Armageddon
Author: Christina Bauer
Date: 2019-05-27 15:13:59+00:00
Keywords: Magical Realism; Coming Of Age; Literary; Fiction; Epic; Magic; Urban Fantasy; General; Juvenile Fiction; Young Adult Fiction; Loners & Outcasts; Paranormal; Fantasy & Magic; Romance; Supernatural; Yo
Description: ***WARNING – In this fantasy series, Myla Lewis kicks ass, takes names, and sasses off. Often in that order.***Years have passed since Myla Lewis last fought gladiator-style in Purgatory's Arena. Now, she’s fighting again, only this time in Hell. And the stakes have never been higher. The demon King of Hell, Armageddon, has kidnapped Myla and Lincoln’s young son, Maxon. In the wake of Maxon’s abduction, all the after-realms are calling for war, and no one shouts louder than Lincoln. Myla knows that a war against Hell will cost millions of lives, so she devises her own plan, involving a small a
Publisher: Monster House Books
Rights: All rights reserved

First Published by Ink Monster, LLC in 2014

Ink Monster, LLC

34 Chandler Place

Newton, MA 02464
www.inkmonster.net

ISBN 9780996086400

Copyright © 2014 by Ink Monster LLC

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For Jane Koomar

Who saw our family through Hell
http://www.thespiralfoundation.org

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter One

In my dream, I’m enveloped in total darkness. Terrified weeping echoes in my ears. The voices are shrill, soul-numbing, and relentless. They’re also oddly familiar.

Could that be my igni?

My igni make me the Great Scala, the only being who can move souls to Heaven or Hell. They’re also my personal alarm system, chattering mostly-unintelligible advice in times of danger. That said, they only babble warnings when I’m wide awake, and they always answer me when I call to them.

Not in this nightmare, though.

Whenever I call to the voices here, no one answers me. It’s irritating and not a little bit freaky. Steeling my shoulders, I decide to try once more.

“Are you crying, my little ones?” My words echo strangely in the heavy dark.

I hold my breath, anxious for any reply. None comes. The weeping only grows louder, until the voices gain the sharp, panicky edge of screams.

That’s it. No one’s going to answer me, yet again. My eyes prickle with tears of frustration and grief. Why won’t these dreams stop? And if it’s my igni crying, then why don’t they speak to me?

At last, I wake with a gasp. Beads of cold sweat drip down the small of my back, making me shiver.

Man, that nightmare was rough.

My husband Lincoln leans over me, his body weight propped onto his right arm. “Is everything okay?” His mismatched eyes are wide with worry. “You were thrashing around in your sleep.”

I force my breathing to slow. Calm down, Myla. It’s early morning and you’re safe in bed at Arx Hall. Everything is fine.

“I had another bad dream, that’s all.”

Lincoln gently kisses my forehead. “That’s the third time this week. You’re working way too hard.”

“So are you, Your Highness.”

“You know what I mean. I’m King of the Thrax and father to the most rambunctious three-year old in the after-realms. That’s already a lot. But you’ve got all that and Soul Processing to manage.” He pins me with a worried look. “You don’t take care of yourself, Myla.”

Unfortunately, I know exactly where the ‘take care of yourself’ conversation goes. Doctors. Physicals. Needles. Not good.

I slap on what I hope is an über-healthy smile. “I’m part demon. I don’t have to take care of myself and I still look fabulous.”

A long pause follows in which Lincoln’s frown stays firmly in place. “If that was a joke, I didn’t find it humorous.”

“Hey, it was just another bad dream. No big deal.”

Total lie. These nightmares are driving me crazy, not that I’ll admit the truth to Lincoln. When I got pregnant with Maxon, I went through months of painful physicals that involved tons of needles, potions and prodding. At the end, the doctors decided they didn’t know dick about a pregnant Scala and all the hullabaloo was for nothing. I have avoided the entire medical community ever since. I intend to keep on doing so for the foreseeable future.

Lincoln glides his fingertips along my temple. “Did you have the same dream as last time?”

“All darkness and screaming, yeah.” A shiver rolls across my shoulders as I recall the terrified howls that overwhelmed my sleep. “I think it’s my igni.”

“Igni? But they never contact you in your dreams.”

“I know, right? At first, I thought they were so upset, they couldn’t wait for me to wake up or something. Like it’s easier to reach me asleep.”

Lincoln nods. “That makes sense. A good amount of magical communication—like dreamscaping—can only happen when you’re sleeping. I’d imagine your igni might find it easier to talk in dreams, especially if they’re overwrought.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Only, in my dreams, the voices don’t answer me when I call to them. And my igni always answer me, even if I can’t understand most of what they say.” I let out a frustrated huff of breath. “Maybe something else is going on.”

“Oh, like stress, perhaps?” The look in his eyes says ‘and you know what that means.’

Doctors. Part of me knows that he’s right. I can’t avoid physicians forever. But another part of me wants to keep ignoring the problem, and that part’s winning out in a big way. I decide to brainstorm other reasons for the dreams. It takes me a few minutes, but eventually I come up with something.

“Hey, it could be a spell, too. I’ve been joining demon patrols a lot these days. Maybe someone chucked an enchantment on me by mistake.”

“Only one way to know for certain,” says Lincoln slowly. “I know you don’t to hear this, but that means visiting a magical healer.”

Yuck. Those Striga nut jobs are worse than regular doctors. Maybe I should go back to my theory that it’s my igni screaming. At least, that didn’t involve the magical medical community. If I keep calling to igni in my nightmare, maybe they’ll explain everything, no doctors involved. Sure, they haven’t answered me yet, but that’s got to be better than getting a physical.

I purse my lips, making a great show of contemplation. “You know, come to think of it, I’m absolutely positive it was my igni.” I slap on my biggest, toothiest grin, the one I know that Lincoln adores. “No need for any check-ups, here.”

“For a badass warrior, you’re a baby when it comes to your own health.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Lincoln rubs his chin for a minute. “Last night in your dream, did you talk to your igni while you were still asleep?”

“Sure.”

“You haven’t done that before. Well, not successfully anyway. Maybe they only hear when you’re awake.”

“Huh, I hadn’t thought of that.” Another shiver rattles my spine as I recall the shrieks that filled my nightmares. “Well, whoever or whatever it was, their cries kept getting worse and worse. It was heartbreaking.”

Lincoln studies me for another long minute before nodding to himself. “My Queen, I believe you could benefit from a royal distraction.”

Royal distraction? The morning’s looking up.

A smile tugs at my mouth. “I could, huh?”

Under the crisp white bed linens, Lincoln slides his left hand up my bare stomach. I close my eyes, lean back into my pillow, and enjoy the delicious sensation of his touch.

“For the record, I like where this distraction is going.”

“Well, it’s the least I can do, considering you’re heartbroken and all.” Lincoln’s fingertips slowly circle around the base of my right breast. My inner lust demon stirs, sending heat to my core.

“Is this where it hurts?” he asks slowly. “Your heart?”

I mock-pout. “Oh, terribly.”

A mischievous smile sounds in Lincoln’s voice. “Want me to kiss and make it better?”

“You know, that could totally help.” Moments like these are why I’m so very-very glad that Lincoln and I don’t believe in pajamas.

Bit by bit, Lincoln pulls the sheet down, exposing my bare breast. Cold air teases my skin; heat spikes through my bloodstream. Leaning forward, he presses a gentle kiss at the very top of my breast, aka the farthest you can get from my nipple and still technically be on my chest. He does so love to torture me.

“So, how worried are you about these nightmares?” Lincoln’s voice is all low, sexy and growly. My favorite.

“About medium-worried.”

At this point, it’s obvious that Lincoln’s using his classic sexual-distraction maneuver, the one where he gets me all hot and bothered so he can talk me into doing something practical. And in this case, practical means doctors. But the joke’s on him this time. I’m not some mindless lust demon who he can manipulate with kisses. I’ll simply walk away.

Kiss. This time, Lincoln’s lips move lower, a sweet inch closer to my nipple. More heat pulses in my core.

Walk away, Myla. Walk away.

Kiss. This time, Lincoln’s hand glides down my stomach, too.

I don’t walk away.

“Have your igni said anything else to you since the dreams started? During the daytime, maybe?”

“Yeah, well…” I try to focus on the question, but I’m having issues because Lincoln’s fingertips have reached my thigh. Damn, that’s good stuff.

“Uh, Myla?” He flashes me sneaky smile. “I asked you a question.”

“Right. A question. What was it, again?”

“Any daytime messages from your igni?”

“Oh, that. No, nothing during the day.” I slip my fingers into his messy mop of silky brown hair. “I know what you’re doing, by the way.”

Kiss. His lips reach my areola, which puckers under his touch. A lovely ache rolls through my center. “And what is that, my Queen?”

“Using sexual torture to learn more about my nightmares. Next, you’ll get me to agree to all sorts of junk I’d never consider unless I was under the influence of my lust demon.”

“Sexual torture? Manipulation?” He wears a look of mock-shock. “Really?”

“Really-really.”

Lincoln moves in for another kiss, but then pauses just above my nipple, where his warm breath feels especially yummy.

I might hate him a little, right now.

“Although, a visit from the royal physician is probably in order, don’t you think? We’re anointing a new Earl of Acca tomorrow, and I don’t want to take any chances. Plus, you never know, there could be some sympathizers still running around, wanting to show their support for the former Earl by casting a bad spell on you or some such nonsense. I’ll have the Striga Elders send one of their healers over, too, just to be sure. Agreed?”

“Ugh. I hate doctors.” But I love how you’re massaging my inner thigh.

“You’ll still see them today, though. Am I right?”

Lincoln accents this last point by gently brushing his bottom lip across the very tip of my nipple. My inner lust demon goes berserk.

“Okay. I’ll see the doctors, just—”

Finally, he takes me fully into his mouth and suckles. Pleasure spikes between my thighs. “Oh, yes.”

Lincoln gives my areola another expert swirl with his tongue. A low moan escapes my lips. “I want you, Lincoln. Now.”

“As you command, my—”

A frantic pounding sounds at our bedroom door, interrupting us.

Fuck-fuck-fuckity-FUCK-fuck. Right when he reached my nipple, too.

“Are you expecting anyone?” asks Lincoln.

“Nuh-uh, are you?”

“Nope, my schedule’s clear until lunch.”

We share a frown. No one gets past the royal guard unless they have proper credentials and a damn good reason.

“Open up!” A woman’s voice booms through the closed door. “I have important news for you.” She speaks in an operatic sing-song that’s hard to forget.

“Is that Maxon’s new night nanny?” I ask.

“Yeah, that’s Rowena. And if I were a betting man, I’d say she’s here to quit.”

