A young girl’s screams echo in the outside hallway. Mom claws frantically at the door, her irises flaring red. “Dani!”
I remember the little wisp of a girl who was Vice President of Fun for the Lewis Family. The weight of my grief presses in harder and heavier, crushing something deep within me. Please, no.
Xavier wrestles Mom away from the door. “Camilla, you can’t go out there. You’ll be killed.”
“That’s my niece. She’s just a child. You have to let me go!”
Dani’s screams grow louder, then fall silent. The pounding and howls of the Manus demons fade.
Mom collapses onto the floor, sobbing. “They came here to support me through impeachment. What have I done?”
I grip my elbows so tightly, I’m surprised my bones don’t crack. My arms ache to reach into that past reality and hold her close, whispering I’m sorry, Mom, so sorry. I never could have imagined the horror of Armageddon’s war.
Xavier kneels beside her, his hand gently rubbing her back. “It wouldn’t have mattered where they were. You heard Walker. Demons have overrun Purgatory. All the Senator’s families have been targeted.” He rises to his feet, setting his hand on the marble doorway. “My heart goes out to you, Camilla.”
Mom looks up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Where are you going?”
Tim cowers against the wall. “They’ll kill you too, Xavier. You’re a quasi sympathizer, an enemy of the new state.” His voice breaks. “We’re all enemies of the state now. I hear it in Group Think.” His fingers shiver as they grip his robes.
I watch my ghoul-father tremble and realize that Tim did a brave thing in working with Mom. Most ghouls don’t consider quasis a legit form of life, let alone a potential boss. He took a risk because he cared about her, and now his life’s in danger.
Xavier presses his ear to the marble wall. “I helped build this place, remember? I know ways to leave without being seen. I’ll go to Armageddon and see what can be done.”
Mom looks up, her bottom lip quivering. “You mean the angels, right?”
Xavier shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”
“You said you’d speak to Armageddon. You must mean you’ll talk to your people. The angels.”
Xavier offers Mom a sad smile. “Yes, of course. The angels.”
My forehead creases with confusion. Mom’s way too upset to notice, but the way he answered her question was a little suspicious. What did he mean by saying that he would talk to Armageddon?
Mom rises to her feet. “I’m going with you.”
“No, I do this alone or not at all.” His fingers glide along the marble panel, looking for the mechanism to open the door. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”
The scene before me freezes. The figures change from flesh and bone back into sand. Little by little, their bodies crumble onto the Gray Sea. My dream fades into a place that’s black and empty. Sadness seeps into my heart.
Mom’s voice calls to me from the darkness of my dream. I awaken.
“Myla, can you hear me?”
I open my eyes. I’m lying on a plush bed inside a small and sturdy wooden house. The room’s filled with gilded furniture and delicate sculptures. Oriental rugs cover the floor. Mom stands beside me. The low chatter of many voices echoes in from the opened windows and door.
I shake my head from side to side, my brain still muddled with sleep. “Where am I?”
“The Queen’s cottage,” says Mom. “The thrax have been camping throughout this area.”
I pull myself up to sitting. “How long have I been here?”
“Since last night. I came as soon as I learned of your injury.”
My foggy brain tries to process Mom’s words. I must have passed out after Lincoln healed my back. And I’m just waking up now? “What was wrong with me?”
“You ran a high fever fighting the infection.” Mom presses her hand to my forehead. “But it broke about an hour ago. Did you sleep alright?”
Memories of Armageddon’s attack flicker through my mind. I grip Mom’s hand. “I had a dreamscape last night.”
I might as well have set off a bomb in the Queen’s chamber. At the sound of the word ‘dreamscape,’ the lively chatter of servants falls into perfect silence. The figures milling outside my window freeze. Expectation fills the air.
My mouth droops into a frown. Nice move, Myla. I’m in the Queen’s bedroom because the High Prince put me here. Everyone must be dying to know why. Now I’m talking about dreamscapes, aka super-rare angel stuff. If I hired a carnival barker to stand outside my window and sell tickets, I couldn’t have a more interested audience.
Bending over, Mom whispers in my ear. “Can it wait until we get home?”
She doesn’t need to ask me twice. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
Mom stands up straight, her voice steady and strong. “You were very fortunate, Myla. The doctors said you could have died.” She pauses, holding up one hand, waiting for any reaction from our hidden audience.