Adair’s gaze shifts to Lincoln. “You must see that this is over. I’m the True Scala. She’s nothing.”
“No,” says Lincoln coolly. “She’s everything.” Fast as lightning, he whips a helmet off the nearest Knight’s head. The man’s features are blank and empty, except for his eyes, which glow demon-red.
Fresh gasps sound from the audience. This time, the inflection is not of awe, but of stomach-churning horror.
My heart kicks harder, all kinds of happy pumping through my bloodstream. The thrax hatred of demon kind has been working against me all night. Now, it’s playing in my favor. Seems there isn’t much that demon fighters fear more than being turned into demons themselves. The partygoers start to quiver in their collective boots.
Across the ballroom floor, Octavia slices through the crowd, heading in our direction. Things are looking up. My tail gives Lincoln a congratulatory pat on the arm. That was a pretty sharp move on the part of my honey, there.
Lincoln tosses the helmet to the floor; it lands with an angry clang. “You’re a liar, Adair. Always have been. And now, you bring demonic powers into my lands? Possess my people and force them to act as puppets to your will? Stop this, now.” He raises his hand, motioning to a cluster of men in black body armor. “Guards! Take her.”
Now, awesome-sounding murmurs run through the crowd. I hear new words that are music to my ear, stuff like traitor, liar, and fraud. Some of the Acca folks start to not-so-subtly sashay towards the exits. Like I won’t remember all of their faces and arrest them later on. You are so going down, my friends.
As the guards close in on Adair, Octavia bursts through the crowd to stand at our side.
“Clap her irons,” commands Octavia. “And then—”
The Queen stops halfway through her sentence. Her body freezes in place. All across the ballroom, the same thing happens. The thrax become immobile, stopped mid-motion, like a living photograph. My chest aches with grief to see the reason why.
Virtually all of them have demon-red eyes. Adair has taken over their minds. Only a small number of thrax stand at the top of the crystal staircase, their eyes still mismatched. These outliers must be beyond Adair’s range of power. The faraway thrax race from the ballroom, with all of Adair’s ghouls following close behind. A yucky feeling sinks through me. I doubt they’ll get far.
I turn to Lincoln, my heart kicking hard in my chest. Framing his face with my fingertips, I scan his eyes. The irises are still mismatched. He’s not possessed. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I think I end up doing a bit of both. “You’re alright.”
“I’m fine, Myla.”
We both scan the crowd, and I know we’re looking for the same person. Walker.
I spy him standing a few yards away, his cowl still pulled low.
Excellent. Our secret weapon is still in place. Lincoln and I share a nod. No question what we’ll do next.
I go into battle stance, my tail arched over my shoulder. “Let’s get her.”
“Right.” Lincoln whips his baculum out of his tunic, igniting it into a long-sword. Quick as lightning, he brings the blade down towards Adair’s neck. The angelfire blade comes within inches of her throat.
And then, it stops.
Lincoln’s eyes burn demon bright. He extinguishes his baculum, resets it into the folds of his tunic and stands still as a statue.
Possessing Lincoln? Now, she’s done it.
In my heart, I unleash my inner wrath monster. A jolt of adrenaline courses through me; my mind snaps into battle mode. I see heads and bodies, attack vectors and weapon options.
I leap high into the air, somersault, and land in a crouch by Adair’s feet. By the time I’ve touched down, my Scala robes have turned into awesome white battle armor. Moving my leg in a sweeping motion across the ground, I take Adair down at the ankles. Her skull smacks onto the crystal floor with a satisfying thwack.
Dozens of hands pull at me at once, dragging me away from Adair. Fortunately, all my attackers are clumsy thrax puppets under Adair’s control. They grasp and claw at my limbs, trying to hold me down.
Not going to happen.
My tail punches one in the gut, and then topples another over by pulling the feet out from under him. I don’t want to kill any of Lincoln’s people, but I certainly won’t mind if they wake up tomorrow with a headache, especially if they’re wearing Acca yellow. Within seconds, the hands that were holding me back are now a dozen bodies lying prone on the ground.
Adair rises to her feet, her face the definition of smug. “And what was that little display about, Myla? Do you really think you can defeat all these thrax single-handedly? Even you aren’t that good.”
At those words, the entire thrax audience, all thousand-or-so of them, turn to face me, their eyes flaring demon bright. Moving as single unit, the possessed start to lumber in my direction.
Typically, this kind of situation would spell disaster, but I know something Adair doesn’t, and that knowledge makes me all kinds of happy.