My stomach somersaults. The afternoon. And in that time, we have to secure the school and what’s left of the Acca patrol. That part wouldn’t be too hard, but it all depends on who has seen what. If we have to do memory wipes, it won’t be easy. Those things are a massive time-suck to do on one human, let alone fifty.
Staring directly into Harper’s eyes, I give her my best “I got this” face. “Mr. Prince and I will talk care of everything.” I wince. “Although, I have to be honest. Come tomorrow morning, you’re not going to remember any of this. We have some magic mumbo jumbo that will erase any signs of strangeness, including your memory of the last week or so.”
Harper hugs her elbows. “Good. Thank you.”
Lincoln taps his chin. “Let’s check the Acca warriors. They may have some charms that could help.”
“Or we can run to the nearest Pulpitum and summon a thrax team to help us. You know, from the House of Rixa.”
“Too risky. Gives the humans a chance to record all this somehow. We need to do basic damage control first. After that, we can summon a formal thrax patrol for cleanup.”
Ah, cleanup. From time to time, humans see that thrax really exist. When that happens, there’s a long list of protocols, spells, and traditions to follow. And it’s all for good reasons, really.
I rub my neck in a weary rhythm. The court closes in a matter of hours. We have so much left to do, and I’ve never felt so tired. “I guess we better get to it, then.” There’s no mistaking the quiver in my voice. Exhaustion.
Ever since I met Lincoln, it’s been nonstop craziness. And today is no different. Suddenly, all I want to do is hide somewhere and sleep for about a thousand years.
Lincoln pulls me to him in a deep hug. He’s never felt warmer or more comforting. His voice sounds low and soothing in my ear. “I know this is a lot, Myla. Yet we’ve gotten this far, haven’t we? At last, we have both the codex and the coin. Now, all we have to do is make sure the Wheeler Institute is safe and return to Antrum. From there, things should be easy.”
I nod and nuzzle into his touch. Yes, things should be easy. A weight of worry settles into my stomach. But for us, they never are, are they?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hours pass before Lincoln and I have the Wheeler Institute under some semblance of safety. In the end, we had to do a shit-ton of memory wipes. At least, we were able to raid the pockets of the Acca soldiers and steal their caches of memory charms. Even so, it took forever to wipe everyone. A student ran across the battle with Blaze, saw Prescott get killed, and freaked everyone else the fuck out. Someone already wrote the whole experience in her journal. Good thing we found that.
Once the wipes were complete and the Institute was relatively secure—including the nasty business of hiding dead or magically asleep bodies—we got Jeeves on guard duty. Mostly, his job is to hold down the fort until a Rixa thrax patrol could finish the cleanup.
With that done, we still needed to get the codex to Antrum before 5 p.m. Yipes. Lincoln knew of a nearby Pulpitum that could take us straight to the courtroom. After changing into our fighting gear, we rowed our own asses back to the mainland. There wasn’t a lot of chatter between us. The air felt heavy with tension.
By the time Lincoln and I hit the opposite dock, the sun was already touching the horizon, so we ran full out to the Pulpitum. Turns out, the place was hidden inside what looks like a deserted barn.
Which brings us to where I am now: jogging closer to a Pulpitum-holding barn while I scan my surroundings. There are trees everywhere and no humans around. Good. I pat the backpack, ensuring the codex still remains safely inside. The weight feels solid against my palm. Worry still twists up my neck, though. The evidence in this thing simply has to work. There’s no other option.
Lincoln and I step inside the deserted barn. The interior is rundown and empty. Everything smells like moldy hay and dust. Beams of dying sunlight poke through the gaps in the walls, casting odd patterns on the dirt floor. I haven’t used a ton of Earth-based Pulpitums, but they’re often in places like this: abandoned garages, ruined houses, that kind of thing. Barns are a particular favorite as they’re also far away from the eyes of prying neighbors.
Lincoln cups his hand by his mouth. “This is Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus. Activating field station.”
White laser beams pulse inside the deserted barn. Once the lights crisscross over Lincoln, the floor rustles under our feet. A large metal disc rises from the dirt. The transfer platform. I grip the straps of my backpack more tightly.
Only minutes remain to return this codex to the courthouse in Antrum.
A man’s basso voice echoes through the chamber. The tone is familiar. It’s Marty, the Pulpitum operator who helped us before. “Identity confirmed,” says Marty. “Good afternoon, Your Highness. And greetings, Great Scala. I must say I’m amazed. We all thought you were both in Heaven under sanctuary. No one’s been able to contact you.”
I scrunch up my face, debating how much to share with him. “Not much” is probably the best way to go here. “We’re back now, Marty. We can’t discuss details, though. I’m sure you understand.”