“But you only hired her yesterday.”

“True enough. But you know our Maxon.”

“That I do.”

Our young son inherited my power to move souls to Heaven and Hell, which makes him the Scala Heir. When I was three, even my Mom couldn’t tell that I had supernatural skills. That’s not the case with our Maxon. He’s got all sorts of unusual powers, including an incredibly low need for sleep. That said, Lincoln and I do require our rest, so we hire someone to watch our little guy until morning. The infamous night nanny.

“How many night nannies does that make this week?” asks Lincoln.

“Four,” I reply.

We had the same night nanny for ages but she left to start her own family. Now, we’re in an awkward in-between period. And by awkward, I mean angry-nannies-quitting-daily-type-awkward.

“Ah, well,” says Lincoln. “We’ll get it right eventually. I’ll hire the next one. It’s the least I can do for leaving you all hot and bothered.” He kisses the tip of my nose and then rolls out of bed. I watch Lincoln’s naked backside as he saunters down the hallway and into the nearest bathroom. Mmm-mmmmm, my guy has a sweet butt. What a shame that royal playtime was cut short this morning.

The pounding resumes, only louder this time. “Will you please open this door? It’s urgent.”

“One minute.” Scooping my Scala robes off a nearby chair, I pull them on over my head. “Is Maxon okay?”

“He’s fine,” calls Rowena. “However, his behavior is nothing less than monstrous, in my opinion.”

“Monstrous?” That’s way too harsh. I speed across the room, whip open the door, and freeze. It’s a stupendous effort not to laugh my ass off.

Okay, Maxon might have been a little monstrous this time around.

Rowena stands in the outer hallway, a short, plump muffin of a woman in a simple black Rixa gown. But that’s not what has me almost cracking up. Yesterday, Rowena had a massive beehive of gray hair that added at least six inches to her overall height. This morning, that hair-do is a burnt-out mess. She looks like Mrs. Santa Claus with a char-broiled Mohawk.

Yup. That’s Maxon’s handiwork, all right.

I scan the hallway, but my boy’s nowhere to be seen. Most likely, he’s hiding around a corner or behind one of the larger pieces of gold-inlaid furniture.

Rowena folds her ample arms over her even-more-ample chest. “I have something to say to both of Your Highnesses.”

Lincoln steps up beside me wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I came here to discuss your son, the High Prince. You can throw me in the dungeons if you wish, but his behavior is unacceptable.”

Lincoln and I exchange a long, knowing look. Don’t worry, honey. If we chucked every night nanny who bitched about Maxon into the dungeons, we’d run out of dungeon pretty quickly.

“Maxon,” says Lincoln in his best paternal-authority voice. “Come out here, please.”

Our little guy sidles into view, a black-haired moppet wearing blue and white striped pajamas. He has mismatched eyes, a slender frame, and a shit-eating grin on his face. “Yeeeeeeah?”

Technically, our boy is only three-years old, but since he’s also supernatural, he has the size and strength of a child of five. In terms of thinking power, his cranial capacity flip-flops between that of a silly preschooler and an adult criminal mastermind. What can I say? He’s beyond awesome.

“Do you know why nanny Rowena is upset?” asks Lincoln.

“No.” Maxon lets out a puff of breath while extending his lower lip forward, a move that makes his bangs shimmy. That’s his ‘thinking up a lie’ face.

I set my fist on my hip. “You can do better than that, baby.”

“And tell us the truth,” adds Lincoln.

“Well, nanny Rowena had a lot of rules.” Maxon grips the arrowhead-end of his own long black tail, twisting it in an odd rhythm. “It was hard.”

“What kind of rules?” asks Lincoln.

Rowena straightens her rounded shoulders. “I follow the same thrax traditions that any nanny would—”

Lincoln skewers her with a warning glare. “I asked my son.”

Rowena shuts her yap and how. Man, I love it when Lincoln gets bossy.

Maxon shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I couldn’t sleep, so I got out that book Grandmother gave me.”

No question which grandmother he’s referring to. Octavia, Lincoln’s Mom. She revels in Maxon’s precocious mind and gives him all sorts of stuff to read.

“What book did Grandmother give you this time?” I ask.

“The Art of War by Sun Tiss…Sun Tizz.”

“Sun Tzu,” finishes Lincoln.

“Yeah, that guy,” says Maxon. He points a tiny finger in Rowena’s direction. “And she wouldn’t let me read.”

Rowena lifts her chins. “Children his age should be asleep after 9 p.m. That’s standard practice.”

Mommy-rage winds up my spine. How dare she stop my kid from reading? “When we hired you, we told you Maxon wasn’t like other children. Because of his supernatural powers, he doesn’t need much sleep. If he wants to stay up and read, he can do so.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

My mouth falls open in a gesture of shock and rage. “What an interesting point of view. You’re fired.”

“But I came here to quit,” sputters Rowena.

“Well, now you don’t have to.”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll take my leave right now.” Rowena turns on her heel and starts stomping away.

“Not so fast,” says Lincoln. His voice echoes menacingly down the hall.

Rowena pauses and slowly turns around. When I see her face again, her eyes are large with fear. Good.

“Y-y-yes, Your Highness?”

“You’re not going anywhere until we find out exactly what happened.” Lincoln snaps his fingers at a trio of guards, who immediately take up residence around Rowena. All the blood instantly drains from her face.

“Am I going to the dungeons?”

“Depends on what the High Prince has to say.” Lincoln kneels down and sets his hand on the back of Maxon’s neck. “It’s okay, son. You know Mommy and Daddy’s rules. If you can’t sleep and you want to read quietly, that’s fine with us.”

“She turned off the lights, too,” says Maxon, his mismatched eyes large as saucers. “I don’t like the dark.”

Lincoln rounds on Rowena. “You turned off the lights despite our specific instructions to the contrary. Is this true?”

“He looked so tired and it was past one in the morning. So yes, I did turn out the lights and ensured that they stayed off.” Rowena pulls at a few charred strands of her hair. “And this is the result.”

I crouch down beside Lincoln. “What happened with nanny Rowena’s hair?”

Maxon scrunches his little bare toes onto the marble floor. “She wouldn’t let me turn on the lights. So, I told her I didn’t need her. I can make my own light.”

Uh-oh. I think I know where this is going. “And then what did you do?”

“This.” Maxon blinks hard, and a tiny bolt of lightning strikes just above Rowena’s head. When the flash disappears, the thin stripe of hair that once sat atop her cranium is gone. Kaput. History. Finito. Now, only a handful of grey tufts cling to her skull in odd places.

Rowena grabs her head. “He did it again!”

“Pretty cool, huh?” Maxon bobs his eyebrows up and down, his little mismatched eyes twinkling with delight. That brow-move reminds me of someone I know. Oh yeah, that would be me.

Somehow, I manage to keep a straight face. If I crack even the slightest smile, I lose all maternal authority. And since Maxon broke out his eyebrow-bobbing routine, I know he really wants me to crack a smile.

Ah, my lovable little monster.

In truth, I can’t blame Maxon for fighting back. Rowena broke our clearly stated rules and was an overbearing battle-axe while doing it. Plus, damn, that new lightning-trick is definitely cool. Lately, Maxon’s been coming into his Scala Heir powers in a big way. When my powers began, I was a lot older—eighteen, to be exact—and the most I could do with lightning was cause random strikes. But zapping someone right above her skull? That kind of control is pretty impressive. And at three years old, no less.

You go, kid.

I’m about to say exactly that when I remember my parental duties. Maxon can’t go around frying people with lightning bolts just because they piss him off. So, much as I’d love to fist-bump him, or at least ask for pointers on how to do that trick myself, I keep my features carefully neutral as I address my son. “Do that again, and you’ll be in big trouble, Mister.”

Maxon goes back to playing with his tail. “Yes, Mother.”

I shift my gaze toward Rowena. “You may go, but remember this. You’re lucky not to be rotting in the dungeons for the rest of your life.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Lincoln orders the guard to shuffle Rowena off to the nearest exit. She bows repeatedly as she walks away.

“You’re so gracious, Your Highnesses. Thank you, Your Highnesses.”

Kiss ass. But not without good reason.

Once Rowena’s gone, I refocus on Maxon. “Now, what are our rules for your powers?”

His little voice is barely a whisper. “Ask Mommy and Daddy first.”

“That’s right,” says Lincoln. “And you didn’t ask us, twice. First in your room, and now, in this hallway.”

Maxon blinks innocently. “But you wanted to know what happened.”

“You could’ve used your words to explain,” I state firmly. “You broke the rules, so you’ll have extra chores to do today.”

Maxon puffs out his lower lip. “But she broke your rules first.”

As if on cue, Lincoln’s mother Octavia appears from around a gilded corner. She steps along at a brisk pace, her lithe frame wrapped in a floor-length black robe. Her wavy brown hair hangs long and loose over her shoulders. As always, the Queen Emeritus looks petite, serene and absolutely lethal. Octavia used to be a warrior, and a predatory aura still follows her.

Maxon jumps up and down. “Grandmother!” He says her name with his little-kid accent, so it comes out more as Gran-mudder. Love it.

Octavia kneels down, opening her arms wide. “Come here, my boy.”

Maxon races down the hallway and crashes into Octavia’s arms. They hug for a long moment before Octavia leans back, getting a good look at her grandson’s face. “What’s this I hear about your new nanny quitting?”

Lincoln and I share a look of faux-surprise. Octavia always knows everything that happens in Arx Hall within two minutes tops, thanks to the servants on her secret payroll who are experts at lurking around corners and listening at doorways. Whenever something juicy takes place, they feed information back to her through a network of back hall whisperers. I thought about breaking up her system, but I benefit from it too, sometimes. Besides, we only live here six months out of the year. When we’re in Purgatory, Mom and Dad are so busy as President and First Guy, they pretty much stay out of our way.

Maxon’s little mouth pulls down into a scowl. “She was terrible to me, Grandmother. She wouldn’t let me read your new book or anything.”

“Ah,” says Octavia sagely. “But you shouldn’t have hit her with lightning, now, should you?”

Wow, she found out about the lightning strike, too. Extra impressive.

“I only hit her a little bit,” explains Maxon. “Now, I’ve got extra chores.”

“And some nasty ones too, I should think.” Octavia taps her cheek dramatically, as if a thought were just occurring to her. However, Octavia being Octavia, I’m sure this thought is why she headed over to our wing of Arx Hall in the first place. “How about you come with me to the stables today? It’s Saturday, so you’ve no tutoring, right?”

Maxon nods vigorously.

“Your chores can be tending to the horses. After that, you and I can go for a ride.”

