“Oh, yeah. That’s right. Fall out, everybody!”
Maxon and Dad move to the gym’s entrance, right beside Lincoln and me. The boys stand in a make-shift line between Maxon and the dummy Armageddon. I think of the real King of Hell and shudder. Armageddon is seven feet tall and gangly with black skin that’s shiny and smooth, like polished stone. He has a long face, blade-like nose and wide mouth filled with pointed teeth. I’m glad Dad’s not using one of our more life-like mannequins; the kids would have nightmares for weeks.
Maxon launches into combat, his little wooden sword clutched tightly in his fist. His first battle is with Uther, who should be practicing his swordplay but keeps throwing imaginary grenades instead. Dad watches their fight and coaches, giving out pointers. Maxon bests Uther with ease. Within seconds, the boy cries ‘I submit’ and Maxon moves on.
Next in line is Ty, who casts a few minor fireball spells. Dad coaches Ty on how to attack and Maxon on how to defend. Raj and Nizam both use traditional wooden swords, and Maxon legitimately bests them all with little advice or coaching. I’m so proud.
His pretend demons downed, Maxon now races to the far wall. With a flourish, he knocks the helmet off the dummy’s head. “I got the helm, yay!” He turns to Dad. “Look Pop-Pops, I killed Armageddon for you!”
My father’s angel-blue eyes flare bright as he swipes the helm from Maxon’s hands. “He’s mine to kill,” Dad snarls. Almost as quickly as the words leave my father’s mouth, he realizes his mistake.
Maxon pulls on his ear, his classic move when he’s confused. “What did you say, Pop-Pops?”
“I said, that’s a fine kill, Maxon.”
Lincoln and I exchange a quick glance that’s the equivalent of a long conversation. The more time Dad spends away from his imprisonment, the harder his time there seems to wear on him. At least, Maxon didn’t notice anything wrong.
“Thanks, Pop-Pops.”
Dad returns the helm to Maxon. “Now, you must pick someone else to be King of Hell.”
Maxon tosses the helmet into a nearby bin. “Nah, I don’t want a new King of Hell.”
Dad raises his arm, signifying this is a learning moment. All the kids turn to watch. “Remember, children. Ruling Hell is a noble job, if done nobly. Hell is the cleansing ground for evil souls.” He turns to Maxon. “You need to pick a new King or Queen, my grandson.”
“Okay, Uther can be King of Hell.”
Uther grabs the huge helmet out of the bin and pulls it over his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” He stumbles toward Dad. “I want to hold the archangel baculum, too!”
My father pulls two simple silver rods from his waistband. “I only have these, I’m afraid.”
Uther stares at them, his face scrunching up with disappointment. “I thought all archangels had special baculum.” He lunges with an imaginary sword. “Can cut through anything.”
“Mine are still in Hell. Armageddon has them.” A pained look crosses Dad’s eyes. “He kept them close to me, but always out of reach.”
Uther sets his fists on his hips. “Well, I’m the King of Hell now, so shouldn’t I have them?”
Dad’s voice comes out low and menacing. “No one should have them but me. One day, I’ll get them back, mark my words.”
A charged silence fills the room as everyone stares wide-eyed at Dad. Uther drops his helmet to the ground with a loud clunk. “Uh, okay. I don’t need them.” His bottom lip quivers.
Lincoln steps forward to deftly break up the awkwardness. “Nice work, son.” He winks at Uther, who smiles from ear to ear. “You too, Uther.”
Maxon beams with pride. “Thanks, Father.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Dad snaps out of his angry funk. “All of you did a superlative job.”
There’s a lot of high-fives and jumping around, but now that the distraction of the game is over, I can’t share in the celebration. Armageddon wants to abduct Maxon to Hell. My shoulders tighten with worry. Dad smiles in my direction. I try to reciprocate and fail.
My father’s grin fades into a frown. “Let’s take a break, kids.”
Hildy steps away from the far wall. “How about we get a snack?”
A general chorus of happy cries echo through the room. “Yay!”
Maxon runs up to Hildy, grabs her hand, and drags her toward Lincoln and me. “Mom! Dad! This is who I was telling you about! She’s Hildy and she’s going to be my all-the-time nanny! Grandmother said so.”
“Actually, Mom and Dad said so,” I point out. I’m still too angry with Octavia to let the distinction slide. “But we’re all very excited to have her. Seems like you are, too.”
“Oh, yeah. Hildy’s a mono-syke. She can talk to me in her mind. Nizam says that’s really cool.”