My heart thumps sadly. I miss Lincoln, too. I haven’t heard a word from him since the winter tournament two weeks ago. It’s really bumming me out that I was some kind of one-kiss-stand for him. Nightshade’s now a permanent resident at the Ryder stables; I take her out for regular jaunts near the thrax compound. Each time, I hope to run into a particular someone, but no such luck. I’m too proud to do more than that.
I let out a low sigh. Okay, I’m actually not too proud to do more than that, but the thrax have their little campground on some kind of mega lock-down these days.
Walker sizes me up carefully. “I’ve missed you as well.” He rubs his long sideburns. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
I flip off my covers and set my toes on the chilly floor. “Why’s that?”
“You’re the greatest warrior in Antrum.”
“Oh, yeah.” I step over to my dresser, open the top drawer and pull out my golden breastplate. “Queen Octavia hooked me up with armor and a spot in the tournament.” I set the breastplate over my gray nightgown and model it for Walker. “I took out an Arachnoid in this thing.”
Walker grins. “I wish I could have seen it.”
I wink. “Perhaps another time.” I carefully set the breastplate back into my drawer. “So, who am I fighting today?”
Walker lowers his voice. “I have a surprise for you. We’re actually seeing an iconigration.”
I clasp my hands. “No. Way.” Iconigrations are when the Scala moves multiple souls to Heaven or Hell at once. I’ve only seen these a few times. Mega cool.
“Oh, I found a way.” He sets one finger over his mouth in a ‘shh’ face. “Just don’t tell your mother what we’re up to.”
I mime zipping my mouth shut. “Got it.” Mom freaks out when I do anything different. I have a feeling an iconigration would send her through the roof.
“See you in a bit.” Walker steps out my bedroom door, careful to close it behind him.
I shower, change into my fighting suit, and walk into the kitchen, a smarmy smile on my face. Iconigrations are the best.
Mom sits at the table, holding a mug of steaming coffee. She takes one look at me and frowns. “What’s going on, Myla?”
I put on my best ‘innocent face’: eyes wide and blinking like mad. “Walker’s taking me to the Arena for another death-match. You know, the usual.” A pile of Demon bars sit on the counter. I grab one and dive in.
“Did you have any strange dreams last night?”
“Nope.”
“Make any new friends?”
Besides the thrax High Prince?
“Cissy’s still my best friend, Mom.” Misleading but true.
Mom rounds on Walker. “What soul is she battling this morning?”
“The CEO of a financial conglomerate back on earth. Nasty fellow.” Unlike me, Walker’s a really good liar.
Mom eyes me carefully for a full minute. Her fingers slowly drum the tabletop. “I suppose it’s all right.”
Sweeeeeeeeeet.
I swallow my last bite of breakfast. “Let’s get going.”
Walker lowers his head. A crackling sound fills the air as a portal opens by our fridge. I take Walker’s hand in mine.
“See you later, Mom.”
She looks at me out of her right eye. “Uh-huh.” After my little performance with the Reperio demons, she’s on constant sneak-alert for everything I do. Not that I blame her.
Walker and I step into the portal, tumble through empty space, and walk out again into a darkened archway off the Arena floor. I’m actually starting to like portal travel.
I lean against the stone wall and look out across the stadium. Everything’s deserted.
“There used to be great ceremonies before an iconigration,” says Walker. “Now the Scala shows up, creates soul-columns and leaves.”
A low hiss echoes through the air. A portal opens along the Arena’s top level. Through it steps the tallest ghoul I’ve ever seen and someone I never wanted to see again: Armageddon.
I turn to Walker. “What’s tall, dark, and demonic doing here?”
He shrugs. “He comes to see his son sometimes.”
My tail arcs over my shoulder. My body goes on full alert.
Another figure steps out from the portal: a tiny woman in a high-necked red silk gown with a bustle on the back. She looks like something from earth in the 1800s, except for her pink skin, pig-snout nose, and tiny black eyes. Her hair’s a long piggy tail that winds into a bun behind her head. In her hoof-hand she holds a silver briefcase.
Armageddon, a ghoul and a few Manus demons all seat themselves in the black marble balcony. The King of Hell snaps his fingers over his shoulder. “Clementine. Now.” The pig-demon rushes onto the balcony, taking her seat beside Armageddon’s black stone throne. She opens the briefcase in her lap and fiddles with whatever’s inside. A high-pitched buzz rings softly in the air.
I nod to Walker. “What do you think Armageddon’s up to?”
“Who knows? He’s always doing strange things. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Humph. That attitude got Purgatory overrun in the first place.
A long portal opens in the center of the Arena floor. Through it steps six ghouls carrying a fancy stretcher. The old Scala lays atop the makeshift cot in his white robes, fast asleep. A thin white blanket is tucked beneath his chin.
One carrier-ghoul gently touches the Scala’s thin shoulder.