I slap on a smile. “On it, Mom.”
Walker bows his head. “Stand back, I’ll summon a portal.” A new black hole appears in the center of the kitchen. I glance into the darkness, feeling the Frankenberry in my belly come up for a repeat performance. Using a portal feels like tumbling through empty space with a killer case of the stomach flu. Helpful safety tip: hold a ghoul’s hand or you’ll fall forever.
Taking a deep breath, I grab Walker’s chilly fingers so tightly, I’d cut off his blood flow, if he had any. Together, we step into the portal, topple through nothingness, and walk out again onto the sandy earth of the Arena floor. I try my best to look ready-for-battle instead of ready-to-puke.
Walker offers me a sympathetic glance. “Shall we find a place to sit?”
“Nah, I’m fine, thanks.” I scan the open-air stadium around me. The Arena’s a nasty old ruin, all chipped gray rock and busted sandstone columns. How the place stays upright is a total mystery. The fighting floor is one huge uneven clod of dirt, the bleachers are basically rubble, and the entire top level looks ready to collapse.
I freaking love it here.
The stands lie open and empty, except for a few quasis. They’re all fighters like me, trying to catch someone else’s match. Mom used to attend too, but all the moaning and gasping got so out of hand, she was banned ages ago. I can’t say I was bummed. Nothing like having your Mom yell ‘Baby, don’t diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie’ when you’re twelve and fighting a demon for the first time.
A gravelly voice echoes through the air. “Greetings, slave.” The word ‘slave’ is said with particular venom.
Every muscle in my body goes on alert. I’d know that voice anywhere, and I absolutely loathe its owner. I scrape lint from under my fingernails and pretend not to notice the seven-foot tall ghoul looming behind me.
Walker steps between us. “Greetings, SKE-12.”
My mouth winds into a mischievous grin. “Hey, Sharkie.’” SKE-12 hates his nickname, so I work it into every encounter.
Sharkie frowns. “My name is SKE-12, slave.”
Walker sets his hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me so I stand face-to-navel with Sharkie, master of Arena ceremonies and all-around dickhead. He hasn’t changed a bit since my last match, not that ghouls often do. He’s gray-skinned with large coal-black eyes, a skull-like hole for a nose, and teeth that have been filed to tiny points. His long silver robes hang in tatters; a tall black staff is gripped in his bony hand.
Walker gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Myla was just about to greet her ghoul overlord properly, weren’t you, Myla?” Standing next to Sharkie, even Walker looks vertically challenged.
“My bad.” I bow extra-low. “Greetings, SKE-12.”
His buggy black eyes narrow into slits. Sharkie always knows when I’m making fun of him, and it drives him crazy. “I’ll have no mischief from you today.”
I bow again, even lower this time. “Yes, I’m fresh out.”
Sharkie turns to Walker, his black eyes flaring bright red. “Control her.” His gaze swings back to me. “We’ve an especially evil human soul fighting today. I hope to watch you die at last.”
I pick something off my molar with my pinky. “I’m sure you do.”
Sharkie steps closer, his pointy teeth click-clacking as he speaks. “The soul you fight today is so evil, the angels have begged the Great Scala to stand by, ready to transport him to Hell the moment he’s defeated. Which will never happen.” He leans in closer. “You. Are. Doomed.”
My brows pop up. Normally, the Scala migrates tons of souls at once in what’s called an iconigration. For this guy to get solo treatment, he must be a SUPER nasty. Fun. “Bring it on, Shar–.”
Walker grabs my elbow. “Look, Myla! Your friends are here!” He points across the stadium floor. “We must depart.” He bows once more to Sharkie. “Excuse us.” As we speed-walk away, Walker whispers in my ear. “If I weren’t already dead, I’d have had a heart attack just now.”
“Eh, Sharkie’s harmless.”
“Because I placate him for you.” He shoots me a sly look. “Why must you always taunt him?”
“Not sure.” I shrug. “It’s a hobby.” A few yards ahead stands a ghoul named XP-22, and a hovering green blob that’s Sheila, the Limus demon.
I shoot Sheila a friendly wave. “Hey Shiel, how are the kids?” Sheila’s nice, so long as you don’t stand close enough for her to swallow you whole. XP-22, on the other hand, is a total drip. I don’t even glance in his direction.
“The kids are good, Myla, getting bigger every day…Just like you.” Sheila’s entire body shivers, which is a little scary since she’s six feet tall, three feet wide, and has fourteen red eyes the size of tennis balls. “It seems like yesterday you were twelve and about to fight your first demon.” Her huge gaping mouth twists into a grin. “How old are you now, honey?”