The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced. “Desmond is doing someone else’s dirty work. Guess who.”
A muscle ticks by Lincoln’s jawline. That means he’s pissed. Only one group gets him this angry. “Acca.”
“Yup.” Boy, do I ever hate those fuckers.
The House of Acca wants to rule the thrax homeland of Antrum. Since Lincoln’s next in line to the throne, my guy stands in their way. Which is why Acca tried to marry Lincoln off to their Lady Adair. Too bad for them, Lincoln fell in love with me first, mostly because an oracle angel named Verus stuck her nose in our business. Long story. Anyway, not only does Acca still want the crown, but they also really, really, really want me dead. Meh.
More silence follows as we run along and ponder. Lincoln’s the first to speak again. “There’s a flaw in your logic. Acca must know that we’ll get the codex back from Desmond.”
He’s got me there. Even if Desmond has a dozen spells on him, we’ll still take that klepto down. I mean, I haven’t even called on my little supernatural buddies for help yet. To move souls to Heaven or Hell, I have power over tiny lightning bolts of energy called igni. If worse comes to worst, I can summon my igni to send Desmond back to Hell, and keep the codex right here. Sure, that would be a total pain in the ass—once igni start moving souls, it’s hard to get them to stop—but I have that option as a last resort.
So what’s Acca really up to?
My tail arches over my shoulder. It’s a beauty, what with being all long, black, and covered in dragon scales. The arrowhead-shaped end jabs in Desmond’s direction. That’s its way of saying we need to grab the klepto, fast.
“Don’t worry, boy.” I give my tail a comforting pat. “We’ll get him.”
Desmond rounds a corner, and the street turns from bad to worse. The downgrade in neighborhood quality is awesome, in my humble opinion. Here’s why. Most of the after-realms have issues with demons sneaking in and causing trouble. On Earth, it’s the thrax who clean things up. In Purgatory, that work falls to our police. However, our government’s still reeling from Armageddon’s recent invasion (I kicked his ass back to Hell, by the way). As a result, our police haven’t been cracking down on demonic squatters.
Long story short, crappy areas like this one? They’re classic hangouts for the truly evil. My heart thuds faster in my chest. Deserted ruins filled with über-nasty demons?
The day’s looking up.
I grin from ear to ear. “I think I know what plan Desmond was given.”
“Do tell.”
“We’re not supposed to fight a klepto demon.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Desmond’s leading us somewhere else.”
Lincoln nods slowly. “Such as straight into a Class A battle.” Thrax categorize demons by letter. Class A are the hardest to kill.
“Fighting a Class A would be soooooo awesome.” I shoot Lincoln a sly look. “Maybe we’ll get to take down another tinea.” I let out a wistful sigh. “Together.”
Lincoln chuckles. “I love your idea of date night.” I know that laugh. Lincoln is as excited as I am.
“How about we make this even more interesting?” I ask.
“What are you thinking?” The husky tone in Lincoln’s voice says that he knows exactly what’s on my mind.
“We bet on who makes the killing blow to the Class A.”
“And the prize?”
“Same as always. The winner names the next kiss.”
This is my favorite game in the history of ever. Whoever wins the bet gets to demand when and where our next kiss will take place. And no matter what the time or location, the so-called loser must comply. Typically, these interludes don’t end with kissing, either. Our last bet was who could first cross the Plains of Rixa on horseback. Lincoln won and demanded a kiss in the royal stables. We ended up naked, and I was picking hay out of my hair for days. The whole thing was beyond great.
I wag my eyebrows. “So, what do you say?”
“You’re on.”
Sweet.
Desmond turns down another deserted road. Actually, road is a generous word. It’s more of a pathway through piles of rubble. Lincoln and I speed along behind our prey. I would skip-run if it didn’t slow me down.
I am so winning this bet.
Bring it on, Desmond.
Chapter Two
To stay hidden from view, Lincoln and I crouch behind a pile of rubble. Twenty yards away from us, Desmond approaches a deserted hospital building. The place is six stories of ruined concrete that lurches at an odd angle. In other words, it’s pretty typical for this part of town.