It’s the igni. I’ve spent the last eight hours on a Scala Heir bender, showing my powers to Mom, Walker, Lincoln, and his parents. Igni must leave some kind of trace on my body and soul. Somehow it fooled Armageddon into chatting me up in my dreams. That’s why I don’t feel the terror of being physically close to him.
Armageddon leans back in his chair. “We both know what you’re thinking. Long ago, I asked you to join me in ruling Hell; you refused. Now you carry my curse.” His beady black eyes narrow into slits. “Go ahead. Ask me to forgive you, my son. Ask one more time. Perhaps I’ll change my mind and offer you the mercy you so desperately seek.”
There’s a long pause where I know Armageddon’s waiting for the mercy-begging to commence. That’s so not happening. Ever.
“Not in the mood to grovel today, my boy? How tiresome.” His eyes blare crimson red. “No matter. I will fulfill my curse and drag your body to Hell by force, and not to rule…But to suffer. Perhaps your soul will go to Heaven one day, but not before I torture your body in Hell.”
The demon pauses, and then snaps his fingers. “We’re done here.”
The office and Armageddon disappear. The rest of the night, my consciousness drifts about in darkness and silence.
Great. A crappy night’s sleep right before my big match. Yet another reason to hate Armageddon.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I awaken, finding myself alone in my own bed. Lincoln’s left a small note on the nightstand beside me. ‘Off to rumple the couch before your mom wakes up. See you at breakfast. L.’ With a sad smile, I slip the note into the top drawer of my little table. It came from Lincoln; I can’t bring myself to throw it away.
My bedroom door swings open. Mom steps inside, my fighting suit gripped in her hand. The worry lines around her eyes have deepened overnight. She pauses. “You’re up.”
I hoist myself to a seated position and set my feet on the chilly floor. “Yeah. I didn’t sleep too well last night.”
“It’s 5 AM. Time to get ready for the Arena.”
I rub my neck and stretch. “Thanks, Mom.” Nervous energy twists down my spine. My hands tremble slightly.
Come on, Myla. This should be a match like all the others. Stay calm.
Tossing my suit on the bed, Mom gives my shoulder a gentle pat. “We’re all in the kitchen. See you there when you’re ready.” She steps toward the door and pauses. “Do you want some Frankenberry?”
“Sure, Mom.” The way my stomach churns, I may not hold it down, though.
I change into my fighting suit and step into our little kitchen, which is standing-room-only this morning. Mom, Cissy, and Zeke all sit at our tiny table. Lincoln and Walker stand nearby. Tim waits in a far corner, looking wide-eyed and twitchy.
The Prince winds me into a cozy hug. “Good morning, Myla.”
Leaning into his shoulder, I inhale his yummy scent of forest pine and leather. “I’m glad you’re here.” I force on a grin.
His voice sounds low and soft in my ear. “You’ll kick ass today.”
A genuine smile curls my mouth. “Hells, yeah.” Stepping back, I take in Lincoln’s gear: black body armor, daggers holstered on his outer thighs, and baculum strapped to the base of his spine. “You look ready to kick ass too.”
Lincoln shrugs. “Another day at the office.”
Cissy and Zeke step closer; they’re careful not to stare at my new blue irises. It’s like those dreams where I show up to school naked, only instead of naked, I’m a blue-eyed, soul-swapping super-being. I’m sure they’re trying to be sensitive, but sheesh. I feel like enough of a freak already.
“Morning, Myla.” Cissy wraps me in an especially long squeeze. “Walker told us everything. I’m going to miss you, sweetie.”
“I’ll miss you too, Cissy.” I picture the little shoebox of moths in her locker. I’ve always relied on Cissy to pick up the pieces and protect the endangered cocoon of weirdness that is my life. I honestly don’t know what I’ll do without her friendship. “Very much.” My voice catches.
Zeke awkwardly punches my shoulder. “The next Scala, eh? Sorta explains why you never fell for any other guys at school.”
Cissy breaks our hug, spins about, and elbows him in the ribs. “Be nice, Zeke. This isn’t about conquests with your buddies. We’re saying goodbye to Myla today.”
“Oh, yeah.” Zeke stares at his sneakers. “It’s a bummer how you have to run off and everything.”
“Thanks.” Cissy, I’ll miss. Zeke, maybe not so much.
Walker steps forward, his long robes swaying with the movement. He swings his arm wide, gesturing toward Tim. Compared to how Walker towers in his dark robes, Tim looks like a twelve-year-old in a black sheet. “Myla, I’d like you to meet TIM-29.”
“Hello, Tim.” It’s weird being introduced to someone you’ve dreamscaped about for months. Especially when the someone in question is kind-of a douchebag. Too bad we couldn’t think of anyone else.
“Pleasure to meet you.” His large black eyes stare into mine. “I can’t believe it. You really do have angel-blue irises.”