Trickster (Angelbound Lincoln Book 3)

by Christina Bauer

  Myla

  There were warning signs.

  So many warning signs.

  I’ve been through this before with the Reptilians and Avians. Both peoples had an odd level of focus on yours truly.

  Not that I’m a little competitive bitch.

  I’m a BIG competitive bitch.

  This feels like losing, and me no likey.

  I step closer to Caudal. “Ho ho hoooooold there! Before you say another word, please take a look at my guy here.” I make a sweeping gesture toward Lincoln.

  “Ouch,” deadpans my guy.

  “Not that we’ll ever go through with this bounty paid thing for either of us, but it seems like someone—” here I point to my face for emphasis “—keeps getting picked on. I just want to be make sure we’re equally offered as possible participants.”

  “You’re extraordinarily competitive. You know that?”

  I wink. “You love it.”

  Lincoln’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Do your best. Or worst.”

  Turning, I refocus on Caudal. “Here’s the thing. Lincoln here is a prince.”

  Lincoln raises his hand. “I am.”

  “That means he has prince hair.”

  The Queen looks to Peli, her brow-scales lifted. Peli shrugs. I’m losing my audience here.

  I make another, grander gesture toward my guy. “He has prince arms.”

  Caudal now whispers to Peli. Our little orange buddy does that chuckle thing where he chatters his teeth in subdued laughter. They’ve clearly moved onto topics are that aren’t what I’m talking about.

  Time to take this to the next level.

  “He has a prince junk.”

  “She even gave it a name,” adds Lincoln.

  At those final words, the entire beach instantly falls silent. There’s nothing but cawing birds, the rush of surf, and every googly fish eye locked on me.

  My guy shoots me a sly grin. This is indeed a competition and Lincoln just won there. Bastard knows it, too.

  Caudal focuses on Lincoln. “What does she call your so-called junk, pray tell?”

  “B-A-E-J-S,” answers Lincoln.

  “How very odd,” says Caudal. “B-A-E-J-S. Whatever could that mean?”

  Things are about to get ugly.

  Correction. UgliER.

  “You know what?” I ask. “Forget it. What’s your bounty paid?”

  Caudal straightens her stance. “It is hereby decreed that the Icythians shall give Peli’s friends full support for protecting our friend, Elyse, from the Contagion. And in return…” The Queen pauses dramatically.

  I roll my eyes. “Out with it.”

  “In return, you shall give us your tail.”

  “Say what?” I ask.

  At this point, my tail perks up to arc over my shoulder. Normally, it adores being the center of attention. This time, though? Not so much.

  Even so, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “My tail. You blah blah blah about the hungry kids, but what you want is to chop off my tail. Is that right?”

  “Of course.” Caudal says this so sweetly, it’s not like she asked to cut off a freaking body part. “My people don’t have tails. We should like to study it and see if it can be added to my person. Perhaps sewn on.”

  Rage courses through me. My eyes flare red. “Why not ask to chop off my arm?”

  Caudal sniffs. “I already have arms.” She lifts her own as evidence. “Are you soul bound to another perhaps? Then we could have two tails.”

  “We went through this before with the Reptilians. The answer is no. I am not soul bound.”

  Caudal beams. “Excellent. Bring forth the surgeon.”

  Something inside me cracks. It’s the thin shell of resistance that stops me from losing my temper, twenty-four-seven. My eyes flare red while my mind derails into a haze of rage. I focus the anger into words. At this point, it’s the best I can do.

  “This is a disaster,” I cry. “I’m talking bad perm the first day of school kind of problem.” I stare up at the sky. “And you guys seemed so reasonable.”

  “We’re not guys,” corrects Caudal. “We’re Icythians.”

  “She’s tirading,” explains Lincoln. “Just give her a minute.”

  I hear them talking, but it’s as if the words take place in an echo chamber on another beach. “My guy and I have our own lives back in another realm. It’s not easy. Folks back home want to fake-test my superpowers, if I don’t pass, then I can’t kill things.”

