Cissy shoots me a desperate stare. “After school, Myla. The library? Remember?”
The library, right. If the Lady sends me to Principal’s office, I’ll be suspended for sure. Knowing my mother, that’ll mean no library trips for months. I need answers more than I need to make a point about demons. I bite my lips together, hard. “I understand, LDY-99.”
“Thank you.” The Lady spends the next hour explaining how Reperio demons like to eat Cheetos, dress in rotten food, and be entertained with any kid of fart noise.
Unholy moley, what a waste of time.
***
“Greetings, Myla. You’re called to serve.”
My eyes pop open. It’s early morning and Walker stands at the foot of my bed. Please let me not be dreaming. I’ve been dying for an Arena match for weeks, ever since I downed that Deacon guy. I cross my fingers under the comforter. “Am I dreaming?”
Walker folds his arms across his chest. “No, it’s really me.”
“An Arena match. Yes!” I jump out of bed and smile my face off.
Walker rubs his sideburns with one hand. “We must depart shortly.”
“I’ll be ready super-fast.” I hunt through my dresser for the least raggedy sweatpants. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Walker still lurking by my bed. I arch my eyebrow. “This is the part where you leave my room.”
Walker fidgets in his long robes. “Of course. I’m sorry, Myla.”
“No problem.” I gesture to door. “Since I’m going to the Arena, I bet Mom’s already worrying herself to death in the kitchen. You can keep her company.”
Walker patters out of my room, closing the door behind him.
I get ready in record time and sprint to the kitchen. Mom sits at the table, lazily paging through a travel magazine.
“Good morning, Myla sweetie.” Her face stretches into a warm smile. “I understand you’re going to the Arena today.”
Well, that’s a little fishy. Normally, Mom’s a heartbeat away from a coronary by this point.
“Yup, I’m off to battle the bad people.” I karate-kick the air and hear my sweatpants rrrrrrip. “Okay, maybe not in these pants.” I roll my eyes. “What am I thinking? I should wear my fighting suit.” I jog back to my room and change.
Mom calls to me from the kitchen. “Set those sweats onto the couch before you go. I’ll patch them this morning.” She sounds downright chipper.
Hmm. That’s a lot fishy. Time to ask some questions.
I return to the kitchen and make myself a hearty sugar cereal breakfast. “So, who am I fighting today?”
Walker frowns. “You’re not fighting anyone. The angels requested you be present for a ceremony.”
My morning instantly deflates. “A ceremony?” I grimace. “There’s no chance of fighting, none at all?”
“Knowing you, always.” Walker sips his coffee. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and really piss off Sharkie.”
“Good, because I just ripped my last pair of clean sweats. It’s the fighting suit or nothing.” I turn to Mom. “And you’re totally okay with all this?” I haven’t had a Maternal Inquisition yet or anything. It feels downright weird.
Mom loads her coffee cup with cream and sugar. “I’ve known the angel Verus since before the Wars. She and I discussed this. You can attend.”
“Oh, I see.” If Mom says I can go, this must be totally boring. I eat my Frankenberry cereal one sugar puff at a time. It’s like my last meal before hitting the guillotine.
Walker hovers by my shoulder. “We must depart now, Myla.”
Anger burns through my belly. “If you gave me a little notice before these Arena visits, I’d be ready faster.”
Walker shares a sly look with my mother. “You never complained before.”
“Well, I’m complaining now.”
Mom turns another page in her magazine. “Just because you’re not fighting evildoers this morning doesn’t mean you can be grouchy with Walker.”
Ugh. I hate it when she’s right. “Sorry, Walker.”
“You’re forgiven.”
I swallow my last bite of cereal. “Okay, let’s hit it.”
Walker opens a portal in the center of the kitchen.
Mom blows me a kiss. “Have fun, sweetie!”
“I’ll try.” I give her a halfhearted wave. “See you after school.”
Taking Walker’s hand in mine, I steel my shoulders and step through the dark door. We tumble through space for what feels like hours. I almost puke at least twice before stepping onto the Arena’s dirt floor.
Around me stand a dozen quasis. Men and women, black and white, young and old…This group could not be more different, except for one thing: they all have long pointed tails like mine.
They’re all part-furor. Fighters like me. I can’t help but size up the other warriors. I could take anyone of these folks down, easily. And although most of them have fighting suits, none are as dragon-scale badass as mine.