The Old Timer squeaks. “Armageddon is our friend.”
Rhiannon smiles. “Of course, he is.”
I grit my teeth and kick at the muddy turf. Of course, he isn’t. I can’t believe someone like Rhiannon has to give lip service to the Old Timer’s stupidity. He invaded Purgatory once. Why wouldn’t he do it again?
Rhiannon moves beside the burning Manus demon, raises her palm and blows across her open hand. More magical water appears, white flame licking across the surface of her skin. Rhiannon tips her hand, the water pours into the shape of the King of Hell. He stands seven feet tall with smooth skin and a gangly body. A blade-like nose divides his long face.
I swallow. Yup, that’s him alright.
Levi walks around the model of Armageddon. “Take a close look, everyone. Armageddon is a greater demon. They’re heartless, rare, and incredibly powerful. Each develops a preferred method of attack. For Armageddon, it’s touch. If he can get his fingers on your bare skin, he’ll pull out your soul.”
I remember the dreamscape where Armageddon turned Senator Adams into a pile of ash. I shiver.
Levi’s jaw sets into a firm line. “Armageddon’s body is invulnerable. Only another greater demon can fight him. Simply put, your best defense is to run. If you can’t escape, cover up any exposed skin.”
The angels pour more demons from their palms. Other students start asking questions and stop acting terrified. Even Tank and the Old Timer join in. The lawn fills with monsters made of clear water and white flame.
So. Freaking. Cool.
I almost pinch myself. This can’t be real: I’m at school, talking about how demons fight, and no one’s glaring at me like I’m a nut-job. Awesome.
Rhiannon and Levi end the lecture. I watch them leave and check my watch: 3:45 PM.
Unholy moley. Class ran over and I’m late for my mystery encounter with Lincoln. I wave goodbye to Cissy and Zeke, race over to Betsy, and drive off to Upper Purgatory.
Chapter Eighteen
It takes at least a million years to putter over to the Ryder mansion. I park the wagon, jog up to the front door, and test the handle. It swings open.
I step inside the reception hall.
“Hello? Anybody here?” I check my watch. Almost 5 o’clock. They must have left. “Hells bells.” Frustration bolts through my arms and legs. My gaze rests on the dainty porcelain statues lining the reception hall’s gilded tables. Damn, I’d love to smash a few of those against the wall. My hands ball into fists.
Voices echo in from the East Wing ballroom.
My fists loosen. Maybe I’m not too late.
With halting steps, I follow the sounds down the hallway. At the end of the corridor, the arched gateway to the ballroom lies open. I peer inside.
Lincoln stands at the center of the ballroom floor, a square of padded mats beneath his feet. He faces Nat, the man who inspected the Furor dragon at the Winter Tournament. The pair run through battle moves with wooden swords. Lincoln wears black knee-length spandex shorts and, well, nothing else. I watch the play of muscles across his back, arms, and legs. Damn, he looks tasty. My lust demon purrs inside me.
I raise my arm. “Hello!”
Nat pauses and waves. “Hello there!” He has a square face with a round nose, mismatched button eyes, and grizzled chin. Both his barrel-shaped chest and stocky limbs are firm with muscle. Like Lincoln, he wears compression pants, only his are paired with an olive green t-shirt.
With his opponent distracted, Lincoln drops onto his knee, swinging his free leg against Nat’s shins. The elder man falls, hitting the mat face-first with a thud.
Lincoln hops to his feet. “Always stay mindful of the battle, Nat. You taught me that.” He jogs to the edge of the mats, pulls on a white t-shirt and waves in my direction. “Hello, Myla!”
“Hi. Sorry I’m late.” To whatever weirdness this is.
“No problem. It gave me and Nat a chance to practice.” He gestures to the older man beside him. Nat’s back on his feet and smiling. “I don’t believe you two have officially met. Myla, I’d like to present Nathaniel Archer, my Master at Arms.”
“Master at Arms?”
Nat half bows. “That means I teach the young Prince how to fight demons, milady.” He has a gravelly voice with a cute cockney accent.
Lincoln winks. “And stay alive in the process.” He steps up to the edge of the mats, then pauses. Our gazes lock; energy zings in the space between us. We share a slow and warm smile. I missed you too, Lincoln. I ache to wrap my arms around him.
Nat steps between us. “I’m also here as royal chaperone.” He clears his throat. “In case any ladies should stop by what’s officially a boys-only work out.”
I tilt my head to one side. “You’ve never had a chaperone before, Lincoln.”
His smile droops. “We’ll get to that in a bit.”