Maxon wraps his arms tightly around Octavia’s neck. “Chores with Grandmother. Yay! And then Pop-Pops comes for my battle training tomorrow. Double-yay!”

“Your grandfather’s coming into Antrum to attend the anointing of the new Earl of Acca,” I explain. “It’s not all about you and your battle training.”

Actually, it is all about Maxon. Dad has a mega-playdate-slash-mock-battle arranged with Maxon and all his little prince buddies. My father could give a crap about the new Earl; it’s just a good excuse to sneak away from Purgatory while Mom’s stuck in a convention. Still, Maxon doesn’t need to think the world totally revolves around him. Only mostly.

“What do you say?” Octavia turns to me and Lincoln. “Does cleaning the stables count as an acceptable punishment? I’ll oversee everything to ensure the servants don’t let him slack.”

“That’s fine,” says Lincoln.

“Agreed,” I add.

“Excellent, I’ll have him back by noon.” Octavia rises to stand and Maxon does his ‘little monkey’ routine, wrapping his legs around Octavia’s waist so she has to carry him, tummy to tummy. She hugs him close and smiles.

“You’re my sweetest boy, Maxon.”

Lincoln’s eyes open wide in mock-shock. “What about me?”

“You’re a close second,” says Octavia with a smirk.

Maxon snuggles into Octavia’s shoulder for another hug, and he uses the opportunity to peep over at Lincoln and me, his shit-eating grin once again firmly in place. Somehow Maxon’s trouble with Rowena turned into Grandmother, horses and happy time. What a little player.

Octavia says Maxon has ‘natural political acumen’ that will make him a great king some day. I think Maxon could grow two heads and she’d say that’ll make him a great king one day. Octavia is tough as nails until you wheedle your way into her heart. After that, you could do pretty much anything and she’ll make an excuse for you. Connor’s living proof of that. Classic example: the fact that he’s gone all the time? Octavia says he’s merely adventurous in his retirement. Or the way he treats Maxon like my kid’s contagious? Connor doesn’t want to force himself on his grandson.

Riiiiiight.

Still, I’m sure Octavia had other plans for her Saturday morning. I shoot her a friendly wave. “Thanks for helping out.”

“You’re most welcome.” She raises her pointer finger high. “Ah, one last item. We’re sending over a new night nanny for Maxon. She’ll understand how to handle my little warrior.”

“Wow, that’s a relief. Thanks, Octavia.”

Lincoln’s mismatched eyes narrow. “Of course, we’ll need to meet her first before making any final decisions.”

“Are you quite certain?” A strange look flickers across Octavia’s typical poker-face. Could that be guilt? “I shouldn’t think that’s necessary.”

“Oh, it is extraordinarily necessary, Mother. Especially considering that face you just made.”

Octavia opens her eyes extra wide. I know that trick for seeming innocent; I’ve used it myself a million times. “Whatever do you mean, my son?”

Lincoln points right at her nose. “That look, right there. Come clean. What’s really going on?”

“Nothing,” replies Octavia quickly. “You two have got quite enough on your plate as it is, so I found you a new night nanny, that’s all. Now, you can focus on the big event tomorrow.” Her mouth winds into a satisfied smile. “The end of the old House of Acca. Anointing a new Earl.”

“Nice try to change the subject,” says Lincoln. “I hardly noticed.”

“Please.” Octavia rolls her eyes. “Go prepare for the Anointing.”

“Not happening,” I say. “When are you sending her over?”

“Her who?”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Octavia. Enough.”

“Fine. I’ll send her over to your audience chambers tomorrow at eleven.”

I pause, considering. “That’ll work. Lincoln and I can split nanny duty tonight.”

Lincoln steps up to my side, wrapping one arm firmly around my waist. “In the meantime, you bring up an excellent point. The Queen and I have all sorts of things to do before the Earl’s Anointing.” Behind my back, his hand slowly dips to firmly cup my ass. I make a chirpy-sound and then blush something fierce.

No question. The guards at the other end of the hallway just got a free show.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Lots to do,” I add, my voice about two octaves higher than normal.

“As I suspected.” Octavia turns on her heel and strolls away, Maxon still happily cuddling in her arms. “See you later!”

Once she and Maxon are gone, Lincoln and I rush back into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind us. My heart beats at double speed.

Royal playtime returneth, yeah!

Lincoln tosses me onto the bed, where I bounce, snort, and in general break out into a fit of giggles. With an ultra-smooth lunge, he slides onto the mattress and pins me onto my back, his firm hands, hips and thighs instantly pressing mine into place. Wherever he touches me, a sense of electric excitement runs across my skin. Our gazes lock; my body heats.

Lincoln’s voice comes out all low and growly, just the way I like it. “How long do I have you?”

I know exactly what he means. “I’m open until the trade summit.”

“So, we have hours.”

“Yes, we do.”

“In that case, I have an idea.” His legs guide mine apart with a knowing grace. “Want to know what it is?”

I squirm to free my hands so I can pull his mouth to mine, but he has me pretty well pinned. Damn, that’s hot. “Tell me.”

“Watching you unravel, again and again.”

I can’t help but smile. Unraveling is the best. “Oh, I’m all yours, Mister the King.”

Chapter Two

In my dream, I lie on a secluded tropical beach, warm white sand pressing into my back. A line of leafy palm trees stands guard behind me, their great green fronds slowly swaying in the breeze. Knitting my fingers behind my neck, I stare up at the countless stars dotting the night sky. So beautiful.

“Hello, my Queen.” Lincoln settles his toned body between my legs, propping up his naked chest on his long, ropy arms. The motion makes his board shorts rub my bikini bottoms in just the right way.

“Hello, yourself.”

A mischievous gleam twinkles in his mismatched eyes. “No one here but us.”

“And no work. No kid.” Maxon’s back in Purgatory, getting spoiled rotten by my parents.

“So, what do you want to do?”

Heat slowly prickles through my core. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”

Suddenly, an eerie howl echoes through my mind. On reflex, I press my hands to my ears. The beach, starry sky and Lincoln all disappear. I become trapped in a black and empty space filled with heart-wrenching screams.

Damn, damn, DAMN, damn. It’s happening again.

I grit my teeth in frustration. My nightmare is back. Only this time, I have a new plan. I won’t bother questioning my igni while I’m still dreaming. With a concerted effort, I force my eyes to open, seeing my quiet room in Arx Hall. Lincoln sleeps soundly beside me.

“Hey, my little ones,” I whisper. “Was that you screaming just now?”

A mish-mash of igni voices ricochet through my mind. Some are lyrical and high-pitched, while others sound as pleasant as fingernails down a chalkboard. Within the mix, I can clearly make out the words ‘yes,’ ‘danger’ and ‘secret plan.’

I slowly exhale. Finally, an answer. It’s true; my igni have been trying to contact me this entire time. Unfortunately, that means all the physicals I underwent yesterday were a total waste. Knew it.

“So, there’s a secret plan against me. Who’s causing trouble now?” I get a constant stream of death threats and conspiracy rumors. I hardly pay attention any more.

My igni reply with something that sounds like “Chirp-squawk-Armageddon.”

A heavy weight settles into my stomach. Armageddon’s been quiet for years. This is so not-good. My pulse kicks up a notch.

“What do I need to do?”

This time, their words are crystal-clear. “Talk to Nefer.”

“Okay. Never heard of anyone by that name. Where can I find this Nefer?”

A long series of squeaks and growls are followed by one word: “Hell.”

“No problem, guys. I’ll reach out right now.”

About once a week, I meet with the damned in order to gather extra evidence for Purgatory’s Soul Trials by Jury. It took me years to master the skill of dreamscaping so I could safely contact any spirit in Hell, but it’s been worth it. I’ve saved thousands of innocent souls from Armageddon after seeking out new testimonies.

Settling onto my back, I close my eyes, careful to keep my movements gentle and quiet. Lincoln’s still asleep and until I know more, he deserves to stay that way.

Okay, Myla. First things first.

Before doing anything, I need to secure approval for my dreamscape from Anubis, the demigod who’s the Gatekeeper of Hell.

“All hail and summons, Anubis.”

A rolling basso voice sounds inside my head. “Greetings, Great Scala.”

Anubis has ultimate power over anything that enters or leaves the fiery down-under. Plus, he hates Armageddon, so Anubis never lets the King of Hell know when I’m dreamscaping in his realm.

“I hereby request permission to enter your realm via dreamscape.”

“Granted. Be well.”

“Thanks.” With the permission secured, I focus my thoughts on the name given to me by my igni. “Nefer, I summon thee to a dreamscape. Wherever you are, lie down and close your eyes. When you open them again, you’ll be in a dream version of Purgatory’s Arena. I’ll be there too, and we can talk.”

A woman’s alto voice echoes through my mind. “I shall heed your summons.”

When I open my eyes once more, I find myself dressed in my white Scala robes and waiting inside Purgatory’s Arena. Everything is empty and silent. Nefer stands before me.

“It is an honor to meet you.” Nefer is a lady angel, willowy and tall with coal-dark skin, long white robes, and great black wings that arch over her broad shoulders. Her sharp, angular features are accented by thin braids that curl down to her waist.

“You as well.” And that’s all the chit-chat that I have time for. “My igni say you have something important to tell me.”

A small monkey scrambles out of nowhere, climbs up onto Nefer’s shoulder, and chitters away in her ear. The creature has chocolate-brown fur and glowing yellow eyes. “Kiya here is one of the first animals,” explains Nefer. “He extends his greetings as well.”

My mouth falls open in shock. First animals are the original creatures from the Garden of Eden. They’re smarter than most humans and can perform magic on almost anything organic. I bow slightly at the waist. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Kiya bounces on his haunches before scrambling away across the Arena floor. Once he’s gone, Nefer refocuses her attention on me. “Before I say more, you should know that I’m a prisoner and all my information comes from my jailers. They’re less than trustworthy.”

“What’s your prisoner type?”

“Class 1 Solitary. Well, almost solitary. Kiya stays with me.”

Which means Nefer’s important. If you have to be trapped in Hell, then Class 1 Solitary’s the place to be. In Purgatory, we call it Club Dead. “I’ll keep that in mind. Please continue.”

“I heard the cell block commanders talking when they came through on an inspection. They said Armageddon had come up with his finest scheme yet.”

My breath hitches. Block commanders aren’t the rank and file. If they’re talking, you should listen. My heart pounds harder in my chest. No wonder my igni were so worried.

I work hard to sound casual. “And what’s the old demon up to this time?”

“He’s gotten some kind of gift. An acquisition, they called it. Armageddon will use it as the centerpiece of his new scheme.” Her large blue eyes fill with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Great Scala. This time, he means to destroy your family.”

