“Hells bells, what do they think you’ll be doing?” A muscle twitches along her jaw. “Is it safe?”
My happy-bubble bursts with a vengeance. Oh no, we’re back to the ‘what’s safe for Myla’ conversation. I stop mid-karate kick. “It’s totally safe-rrrr, Mom. This suit is the bomb.”
Mom rubs her neck with one hand. “Don’t you worry why they’re giving you this thing?”
“No, I don’t.” Anger lathers up my throat, turning my voice harsh. “I’m sure they have their sneaky reasons, and honestly, I don’t care.” I step up to her, wrapping my hands around hers. Her fingers tremble beneath mine. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.” My anger tightens into desperation. “I need you to have a little faith in me. Please.”
Mom sucks in a few deep breaths. “Have a good match, Myla.” I can tell it’s taking everything she has not to lose it.
I let out a long breath. Not-losing-it is as good a start as any. The knot of emotion in my throat loosens ever so slightly.
“Thanks, Mom.” We share an awkward smile. After that, I release her hands and step over to Walker. “Ready?”
His button-eyes twinkle. “Always. You?”
“Battling an evil soul?” My inner demon roars to life inside my belly. Excitement zings through my nervous system. “Bring it on.” Reaching out, I wrap my hand around his.
Together, he and I disappear from the kitchen, tumble through empty space, and emerge on the Arena floor.
***
I blink my eyes, adjusting to the stadium’s brighter light and my now-woozy stomach. I so hate portal travel. Around me, there stands Walker, Sharkie, and XP-22. A new face skulks nearby as well: a Crini demon, which is basically a seven-foot tall monster octopus. I shrug; I’ve killed my share of Crini in my time. This one has stumpy tentacles; Cissy could even take it out pretty easily.
Sheila must be out sick.
As the angels and demons enter the Arena, I practice lunges, spins, and kicks in my new suit. The rest of the world melts away. Pulling down the hood, I leap in front of XP-22 and growl. He almost jumps out of his robes. It’s beyond awesome.
Sharkie thumps his staff, snapping me out of my garment love-fest. I glance around the Arena; all the angels and demons are in their seats and ready to go.
Our emcee raises his staff. “To begin the match, we ask for a few words from our fearless leader Armageddon–”
Verus rises to her feet. “I shall begin by saying a few words.” She turns to the King of Hell. “Have you found the Scala Heir yet, Armageddon?”
Armageddon’s upper lip twists into a sneer. “No.”
Verus’s wings stretch wide. “I see. Such inefficiency in government. We need to–”
Armageddon leaps to his feet, his eyes blazing red. “WE WILL FIND THIS FOOL, I PROMISE YOU!” Bits of spittle fly from his mouth as he speaks. His three-knuckled fingers ball into fists. Taking a deep breath, he resettles into his chair, eyes still blazing red. He dismissively waves one hand. “Let the games begin.”
Smiling, Verus retakes her seat as well.
Long moments of silence, heavy as stones, fall about the Arena. What in Hell was that all about? Armageddon almost lost his marbles. Adrenaline pumps through my veins by the gallon; my tail arcs by my shoulder. Something is wrong here, very wrong. These two are in the middle of some kind of power play, and everyone in this Arena is another piece on their game board. A shiver of fear rattles my spine.
Sharkie thunks his staff on the Arena floor, interrupting my thoughts. The emcee’s voice echoes through the Arena. “I call forth the soul.”
A spirit appears beside Sharkie. This time, the ghost is a powerhouse of a man with a barrel chest over stout arms and legs. Skull tattoos cover his body. I let out a sigh of relief. Finally, an opponent worth the effort.
Sharkie turns to the human soul. “Deacon Lee, have you chosen trial by combat?”
The spirit’s misty eyes scan the Arena. “Yes.”
“You have three opponents to choose from. First–”
“I choose the girl.”
Huh. I’ve been in matches since I was twelve, and the souls always need to have it explained to them who they can choose and why. Sometimes, twice. It’s totally sketchy this guy not only knows the rules of the game, but who he wants to play with. On instinct, I scan Verus and Armageddon. The lead angel’s face is unreadable, but the King of Hell? He looks mighty pleased with himself.
A fissure of unease opens inside me. This is so not good.
Tilting his skeletal head to one side, Sharkie’s eyes glow bright red in their sockets. “So be it.” He waves to the exit archways. “All others, depart.”
The Crini demon is first to slink away, its eight puny legs creeping in an odd rhythm. Walker and XP-22 follow closely behind.
Deacon crosses his heavy arms. “And I want a weapon.”
My jaw just about drops off my face. Nobody gets a weapon. Not me, not the evil souls. Never. The sketchy quotient of this match just went through the roof.