Chapter Seventeen
I stand on a high platform, staring down into the Crystal Ballroom of Arx Hall. A thousand thrax partygoers fill the floor below me. And the rest of the chamber? When they say crystal, they aren’t kidding. This ballroom is one giant geode made of luminous white stone. Crystal clusters jut down from the ceiling, serving as chandeliers. Subtle beams of light dance through everything.
I shift my weight from foot to foot, anxiety zooming through me. Any second now, I’ll be announced as the guest of honor for tonight’s Ball of Welcome. Unfortunately, thoughts other than the Ball keep popping into my head. Like the weirdness back in my chambers with Clover. What was that, anyway? Why do her red eyes and strange voice keep triggering something in my mind?
Searching for a distraction, I scan the thrax below me. The men are in velvet tunics and their ladies wear long matching gowns. They’re all so prim, proper, and color-coded by House. If I were about to fight them, I’d be totally calm. But coming here to dance and make small talk? It’s way overwhelming.
I come to a quick decision. I’m having a mega case of the jitters, which is why I keep thinking about Clover. Mystery solved.
A blare of trumpet music interrupts my thoughts. A few yards away, a Herald in a black Rixa tunic plays on his silver instrument. No question what that means. The Ball has officially begun.
Hells Bells.
My stomach and heart decide that now’s a great time to swap places. As a result, I can’t decide if I want to puke or have a coronary.
The Herald lowers his trumpet and launches into a lot of ceremonial blah-blah-blah before ending with: “Please join me in welcoming our guest of Honor, Myla Lewis, the Greatest Warrior in Antrum, and the Great Scala of Purgatory.”
I carefully pick my way down the slippery crystal steps, trying to look regal and cool. A chorus of whispers sound from the ballroom floor. I hear the words Soul Processing, Purgatory, High Prince and Angelbound. There’s also a lot of repetition in there, namely Demon, Demon, Demon, and Demon.
Not a shocker.
When we first met, Lincoln had some serious issues about my quasi-demon heritage. Most thrax are trained to kill anyone with a drop of demonic blood on sight. It took a while for us to move past my quasi side. Looks like his people still have a lot of moving left to go.
The staircase isn’t nearly as tricky as it looks, and I make it to the floor without tumbling. There, Lincoln stands, wearing his traditional Rixa tunic, chain mail, and crown. For a moment, and I soak in every aspect of his face. Strong bone structure, full mouth, firm jawline, and mismatched eyes that glisten with excitement. No one’s ever looked at me the way Lincoln does. Like I’m the most beautiful, intelligent, sexy, kick-ass warrior chick in the after-realms. My tummy gets all fluttery.
I cross my fingers on my right hand. Demon-phobes or not, I can’t help but hope that his people like me, just a little.
“Shall we say our hellos?” asks Lincoln. It’s so obvious that he can’t wait to introduce me around. My tummy-flutters grow more intense.
“Sure thing.”
He wraps my hand around his forearm. “The Earls and Duchesses are anxious to meet you.”
I vaguely remember that I was worried about something before, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what it was.
As we walk along, I inspect the audience for any sign of Mom and Dad. Nothing. Octavia’s been hounding them about when to show up and what to wear. Actually, I was pretty surprised when they weren’t standing at the bottom of the staircase, snapping pictures while telling embarrassing stories about me to random passers-by.
Where are my parents, anyway? They live for crap like this.
I keep watching the crowds, hoping to pick out Mom and Dad. They keep not being here at all. A gloomy weight settles into my bones. Maybe they aren’t coming.
“Have you seen my parents?”
“Not yet. They might have gotten held up.”
“Could be.” Knowing my parents are MIA, I scan for the other key members of my personal life. “I don’t see Cissy or Walker, either.”
There’s the slightest catch in Lincoln’s stride. I know my guy well enough to realize that means he’s concerned. “Neither do I.”
A group of ghouls step by, all of them wearing long black robes, the cowls drawn low over their faces. I can tell that one of them is Adair’s Diplomat buddy because of his pronounced limp. I so wish that creep had been at the warehouse when we arrested Adair. Would’ve been great to lock him up, too.
One of the ghouls steps off in our direction. Judging by the height and frame, it could be Walker, only he never wears his cowl down.
The mystery ghoul steps up to our side. “Glad I could catch you two.”