All the oxygen gets punched out of my lungs. Family? That can’t be true. I suppose at one time, the word ‘family’ would have meant of all sorts of people. Like my parents, maybe, or Lincoln. But now, I have a Mommy reflex. The word ‘family’ immediately leads to one thought.

Maxon. Please, don’t let him mean Maxon.

At that moment, the Arena floor heaves and shifts, sending me reeling. My mind empties. I wobble from foot to foot, trying to stay upright while the ground beneath me shudders and moans. Finally, my brain catches up with the latest turn of events. What’s happening now hasn’t taken place in years, but the signs are unmistakable.

Anubis will be here any second.

An ear-splitting rumble echoes through the stadium. The earth shimmies, buckles and then, it bursts wide open. A circular wall rises from the ground, enclosing Nefer and I as if we were lambs in a pen. A shifting network of dark green vines form the structure around us, the slender cords slithering around each other like snakes.

Nefer turns to me, her eyes wild. “End this dreamscape. Now.”

“You aren’t going anywhere until I get my answers.” My mouth thins to a determined line. “This may involve my son.”

Along one section of the wall, the snake-like vines pull back to reveal Anubis, a tall man with a lean frame, broad shoulders, and ebony skin. His head is shaved bare, accenting his intelligent eyes, full mouth, and strong jawline. His outfit is the classic fashion of ancient Egypt: a simple white kilt with leather sandals and a bare chest.

Anubis steps onto the Arena floor and pauses, his liquid-brown eyes locking with Nefer’s. The air becomes charged with emotion, but I can’t define the mix exactly. Love? Hate? Fear? Whatever it is, Anubis’s visit promises to be a huge time suck, and I need information fast. When I speak again, I work hard to keep the frustration out of my voice.

“Greetings, Anubis.”

No reply. Lots of staring at Nefer, but no reply. Damn.

“I’d introduce you two, but it looks like you already know Nefer.”

At last, Anubis speaks. “I know her.” Still, he doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. Instead, Anubis keeps looking at Nefer like she’s a tall glass of water and he’s a man who’s very, very thirsty.

“Okay, it’s obvious that Nefer is somehow—” I fumble for the right words. “Well, clearly she’s interesting to you, Anubis.”

He nods.

“But Nefer was just sharing some important stuff that she overheard about my family. She needs to keep telling me all about it.” I stare at her in a way that says ‘start talking, honey.’

“That’s right.” Nefer’s voice comes out in a dream-like whisper. “I have something important to say.” She doesn’t do any actual saying, though, and that makes me want to punch her.

My family, Nefer.

My tail taps out an anxious rhythm on my thigh. “Nefer, will you please—”

“Silence!” Anubis raises his left hand, and the slithering vines creep out of the wall toward me. “Give Nefer and I a minute to speak.”

“Or what?” The vines coil closer to my chest. A particularly greasy cord starts winding its way up my arm. “You’ll bind me with vines?”

“Don’t test me. My power here is absolute. All I ask is one minute.”

Unholy Hell. Even Armageddon can’t touch Anubis when he’s in a gateway like this one. My options are limited.

“Fine.” I slap away the vine with my palm. “One minute.”

Anubis steps closer to Nefer, the lines of his face etched with worry and pain. “Why didn’t Kiya ever come to see me?”

Nefer stares at her feet. “That’s not easy to explain.”

“Please try. You owe me that.”

A memory flickers through my mind. There were rumors about Anubis pulling some strings with Onyx, the last Queen of Hell, to get a prisoner placed in Club Dead. Everyone knows Anubis rarely takes an interest in specific spirits. But when it came to Nefer, he must have been quite interested, indeed.

“Kiya never came to see you—” Nefer inhales a shaky breath. “He never came because I never sent him.”

Anubis’s dark eyes widen with disbelief. “That can’t be true. That was our signal. You send Kiya and I break you out of prison.”

“That was your signal, Anu, not mine. I was never certain.”

“Of what? That Kiya could find me? Hell is the burned-out shell of the Garden of Eden.” Behind Anubis, the vine-wall slithers, emphasizing his point. “Kiya can still travel through it at will without being seen.”

“That’s not the part I was worried about.”

My jaw tenses with frustration. This conversation’s taking way too long. “Thirty seconds, guys.”

Anubis actively ignores me while Nefer nervously shifts her weight from foot to foot. Good. At least, one of them wants to end the conversation as much as I do.

“What would it accomplish to send Kiya?” Nefer asks at length. “Your powers only cover the gateways to and from Hell. If you free me, that means taking me out of the netherworld, and Verus’s prophecy was most specific. I can’t leave Hell until I’m its Queen.”

What the what? Words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Verus said you have to become the Queen of Hell? Really?”

“Yes. Otherwise, the netherworld could fall apart.”

“Nonsense.” Anubis’s large brown eyes harden into thin, angry slits. “How can you place Verus’s imaginings before us?”

“They aren’t imaginings.” Nefer’s voice comes out husky and low. “And I’ve made my decision. There’s nothing else for us to discuss.”

“Whatever you say.”

That’s all I needed to hear. My pulse kicks harder, knowing I may get the answers I need.

“Let’s get back to business.” I gesture to Nefer. “So, you overheard something…”

“Yes,” says Nefer. “Armageddon has created an alliance with a new soul called Aldred. He’s one of your Earls, isn’t he? I thought the name was reserved for thrax nobility.”

“Oh, yeah.” I chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “I know exactly which soul you’re talking about.”

Aldred was the last Earl of Acca and a first-class asshole. Over the last two decades, he constantly tried to steal the thrax throne from Lincoln’s family. The guy raised a pack of crazies, too. His daughter Adair agreed to be possessed by the King of Hell, all for a chance to steal my Scala powers. The minute we took the crown, Lincoln and I executed the old bastard. He even went straight to Hell, did not pass Go, did not get a trial in Purgatory. I was so happy that I wouldn’t have his evil-ness polluting my Ghost Towers, I told everyone not to investigate. Go me.

I scratch my neck, confused. “Not sure how much damage a ghost can do, especially one in Hell. What could Aldred possibly have that Armageddon would want?”

“He has something of value, make no mistake,” replies Nefer. “That’s the acquisition I spoke of before. Aldred used it to make a trade with Armageddon: his prize in exchange for a comfortable eternity in Hell.”

“That sounds like Aldred, alright. No idea what he traded though, eh?”

“Not a clue.” Nefer snaps her fingers. “Although, they did say how Armageddon hopes to use it. Whatever Aldred gave him will become the centerpiece of a plan that smacks of Helen of Troy.”

Her words turn over in my mind. Helen was the famous royal ‘face that launched a thousand ships.’ When she was abducted by Paris, the Spartans invaded Troy to get her back.

That can only mean one thing. Whatever Armageddon has, he thinks it will give him the power to abduct a royal…and then, to start a war. That’s what happened with Helen of Troy, after all. Armageddon can’t leave Hell, so he’s scheming to bring all the armies of the after-realms to his doorstep, using an unsuspecting royal as bait. It’s exactly the kind of sick and twisted plan that made him King of Hell in the first place.

Which means it’s really happening.

My heart sinks. Again, my Mom-reflex kicks into high gear. Forget invasions, war and the rest of the after-realms. All I can think about is Maxon. He’d be the perfect royal for Armageddon to kidnap. My boy is beloved in Purgatory, Antrum and Furonium. Tears prickle in my eyes. My child could be abducted into Hell. That’s not possible. I won’t let it be possible.

“You’re worried,” says Nefer.

“I should be.”

“Certainly, you receive threats all the time?” she asks.

“Not like this.” I exhale a long breath. “I need more information.”

And when I say ‘need more information,’ I mean ‘contact Cissy.’

Over the years, my best friend has created one the premiere spy network in the after-realms, all under the guise of her role as Purgatory’s Senator of Diplomacy.

“I wish I could be of more assistance,” says Nefer. “But I’m afraid that’s all I heard.” Bit by bit, she shifts to face Anubis once again. This time, it’s her turn to look mighty thirsty. “If you’re through with me, you may end the dreamscape, Great Scala.”

“There are two ways I can do that,” I explain. “Everybody goes home, or I step out and leave you both alone. What do you want?”

Nefer worries her lower lip with her teeth. “I don’t know. Would you like to be alone, Anu?”

A muscle twitches along the Gatekeeper’s throat. “All these years, I tortured myself over the reasons why you didn’t send Kiya. Perhaps escape wasn’t yet safe. Or Kiya was gone. Or worst of all, you were hurt. But in all that time, I never thought—” Anubis shakes his head. “The truth is so much worse than anything I imagined.” He steps toward the wall. “You two do as you please. I’m leaving.”

Nefer’s voice cracks with grief. “I’m sorry, Anubis.”

“So am I,” he says.

The last thing I see is Anubis stepping into the vine-wall, his shoulders slumped with hurt. A knot of sadness tightens my throat.

Talk about an unhappy ending, for all of us.

Nefer and Anubis clearly aren’t riding off into the sunset any time soon. As for me, I’ve got the King of Hell targeting my family and no idea what he’s up to.

With a reluctant sigh, I close my eyes and end the dreamscape.

Chapter Three

I fidget on the plush leather couch of my private audience chamber, my tail tapping a nervous rhythm on my kneecap. Beside me, Lincoln sifts through a pile of parchments. I’ve my own print-outs from Purgatory that I could read, as well—Ghost Tower statistics, that kind of thing—but I can’t get my head into it. The cries of my igni keep echoing through my brain, louder and louder with each passing minute. Nefer’s warning mixes in with their screams.

Armageddon. Aldred. Royal abduction. Maxon.

I hop to my feet and start walking the stretch of carpet in front of the couch. Movement always helps me relax.

Lincoln looks up from his latest scroll. “You’re pacing again.”

“Well, I’m worried again.”

“I get that, but we’ve all been threatened many times. Maxon included.”

“But my igni have never been so upset that they could only scream to me in my sleep.” I press my palms onto my ears, like I can block the memory of their cries. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

A knock sounds.

“That should be the new night nanny,” says Lincoln.

“I’ll go get it.”

A few seconds later, I whip the door open, expecting to see another plump grandmotherly type standing in the outer hall. Instead, I find a royal messenger in Rixa garb. She’s a spritely girl, all wiry body and big, mismatched eyes. She offers me a small notecard. “Message from Purgatory, Your Highness. Senator Frederickson.”

I take the envelope from her hand. “Thank you.” The messenger bows low and walks away.

“Something from Cissy?” asks Lincoln.

