“Honestly, it’s all your party guests,” gushes Octavia. “I can’t remember a time when we had so many visitors in Antrum. Not that I’m complaining, but with thousands of people going through the Pulpitum, there’s bound to be trouble.”
Connor nods. “That’s right. With so much extra traffic, we need all the trained operators we can get. It’s the only way we can accommodate your wedding.”
The logical side of me can see their point. Antrum is locked down tight against demons. As much as we complain about the demon alarms going off, at least Antrum has them. After all, it’s the whole reason the thrax moved underground in the first place: so they’d have a secure way to screen everyone who comes and goes. False alarms or not, Antrum is the safest place for our big day.
I rub my temples with my fingertips. This whole situation makes my brain hurt. I wanted a small ceremony on Earth. On the other hand, our parents wanted something huge. Considering they were the ones planning the whole thing, I figured it was only fair that they have a say in the size of the event.
Okay, that’s not totally true. I gave in and turned into total mush when Mom and Octavia got all misty about planning a huge wedding like they never had. How could I say no? Well, I could, but I was mushy. So, here we are.
Once the big-wedding question was settled, the mothers insisted on holding the wedding in Antrum so it would be safe. That was a shocker. I thought Mom would want things in Purgatory. If nothing else, you’d think the photo opps would help her presidency. Still, she’s a stickler for safety and privacy, especially considering the creepy crawlers that follow us around. Plus, we’re doing a parade later where Lincoln and I will be dragged through Purgatory in the equivalent of a bulletproof bubble. So Mom will still get her photo opps. And the wedding is in Antrum, which makes Lincoln’s family super-happy. Bottom line? It’s a win-win. Or it seemed like one.
All of which brings me back to the situation at hand. Connor is selling some story about the Pulpitums being fine, which—huge wedding or not—I’m still not buying. My vote is with Lincoln. Those things are dangerous right now.
“I get that the Pulpitums are under huge amounts of stress,” I say. “That’s why we need to talk about them. Plus, we must clear the air about a bunch of other stuff, too, like the fact that no one’s complaining that Lincoln and I almost got chucked in prison.”
“Of course we’re upset about that,” says Connor. “And we’ll discuss it all. Soon.”
Lincoln’s glare gets so strong you’d think laser beams might pop out of his eyeballs. “Soon?”
Connor’s face droops with disappointment. “What? You look like I won’t keep my word.”
Because he doesn’t. Connor is forever making us wait around.
Unfortunately, this “don’t doubt me son” stuff is Lincoln’s kryptonite. Lincoln stiffens his stance. He hates disappointing his father. I decide to step in before Connor pulls out more emotional weaponry. I turn to Octavia. “You’ll make sure he comes as soon as possible?”
“Yes, Myla. I promise.” Octavia’s face takes on that tight no-nonsense look which means this will really happen. Unfortunately, that’s the best commitment we’ll get at this point.
“Okay, Octavia.”
As Lincoln’s parents speed away, my tail loops around Lincoln’s waist. I bite my lips together, forcibly stopping myself from calling any number of nasty names at Connor’s back.
That old dirt bag better show up, or I’ll hunt him down myself.
It’s been hours since we left the courtroom. I slump into one of the comfy club chairs in Lincoln’s private chambers. The grandfather clock reads past midnight and—surprise, surprise—there’s still no sign of Connor or Octavia. My tail has been alleviating frustration by balling up bits of parchment and chucking them at the door.
Lincoln sits at a nearby table, reading through the messages that have come in for him since we left. Whenever he’s done with a parchment, he tosses the sheet to my tail.
This has been going on for hours now. It’s making me crazy. Where the hell is Connor?
One thing I’ll say, though. Lincoln’s rooms make for a cool spot to hang out. His chambers mix up the medieval vibe with some swanky modern art and plush leather chairs. Not to mention the fact that the servants have been delivering a steady stream of yummy meals. No demon bars have arrived yet, but these guys can roast meat like it’s nobody’s business.
At last, there’s a knock on the door. Lincoln carefully sets aside his latest sheet to rise and answer it. My shoulders slump with relief.
Connor and Octavia are here. Finally.
Octavia sweeps into the room. Whatever she’s been doing, it hasn’t resulted in a single hair getting out of place. “We’re so sorry we’re late. We spent time chatting with all the Pulpitum operators.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “All of them? Or only Acca?”
The guilty look on Octavia’s face says they spent the last few hours sucking up to their son’s mortal enemies. My tail balls up another sheet of parchment and chucks it at the door, only missing Octavia’s head by about six inches.
Good job.