my tail, it has a demonic sense of how best to piss someone off.

  The Arbiter raises her arm. The room quiets. “This court judges on evidence alone.” She turns her all-white gaze to us. “You have some?”

  “Yes, we do.” I slip my pack off my shoulders and pull out the codex. “We’ve gathered tons of testimony.”

  Aldred frowns. “That can’t possibly be the real codex.”

  “What?” asks Lincoln coolly. “Because the real one was hidden on Earth at the Wheeler Institute?”

  All the blood drains from Aldred’s face. “What did you do?”

  “We got the evidence, of course.” I raise the item in my hands. “Oh, and you may be permanently short one demon patrol, if you know what I mean.”

  Aldred’s features turn slack as he slumps onto the bench. “You’re doomed. Whatever you’ve done, it won’t help you.”

  Sure, it won’t.

  The Arbiter looks at the codex in her hands. “You had two days to make your arguments in tandem with this evidence, I’m afraid that’s down to a matter of seconds now. Do you have anything to say?”

  I raise my hand. “Yes.”

  The Arbiter’s all-white eyes narrow. “Go on.”

  I point to Aldred. “He’s guilty as fuck.” Aldred’s face turns so red he seems ready to burst. Meanwhile, a chorus of stunned gasps echoes around the room. I roll my eyes. “Come on, you all know he’s guilty. Spare me.”

  The Arbiter focuses on Lincoln. “And what do you have to say?”

  “Nothing to add. My lovely fiancée captured my sentiments exactly.”

  I take Lincoln’s hand. That’s my guy.

  “Then I shall prepare the evidence.” The Arbiter focuses on the codex, which rises up to hover above our heads. Seconds pass, and my chest tightens with worry. Will this evidence be enough? I know Lincoln said the Arbiter is fair and all, but who knows what happens when you’re magically chained to a chair for all eternity? This bitch could be crazy.

  When the Arbiter speaks again, her voices echoes in odd ways through the cavernous room. “Commence the review.”

  The codex becomes larger and translucent, just as it did with Cryptan in the Vault. Images flicker through its depths. I recognize the faces as they give testimony, starting with the children we first interviewed and ending with Mrs. Pomplemousse. Beams of light shoot out from the codex as the different images pass through. Meanwhile, the irises in the Arbiter’s face turn from white to icy blue.

  I was so busy getting the evidence I never really considered the process by which it would get reviewed. At last, the Arbiter raises her arms, and the codex flies into her grasp. The moment the magical item reaches her palms, it returns to its regular appearance. The Arbiter blinks once, slowly. When she refocuses on the courtroom, her eyes are all white again. “There is enough evidence here that we wish to reopen this trial.”

  “What?” Aldred hops to his feet again. His barrel chest heaves with frantic breaths. “That’s against tradition. You need to decide now. And there is only one true result—send both of them to jail, starting with Lincoln.”

  I point at his Aldred’s nose. “That’s the High Prince Lincoln to you, buddy.”

  The Arbiter sets the codex into her lap. “This is an area of law with no precedent. Never before has evidence been brought on the last day.”

  “Send them to prison!”

  “How dare you?” The Arbiter’s all-white eyes flare with bright light. “This is my courtroom, and I have set a new precedent. No one is to be imprisoned until the evidence is reviewed fully.”

  “What about Cryptan?” Aldred raises his fists. I have to hand it to the guy; he’s not giving up. “You can’t possibly—”

  “Enough!” The Arbiter stands. Her imposing seven feet of height means that she positively towers over the room. “I set the justice here. We reconvene on Monday. That is my commandment. You may all leave.”

  Lincoln and I share a look. Little by little, we break out into huge smiles. I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly we’ve enveloped each other in the mother of all hugs.

  All the work was worth it. Interviewing those who’d been hurt by Aldred. The trip to the Wheeler Institute. And now, we have a chance to can win this case and legitimately dismantle Acca. I lean into Lincoln’s shoulder, inhaling his sweet scent of pine needles and leather, one thought echoing through my mind.

  We’re so close. We might actually do this.

  25

  I soak in every aspect of this moment. The press of Lincoln’s arms around me. The drip-drop of condensation from somewhere deep in the cave. The screeching of Aldred as he loses his cool. I want to bottle this up and save it for the hopeless times, because chances are, there’ll be plenty of those in my future. And when they arrive, I’ll mentally return to the here and now, remembering how Lincoln and I kicked some serious ass today.

  But then, Aldred’s screeching gets earsplittingly loud. The moment ends. Oh, well.

  “They are guilty!” Aldred’s mismatched eyes are wild with rage. After that, he rushes across the aisle, his face flushed red and fist cocked high.

  Even worse, he’s coming straight for me.

  The move takes me by surprise. Aldred is a lot of things, but a warrior isn’t one of them. I stare at him, mouth open. This is really happening. Aldred’s charging at me with the clear intention to introduce his fist to my face.