“Yeah.” I cross the room and retake my seat beside him. “I sent her a note first thing this morning, asking about my conversation with Nefer. Didn’t take her long to respond.”

Lincoln stretches his muscled arm over the back of the couch. “I’m not surprised. She’s more spymaster than Senator, these days.”

I tap the letter against my palm. “It’s her envy power. She doesn’t want anyone to know more about what’s going on in the after-realms than she does.”

“So…” Lincoln arches his right brow. “Aren’t you going to open that?”

I stare at the envelope in my hands, anxiety twisting its way across my shoulders. “I haven’t felt this kind of bad mojo over a piece of paper since I got that party invitation from Zeke back in Purgatory High.”

“As in, the party where you and I first met?”

“Yeah, and where we spent the whole night hating each other.”

“Ultimately, it all turned out pretty well, don’t you think? You may need to reclassify that particular brand of mojo.”

“True.” Forcing a smile, I rip the envelope open, revealing a small white notecard with Cissy’s Senatorial seal on the top. “She didn’t write much.” I read aloud. “Bad news. Armageddon plot confirmed. Definite royal abduction. Connor involved. Cissy.”

All the oxygen seems to get sucked out of the room. Connor is somehow involved with Armageddon’s abduction plot? That can’t be right.

“May I see that letter?” Lincoln asks slowly.

“Sure.”

Lincoln grips the notecard in his hand, his face radiating quiet rage. He’s never forgiven Connor for trying to push him into marrying Aldred’s daughter, Lady Adair. And then, when Adair’s plot to steal my powers became clear, Connor refused to investigate, even through half of Antrum and all of Purgatory were rioting over it. Eventually, Lincoln and I had to take the throne or who-knows-what would have happened.

“Look, I’m sure Cissy’s wrong this time. Helping Armageddon? That’s too terrible, even for Connor.”

Lincoln stares at the note. “Has Cissy’s spy network ever been inaccurate in the past?”

How I hate to say this. “No.”

“He’s involved, Myla.”

The clock strikes eleven just as another knock sounds at our door. Lincoln hands me Cissy’s card. “My turn.”

Lincoln crosses the room and pulls on the door handle, revealing a tall thrax girl in hallway beyond. She’s in her early twenties with chin-length black-dyed hair. She wears a long white leather over-gown—more of a coat than a dress, really—and, beneath it, she’s in dark striped pants and combat boots. Most thrax girls look like they fell out of the Middle Ages, especially when they meet royalty. This one? Not so much.

I like her already.

“I’m Hildegard, but everyone calls me Hildy. I’m the new night nanny.”

Lincoln steps aside. “Come on in.”

I gesture to the club chair across from our couch. “Won’t you have a seat?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Hildy plunks down in the chair, leans forward, and proceeds to pick black polish off her nails. Awkwardness and tension roll from her in waves. Lincoln retakes his seat beside me and we share a long look.

Something about this whole situation if off. Way off.

Hildy finally breaks the silence. “I don’t have a house, but I suppose you guessed that already.” She fidgets with the buttons on her white coat, which is the thrax color for outsiders and guests. “Octavia said it wouldn’t matter.”

“Mother was right,” says Lincoln gently. “After all, Myla doesn’t have a house and she’s my Queen.”

“Thanks.” Hildy nervously glances around the room.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

Hildy drums her fingers on her kneecaps. “Look, I don’t like this chair. I mean, it’s a nice looking as chairs go and all, but it’s not against a wall. I like being against a wall or in a corner, do you know what I mean?” She rakes her right hand through her black hair. “I sound insane, don’t I?”

“No, you sound like a warrior,” says Lincoln carefully. “Trained to watch exits.”

Hildy smiles with relief. “That’s right. I always stand in the far corner. Best line of sight in the room.”

Lincoln leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Classic thrax battle training.”

“Exactly,” agrees Hildy.

“And I’d imagine that training included being completely honest with your commander.”

I fight the urge to smile. Oh, I can see where Lincoln’s going with his. Hildy’s holding something back and my guy’s going to play the king card and get her to talk. No wonder Octavia didn’t want Hildy to chat with Lincoln. She must have suspected he could easily crack Hildy’s shell of silence.

“Yes.” Hildy shifts her weight in the chair. “That’s how every thrax warrior is trained. Honor, honesty, and strength. The three great pillars of demon hunting.”

“Quite right,” presses Lincoln. “And no matter what Octavia told you, you’re thrax, first and foremost. That means your ultimate loyalty is to the crown.”

Hildy picks at her nails some more. “I know that.”

“So, tell us what’s really going on.”

“I’d rather show you.” Hildy slowly pulls up her sleeve, exposing an elaborate looping scar pattern on her lower arm. “You know what this is, right?”

I’m about to say ‘I’ve no idea’ when Lincoln leaps to his feet, his eyes wild with rage. “What in blazes? You’re a Grand Master monopsyche?”

Grand Master mono-what? Whatever that is, I’ve never seen Lincoln so angry before.

“Yes,” says Hildy quietly.

“And did my father hire you?”

Hildy nods and looks away. “Yes, he did. I’m so very sorry.”

“This is the last straw!” Whirling on his heel, Lincoln grabs a porcelain vase from a nearby table. With a great swoop of his arm, he chucks it against the wall where it shatters with a crash. Lincoln grabs another vase, but I step into his path before he can smash it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I guide Lincoln to lower his hand. “Look at me.” I cup his face in my palms. “Calm down. Tell me what’s going on.”

A guard’s voice sounds at the door. “Is everything alright in there?”

“We’re fine,” I call in a loud voice. “You’re dismissed.” I add in the secret phrase that means we’re really safe. “The angels are at ease.”

“Excellent,” says the guard. “I’ll take my leave.”

I gently slip my hands into Lincoln’s. His palms vibrate with tension, which makes me more nervous than ever before. “Please, tell me.”

“That mark on Hildy’s arm,” says Lincoln in a low voice. “It’s the sign of a rare type of thrax warrior.”

“I’m a bodyguard,” explains Hildy. “And I’m a shitty liar, too. I told Connor and Octavia that I could never keep my powers a secret, but they wanted to hire me anyway.”

I nod slowly, my brain trying to process what’s going on. “So, Connor and Octavia hired a bodyguard for Maxon. I’m still not understanding why that’s a problem. A lot of nobles have bodyguards.”

“Hildy, tell the Queen who you are and what you do. All of it.”

“I’m a monopsyche,” Hildy winces as she speaks the word, like she’s waiting for me to lose my mind as much as Lincoln. “Ever heard of it?”

“No.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. We’re a specialized type of thrax bodyguard and not part of the mainstream. You have to be a Striga mix.”

“A mix?” I repeat. “You mean like, one parent is Striga, and the other is from a different house? I didn’t even know they allowed that.” Striga are a little creepy in how they discourage marriage outside their own.

“It isn’t allowed at all, but it happens,” replies Hildy. “The heart wants what it wants, you know? And unplanned pregnancies happen, too. When a baby’s involved, the parent has two choices. They can either be shunned from Striga for life, or drop their newborn off at the Wastelands, an isolated school in an even more isolated corner of the Striga realm.”

“You mean, like one of the places left over from King Aethelwulf?” That psychopath was the last King of Antrum to come from the House of Acca. His great contribution to thrax history? Deciding that the best way to fight demons was to cut them off at the source and declare war on Hell itself. Antrum almost fell apart.

“Yes,” replies Lincoln. “The Wastelands were Aethelwulf’s creation, one hundred percent.”

I rub my neck, still trying to understand why Lincoln’s so upset. “So, you’re an orphan who was trained at this school for monopsyches. And what did you learn there, exactly?”

“Mixed kids like me, we end up with special powers. I can merge with another thrax’s mind, which makes me a great bodyguard. That’s what monopsyche means, a bodyguard who can merge their consciousness with someone else’s.” She fidgets with the buttons on her coat. “Look, it’d be easier if I show you.” She stands up and offers Lincoln and I her palms. “May I?”

“Depends,” I reply. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll take you both into my mind to see my memories.”

I rise to my feet. “Hey, if it clears this up, then I’m in.”

“Thanks,” says Hildy. “The things that monopsyches do are hard to explain.” She shakes her head. “And the stuff that I do? Impossible.”

“Fine, I’ll go first,” says Lincoln. He places his palm atop Hildy’s and closes his eyes. Seconds pass before Hildy gives his hand a gentle shake.

“Are you there in my memory?” she asks. “Can you see the school?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Hildy turns to me. For the first time, I can see that her eyes are now all white, no pupils or irises at all. “Your turn, Your Highness.”

I gingerly set my palm onto Hildy’s. Instantly, the chamber around me disappears. I’m left with the sinking feeling that as terrible as the thought of abduction is, I’m about to discover something even more horrible.

# # #

The next thing I know, I stand in a snug underground tunnel lined with skulls, each head held in place with a pair of thigh bones that are folded neatly beneath it. Lincoln stands beside me, as does Hildy. The air is thick with the smell of mold.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“The catacombs of the Wastelands. You’ll see a young version of me come by in a minute. I won’t be able to see you, of course. This is like a replay, not live action.”

A tiny version of Hildy runs down the hallway, all dirty blonde hair in a dirtier white frock. Her mismatched eyes are wild with fear. She cowers behind a pile of skulls, hiding.

The adult-Hildy steps up to her childhood counterpart and stares into her own eyes. “I didn’t want to be trained as a monopsyche.” A muscle twitches by Hildy’s mouth as she speaks. “The whole idea of other people in my head frightened me. Still, I became a Novice-level monopsyche before the age of four.”

“That’s young,” says Lincoln.

“That’s the youngest on record,” counters Hildy. “As a Novice, I can share memories, like we’re doing now. By the age of seven, I was ready become an Apprentice. That was another first in the history of Monopsyches. The Teschio were thrilled.”

“Who are the Teschio?” I ask.

“Our teachers. They’re an odd bunch, as you’ll see.” A dark gleam flashes in her eyes. The Teschio are more than odd, I can tell. Hildy hates them.

I take a tentative step closer to her. “Why do you think they’re so strange?”

“What you said before. King Aethelwulf.” She turns to the wall of skulls and gestures past the whitened heads. “The Wastelands were once a highly populated part of Striga. Aethelwulf wiped out most of the population in one of his purges.” She glances down the long hallway of skulls. “There are miles of them down here. The Teschio would have starved like everyone else if they hadn’t found some way to live off magic. Now, they’re so skeletal, they make ghouls look muscle-bound.”

Footsteps sound down the corridor. Two tall figures draped head-to-toe in shimmering grey cloth step up to the child version of Hildy. These must be the Teschio.

“There’s no point in hiding, Hildegard,” says the first figure.

