Angelbound (48 page)

The Oligarchy inspects our faces. “There’s no need for all of you to suffer for
the Senator’s crimes.” Their voices come out syrupy and low. “Help us. We’ll keep you safe from Armageddon.”

“And how will you manage that, exactly?” Mom lets out a sigh that says ‘I can’t believe I’m having this conversation again.’ “You can’t protect
yourselves
from him.”

The portal reopens. Tim steps through, his chest slashed wide open, a mass of purple organs wriggling inside. “Lord Armageddon says thank you for the offer, but he’s here to kill us all.”

Tim crumbles to the floor, dead. The walls shake as something tries to break through the sands and into our bunker.

Armageddon is coming.

Unholy Hell. What a disaster. This bunker was supposed to hide me away from Armageddon and the Oligarchy. Instead, both baddies are yards away and everyone I love is imprisoned, myself included. Unless something changes soon, I’m calling on the igni. Maybe there’s still a chance to open a portal and escape.

The Oligarchy quiver in their red robes. “Armageddon would destroy us all?”

Mom scowls. “Of course, he will.” She snaps her fingers. “Like
that
.”

The Scala’s eyes pop wide open. Clearly, he picked up enough English to understand when someone says ‘Armageddon will kill you.’

The old thrax sits upright, his crinkled face trembling in terror. “Armageddon is here!”

Seeing his chance, Lincoln calls to the awakened Scala in Latin. “Thrax! Brother!”

Excitement rushes through my bloodstream. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the thrax, it’s that they loooooove their traditions. And there’s no bigger thrax tradition than to do whatever royalty tells you.

Hearing his native tongue, the Scala turns to Lincoln. He says two words in a reverent tone: “My Prince.”

Ha! Knew it.

The electric bonds around Lincoln’s hands and feet disappear. The Scala collapses back onto his stretcher. “Come here, my Prince.”

The Oligarchy’s stare snaps onto the Scala. “Maxon! Imprison him!” They point to Lincoln.

The old man’s gaze flips back and forth between the Oligarchy and Lincoln. His lower lip twitches. Anxious silence fills the room. One thought runs through every mind: Will the Scala honor Lincoln or the ghouls?

The old man sighs. “I cannot harm my Prince.” He reaches out a withered hand to Lincoln. “Come sit beside me, brother.”

The Oligarchy bare their teeth. “How dare you?”

The Scala raises his hand. “You want imprisonment too?” A few igni swirl lazily about his palm. “I can oblige.” He lets out a low cough. “Your people care for me and keep me safe, so I’ve been willing to follow your orders. But when it comes to my Prince, there can be no negotiation.” His eyes narrow. “Don’t rely too much that
I
rely on you.”

The Oligarchy stare at the Scala, the gears of their collective mind churning through scenarios and Group Think, trying to brainstorm how to bend the Scala
to their will. A long minute ticks by before the four ghouls slowly lower their heads. “As you wish, Great Scala.”

My mouth rounds with a satisfied smile. Other than hand the old guy over to the King of Hell, they’ve got no other options here…And they won’t do any handing-over until Armageddon guarantees their safety. Long story short, Lincoln bought us a little time. I roll my shoulders and stretch, feeling a sense of calm seep into my body, despite my bindings.

Lincoln kneels beside the Scala’s stretcher. “I am ​​Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus from the House of Rixa, High Prince of the Thrax. Release them all. Now.”

The Scala stares at Lincoln for a moment, then he flicks his hand. “I obey my Prince.” All our igni bindings disappear. I rub my wrists, feeling the blood flow once again into my fingertips.
Nice work, honey.

The Scala grips Lincoln’s arm. “They say Armageddon is coming. I must escape!”

The old man looks so wild-eyed and desperate, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. Chances are, he’ll end up with daddy Armageddon in a matter of hours. A shiver runs across my shoulders. Poor guy.

Lincoln gently pats the Scala’s frail arm. “Yes, Armageddon attacks.” He turns to the Oligarchy. “I wish him portaled to safety. What do you want in exchange?”

The Oligarchy lower their heads and close their eyes. “Group Think is a jumble. It isn’t safe to portal anywhere.”

Lincoln shoots them a knowing look. “So, you haven’t thought of a suitable trade for his safety. Yet.” The Prince returns his attention to the Scala. “We’ll
keep trying, brother. But we must stay here for now.”

The Scala’s papery hand grabs Lincoln’s arm. “Ignite your baculum. Give me an honest death, my Prince.”