  “I can vouch for that,” says Peli solemnly.

  “And that doesn’t even cover the dead-eyed old ladies who want me to drink urine. Actual stuff that tastes like pee, I tell you!”

  “That, I’ve got nothing,” adds Peli.

  “Plus, don’t even get me started on the quasis! They want me to insta-accept every hug out there. That’s just disgusting and not only from a germ point of view. The quasis have issues with over hugging. You know what I’m talking about? Lean and hug, people. Do not press your boobs and junk onto me. I just don’t want to know.” I jog in place. “Hoo. Hooooo.” That’s a two-hoo tirade. “I’m good now.”

  Lincoln gives me a golfer’s clap. “Lean and hug, that’s a new one.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Ah,” says Caudal. “Does that mean you’re ready to give us your tail now?”

  If I felt that I’d cracked before, now I full-on snap out of my shell and emerge a major rage monster. “I have had it. I’m so done trying to help you with Elsie.”

  “Her name is Elyse,” corrects Caudal.

  “Kill, kill,” says Elyse.

  “Look. My tail is a sacred part of me. And if that’s what you need here? Then the ground can just shimmy-shimmy-shake until that slimy tar-covered Wizard of Goopopolis pops up to chomp down on Viking Kill Kill Kill Girl.”

  Suddenly, a low rumble fills the air. The beach beneath my feet trembles. Birds screech and fly away. The crowd falls deathly silent. A line erupts in the sand, its direction heading right for our group. I freeze, every nerve ending in my body on alert. Lincoln and I have seen this before.

  The Contagion is coming.

  Dang.

  60

  Lincoln

  Myla’s words seem to hang in the air.

  The ground can just shimmy-shimmy-shake until that slimy tar-covered Wizard of Goopopolis pops up to chomp down on Viking Kill Kill Kill Girl.

  My thoughts race through every time we’ve encountered the Contagion before. It’s always taken the monster a few minutes to actually break through to the surface. Assuming the Contagion hasn’t gotten much stronger, we should have enough time to escape. We just need to grab Elyse and go before the Contagion shows up.

  It can work here.

  Only, it doesn’t.

  The sands by the camp fire blast apart, sending fiery bits of log flying in all directions. Ropes of tarred branches reach out from the new pit in the beach, spreading across the sands while hauling out the full bulk of the Contagion’s tree form.

  This monster has gotten larger. And stronger.

  There’s a moment where I soak in the latest incarnation of our tree-bound wizard. He’s now ten yards in diameter, covered in writhing cords of black tar. The peak of his charred out body now soars at least four stories above the beach, while his face—with holes for eyes and a slash for a mouth—now appear in dimensions that would make a giant quiver with fear.

  Fast as a whip, six branches grab Elyse, winding around her from head to foot. Shock prickles across my skin. The Contagion never moved this quickly before. Another branch tears a line down its own trunk-belly, opening up a massive incision. The rope-like arms yank Elyse from the sands and pull her inside.

  Pink light flares from inside the Contagion’s trunk. Shock and worry tar through my nervous system.

  It happened again.

  The Contagion consumed Elyse.

  Taking out my dagger, I toss it at the Contagion’s trunk. The blade sinks into the gooey surface
, only the vanish within the monster’s body. I have have one more blade remaining.

  With a great whoosh, the Contagion drops back into the ground.

  A long pause follows. The air turns heavy with shock and rage. All heads swing toward Myla. Bulbous eyes glare at her with murderous intent. I scan the nearest escape routes.

  Myla raises her hands, palms forward, in a move that says, not my fault.

  “Just a lucky guess, I swear. I had no idea Evil Greasy Treebeard would consume Viking Kill Kill Kill Girl right this very second. Honestly.”

  Meanwhile, Myla’s tail expresses a far different attitude. It bobs happily in a rhythm that’s clearly nyah nyah nyah NYAH nyah.

  Caudal points at Myla. “The Avians were right. You brought a strange tar monster into our homes. How could you?”

  “Not a tar monster,” corrects Myla. “That was the Contagion.”