“I won’t do it.” The young Hildy clutches her skinny arms around her equally-thin legs. “You can’t make me.”

“If you want me to go away, then force me to do so,” says the second Teschio. Up close, I can see the outline of bones underneath the thin grey fabric. Whoever these Teschio are, they’re skeletons or damned close to them.

“Become an Apprentice,” says the second Teschio. “Take over my body’s shell with your mind. Make me your puppet.” He grabs Hildy’s palm and sets it against his own. Immediately, Hildy’s young eyes turn all white, while her body falls limp as a rag doll. A moment later, the second Teschio strolls over to the wall, pulling out a busted femur from under one of the skulls. The end of the bone is sharp as a blade.

“Are you inside his body now, Hildegard?” asks the first Teschio.

“Of course I am,” replies the second, a twinge of hysteria in his voice. “You made me do it. You make me do everything.”

“Speech is a rather simple skill. Prove to me you have total control.”

“How about this?” The second Teschio takes the blade-sharp bone and plunges it into his own chest. He crumples forward, dead.

On the ground nearby, the young Hildy’s eyes return to their normal shades of blue and brown. She stares at the body of her teacher in disgust. “I killed him, okay? Is that good enough for you?”

“More than good enough, as a matter of fact.” The first Teschio leans over to examine the body beside him. “Of course, your clients won’t want you to kill them. Monopsyches only inhabit the body of a mark for very specific purposes. For example, you can take their pain if they’re tortured, or you can provide battle expertise in pinch. Remember that.”

“I don’t care,” cries the young Hildy. “I did what you wanted. Now, will you leave me alone?”

“No, now we’ll train you to become a Master,” says the Teschio. He walks slowly down the catacombs, leaving Hildy cuddling on the floor.

The grown-up Hildy stares at her younger self. “You don’t have to keep seeing this stuff if you don’t want to.”

Lincoln rests his hand gently on Hildy’s shoulder. “Myla and I had no idea it was like this. We’ll clean up the Wastelands as soon as possible. I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

“I’m sorry, too.” She exhales a long sigh. “Do you still want to know what I can do?”

Lincoln shoots me a questioning look, but if this can help Maxon, I’m all in.

“Yes, Hildy,” I say quickly. “Show us your next memory.”

# # #

The catacombs disappear, replaced by a small square room made of rough-hewn stone. Another Teschio stands in front of a grown-up version of Hildy. Her white leather coat is less damaged and worn. So is Hildy herself, somehow. A carefree light dances in her eyes. Inside her heart, this remembered Hildy is far younger than the one who visited us today.

What happened to her?

A growl sounds, distracting me. Against the far wall stands a demon, humanoid and gangly, with all white skin and an extra set of arms. The creature has no eyes, a pair of holes for a nose, and a mouth filled with pointed red teeth. The only thing that keeps it from tearing the Teschio and Hildy apart are enchanted manacles on its neck, hands and feet. I’d know that monster anywhere.

It’s a Cruor demon. They take the living to Hell where they torture and eventually consume their prey. My throat tightens with dread and pain. There’s only one reason you keep a Cruor demon chained up. You want to send someone to Hell, or threaten that you will.

My hands ball into angry fists. If these teachers are threatening students with Hell to get them to learn, I will go Scala on their ass so fast, they won’t know how they ended up in Armageddon’s torture pits. No one bypasses the Great Scala. I inhale a long breath, ready to make a speech to that effect when Lincoln takes my hand. All the pain in the world is in his eyes.

“Wait, Myla. It’s not what you think.”

“Okay.” Unfortunately, the look in his eyes says it’s far worse.

The present-day Hildy shrugs. “This is where I leave you. This memory will show you what you need to know, but I don’t need to be here for it, if that makes sense.”

“I get it,” I say. “I can do the same thing when I dreamscape.”

Hildy’s shoulders slump with relief. “Good. I’ll see you back in your chambers.” With that, she disappears. Now, only the memory-version of Hildy remains.

The Teschio glares at the empty doorway. “Our client is late, Hildegard. Find out where he is.”

The younger Hildy folds her arms over her chest. “I’m saving up my powers for the demonstration.”

“Please,” hisses the Teschio. “Casting a Looking Glass will take minimal effort for you. Don’t make me reconsider our deal. Freedom will be yours if you accept this one engagement.”

“Engagement? It’s a death wish. I said I’d talk to the guy, but I haven’t agreed to anything. If you didn’t have me magically bound to this place, I’d be long gone by now.”

“Ah, but we do have you bound. Cast the Looking Glass.”

“Fine.” The young Hildy raises her hand to shoulder height. The tip of her pointer finger glows with a purple hue. She then draws a circle in the air, a shape that fills in with the same purple brightness.

“Show me the client,” says the young Hildy.

Inside the Looking Glass, an image comes into view. A man who’s broad-chested, white haired, and wearing Rixa royal garb. All the breath leaves my body.

It’s Connor.

Sure, I knew he hired Hildy. But seeing him approaching the Wastelands, his face all smiles? Alarm runs through my limbs. Whatever Connor’s up to, it’s dangerous.

The young Hildy looks into the image. “He’s not far, now. What a persistent old goat.”

“That’s no way to speak of someone who spent years camped out at our doors, begging for a way to find and hire you.”

“I’m shocked you ever considered letting me go. There hasn’t been a Grand Master Monopsyche in a thousand years.”

“True, but let’s just say Connor can make it worth our while. The Wastelands may become wealthy now, thanks to him. And you.”

I know the pair of them have been talking for some time, but my brain can only focus on one word: Years. The term ricochets painfully around my brain. Connor’s been a ghost in Antrum for ages. There have been so many missed birthday parties and holiday dinners because he was supposedly off enjoying his retirement. But in reality, Connor was here in the Wastelands, searching for Hildy and then, negotiating for her services.

The Teschio speaks again, and his words bring me out of my thoughts. If I’m going to help Maxon, I have to focus on every detail of what takes place in this so-called demonstration for Connor.

“Keep track of the King,” orders the Teschio. “I want to know when he’ll arrive.”

“If you insist.”

“I always do, and I always get what I want.”

“For now.” The young Hildy sets her hands on opposite sides of the Looking Glass, pressing it down to the size of a large watch-face. She then sets the magical image onto the inside of her wrist. The picture of Connor moves on her skin like a live tattoo made of purple ink. “Done.”

Although this entire experience is overwhelming, I can’t help but marvel at the Looking Glass spell. I’d never heard of one before, but that’s not a shock. It takes years to learn even the basics of thrax magic, and that’s if you have nothing else to do but study.

Suddenly, a boy steps through the stone archway on the other side of the room. He’s tall and lanky with pale skin and thick blonde dreads to his waist. He wears a long white leather coat like Hildy’s.

“Hey, Marcus,” says the young Hildy, her smile bright. She hugs him hello, and the embrace lasts a little too long for mere friends.

“Hello, Gorgeous,” says Marcus. He gently tucks a stray strand of black hair behind her ear. “How are we today?”

“Hungry!” screams the Cruor demon. The creature’s voice almost makes me jump out of my skin. I’d forgotten that guy was here.

Marcus slowly turns to stare at the monster. All the blood drains from his face.

The young Hildy sees the fear in Marcus’s eyes. “Hey, you can still back out, you know. There are other ways to gain your freedom from this place.”

“Why would I back out?” asks Marcus, his voice shaking. “You’re the first Grand Master Monopsyche in a thousand years. What’s the problem? I’m only going to Hell for a few seconds before you pull me out again.”

The world freezes at this exact moment. As long as I live, I know that I’ll never forget the look on everyone’s faces. The worry and fear on the young Hildy and Marcus. The steely rage in Lincoln’s eyes. The calm determination of the Teschio.

This is the moment I discover that my father-in-law hired Maxon a Grand Master Monopsyche for one simple reason: she can pull a mark out of Hell.

I turn to Lincoln. “He knew. This entire time, Connor knew that Maxon was at risk of bring abducted by Armageddon. Your father didn’t tell us. Instead, he spent years finding Hildy so she could rescue Maxon, just in case Armageddon’s plan worked.”

Lincoln’s eyes fill with pain, terror and ultimately, anger. “The moment we’re done here, I’m pulling both my parents in for a serious talk. We’re getting answers, Myla. I swear it.”

Marcus steps across the room to lean against the wall. He makes a great show of casually hitching his right ankle across his left, although both legs are obviously shaking. “Why would I back out? You spent two days casting all those extra spells on me. With that much magic in place, you’ll pull me out of Hell easily enough.” He hitches his thumb at the Teschio. “And our teachers promised my freedom from Wastelands in exchange for helping with this little demonstration. You’ll be free too, Hildy, if this works.” His expression turns tender. “I want us to be together, far away from here. Whatever it takes to make that happen, I’m good with it.”

“But I’m not,” says the young Hildy. “I take over your mind before he gets anywhere near you. You won’t experience Hell; it will be like you’re asleep.” Her bottom lip trembles with emotion. “Let me do that for you.”

“No way,” Marcus laughs, but the pitch is too high to be believable. “Just because you’re a prodigy, you think you have to cover everyone else’s ass.” His voice lowers and his eyes fill with love. “Let me do this for you. You’ve had enough pain.”

Hildy looks away. “If you say so.”

Marcus offers her a shaky smile. “You have my Looking Glass still, don’t you?”

Hildy pulls up the sleeve on her right arm, showing another purple looking glass there, this one holding Marcus’s image.

He shakes his head in amazement. “How do you have two going at once? Few casters can manage one.”

Hildy smiles. “Let’s say I’m motivated.” Marcus closes his eyes, and Hildy’s turn completely white.

“You know the rules,” snaps the Teschio. “You’re not allowed to telepathically communicate without permission.”

“Thank you, Hildy.” Marcus opens his eyes. “Same here.”

Hildy’s pupils return to their mismatched hues. “Good.”

“Enough idle chatter,” snaps the Teschio. “Where is our esteemed client?”

Hildy checks the Looking Glass on her opposite wrist. “Arriving right…Now.”

“Hello everyone!” Connor strides through the entryway.

“Welcome, Your Highness.” The Teschio gestures with his bony arm to the interior of the room. “Let me introduce you to Hildegard.”

Connor claps his hands together. “Well met! It’s taken me years to find you, Hildegard. And if you don’t mind my saying so, it took even longer to bribe this old bag of bones into letting you work for me.” He nudges the Teschio in the ribs. “That was quite a lot of gold and convincing, eh?”

The Teschio’s voice takes on a menacing edge. “We still haven’t seen a shiny coin.”

“Can you blame me? I’ve heard a lot of pretty talk about what this one can do, but haven’t seen a thing.”