I bite my lip, remembering the words of Armageddon in my vision: ‘I’ll drag you to hell to suffer.’ Honestly, if daddy Armageddon were beating down MY door, I’d beg for death too.

Lincoln shakes his head from side to side. “No, brother.” He turns away. The old man grabs a dagger from a holster on Lincoln’s thigh. Fast as a heartbeat, the ancient thrax buries the blade into his own chest, stabbing himself through his heart. His white cloak blooms red with blood.

Holy crap.

I’ve seen my share of blood on the Arena floor. Matches don’t always have a happy ending. A familiar set of emotions sweep through me: shock, pity, grief. But this time, those feelings are amplified by the tiny voices in my heart and mind. Igni mourn their friend’s injury with a child-like intensity. I bite into my knuckle, trying to stifle the sobs that swell in my throat.

Cissy’s the first to speak. “Lincoln! The Scala!”

Spinning about, Lincoln leans over the thrax, inspecting the wound. “No, brother!” The old man’s chest heaves and falls silent. His wrinkled hand tumbles off the stretcher.

Lincoln sets his fingertips on the old man’s neck. “He’s gone.”

The igni’s weeping grows louder in my mind. My legs go wobbly beneath me.
He was all they knew for a thousand years.

The Oligarchy’s eyes blaze blood-red. “Traitors! Murderers! You’ve killed our–” The dead Scala moves. The Oligarchy shut their mouths.

One by one, the igni seep from the Scala’s lifeless form and swirl around his body. He begins to breathe again. The dead man opens his eyes; both glow bright blue. Around him, the tiny igni multiply into a wide column of light. Inside my mind, their little voices turn silent. The quiet’s unnerving; I gnaw my lower lip.

Something is coming.
Something big.

The dead man points to me. His movements are jerky and odd. “I give my powers to the new Scala.”

There’s a millisecond that lasts a million years where I flat-out panic. Can’t we get someone else to do this job? Maybe I can go back to being Myla Lewis, human paramecium and Arena fighter extraordinaire. Forget my father, forget my new powers, and forget the millions of souls that need transport to Heaven or Hell. I know who I am and want no part of it.
Let me go.

Then, the igni burst into a song that only I can hear. There are no words this time, only gentle voices and sweet music, enveloping me in a blanket of calm. My heart rate slows to almost zero. My breath all but disappears. The world around me fades until there’s only their lovely music. A column of ingi slowly swirls across the bunker floor, heading straight for me.

‘It’s alright,’ they seem to say. ‘It will be over quickly.’ Their music’s like a drug, drowning out all the terror I felt before. My brain floats in strange bliss as the igni-whirlwind slams into me.

That’s when the fear comes barreling back.
What the Hell is happening?
I
howl as a shock of energy zooms down my spine, igniting every nerve ending in my body. Thousands of tiny lightning bolts attach themselves to my flesh, burning as they slide inside my skin. It’s excruciating.

I gasp for breath, and slap at my arms and legs, trying to knock off the igni.
I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. Find someone else!
It doesn’t do any good. The tiny bolts pass into me, unstoppable.

The dead thrax leans back on his stretcher. His eyes close. His breathing slows. “Esme. I come to you. At last. Esme.” He smiles and falls silent. His chest ceases to move. This time, he really is gone.

A new sensation rushes over me, something beyond emotion or words. I am everyone and no one. I am all places and the void. I sense every emotion in the universe, yet am empty of feeling. My tail relaxes. My eyes roll back into my skull. Power floods my body.

I am changing.

Visions appear in my mind’s eye: Manus demons tearing down the doors to my high school…Rows of mansions in Upper Purgatory burning in a long line of flame…Crini demons smashing the empty cottages of the thrax compound…And Armageddon leaning against a wall of black stone in the middle of the Gray Sea, his great mouth coiling with a satisfied smile.

More igni slip under my skin. The column of Scala power dims and thins. Every cell in my body vibrates with energy. A jolt of realization hits me. The demon invasion, Armageddon, and Purgatory; I know precisely what I need to do next.

If only I have the strength to do it.

I still don’t want this power. Refuse to accept it as my future. But right now, at this moment, I know it’s the only way to save those I love. I will have to try.

The last of the igni enter my body. The room becomes dead quiet. I scan the faces around me: Zeke and Cissy stand stock-still. Adair sits curled against the wall, immobile. I’m not even sure if they’re breathing. Lincoln and Walker smile. Mom’s brown eyes bulge in a look that hovers somewhere between terror and pride.

