“Yeah, I’m fine. My igni wouldn’t listen to my commands, though. They were singing some kind of message to me instead. Weird.” I punch his upper arm. “By the way, nice job, you.”
“I’ve fought Durus before. Normally, they’re incredibly fast. The eyes shouldn’t light up, either. Something was wrong with this one.” He frowns, resetting his baculum into their holster on his thigh. “Not that there’s anything wrong with an easy battle every once in awhile.” A crafty look lights up his eyes. “Ready to head out? I want to hear all about what’s going on.”
Happiness bubbles up inside me. That’s right. Lincoln’s staying for days now. Awesome. Whatever other plans I had, I’m clearing my schedule and enjoying our time together. I take his hand in mine and head for the door.
Betsy’s still waiting outside.
Chapter Four
Lincoln and I hunt through the contents of my fridge, looking to scrounge up a quick snack before dinner. Like most nights, my parents are off running Purgatory as Madame President and First Man, so it’s fend for yourself time. Turns out, killing a Durus makes you hungry. Plus, that weird-igni-concert was no-fun. I need me some grub.
Lincoln digs through a shelf loaded with plastic containers. “I still can’t get over this place. So much nicer than Arx Hall.”
My new house is nicer than Lincoln’s underground castle in Antrum?
“I don’t know. Arx Hall’s pretty sweet.”
“Sure, it all looks good,” says Lincoln. “But we’ve no electricity, no phones, no computers. Our kitchens are still stuck in the Middle Ages. There’s a larder, a buttery, an icehouse, and a guy whose only job is to ensure that meats roast properly. I kid you not; I pay someone to be my Master of Turning Spits. It takes a legion of people two days to make me a sandwich.” He gestures open-armed at the fridge. “Now, this is so much better.”
“The kitchen here’s pretty kick-ass, I’ll grant you that.”
Once I got to be the Great Scala—and Mom became Purgatory’s President—I knew we’d get an upgrade in housing. The place we ended up in was recently abandoned by a wealthy ghoul collective (they don’t use the term ‘family’) so it’s essentially a mash-up of Goth haunted house and high-tech superstore. And for once, the ghouls didn’t cheap out on the electronics, either. The kitchen’s the nicest spot, a huge space covered in stainless steel and the latest gadgetry from Earth. There’s a long shiny table on the right-hand side of the room. On the left is where all the inscrutable appliances hang out.
Lincoln slides out a plastic container filled with multi-colored goop. “What in blazes is this?”
“One of Dad’s creations.” As an archangel General, my father has a list of superpowers a mile long. Expertise in demon lore and battle strategy rank up at the top. Being a decent cook isn’t on the list, period. “Dad doesn’t have to eat, but he still likes combining random stuff in a pan. Lately, he’s been stashing it in the fridge, too.”
“Should I open it?”
“Don’t, really. It’ll be the most disgusting thing you’ve ever smelled.”
“Now, I’ve got to open it.” Lincoln lifts the lid a crack. The scent of rotten eggs and dumpster juice slams into our faces. “Damn, that’s nasty.” He closes the lid quickly and shoves it back into the fridge.
“Told you so.” Giving up on the fridge, I go to the stainless steel cabinet where all the Demon bars are stored. Along the way, I notice a pile of written sheets on the countertop. I’d know that handwriting anywhere. It’s Walker’s. As a ghoul and family friend, Walker portals in and out of our kitchen daily. Lately, he’s taken to leaving notes behind, especially if he needs to update us on sensitive stuff.
“Hey, there’s something here from Walker. I bet it’s about the Orb.” My heart rate kicks up a notch. Walker wouldn’t leave a note unless something big had happened. Hopefully, it’s something super-awesome.
“Anything good?” asks Lincoln.
I scan the letter. “Depends how you define good. This is all about Walker’s search for the Orb. He figured out the riddle in the crypt, which is amazing, but it led him to a warehouse in Lower Purgatory that’s filled with magical junk.” I skim through more pages filled with long equations and notes on stuff like probability theory. I flash the sheets at Lincoln. “Any idea what this means?”
“Got me. Walker knows his stuff, though.”
“Well, the bottom line’s that the Orb’s definitely in the warehouse, but Walker has no idea when he’ll find it.” I toss the sheets onto the countertop. “So, we’re back to where we were before. No clue when I can start moving souls again.” I return my attention to the stainless steel cabinets. “Time for comfort food.” I grab a Demon bar, rip it open, and bite into the chocolate-y goodness.
Lincoln slides out a bag of carrots from the fridge and starts to munch. “You know, what you’re eating there is a tiny smidgeon of granola and a whole bunch of chocolate.”
“Hence the name Demon bar.” I bite off another chunk. “I’m at peace with that.”