I stare at Dad’s wide, muscular hand wrapped around my smaller one. All my life, I’d wondered who my father was, and if I’d ever find him. Now, he’s here and more supportive and awesome than I ever dreamed of. My eyes sting with a mixture of love, awe and gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”
Mom pulls out one of her ever-present notepads and starts scribbling orders for her staff. “We’ll need to make a diplomatic request for the necklace.” She pauses, tapping her pen against her chin. “However, it might not work coming from Purgatory. Unfortunately, under the ghouls, we ignored the Furor for decades. Cissy’s only starting to rebuild ties there.”
“I can ask them,” says Lincoln. “I saved a Furor child at the Winter tournament. They were very grateful.”
“Let me take this one,” counters Dad. “I killed the father of the current Furor Emperor. He was downright ecstatic. I’ll go to Furonium tomorrow and make a personal request for the amulet.”
“And I’ll call in the Alchemists,” says Lincoln. “They’ll be here first thing in the morning.” His confident gaze meets mine. “Together, we’ll find the Orb and restart Soul Processing. I know it.”
And seeing that fearless look in his eyes, I think he may just be right.
Chapter Six
Cissy, Walker, and I step into my stainless-steel kitchen, large boxes balanced in our arms. It’s been two days since Lincoln’s Alchemists showed up. Since then, they’ve kept the three of us busy with regular warehouse-runs to grab magical stuff for them to examine in my kitchen, aka our new Alchemy HQ. There are too many spells and enchantments in the warehouse for the Alchemists to work quickly—plus my kitchen has lots of gadgets and snacks—so they’ve taken up residence here.
Cissy and Walker speed into the kitchen, setting down their boxes on a nearby countertop. I pause inside the threshold, scoping things out. On the right-hand side of the room, Lincoln’s seated at the head of our long steel table, while his Alchemists fill up the other chairs. They’re six handsome guys with mismatched eyes, all of them wearing white lab coats that have silver eagles stitched on the right front pocket. The group’s super-engrossed in the piles of odd junk that cover the tabletop, everything from typewriters to compasses to chia pets. They don’t notice when we come in.
I set my box onto an obliging counter. “Hey, everyone.”
Lincoln looks up, his mouth winding into a huge smile. “Hi, Myla.”
At his words, all the other guys snap to attention as well. Six bodies immediately stand straight and tall with their fists gripped firmly behind their backs. Military stance. The thrax must start training that particular move in Kindergarten. Unfortunately, it makes me feel a little awkward.
“Guys, you really don’t have to do that.”
The Head Alchemist, Erik, has white blonde hair and wildly mismatched eyes of dark brown and ice blue. “But that’s a proper greeting for the Great Scala.”
“Well, honestly, it’s creeping me out. As the Great Scala, I hereby order you to call me Myla and not hop around when I enter the room.”
“As you command, Great Scala.”
I shoot him a dry look.
“I mean, that’s cool, Myla.”
“Thanks.”
Erik and the rest of the Alchemists retake their seats. Over the last two days, they’ve been working non-stop, trying to figure out what’s up with the warehouse. Walker’s certain the Orb is in there; the only question’s where.
Lincoln steps over and takes his hands in mine. Today, he’s wearing faded jeans and a black Elvis T-shirt, which I find hilarious. Everyone in Antrum knows who the real King is, even without the shirt. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” I reply. “No more igni concerts. And I’ve been doing some practicing, too. Remember when we were in the bunker, right before we fought Armageddon?”
“How could I forget?”
“Back then, the Old Scala did this thing where he cast igni ropes around us. I can’t make Soul Columns, so I’ve been practicing those, just to see if they’re listening to me.”
“And?”
“Working like a charm. How’re things in here?”
“The guys are having a blast.” He turns to the team. “Can you report out, Erik?”
“Sure, Linc.” I’m still adjusting to Lincoln having a nickname, but I guess these guys are buddies of his from when they were all ten years old. Erik turns towards Walker and Cissy. “I didn’t see you two come in.”
Walker shoots them a friendly wave. “You were busy playing with the last round of toys I brought you.” As a ghoul, Walker’s well over six feet tall with pale, colorless skin. As a cool guy, he has a brush-cut, sideburns, and fairly decent muscle tone.