“In the quasi republic, the Scala moved hundreds of icons to Heaven at a time. Now it’s rare to see more than a few dozen.” Walker sighs. “Today, it’s the iconigrations to Hell that are packed to overflowing.”
I glance to Armageddon and Clementine. A soft scarlet glow shines from inside her briefcase. Strange red shadows crawl under her cheeks and snout. The buzzing sound grows louder.
J-27 touches the Scala’s shoulder again. “You must move them.”
The old man nods, his breath coming in rough gasps. He raises his wrinkled hand again; tiny lightning bolts whirl about his palm. The igni fly from his fingertips and whiz around the Arena floor. They settle around each icon, circling the morphing spirits in ever faster loops. The igni multiply, becoming pillars of white light.
I love to see those in action. Soul-columns. How the Scala moves spirits.
The Scala gasps; his eyes roll back into his head. The soul-columns become blindingly bright, then disappear, taking the icons with them.
The Scala drops his trembling hand. His breath comes faster and rougher than ever. Is he going to drop dead right here?
J-27 sets his fingers against the old man’s withered throat. The ghoul’s gray face turns pale as milk. “We must visit the healer right away.”
Armageddon leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stares into the briefcase in Clementine’s lap and grins. The light inside the case now blazes bright red. The buzzing grows louder.
I don’t care what Walker said. Whatever’s in that briefcase isn’t harmless plotting from Armageddon. It’s B-A-D. My skin prickles with alarm.
The King of Hell rubs his three-knuckled hands together. “Let’s see if this contraption is worth the price we paid.”
The six ghouls grab the Scala’s stretcher and bow their heads. The air crackles with energy. The edges of a portal appear and fade. Back sweat streams down the ghoul’s cheeks.
I shoot Walker a look. “What’s going on?”
Walker closes his eyes. “I don’t know. There’s no Group Think. That’s strange.”
“Do the Oligarchy talk in your head non-stop?”
“Always.” Walker’s face creases in concentration. “Though I can shut them off if I wish.” His focus grows more intense. “I’m not shutting them off now.”
Armageddon chuckles. “That’s enough, Clementine.” The pig-demon snaps her briefcase shut.
A portal immediately appears on the Arena floor. The ghouls smile nervously, lift the Scala’s stretcher and step through the black door-hole.
The demon leader takes to his feet. “We leave. Now.” He marches back to the stadium’s top level, orders his ghoul to open a portal, and vanishes into it along with Clementine and his Manus demon guard.
I frown. “He’s scheming again.”
Walker waves his hand dismissively. “He’s always scheming. I’ve seen strange things from him for twenty years now. I find that worrying about it isn’t productive.”
I open my yap, ready to argue my point, but decide not to bother. Normally, I’d fight with Walker on this for another ten minutes, minimum. But being in the Arena reminds me of Lincoln awarding my sword. Closing my eyes, I remember his mouth on mine in the botanical gardens and feel like a total fool. If he wanted to be in touch with me, he would have done it weeks ago.
Gritting my teeth, I bite back the urge to mope. “We should head back.”
Walker leans against the archway wall, his eyes glowing with a bit of red. “I hate to see the two of you like this.”
I absently pick moss off the uneven stones lining the wall. “The two of who like what?”
“You and Lincoln. Miserable.”
Wait a second. Did Walker say what I thought he said? “You know Lincoln?” My body goes on high alert.
“I do.” Walker’s mouth droops into a frown. “But I swore to never breathe a word of it.” A muscle twitches along his jaw. “It’s the artist in me. Too soft a heart.”
I step closer to him, careful to make every inch of me look as pleading and pathetic as possible. “Come on, don’t leave a girl hanging.”
He inhales a long breath. “I’ve known Lincoln as long as I’ve known you, Myla. I can’t explain how or why. Not yet, anyway.”
First of all, it’s totally annoying that he’s still being secretive. Tell me already! But somehow I can’t summon up my typical angst about Mom’s code of silence with everyone in my life. Besides, other topics are far more interesting.
“Did you say Lincoln’s miserable?” My face breaks out into a huge smile.
“Yes. And he’s been that way ever since he first set eyes on you.”
I remember Lincoln and I chatting on the bluff overlooking the Gray Sea. “He said something about that once. He saw me fighting Doxy demons.” But he didn’t share any ongoing Myla-related misery. Although, come to think of it, that could explain his whole ‘what a lowly demon you are’ attitude when we first met. Over-compensate much?