The Oligarchy are the only ones who speak. They turn to me, lick their lips and hiss: “The new Scala.”

It takes all I have to force my shoulders back and my spine straight.
I have to try.
I meet the Oligarchy’s gaze head-on. “Yes, I’m the new Scala. And now we’ll discuss how to drive the demons from my homeland.” I turn to Walker. “Bring me the angel Verus.”

The Oligarchy bow. “We cannot allow unauthorized portals at this time, Great Scala. There’s some kind of interference in Group Think. It’s not safe.”

“Really? How’d you like a quick trip to Hell?” I raise my hand, hundreds of igni encircle my palm. I watch the tiny lightning bolts whirl about my fingers.

The Oligarchy bow. “We can allow portals for you, Great Scala.”

“That’s more like it. Walker, go get Verus.”

Walker nods. A portal opens. Its edges blur and waver. Gritting his teeth, Walker steps into the black emptiness and disappears.

I pull open a folding chair and point to the empty seat. “Grab a chair, boys.
We’ve lots to talk about.”

The Oligarchy gasp. I’m guessing they aren’t used to a Scala with a backbone. “As you wish, Great Scala.” The Oligarchy pick up metal folding chairs and drag them across the concrete floor with an ear-piercing series of squeaks. I’d probably laugh my head off if I weren’t so freaked out about whatever-the-hell-it-is that just happened to me.

I try to keep a confident pose as I survey the scene. The Oligarchy still drag their chairs around while everyone else stands about, looking googly-eyed with shock. This is crazy. Why am I launching this plan again? Oh yeah, a bunch of
tiny lightning bolts
told me it was a good idea. I let out a long breath. We’re so fucked.

Lincoln steps up behind me, setting his arms about my waist. His body feels warm and solid behind mine. “May I have a minute, Great Scala?”

“I’m
Myla
.”
As in a person, for the record.

“I see. Follow me, please.” Lincoln slips his hand in mine, guiding me into the small antechamber off the main room. It’s a snug space with dark walls lined pantry-style with food and water. Cots are stacked in one corner and there’s a makeshift kitchen of sorts. The exit to the surface is one huge circular steel portal that looks very, very closed.

Lincoln shuts the door to the main chamber and drags out a cot. My brows arch. What exactly is he up to? The Prince sits down and pats the space beside him. “Let’s talk.”

I raise my hands to shoulder level, palms forward. Frustration twists in my
belly. We are so not doing whatever-it-is-he-thinks-we’re-doing right now. “This is no time for chit chat. Hell’s about to break loose. For real.”

Lincoln rests his elbows on his knees. “A few minutes ago, you sucked in enough supernatural electricity to power a universe. We’re not doing anything until I’m sure you’re okay.” He cocks his head to one side, his mismatched eyes filled with concern.

Dammit. I was okay as long as there was something to be pissed about (or in the case of the Oligarchy, bossy to). Now that Lincoln’s acting all sweet and lovey, I start to lose it. My bottom lip quivers. “I’m fine.” My eyes sting. “Maybe.”

Lincoln rises to his feet and wraps me in the mother of all hugs. His arms are warm and roped with muscle, his body firm and comforting. I cuddle my head into his shoulder and start spilling my guts. “This whole thing began because, like a dumbass, I wanted to know who my father really was. Now it turns out that my dad’s an archangel who’s in Hell, getting tortured for all eternity. So that sucks. Then I meet you, get all lovey and—BOOM—I’m the Scala Heir. Which was weird, but hey, the old Scala could have lived another thousand years, so no big deal, right?” I poke Lincoln softly in the belly. “Am I right or am I right?”

He tries to hide a chuckle. “You’re right.”

“Well, he didn’t last a week. Now I’m the Great Scala, which is a very sketchy job description that involves everyone trying to control me.” I sniffle into his body armor. “If I’d just listened to Mom, I’d still be fighting Arena matches, skipping school, and living what now looks like a pretty sweet life before I mucked it up.”

Lincoln rubs my hair in long strokes. It feels really-really soothing. “I’m so
sorry this happened to you, Myla.”

I loop my arms around his waist. “Maybe after this is all over, we can see if someone
else
can be the Scala? An Heir must be running around someplace.” I rub my nose with my knuckle. “Oh, I’ve heard of some pretty amazing magic users. Maybe one of them can zap the igni into someone else.” I groan. “I want to get today over with, kick Armageddon’s ass out of Purgatory, and forget any of this ever happened.” I nuzzle into his shoulder. “Except the
you
part, of course.”