“No more than a few days, tops.”
Relief washes through me. “That’s fine. We’ll need some time to set up the iconigration ceremony, anyway.”
“I’ll stay with Walker and the Orb,” says Dad. “The second those tests are done, I’ll run it up to Heaven. We’ve a special vault where the Orb will be safe.”
Mom sets her hands in the pockets of her suit-jacket. She’s all business now. “I’ll call an emergency press conference immediately. Adair’s accusations should be all over the news within an hour—Myla’s supposed curse, Adair being the true Scala, the Ghost Towers ready to explode, and my people about to be murdered. I’ll let everyone know the Orb’s been recovered and within a few days, we can move souls safely. That should calm the worst of their fears.”
Mom’s words start the wheels of my mind a-turning. The Orb has been found…Or has it? The idea I’d started to form before now solidifies in my nasty little noggin. It’s a totally kick-ass, awesome concept.
“Wait a second, everyone. I think we can use this situation to our advantage. Mom, can you do an emergency press conference to confirm that there was no Orb in the warehouse? You know, tell everyone that it’s still okay and not to lose their minds.”
“Surely,” replies Mom. “But why would I ever do that? Our people will take it as a sign that Adair’s right. They’ll only get more agitated.”
“I know, but I have a idea for defeating Adair. And for it to work, she needs to think we don’t know the Orb is still in the warehouse.”
Mom’s eyes narrow. “I’m listening.”
“For months, Adair’s been one step ahead of me. But I believe that she screwed up tonight, trying to grab the Orb. Now, we can use that information to take the fight to her. I want to set up a sting operation right here, in this warehouse. Get her to admit what she’s really done so we can slap her ass in jail. You know, before she causes even more trouble. But to do that, she has to think that we don’t know the Orb is here. She’ll come back to get it, I’ll be here and—pow—that’s when we get her confession.”
“I don’t know, honey,” says Mom. “Even if you get the evidence, we can’t hold her in Purgatory for longer than twenty-four hours. That’s inter-realm law. Lincoln’s parents must agree to jailing her in Antrum.”
“I can get their consent,” says Lincoln quickly. “Call the press conference for two hours from now. Myla and I will go over to Arx Hall and get my parent’s okay. If we get that to you before the press conference starts, will you say the Orb wasn’t found today?”
Mom steeples her fingertips under her chin for what feels like a decade, minimum. “Alright, you’ve got it. Two hours only.”
Lincoln kisses me gently on the cheek. “I like this, Myla. Taking the fight to her.”
Something in Lincoln’s words resonates through the deepest parts of me. This isn’t the old Myla Lewis running headlong into danger without thinking. This is the Great Scala, using my warrior-brain to take the offensive in a smart way. And as Dad always says, ‘when it comes to battle, take the offensive and never let go’.
Chapter Thirteen
Lincoln and I cross the enormous cobblestone yard that encompasses Pulpitum VII, Purgatory’s official transfer station to Antrum. I’ve ridden a thrax transfer platform with Lincoln a few times before, and it’s hella-fun. However, once we reach Antrum today, our fun-time will be over. We need to convince Lincoln’s parents to help us take down Adair. Not a lock.
We close in on the Pulpitum, which is a temple-style structure built in Roman times. It’s circular in shape and surrounded by tall stone columns. We locals call it ‘the can’ because the interior is tall, cylinder-like and made of solid rock. One small slit-like opening marks the only way in or out. An obnoxious amount of thrax guards surround the place, all of them wearing black body armor with the Rixa crest.
As we get closer, the guards recognize Lincoln and salute in sync. He waves at them in a friendly-yet-regal way. They’re all supposed to stare straight forward, but most of them steal a look or two in my direction. As the Great Scala and Lincoln’s Angelbound love, everyone’s heard of me but few have actually met me. My tail alternates between waving at the guards and doing karate-style chops. That thing can be such a smart-ass sometimes.
Inside the Pulpitum, fire crackles in a series of bowl-like sconces set on tall metal braziers. At the center of the floor, there’s a smooth metallic disc about ten feet wide. That’s the transfer platform. Excitement thrums through my veins. Thrax transfer-travel is a blast.