“Tests are risky,” says the Teschio. “We don’t do them on a whim.”

“Which is why you waited until we struck our deal,” says Connor. “I understand that. And now, you have to understand that I’m withholding payment until I see a demonstration of her powers.” He turns to Hildy and smiles. “Are you ready?”

Hildy nods quickly. “Yes, I suppose so.”

The Teschio bows. “We will begin by showing you how a Master Monopsyche works. Marcus will step into another room, and then Hildegard will draw him back here. Teleport, if you will.”

“Oh, I’ve seen that before,” huffs Connor. “Plenty of monopsyches do that.”

“Only four, Your Highness,” says the Teschio. “It’s quite a rare skill.”

“Well, perhaps there’s a new twist you can show me.” Connor stares for a long minute at Marcus. “If he walks out into the hall, can she teleport him back to anywhere? Now, that I’d like to see.”

“No, it doesn’t work that way,” explains the Teschio. “Hildy can only call back her mark to wherever she stands. The spell works because of their mental bond, like magnets attracting. There are other houses of magic that specialize in teleportation, but as you already know, they can’t meet your strict requirements.”

“Quite right,” says Connor. “Well, get on with it. Show me someone getting pulled out of Hell. I’m ready to pay a pretty penny for this girl and I want to be sure she can deliver.”

“Of course,” says the Teschio. He snaps his fingers and the chains disappear from around the Cruor’s neck and hands. Immediately, the demon wraps all four lanky white arms around Marcus.

“To the torture pits!” screams the demon.

“No!” cries Hildy. “That’s too fast. I have to form the links first.”

Marcus shivers under the demon’s grip. “Do it, Hildy!”

Hildy’s eyes turn all white while Marcus’s close tightly. The demon continues to grasp his prey with all four arms as the pair sink through the floor into Hell. Hildy pulls up her sleeve, showing the Looking Glass of Marcus. “Someone tell me when he’s in Hell.”

Connor steps up and peers at her wrist. “Not quite yet,” his mouth curls with disgust. “Ah, he’s in the torture pits now.” Connor steps away, his hand pressing over his mouth. “Bring him back.”

Hildy raises her arms above her head into a ‘v’ shape, her palms glowing with purple light. She raises her all white gaze toward the ceiling, her lips silently moving with incantations.

In one swift movement, Hildy lowers her hands, claps them together at chest-level, and then positions her arms into a reverse V-shape by her hips. Nothing happens.

“I didn’t have time to make the bond properly,” cries Hildy. “I can’t pull him back.”

Hildy tries again and again to retrieve Marcus. Nothing works. Finally, after an hour of fruitless attempts, a ghostly version of Marcus appears before her, his body made of shifting purple mist. Bit by bit, his form becomes more solid until he’s standing before us in the flesh.

He’s barely alive.

Marcus’s white coat is covered in blood, he wobbles as he tries to stand upright. Hildy grasps him in her arms as he collapses onto the floor.

“Where are your healers?” Connor’s face is frantic. “Help this boy!”

“He is of no consequence,” says the Teschio. “That one is only a Novice, after all. He should have accepted Hildy’s offer. At least, he wouldn’t have suffered.”

Hildy rounds on the Teschio, her eyes bright with rage and tears. “I hate you. How would you do this? You knew I didn’t have time to properly prepare the bond.”

The Teschio shrugs. “You shouldn’t have chatted without permission, then.”

Her mouth twists into a snarl. “You’re the one who deserves the torture pits!”

“And you’re a proven Grand Master Monopsyche. I’ll ready the spells to mark your forearm, then your new owner can take you away.” The Teschio steps out of the room, leaving Hildy and Connor behind.

Hildy cups Marcus’s face in her hands. “Stay with me, my love. We can heal you.”

Blood dribbles from the side of Marcus’s mouth. “Don’t call a healer, please. I saw the torture pits.” He shivers. “I’d rather die than remember that.”

I stare at the haunted look on Marcus’s face, my mouth filling with bile. One hour of seeing the torture pits and this grown man would prefer death. What would happen if Armageddon ever dragged my three-year old son there? Everyone says Armageddon’s cruelty makes the torture pits look tame.

Connor fumbles in his pockets. “I’ve spent years on demon patrol, my girl. Let me take a look at his wounds. Perhaps I can help.”

Hildy holds Marcus’s head against her chest. “He’s already gone.” Her voice breaks with grief. “There’s nothing to be done.”

Connor gently rests his hand on Hildy’s shoulder. “You need to leave this place. I can take you away.”

“I don’t want to be a monopsyche anymore. I want to die, too.”

“Now, don’t say that, my girl. Come with me to Antrum and meet my grandson. He’s the one I want you to guard, you know.”

“I don’t want to guard him. I don’t want to be protect anyone.”

“Now, how do know you that if you won’t meet the little chap?” Connor scratches his cheek, his eyes lost in thought. “And I’ll tell you what. If you just meet the boy, I’ll give you your freedom. Your choice. Meet him, then stay or walk away.”

Minutes pass as Hildy scans Marcus’s lifeless face. At length, she inhales a long breath. “He’d want me to leave.” She dries her eyes with her fingertips, leaving streaks of blood across her cheeks. “You have yourself a deal.”

Bit by bit, the image of the stone room disappears. With it goes much of my innocence about what’s really been taking place inside my own family.

Chapter Four

Lincoln and I return to our audience chamber at the precise places where we started our journey into Hildy’s memories. Although my body hasn’t moved an inch, my mind is upside down. The true definition of a Grand Master monopsyche has short-circuited my brain.

Hildy sits on a leather chair in our audience chamber, her elbows resting on her knees. “Sorry to leave you alone in that scene.”

I take a seat on the couch across from her, careful to keep my voice gentle. “Don’t worry about it. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to relive that experience, either.”

“It was the only way I could think of to show you the truth,” says Hildy. “Now, you know what I do. Like you saw in my memory, I need to cast a few days worth of spells, but once that magical link is in place, I can move my mark from anywhere, including Hell.”

“Right, got it.” My chest tightens with fresh bands of worry. Some small part of me had hoped the threat against Maxon wouldn’t be real. But after seeing Hildy’s memories? There’s no question that my boy is at risk.

Hildy kicks at the Persian carpet with her boot. “Look, you don’t know me, but I’ve gotten to hang out with Maxon. Octavia snuck me in to meet him and he’s a good kid. I don’t have family of my own, so I care about what happens to him.” She straightens her shoulders. “All I’m saying is that if you want me to cast the spells and forge the bond with your boy, then I’m in.”

Lincoln and I answer at the same time. “Do it.”

“Glad to hear that.” Hildy smiles with relief. “Do I still work for Connor and Octavia, though?” The look on her face says that Hildy has no desire to work for the liar faction of our family.

“No, you’ll be on our payroll going forward,” explains Lincoln. “Myla and I are meeting shortly with the King and Queen Emeritus, and we’ll straighten everything out. My apologies that you’ve gotten in the middle of our—” He exhales, trying to find the words. “Strange family dynamic.”

A sad smile rounds Hildy’s mouth. “Hey, at least you have a family dynamic. And like I said, Maxon’s a good kid.”

“Thank you for caring about our boy.” Lincoln sets his hand on her shoulder. “That means a lot to the Queen and me.”

“You’re welcome.” Hildy blushes and steps away. “I better get started on those spells for Maxon. I’ll see you at the Anointing tonight?”

“You’ll see us before that,” I say. “We’ll stop by Maxon’s play date with my father in the afternoon.”

“Okay, until then.” Without any further chit-chat, Hildy marches out the door and down the outer maze of hallways, her boots thudding like a drumroll in her wake.

A long pause follows after Hildy’s gone. Lincoln and I melt into a wordless embrace. While the feeling of his long arms around me is comforting, the threat against Maxon still presses in around us, heavy as concrete. The realizations of today whirl through my mind, leading to one inescapable conclusion.

Maxon’s at risk and Connor’s known for years. The creep has been sneaking around Striga, hiring a monopsyche against a threat he never shared with Lincoln and me. And Cissy said that Connor’s somehow involved, too. What in blazes does that mean? How deep does this betrayal go?

After what I’ve learned today, my guess is that it goes pretty fucking deep.

My inner wrath monster returns with a vengeance, heating my blood with rage. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Lincoln, but I’m going to kill your father.”

Leaning back, Lincoln stares at me so hard, I’m surprised that laser beams don’t shoot out of his eyes. “Not if I get to him first.”

Oh, crud. Lincoln and Connor have been at each other’s throats for ages, but I’ve never felt that anything too terrible would happen between them. Although Connor works himself up into some insane rages, Lincoln’s always able to keep his cool. But seeing that look in my husband’s eyes?

Terrible may be just around the corner.

Chapter Five

I glare down at Connor, my hands balling into angry fists. I so want hurt this man, it isn’t funny. Once Hildy left, Lincoln and I had the guards drag the King and Queen Emeritus in here for an interrogation. It hasn’t exactly been a love fest.

“I’ll ask you once again, Father.” Lincoln’s voice drips with menace. “What the hell is going on?”

“Going on?” Connor asks with a chuckle. “Who says something’s going on?” He wraps his arm around Octavia’s shoulder, pulling her in for a closer snuggle on the couch. You’d think the two of them were lovebirds about to watch their favorite TV show, not ex-rulers ready to get their asses handed to them.

“Drop the act, Father.”

“We already know Hildy is a Grand Master monopsyche,” I say. “She can move souls from Hell.”

Octavia rounds on her husband. “See? I told you they’d figure it out.”

Connor laughs again, his barrel-chest heaving with the movement. “You’re a pair of smart kids, I’ll give you that.”

Over the years, Connor’s ‘jolly old king’ act has gotten really annoying, but never more so than now. We need the truth and fast. At this point, I’d rather he plunge into one of his classic rages rather than smile.

Octavia straightens the neckline of her black Rixa gown. “I told him you’d figure it out. Please don’t hold it against Hildy.”

“We’re not here to discuss Hildy, Mother.” Lincoln takes a half-step closer to his father and glowers down at him. “What do you know about Maxon? Why are you finding him a bodyguard that can pulls their mark out of Hell?”

“I can’t tell you, son.” Connor raises his gaze to meet ours. Bit by bit, his smile fades. “All I can say is this. I’ve been waiting for years to find someone like Hildy. She’s exceptional. A prodigy. She’s exactly what we need. We’ll all be safe now.”

“Safe from what, Father?”

Connor shakes his head. In just the last few seconds, the lines on his face seem to multiply and deepen. I’ve never seen him look so old or tired. “Please, let me be. I’ve done all I can.”