  The Icythians pull weapons from sheaths beneath their wide scales. Dozens of blades now gleam in the dying sunlight. All of them are point toward one target.

  My Myla.

  Not an option.

  I’ve one dagger left. Pulling the weapon from its holster, I raise the blade high. Peli hops over to stand beside me and Myla.

  “Time to run,” states Peli. And the tone he uses says, this isn’t a question, it’s an order.

  Peli raises his arms. Orange smoke pours out from his hands, clouding over the beach. He turns to me and Myla. “That will slow them down.” Next Peli runs on all fours toward the pink tundra, all while chanting out a single word. “Go, go, go!”

  Myla and I do just that.

  61

  Myla

  Lincoln, Peli, and I run all out for at least a half hour. There’s no sign of the Icythians following us. Even so, I remain wary.

  Those googly-eyed bastards looked ready to kill.

  Eventually, we reach a clearing with high ground and stop. Spend enough time in the wilds, and you know a good place for a break when you see it. Here, nothing will fall from a branch to bite our heads off. And with the high ground, we can see any pursuers coming at a distance.

  Peli hops on his back legs while saying ooo-ooo before making an announcement. “That was a disaster.” He points at me. “And they totally blamed you. Those Icythians will loathe you forever.”

  I shoot him a deadpan stare. “You think?”

  “Back on the beach, what spell did you cast on the Icythians?” asks Lincoln. “That was the largest cloud of magic I’ve seen from you.”

  “Confusion spell,” replies Peli. “If it worked, they won’t see which way we went or remember to follow.”

  “If it worked?” I repeat. “All your spells succeed.”

  Peli kicks at the snowy ground. “I’m not a true wizard.”

  I frown, thinking this through. Lincoln shared Peli’s self-image issues, but the little guy is always such a pain in the ass, I didn’t really see it before. After all, I’m a pain in the ass and I’ve never had confidence problems.

  Well, not before I became Great Scala and Future Queen.

  But I digress.

  Back to Peli.

  Someone did a major number on Peli for this little monkey to think he’s anything but amazing. Kneeling down, I take care to look Peli directly in the eyes. “You’re the best wizard I’ve ever seen. All your spells ring true.”

  Peli draws an arc in the snow with his toe. “You must not have met many wizards.”

  My tail juts out to pat Peli’s shoulder. “Whatever,” I state. “We think you kick ass.”

  “Thank you,” says Peli, and it’s as if the two words are torn from him.

  “There’s only one more Marked One remaining,” announces Lincoln. “The thrax will be with Aldred by now. All of them are heading to the original site of the Golden Arbor.”

  “They’ll arrive by tomorrow afternoon,” adds Peli. “I should think at about one o’clock.”

  I set my fist on my hip. Lincoln knew Aldred planned to end up at the Golden Arbor, but not any specific time. Peli’s been hanging out with Aldred again.

  Tricky monkey.

  “That’s awfully specific, Peli. Did you cast a seeing spell to know what Aldred’s timetable?”

  Peli snaps his fingers. “Yes, that’s exactly what I did. I cast a spell to see the future and divine Aldred’s plans.”

  “You’re a crappy liar,” I tell Peli. “I should know. I suck at it, too.”

  “You opened the original gateway for Aldred,” adds Lincoln. “The pair of you have been working together all along. It’s time to come clean.”

  Peli folds his arms over his chest. “Absolutely not. You can take my guidance or try to reach the Golden Arbor on your own. My plans and reasons are always secret.”

  Lincoln and I share a long look. I can guess what my guy is wondering, because the same questions are ricocheting through my mind.

  Can we trust Peli?

  Is this a huge trap?

  If we leave the little monkey behind, what are our chances?

  No matter what the question, the answer seems to return to the same fact. Following Peli is a terrible choice, until you consider trying the same thing without him.

  I shrug. Lincoln nods. That’s about as long of a conversation that we need on the topic.

  “All right,” I say to Peli. “Lead on.”

  And let’s hope this isn’t the worst decision, ever.

