Mom grins as well. “Absolutely. I was saying I could do your hair and make-up.”
“I can do my own hair and make-up, Mom. But if you can find a dress for me, that would be awesome.”
“And shoes too,” adds Cissy.
“Of course!” Mom sashays from the room; I hear the pit-pat of footsteps in our attic crawlspace. The rest of the afternoon, Mom pores through old boxes while humming a tuneless song. Meanwhile, Cissy and I actively avoid homework by watching the Brady Bunch marathon on the Human Channel.
All in all, a good day.
***
A bony finger pokes my bare toe. I peep out from under my comforter, seeing Walker at the foot of my bed.
“You are called to serve.”
I glance at my alarm clock. “It’s 5 AM, Walker.” And tonight is Zeke’s party. “This makes it twice in one week.”
Walker shrugs, rubbing his sideburns with his bony hand. From the other side of our ranch house, I hear Mom nervously clunking around the kitchen.
I roll over and stare at Walker out of my right eye. I know there’s no way out of this (not to mention that there isn’t anything else I’d rather do with my morning), but that doesn’t stop me from giving him a hard time. “Couldn’t find anyone else, eh?”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “No.”
“In that case, I guess I could go.”
Walker steps toward the door. “Don’t worry, there’s another fighter that I could–”
I jump in front of him, blocking any exit from my room. “Don’t you dare!”
Walker smiles. He really is way too handsome for ghoul. “So, you will fight?”
I punch him in the upper arm. “You know it, slim.” I speed through getting dressed, stuffing my face with cereal, and passing my morning interrogation with the Maternal Grand Inquisitor.
Walker steeples his hands under his chin. “Time to go, Myla.”
“Finally!” I clear my throat. “I mean, let’s go.” I’m totally pumped to have two fights in one week, but I don’t want Mom to have an aneurism. I give her a quick peck on the cheek. “See you later.”
She grips my shoulders. “Be safe, Myla-la. You’re all I have in the world.” She sniffles. “If I lost you…”
“No worries. I’ll be super incredibly safe. Bye now.” I grab Walker’s hand and almost run through the portal. It doesn’t matter how many times I do this, it always makes me sick to my stomach. When I step out onto the Arena floor, my head feels a little loopy too.
Fighting the fog in my brain, I inspect the grounds around me. Beside me stands Walker, Sharkie, XP-22, and good old Sheila, the Limus demon. As I struggle to focus, my fuzzy mind misses the procession of demons and angels into the stands. By the time my head clears, Sharkie’s ready to announce the match.
“Demons and angels!” The emcee’s deep voice echoes through the massive Arena. “I bring you another spectacle of efficiency in ghoul administration of Purgatory.”
At this point, a roar would typically erupt from the Arena’s demon population. Instead, there’s perfect silence. I scan the stadium; Armageddon sits unmoving on his ebony throne. His red eyes glow brightly; his thin mouth is set into a frown.
Sharkie eyes the stands carefully, then gestures to the dark balcony. “I would ask the greatest general in history to say a few words before the match. Armageddon, if you please!”
The demon lord swings his leg over the arm of his black throne, his scarlet eyes scanning the crowd with pure malice. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Okay, that’s weird. Normally, these matches start with a mutual love-fest between Armageddon and the ghoul hierarchy. Things seem oddly icy today. I rub my neck and yawn. Or maybe my brain hasn’t woken up yet.
Verus rises to her feet. “I’d like to say a few words.”
Sharkie stares at Armageddon for a long moment, his jaw hanging open. Verus never speaks at these events. Sharkie bows to her. “Uh, yes. Please.” He snaps back into emcee mode. “Ghouls, demons, and angels! You all know Verus as the Oracle, the only angel with the gift for seeing the future. What would you like to share with us today? A prediction for the match?”
Verus takes to her feet, her great wings extending. “We angels can’t help but notice that the Scala is getting on in years.” Her gaze rounds on Armageddon, a sly look twinkling in her eyes. “It is time the Scala Heir was announced and brought to these matches.”
I gasp. There hasn’t been a Scala Heir for ages. I’ve heard the stories, of course: at any point in time, there’s one Scala and one Scala Heir. Of all the creatures across the five realms, only these two mortals have the blood of a human, demon, and angel. My tail arcs over my shoulder, ready to strike. Somehow, Verus bringing up the Scala Heir sets my warrior instinct on alert. Bad mojo.