Before, I struggled to find the pattern in Clover’s red eyes and strange actions. Now, those mental connections quickly snap into place. There’s the thrax reporter whose eyes flashed demon red…Erik speaking in a creepy monotone at the warehouse…the Durus getting red eyes and turning from a killing machine into a lumbering dodo…and both Clover and the Herald having red eyes, creepy voices, and later, no memory of either happening.
Each time these odd things took place, Adair was either there or could easily have been lurking nearby. Plus, Dad once said that demon blood gives extra abilities. What if Adair has gained the demonic power of possession? If so, she must only possess demons and thrax. Otherwise, she could’ve walked away from our sting.
A chilly realization seeps into my stomach. Supposing all this is true, what’s keeping Adair in prison now? She could easily possess her thrax jailers.
My hands tremble as I grip Lincoln’s arm more tightly. “I know who’s behind all this. It’s—”
“Adair,” finishes Lincoln. He gestures towards the top of the staircase. What I see makes my jaw fall open with shock.
At the top platform stands Adair, wearing a smug grin and fake Scala robes. Two prison guards flank either side of her, the visors on their crimson armor pulled down to hide their faces. No doubt, under those helmets, the guards’ eyes are bright red. Possessed. Afterwards, the poor suckers don’t remember a thing that Adair made them do.
Wish I could say the same for me.
No question. This is the secret mission that Adair’s ghoul buddies were talking about before. She’s crashing my Ball of Welcome in order to…Do what, exactly?
I automatically go into battle stance. Feet set wide apart, tail arched high. Whatever’s coming, it can’t be good.
Adair raises her arms high above her head. “My people! I’ve been cleared of all charges!” She parades slowly down the staircase. “I come to you today as the True Scala.”
A collective gasp rises from the crowd. I let out a low groan. How can I wonder what she’s up to? It’s the same thing she’s wanted all along: to be the Great Scala, Lincoln’s bride and Queen of the thrax. I square my shoulders, ready to march over and kick her ass. After all, that’s what I do best.
Octavia beats me to it. Fast as a heartbeat, she pushes through the crowd to stand at the base of the stairs. “Knights! Take her back to jail, immediately.”
The red-armored Knights don’t even flinch.
My upper lip curls with a mix of disgust and dread. The Knights not acknowledging Octavia? That’s so not-good for our side.
Undeterred, Octavia steps closer to Adair. “What’s the meaning of this? You should be in prison, not breaking into someone else’s Ball of Welcome.”
Got to hand it to Octavia. She doesn’t miss a beat.
I speak to Lincoln in a low voice. “Should I go over there?”
“No, give Mother a chance. This is better coming from one of our own.”
“Understood.” If anyone commands respect in Antrum, it’s Octavia.
“My poor, sweet Queen,” coos Adair. “My confession was forced by demon magic. That’s why the Dungeon Knights have set me free. Please, don’t believe what that demon girl has told you. I am the True Scala. I can prove it.” With a snap of her fingers, Adair makes a handful of igni appear, their tiny bodies hovering about like fireflies. The crowd gasps again, but this time with awe.
Octavia quickly scans the audience, the wheels of her mind turning at super-speed. The slightest droop sets into her stance, and I know she’s come to the same conclusion that I have. It isn’t going to be easy to get rid of Adair. I may be the Great Scala, but I’m also a quasi-demon. Adair’s thrax. The people want to believe her.
Frustration makes me clench my fists so hard, my fingernails bite into my palms. I shouldn’t let it bother me that the thrax judge me based on my tail, but damn it, it totally does bother me.
Adair walks across the ballroom floor, making a beeline for Lincoln and me. The Dungeon Knights march stiffly on either side of her. I remember how badass and agile the Knights were when we captured Adair. Now, they move with the same clunky movements as the Durus.
Huh.
Adair must be puppeteering folks, but it looks like her control skills are rather clumsy. A happy-sneaky feeling lightens my tummy, like the day I snagged two of my ghoul-teachers making out on the sly and thought…This little bit of info may come in handy one day.
As Adair saunters closer, more and more thrax part before her. Some even bow. Others whisper True Scala in reverent tones.
My sense of frustration boils over into outright anger. Heat pools behind my eyes; my irises flare demon red. There’s only one True Scala, folks, and she has a tail. Get over it.
Adair pauses before me, a smarmy look on her face. “I am the True Scala. You’ve stolen my love, power and throne. I want them all back.”
Comments sound from the nearby crowd. I wear words like gracious, regal, lady-like, and thrax. I notice that most of those talking are wearing yellow, the color of the House of Acca.
Note to self: if you get out of this alive, make them pay. Lots.