Hells bells.
Now, we have really crappy television in Purgatory. Even so, I’ve seen enough cop shows to know that a red dot means someone is targeting me, and not in a nice way. I wave out to my mystery stalker. “Just checking the locks!” I give a hearty thumbs-up. “We’re good!” The red dots disappear.
Whew. These humans are touchy.
I climb off the bed and stalk around the cabin. Looks like there’s nothing to do but get ready for breakfast tomorrow. I head over to my backpack, where all my worldly possessions are. It’s going to be a long night.
Chapter Fifteen
I spend the rest of the afternoon organizing my backpack and getting to know my pricey prison-slash-cabin.
Pros: the place has fancy-smelling shampoo and a comfy bed.
Cons: the kitchen is stocked with kale and suffering.
There’s some stuff in the fridge that might be fruit, but it’s green and star-shaped. I keep waiting for it to sprout legs and ask for a fight. The mini-library has zero books about demons or battle tactics, so that’s a snore. And the dresser is stocked with plaid skirts, white shirts, and little blue jackets. Just to be sure, I also opened every cabinet. There is definitely no TV.
Dinner arrives at around six. Or, I should say, at six, a guard drops off a tray at my door, rings the bell, and runs for the trees. This is yet another sign that this place is more of a prison than a camp. And growing up, Purgatory was basically a prison for us quasi-demons, who were pretty much slaves to the ghouls.
Long story short, I know when I’m being kept captive. The question still remains, though. Why? Is it for our protection, to keep us from escaping, or both?
I take the tray inside. It’s been a boring afternoon, and I’m excited for a yummy meal to pass the time. Instead, I get a bowl of goop that looks like tiny ball bearings and snot. I think I saw Lincoln eat this once and call it quinoa.
What I wouldn’t give for a demon bar.
It starts to get dark, and I’m running out of ways to waste time. I decide to prep again for tomorrow’s search for the codex. The minute I’m able, I’m going to sneak out of class—always one of my best skills—and look around for the hidden book. I try to keep a positive attitude. It isn’t easy, though. Right now, I shouldn’t be locked in this damned cabin. Today should have been our first day in court. At this very moment, Lincoln and I were supposed to be putting Acca away forever. Trouble is, every time we get close to ending Aldred, he weasels away from us. The current situation is merely another example of how that creep is always one step ahead.
I’m being a total downer, and I know where my negative thoughts usually end up: with me eating my weight in ice cream and demon bars. Even so, there’s no junk food to be had in the cabin, so I decide to give myself a pep talk instead.
Don’t worry; it’s only Thursday. You have until tomorrow at 5 p.m. to find the codex and bring it to the Arbiter. You’re golden.
Aaaaaaaaaand the pep talk is a no go. I’m still freaking out. A day is really no time at all.
I try to remember what Mom would say in a situation like this. My “Old Mom” would freak out right alongside me. Not helpful. But my new “Presidential Mom” would tell me to get busy and take my mind off things.
I decide to go with Presidential Mom’s advice and get my stuff ready for breakfast tomorrow. This involves rearranging the already-perfectly-arranged junk in my backpack. That doesn’t take long, so I decide to try on my new—gulp—uniform. I hustle my cookies to the bedroom and close the window blinds tight. Those machine-gun-toting guards are out there, and I don’t want to give them a free show.
Hey, simply because I’m part lust demon doesn’t mean I’m an exhibitionist.
I scope out my closet and remove the nearest skirt. The good news is that it’s actually pretty silky, so that’s a plus. I get as far as my zipping up the skirt and adjusting my bra when a voice sounds from the bed.
“You’re killing me here, Myla.”
It’s Lincoln.
I spin around, and there he is. On my bed. Wearing my favorite body armor along with a look of all-out lust in his mismatched eyes. I soak in the sight of him. Messy brown hair. Cut cheekbones. Full mouth. Broad chest. My guy. It’s too awesome to be real. “How did you get in here?”
He arches his brows. “Expert hunter, remember?”
“I peeped out the window, and they had those little red dot thingies on me.”
“Don’t worry about that. I magically jammed all their machine guns yesterday.”
When he got here early. “You’ve been a busy guy. Is that why you missed my welcoming committee?”