I roll my eyes. “Well, now he’s a little dead.”
Mom puts on her presidential voice. “Myla, you should have more respect for life.”
“Hey, Desmond tried to trap Lincoln and me. We chased him to get the codex back, and he led us straight into a pair of dyads. Technically, the demons killed Desmond, not Lincoln and me.” I make a wincey-face. “The three of them are over in sector 27. Hospital DH-27B. Sorry about the mess.”
Dad shrugs. “All in a day’s work. I’ll get a team on it.”
“Thank you,” says Lincoln. “Desmond also said something about sending the codex to the Wheeler Institute. Does that name ring any bells?”
Mom shrugs. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“I’ll look around. The place sounds vaguely familiar.” Dad leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The lines of his face turn rigid with rage. Not a good sign. “This has Armageddon’s name written all over it.”
Here’s where things get tricky. Dad and Armageddon have a long and nasty history. About five hundred years ago, Dad led the angelic forces when Hell invaded Heaven. The net result was the infamous Battle of the Gates. A then-common demon named Armageddon rallied a whole legion of baddies to attack my father. Dad led the opposing forces and got them all to retreat. Long story short, Dad kicked Armageddon’s butt and banished all the demons from Heaven. That was ages ago. Armageddon still holds a grudge, though. Years later, when Armageddon became the King of Hell, he traded Mom’s safety for Dad’s incarceration in the underworld. My father spent twenty years as a prisoner of Armageddon, a demon who thinks that torture is fun.
Needless to say, I avoid any mention of Armageddon if I can help it. Even so, in the way that Mom sees risks to my safety in everything? That’s how Dad is with Armageddon. And just like Mom, he’s also usually right.
I try to put on my most unreadable face. It’s a long shot, but it’s still worth a try. “I don’t think we need to bring Armageddon into this.” Notice the double-speak here? I said we don’t need to bring Armageddon into things, not that he wasn’t there already. It’s a verbal trick I learned from Lincoln.
Dad’s eyes glow blue with angelic rage. “So, Armageddon is involved.”
Clearly, I need to work more on that particular verbal trick.
“Yes.” I take care to keep my voice level and calm. “It’s all part of some backup plan between the Earl and Armageddon.” Once again, ever since the Battle of the Gates, the King of Hell has had it in for my father and my family.
“I’ll get to the bottom of this; don’t worry.” Dad fixes me with his I’m-an-archangel-and-I’ll-kick-ass face. That’s a good sign. It means he’s handling the Armageddon angle pretty well so far.
I force on a smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
“In the meantime,” says Lincoln. “We need to get that codex back to Antrum.”
“Right.” I slowly rise. “I’ll change into my Scala robes.”
Mom’s face brightens. “Don’t forget. Tomorrow is your big day in court.”
“I won’t forget.” Not that I could if I wanted to.
We make our goodbyes, and I head off to get ready. I try to force myself into a happy mood. After all, I’m getting married in less than a week. The codex is back in our possession. Even better, the book is filled with the perfect evidence to bring down Acca and protect Lincoln’s throne.
So why do I feel a buzz in my body, the same one that happens right before a big battle?
I can’t escape the sneaking suspicion that everything is about to go to Hell. Literally.
Chapter Six
After the infamous “love shower incident” with my parents, I get ready in record time. Now our limo is taking Lincoln and me to a Pulpitum, which is a magical transfer station for Antrum. I’m wearing my white Scala robes. Lincoln’s still in his princely getup. Normally, I’d be excited to spend some time with my honey. But we’re going to Antrum to put the Rixa Codex back into the storage vault. That means we may face the Earl of Acca.
Not exactly a barrel of laughs. The thought of seeing that creepy Aldred makes me sick.
I glance out the window. We’re driving through another random back alley. Huh. I knock on the black divider panel to the front seat. Our regular limo driver is out sick, and one of the gardeners, Gunnar, is filling in. The dude looks like a Viking and acts like a pussy. I’ll be glad when our regular driver is back.
I knock on the divider again. “Hello?”
Gunnar’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Yes, Great Scala?”
I push down the red intercom button. “We should have been at the Pulpitum ten minutes ago. Are you lost?”
“Um, no.” Gunnar’s voice shivers with fear. “I’m not lost. Not at all. Why would you ever think that?”
Oh, yeah. He’s so lost.
I hit the button again. “Make a right on Beelzebub Avenue and follow it until you hit the round building. You can’t miss it. The thing looks like a cupcake.”