Waves of red-hot anger rip through my body. Every fiber of my being says that woman should not be killed and sent to Hell. I just know it. “That’s wrong, Walker.” My eyes flash demon red. “Why isn’t that woman going to Heaven?”
“Some souls believe they deserve Hell, even if a trial would send them to Heaven.” He shakes his head from side to side. “Under the old regime, quasis would never have allowed this human to choose trial by combat.”
And she’d be going to Heaven right now. A hollow feeling creeps into my bones. She’s purposefully losing the battle so her soul can be consumed in Hell.
On instinct, my back arches. My toes dig deep into the dirt, preparing to run. I scope out the distance from my spot to the woman’s. I could reach her in seconds. She doesn’t belong in Hell. I won’t let it happen.
I’m halfway out the archway when Walker yanks me back. “What are you doing, Myla?”
I shake him off. “It doesn’t seem right. Maybe I can grab her–”
“And get torn apart by a thousand demons.” He wags his head from side to side. “That would help no one.”
My voice catches in my throat. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“Not at this time, I’m afraid.” He scans the Arena, his gaze resting on Verus. “But soon, maybe. I believe our angel allies have a plan to give Purgatory back to your people.”
My heart kicks into overdrive. Purgatory free? Armageddon and his cronies gone? Count me in. “What will they want me to do?” I slap my palm onto my forehead. “Of course, that’s more than obvious. Fight.”
“Most likely.” He sighs. “But with angels, you never know for certain until it’s too late.”
Chapter Four
I try to focus in history class, but it’s no use. The human’s sobs haunt my mind. I draw her scarred face in my notebook, but the lines blur. My hand keeps shaking.
Across the room, Zeke stares in my direction, his blonde eyebrows wagging suggestively. He mouths four words: “You. Me. Party. Tonight.” And this actually works on other girls? Shifting in my chair, I angle my back toward him and keep scribbling.
Miss Thing’s voice breaks through my internal haze. “Class, today we’ll learn about the Scala.” I drop my pen and look up.
For once, school is getting interesting.
I’ve only seen the Scala a handful of times. With so many souls to move, he basically specializes in mass migrations, thousands of souls at once. You have to be pretty nasty badass to get a solo transfer. I picture the mysterious old dude on his stretcher, moving souls to Heaven or Hell with a wave of his hand. Coooooooool.
“Turn to page 402 in Purgatory Through the Ages.”
I open my book and stare at the page. Then, I close my eyes, blink three times to clear my head, and stare again. On the sheet before me is a picture of a young man, burly and strong. An ebony beard covers much of his smiling face. His arm is wrapped about a slender woman with mismatched eyes and long blonde hair. The caption under the image reads Maxon and Esme Bane.
“This is our current Scala when he was a youth.” Miss Thing smacks her cherry-red lips together. “Maxon Bane was born in 1157 on the realm of Earth in a place called England. Who can tell me what type of creature he is?”
Zeke raises his hand. “He’s thrax. They’re demon hunters.”
“Excellent, Zeke; you’ll make a fine servant one day. And how do we know he’s thrax?”
“The eyes.” Zeke points to the picture on the page. “One’s blue and one’s brown. Thrax are part human and part angel. The blue eye’s the angel part; the brown’s human.”
“Very good.” Miss Thing waves her hand dismissively. “None of you will leave Purgatory, but if you do, remember Zeke’s words. Anyone with different colored eyes are thrax, and thrax hunt demons. It doesn’t matter if you’re a quasi or greater demon. Anyone with demon blood will be murdered by these criminals.” She claps her hands. “Now turn to page 457.”
I fiddle with my book until a familiar face fills the sheet before me: one with shining black skin, a blade-like nose and glowing red eyes.
“Class, can anyone tell me who this is?”
My mouth answers on its own. “Armageddon.”
“That’s right. Who said that?”
I half-raise my hand. “I did.”
“Myla.” Miss Thing’s upper lip curls. “I see you’ve learned at least one useful fact in the Arena. Yes, that’s Armageddon, the King of Hell and the father of Maxon; his mother’s a thrax woman named Sara. Together, the blood of angel, demon, and human run in the veins of Maxon, turning a useless thrax into the one and only Scala.” With a flick of her fingers, she snaps shut the book on her desk.
I raise my hand.
“Yes, Myla?”
“Has the Scala ever decided not to process a soul?” I picture the woman with the scarred face. Maybe the Scala would refuse to move her.