  In court.

  In front of all the thrax nobility.

  It’s too bizarre to be real. For a time, I can only stand there and stare at him. In some small corner of my mind, I realize my tail is poking me in the shoulder, trying to get me to snap to attention.

  I can’t.

  It’s simply too much. After everything Lincoln and I have been through? Somehow, watching Aldred come at me is basically the final straw in this metaphorical cow-pie of this fiasco.

  At last, my warrior sense kicks in. There’s no way I’m lettin
g Aldred of all people punch me in the kisser. I shake my head, trying to get myself into battle focus.

  That’s when Lincoln steps in. He inserts himself between Aldred and me and grabs the Earl’s fist. Aldred stops as the high-pitched snap of bones echoes through the courtroom.

  Huh. Lincoln just broke Aldred’s hand. And by the sound of it? In multiple places, too.

  Yet another reason to love my fiancé.

  When Lincoln speaks, his voice rings with rage. “Come after Myla again, and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

  Aldred turns to the Arbiter. “Did you see that? These two are violent criminals. This court must lock them up! How can you not do this?”

  The Arbiter frowns in Aldred’s direction, and I swear the temperature drops twenty degrees. I shake my head. Right now, the Arbiter truly resembles a Greek statue come to life. Only, you know, one who’s seven feet tall and wielding untold superpowers.

  “I believe my last order was for everyone to leave,” announces the Arbiter. “Not to charge each other with raised fists.”

  Aldred lifts his hand. The fingers tilt at odd angles. “He broke my bones.”

  “I saw who attacked first,” says the Arbiter coolly.

  “You can’t mean that.”

  “This court deals in truth. I know what I saw.” The Arbiter’s eyes flare with white light. “You’re not blackmailing me, Aldred. I’ll support the facts. You attacked first. Under thrax law, the high prince did what was his right.”

  I pump my fist in the air. Go, Arbiter.

  Aldred’s face twitches with rage. “You’re in league with them!”

  “Disrespect this court once more, and you will be the one in prison.”

  At last, that shuts Aldred up and fast. He storms from the room with his menagerie of losers following behind him.

  Too bad that’s most of the thrax nobility.

  As the courtroom empties, my parents rush over, showering Lincoln and me with hugs and hellos. Dad looks mighty smug with himself, as he should. After all, my father’s sanctuary scheme just put one over on the Almighty. Meanwhile, Mom’s looks hollow-eyed and weary. A pang of guilt moves across my rib cage. I know how my mother thinks. Chances are, she’s been worrying her head off about the whole honeymoon-in-prison thing.

  Octavia approaches at a slow and regal pace. It gives me a chance to appreciate the perfectness of her black Rixa gown, silver crown, and sweeping updo. She air-kisses Lincoln and me. All the while, Connor stands a safe distance back. He’s also done up in his medieval king best. Even so, the man looks totally guilty.

  As he should. I’ve no doubt that whatever Connor’s been up to this week, it hasn’t been helping team My-Linc. At last, Connor finally decides to approach Lincoln.

  “Good work, son.”

  My mouth falls open. That’s it? “Good work?” How about “wish I could have helped” or, even better, “sorry I’ve been totally fighting you every step of the way.” A million insults fly through my brain. All I can manage to get out is one sound. “Huh.”

  Lincoln points to the exit. “We need to talk.” I fight back a smile because Lincoln’s voice is about two octaves lower than normal. That means he’s about to lay down the law with Connor. Yes.

  My parents catch on that things are about to get ugly. Mom straightens the lapels of her purple jacket. “We’ll return to our chambers.” She’s in total Presidential mode now. “It will give you all some time to talk.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” They both speed off at a respectable pace. I return my attention to Lincoln and his parents. My guy looks pissed. Connor still seems totes guilty. And Octavia? She stares at her husband with a gleam of adoration in her eyes. Unbelievable.

  At this point, it’s worth repeating that for a very sharp woman, Octavia has a massive blind spot when it comes to her husband.

  Lincoln slips his hand into mine. “Let’s discuss the situation in my chambers.”

  “Yes, of course.” Connor straightens his crown. “Your mother and I will be there shortly. Troubles with the Pulpitum, you know.”

  “We know,” I say slowly. “We were the ones who asked you to get rid of Acca so the trouble would stop.”

  Connor fidgets with his crown some more. “It’s not Acca.”

  “Honestly, it’s all your party guests,” gushes Octavia. “I can’t remember a time when we had so many visitors in Antrum. Not that I’m complaining, but with thousands of people going through the Pulpitum, there’s bound to be trouble.”

  Connor nods. “That’s right. With so much extra traffic, we need all the trained operators we can get. It’s the only way we can accommodate your wedding.”