  62

  Lincoln

  Peli’s stalling.

  There are faster paths we can take to reach the Golden Arbor. I do have a map, after all. And whenever I ask why we’re taking a longer trek, Peli replies with rather questionable answers.

  There may be snow snakes on that path.

  People get struck by lightning on that route all the time.

  Ghosts. Lots of ghosts.

  As Myla pointed out, Peli is a rather horrible liar. For whatever reason, our orange friend wishes to arrive closer to nightfall, and I’m in no position to disagree.

  Besides, I’ve been in situations like this one. If this were a card game, Peli would be revealing his hand. He thinks there is some benefit to arriving late. If I reveal I suspect he’s up to something, then Peli may do more to hide his true intentions.

  And I do suspect he’s up to something.

  Best to let Peli feel comfortable, and hope the little fellow mistakenly reveals his true arrangements with Aldred.

  It’s almost nighttime by the time we reach a spot to make camp. The place we choose lies a safe distance from a cliff’s edge. Here the pink tundra of the Icythians ends with an abrupt drop. Down below is nothing but burned out hulks of trees.

  That was Peli’s land, once. Great redwood-style arbors had towered here as they reached for the skies. Now it’s a graveyard of charcoal and memory.

  Which brings me to the present moment. Peli, Myla, and I all stand at the cliff’s edge, looking down upon the devastation below.

  “I’m sorry this happened to your people,” I say solemnly.

  “I was never one of them really. You know that.” Peli’s mouth thins to an angry line. “The Contagion only brought me in at the end to try and drain my power for the final Marked One.” Grief and pain seep from Peli, filling the air around us.

  “That may have been how the Contagion treated you,” says Myla. “That doesn’t mean it’s who you are.”

  Peli chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Aldred will be here tomorrow afternoon,” states Peli. “We should set up camp for the night.”

  “And?” I ask.

  Peli blinks up at me, his blue eyes luminous in the dying light. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been meandering across the countryside to arrive at this spot by nightfall. It’s not the optimal place to make camp. There’s higher ground on the other side of the cliff.”

  “How would you know?” asks Peli.

  “We walked past it,” I reply. “Remember?” I step closer. “Just once, tell us what your real plan is.
Myla and I will decide what to do.”

  Peli flips his bottom lip back and forth beneath his upper one. Clearly, he’s debating here.

  “Come on, Peli,” urges Myla. “Tell us.”

  Peli sighs. “It’s you, Myla. There’s something nearby that I would like to show you. Alone.”

  Defensive energy runs through my nervous system. “What will you do to Myla?”

  “Nothing. What I wish to show her is personal.” Peli lifts his chin. “It concerns family matters.” His voice warbles as he speaks those last words.

  Peli’s speech breaks down my defenses a little. But only slightly. “I still don’t like the idea of you dragging off Myla alone. You’re a powerful magician and self-described trickster.”

  “Hey.” Myla locks her gaze with mine. “This’ll be fine.”

  And I know what Myla means here. Peli’s tricks have all been in fun. When things get serious, our orange friend always looks out for our safety. And Myla’s a strong warrior. I don’t worry that anything could take her down. It’s more the principle of the thing. I don’t like open questions when it comes to my woman.

  Still, we need answers of another kind—meaning Aldred and the Contagion. Perhaps Peli’s about to give some intel to Myla. That’s not something we can afford to pass up.

  I focus on Peli. “Don’t be long or I’ll track you down.”

  Peli laughs.

  Myla doesn’t.

  “Lincoln’s not kidding, my little orange buddy.”

  And Myla’s absolutely right.

  63

  Myla

  Peli leads me to the cliff’s edge which connects the Icythian tundra to the Simian wasteland. A wooden ladder lies embedded into the cliff wall. Huh. I haven’t had the best of experience with ladders lately.

  “You want me to climb down that?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  “How secure would you say it is, on a scale of one to ten?”

  Peli purses his thin mouth. The movement makes his lips stand out an full inch. It’s a view I never really get used to. “I’d give it a six.”