A memory appears in my mind. I’m standing in Cloud Tower Six as Adair gives me a creepy handshake. She’d just announced her Official Investigation. “Would the spell be on her palms?”
“Surely,” says Dad. “That’d be a great place to put it.”
“Adair first grabbed my palms in Ghost Tower Six. At the time, it made me feel strangely cold and icky. She must have launched the spell with that handshake.”
“Adair made the same physical connection with you tonight,” adds Lincoln. “She made the igni cord wrap around your palms.”
The full scope of Adair’s scheme slams into me with a vengeance. My wrath demon awakens, heating my blood with rage. “Blazing Hell! She’s really trying replace me as the Great Scala. She wants to return to—”
I catch Lincoln’s gaze, and deep sadness fills his eyes. No question what she wants to go back to. The time before he fell in love with me. When Adair was named the Scala Heir, and Lincoln was going to marry her. That’s what she now sees as her birthright, and she’s going to take it.
My warrior instinct kicks in as her full scheme becomes clear. The Great Scala can send any innocent soul to Hell, as well as any purely evil soul to Heaven. It’s an outrageous amount of power. The igni chose me to wield it because they thought I’d use it wisely. Not fry up half the after-realms in a sick bid to reclaim my old fantasy-boyfriend. If Adair gets this power, she won’t stop at anything until she gets what she wants. And I can’t see anyone standing up to her, either.
More rage pumps through my bloodstream. I will not allow Adair to steal my powers so she can force Lincoln into marrying her. And I refuse to see her become another puppet-Scala like the last one, Maxon Bane.
My irises flash demon red. “This is not happening. We need to entrap Adair. Expose her. I want her in jail and out of my way.”
Even as I say this, I know it means a lot of inter-realm falderal. Purgatory can’t hold a thrax for more than twenty-four hours without essentially starting a war. Lincoln’s parents would have to agree to lock her up, which won’t be easy, especially considering how Lincoln’s father kowtows to Acca like it’s his job.
Lincoln rests both his hands on my shoulders, forcing our gazes to lock. “Look, I’m not any happier about the situation than you are, but Adair can’t distract us right now. You still have most of your igni. That should be more than enough to move souls. And more importantly, you have the faith of your people. They like what Adair says about going back to the ghoul-rules, but they’re still following you. We need to stay focused on that warehouse. Get Soul Processing started again. Solidify your role. As long as Adair can’t touch you, she can’t take any more of your powers. We’ll put an extra guard on you, make sure she never gets near you again.”
I tilt my head to one side, thinking through his words. My white-hot rage at Adair gradually cools into an icy resolve. “Yes, the real issue is getting rid of the Orb and moving souls again. We can easily ask Walker to find me some bodyguards.”
“Be careful,” warns Dad. “Make sure you have Striga guards in the mix. Your best magic casters. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”
My heart sinks. I so don’t like the sound of that.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
“You’re a great fighter, Myla. In part, that’s because you have wrath power coming from your demon blood. The same thing applies to Adair. Whatever demon blood she’s taken in, she’ll gain those same demonic powers. Could be fighting, magic, or something else. My advice is to stay away from her.”
“I’ll try,” I say. “She follows me around, so it’s not easy.”
“Do what you can, I know she’s a Diplomat.” Dad slips on his post-workout hoodie. “Let me give you one last piece of advice. Take the rest of the night off. Clear your heads. Have some fun. You’ve a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”
Good point. I can’t remember the last time I took a night off.
“I like that advice, Dad.”
Cissy appears in the doorway. “Hey, everyone.” She holds up some small slips of pink paper. “Don’t you check your messages, Xavier?”
Dad pats his pockets. “I never can remember those things.”
“The President wants you at her office.”
“I’ll be over soon.”
“She said you’d say that, and I’m supposed to accompany you. There’s a car outside right now.”
Dad chuckles. “Camilla was always the only one who could out-General me.”
Cissy hitches her thumb towards the front door. “Ready to go? We can’t keep the President waiting.”
“Of course.” Dad snaps his fingers. “Hey, will you two be alright on your own for a little while?”
The words ‘on your own’ reverberate through my mind in odd ways. As in Lincoln and I. Alone. In this house.
Ooooooh, yeah.
Suddenly, my recent igni-shock seems a million miles away. My lust demon awakens, filling my mind with all the yummy things Lincoln and I could be doing in a few minutes. When I speak again, my voice comes out as a high-pitched peep. “Sure.”