  The logical side of me can see their point. Antrum is locked down tight against demons. As much as we complain about the demon alarms going off, at least Antrum has them. After all, it’s the whole reason the thrax moved underground in the first place: so they’d have a secure way to screen everyone who comes and goes. False alarms or not, Antrum is the safest place for our big day.

  I rub my temples with my fingertips. This whole situation makes my brain hurt. I wanted a small ceremony on Earth. On the other hand, our parents wanted something huge. Considering they were the ones planning the whole thing, I figured it was only fair that they have a say in the size of the event.

  Okay, that’s not totally true. I gave in and turned into total mush when Mom and Octavia got all misty about planning a huge wedding like they never had. How could I say no? Well, I could, but I was mushy. So, here we are.

  Once the big-wedding question was settled, the mothers insisted on holding the wedding in Antrum so it would be safe. That was a shocker. I thought Mom would want things in Purgatory. If nothing else, you’d think the photo opps would help her presidency. Still, she’s a stickler for safety and privacy, especially considering the creepy crawlers that follow us around. Plus, we’re doing a parade later where Lincoln and I will be dragged through Purgatory in the equivalent of a bulletproof bubble. So Mom will still get her photo opps. And the wedding is in Antrum, which makes Lincoln’s family super-happy. Bottom line? It’s a win-win. Or it seemed like one.

  All of which brings me back to the situation at hand. Connor is selling some story about the Pulpitums being fine, which—huge wedding or not—I’m still not buying. My vote is with Lincoln. Those things are dangerous right now.

  “I get that the Pulpitums are under huge amounts of stress,” I say. “That’s why we need to talk about them. Plus, we must clear the air about a bunch of other stuff, too, like the fact that no one’s complaining that Lincoln and I almost got chucked in prison.”

  “Of course we’re upset about that,” says Connor. “And we’ll discuss it all. Soon.”

  Lincoln’s glare gets so strong you’d think laser beams might pop out of his eyeballs. “Soon?”

  Connor’s face droops with disappointment. “What? You look like I won’t keep my word.”

  Because he doesn’t. Connor is forever making us wait around.

  Unfortunately, this “don’t doubt me son” stuff is Lincoln’s kryptonite. Lincoln stiffens his stance. He hates disappointing his father. I decide to step in before Connor pulls out more emotional weaponry. I turn to Octavia. “You’ll make sure he comes as soon as possible?”

  “Yes, Myla. I promise.” Octavia’s face takes on that tight no-nonsense look which means this will really happen. Unfortunately, that’s the best commitment we’ll get at this point.

  “Okay, Octavia.”

  As Lincoln’s parents speed away, my tail loops around Lincoln’s waist. I bite my lips together, forcibly stopping myself from calling any number of nasty names at Connor’s back.

  That old dirt bag better show up, or I’ll hunt him down myself.

  It’s been hours since we left the courtroom. I slump into one of the comfy club chairs in Lincoln’s private chambers. The grandfather clock reads past midnight and—surprise, surprise—there’s still no sign of Connor or Octavia. My tail has been allevia
ting frustration by balling up bits of parchment and chucking them at the door.

  Lincoln sits at a nearby table, reading through the messages that have come in for him since we left. Whenever he’s done with a parchment, he tosses the sheet to my tail.

  This has been going on for hours now. It’s making me crazy. Where the hell is Connor?

  One thing I’ll say, though. Lincoln’s rooms make for a cool spot to hang out. His chambers mix up the medieval vibe with some swanky modern art and plush leather chairs. Not to mention the fact that the servants have been delivering a steady stream of yummy meals. No demon bars have arrived yet, but these guys can roast meat like it’s nobody’s business.

  At last, there’s a knock on the door. Lincoln carefully sets aside his latest sheet to rise and answer it. My shoulders slump with relief.

  Connor and Octavia are here. Finally.

  Octavia sweeps into the room. Whatever she’s been doing, it hasn’t resulted in a single hair getting out of place. “We’re so sorry we’re late. We spent time chatting with all the Pulpitum operators.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “All of them? Or only Acca?”

  The guilty look on Octavia’s face says they spent the last few hours sucking up to their son’s mortal enemies. My tail balls up another sheet of parchment and chucks it at the door, only missing Octavia’s head by about six inches.

  Good job.

  Octavia gasps. “Did your tail almost hit me?”

  “Yup.” I pat the arrowhead-shaped end. “You’re protective of Lincoln, aren’t you, boy?” I stare pointedly from Octavia to Connor. “He doesn’t understand why you were talking to the same people who just tried to put your son in jail. To be honest, I’m not getting it, either.”

  Lincoln moves to stand beside me. “That kind of behavior is precisely why we wanted to chat.”

  Connor starts scoping out the leftover trays of food. “And what do you wish to discuss, my son?”

  Now, I like food the same as the next person, but not at a moment like this one. Connor’s acting like a creep.