A small voice in my mind says to pity this man. Connor never recovered from giving up the crown. Now, he’s a shell of his former self and clearly upset. But that little voice doesn’t stand a chance. This is about Maxon’s safety.

Lincoln’s mismatched eyes narrow. “You can’t say…”

I finish his thought. “Or you won’t say?”

Connor slowly rises to his feet. “I’m leaving now. This is disrespectful.” He takes two steps toward the door before Lincoln pins him to the wall, his forearm pressing against Connor’s throat. My own breath catches. Lincoln is almost out of control.

“Out with it.” Lincoln pushes harder onto Connor’s neck. “What do you know?”

Octavia rises to stand beside me, her place pale. I know how she feels. I’ve never seen Lincoln so angry.

Connor gasps for breath. “I ca… I won’t….”

Octavia’s hands flutter by her chin. “My son, what are you doing?”

“You know damn well what I’m doing.” Lincoln re-slams Connor against the wall, only with more force this time around. “You find the strength and tell me, Father. Now.”

“Lin… Lincoln…” Connor’s face turns purple.

“What do you know?” Lincoln’s voice raises to a roar. “Stop being a weak, self-centered worm for once in your life. Find the strength to tell me what’s happening to my son!” Connor’s face turns a deeper shade of purple. His eyes roll back into his head.

“Lincoln, stop it,” I say. “You’re choking him.”

“I’m not choking him.”

Lincoln steps back and Connor crumples to the floor, gasping for breath. The purple hue stays on his face a few seconds too long to be natural.

Unholy Hell. I know what that means.

All the breath leaves my body. Lincoln was testing Connor for a certain kind of magic. And based on the results, there’s only one explanation for the odd purple hue on the face of the King Emeritus.

This is so bad.

“Connor’s under a magical compulsion,” I say quietly. “Whatever he knows, he can’t speak of it.”

Octavia sadly shakes her head. “Yes, that’s right. I’ve taken him to the best witches and warlocks in Striga. It’s unbreakable.” She grips her hands at her waist so hard, her knuckles turn white. “I wanted to tell you, but what could any of us do? And now, we have Hildy. Connor says that everything will be fine.”

Octavia’s mouth keeps moving, and I know she’s blathering on about something, but my attention’s consumed by her mismatched eyes. Something dark lurks in them that I’ve never seen there before. Fear. She knows her husband well enough to realize that whatever he’s hiding, it’s something life-changing. Maybe even relationship-stopping. Chilly tendrils of dread creep through my torso.

What could be so bad that it scares Octavia?

Lincoln pins his mother with a look of disgust. “You manipulated Father into giving up the crown. You were able to do that, but when you knew he was hiding something about Maxon, you did nothing?”

“There wasn’t anything I could do,” says Octavia, but her words sound more like a question. “The compulsion in unbreakable.”

My mind fixates on that one word.

“Unbreakable?” I repeat, my body turning numb with shock. “You know what that means, don’t you? Damn, I know hardly anything about Striga magic and I know what that means.”

Connor and Octavia stare at the floor, speechless. Silence, really? Fine, if they’re going to make me say, it, I’ll say it.

“It means that Connor agreed to the compulsion. Otherwise, almost anyone in Striga could break it.” I turn to Connor, my eyes blazing red with wrath. “Let me get this straight. You’ve known about some threat to Maxon from Hell for years, and you agreed to a compulsion so you couldn’t speak about it to anyone?”

Octavia steps in front of me, grabbing me by the upper arms. “You don’t know Connor like I do. There has to be an explanation for all of this.”

I break free from Octavia’s grip. “You’re talking crazy. Where is the Queen I used to know?”

Octavia’s shoulders slump. “You have to trust me on this. I know Connor.”

“Not happening,” I say, my voice deadly low.

“Look,” adds Lincoln. “Myla and I are not trusting your faith in Father when Maxon’s safety could be at stake.”

Connor leans against the wall, tears lining his eyes. “I’ve done all I could. There’s nothing left to say.”

“There’s everything left to say, Father.”

Connor straightens his tunic, an effort that only makes it more cockeyed. “We’ve covered as much on this topic as we can. Hildy’s good. More than enough to protect Maxon. There’s no better monopsyche in a thousand years. You’ve no idea how hard it was to hire her. Maxon’s safe now.”

“You see?” says Octavia. “You can trust your Father. He may not be able to tell us everything, but he knows the full story. If he says Maxon is more than protected, then he is.”

“Not good enough, Mother. Not by a long shot.”

Octavia leads Connor toward the door in slow, shuffling steps. “Children, I realize you’re worried about Maxon. Connor and I feel the same way. However, there’s no point causing family strife over something we can do nothing about. The compulsion is unbreakable, and that’s an end to it.”

She’s not getting away that easily. Even I know what we can try next. “This isn’t over,” I say firmly. “Connor’s going to the Striga Elders.”

“Agreed,” says Lincoln.

The Striga Elders are the most powerful witches and warlocks in Striga. Totally badass, especially their leader, Elder Faustina. If anyone can break the spell on Connor, they can.

“The Striga Elders?” Connor looks at me like I just grew two heads. “Criminals go there. I’ve done nothing wrong. I won’t set foot in that chamber.”

“Oh yes, you will.” Lincoln opens door and barks orders down the hall. “Guards, take the King Emeritus into custody.”

Octavia gasps. “No! Not your father. What will the people say? He’s already stepped down from the throne.”

A muscle feathers along Lincoln’s jaw. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, Mother.”

Not for the last time, I look at Octavia and wonder. Who is this person and what have you done with Octavia?

“This is outrageous,” bellows Connor. “I stepped down from my throne for you. I’ve spent years doing everything I can to keep your son safe.”

“Except tell me what’s going on.” Lincoln opens the door wider; a half-dozen guards march in.

Connor shrinks back. “I won’t go. Hasn’t my name been ruined enough for you? Everyone sees me as a weakling for stepping down so young. Now, I’ll seem like a criminal, too.”

“Use the enchanted manacles,” says Lincoln in a low voice. “He won’t fight you then.”

The Captain of the guard pulls a set of iron links from his waistband.

Connor raises his hand. “Stop right there, boy. I ruled these lands when you were only a babe suckling your mother’s teat. You do this to me? There will be consequences.”

The Captain hesitates. Quick as lightning, Lincoln steps in and grabs the man’s forearm. “Make no mistake, I’m the real power in Antrum. Have been ever since I was nine years old. Who are you really afraid of, solider?”

The Captain nods and snaps the manacles onto Connor’s wrists. The barest purple hue flashes through the dark metal.

Connor raises his chained hands. “Since you wish to humiliate me, I won’t go quietly.” He raises his voice to a howl. “I want everyone to know this wasn’t my choice!”

“Take him by the back stairs,” commands Lincoln. “Lock him up in the dungeons.”

Connor pauses mid-rattle. “You…You don’t mean that.”

Lincoln raises his brows. “I mean that precisely.” He gestures to the guards. “Solitary confinement until we can get the boats ready to travel to Striga. We leave as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The Captain of the guard grips Connor’s shoulder, angling his body toward the door.

“Wait,” pleads Octavia. “The Anointing starts in a matter of hours. You want to handle this quietly, fine. But take Connor to Striga after the ceremony is over. We can’t Anoint the new Earl if you’re both in Striga. At least, give me that.”

Lincoln and I share another long look. We’ve spent three long years investigating, gutting and rebuilding Acca. Octavia’s spent decades plotting against them. Plus, there’s something to be said for getting some additional insight before we see the Striga Elders. “I’d like talk to my father first, anyway. Would be good to get his thoughts before we go.”

“Exactly,” adds Octavia. “Xavier can help you. Besides, the Council won’t meet until midnight.” Her mismatched eyes glisten with tears. “Please.”

“Fine,” states Lincoln. “He goes to the Council after the Anointing.”

Octavia steps closer to Lincoln, grasping his right hand in both of her own. “My son, I’ll ask you one last time. Please reconsider—”

“Don’t try me, Mother. Not when it comes to Maxon.”

I move to stand by Lincoln’s side. “Connor will visit the Elders, Octavia. Consider the subject closed.” I glance over to the wall clock and then turn to Lincoln.

“Based on the message Dad sent last week, he should’ve arrived an hour ago for his play date with Maxon. We need to find him.”

“Yes, let’s leave,” says Lincoln. He glances pointedly at Connor. “We’re done here.”

Chapter Six

Lincoln and I walk down a deserted corridor, our footsteps drumming out a quick, anxious rhythm against the marble floor. At the end of the gilded passageway stands a huge set of wooden doors with the Rixa eagle carved across them. My heart thuds harder in my chest.

That’s the West Gym, all right. According to Dad’s message, he and Maxon should be inside right now, enjoying their play date.

Ever since I spoke to Hildy, I’ve wanted to hold my son, feel his heart beating, and know that my baby’s safe. Now, he’s only a short walk away. At last.

As we close in on the gym doors, Maxon’s excited voice carries through the hallway. Lincoln and I share a nervous smile. Our boy’s here with his friends, enjoying time with my father.

He’s safe, Myla. Breathe.

I return my attention to the closed door. A new figure materializes before it—a man who’s tall, handsome and ebony-skinned. Like always, he wears a white kilt and leather sandals.

“Anubis?” I stop in my tracks, my voice raised in shock.

“Greetings, little Scala.” He bows to Lincoln. “Your Highness.”

“Hello, Anubis,” says Lincoln. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“And you as well.”

Much as I love small talk with a demigod, I’d really rather be either hugging my kid or getting advice from my Dad.

“What are you doing here, Anubis?” I ask.

That thirsty look gleams in his eyes. “I think you can guess.”

He’s right. I can.

“You want me to dreamscape with Nefer again.”

“Yes, I do.” He shakes his head. “Believe me, I’d convinced myself it was over. I thought I didn’t need to see her again. But after yesterday?” The lines of his face tighten with pain. “I must see her. I can’t leave things the way I did.”

“Why do you need me, then? Can’t you walk over and visit her?”

“My power is limited to gateways,” explains Anubis. “Your dreamscapes act as a gate between realms, so they fall into my domain. I can easily hide who dreamscapes with whom. However, walking around Hell means passing into Armageddon’s realm, and there, I can’t hide my actions. Should Armageddon ever discover the truth about Nefer and me, she’ll be sent to the torture pits in a heartbeat.”

I nod slowly. “Understood.”

Anubis’s face brightens. “You’ll help me, then? I only need to speak with her for a few minutes. It won’t take long.” His eyes are all pleading and watery, but I’m low on sympathy today.

“You already know why I can’t help you. I’m tracking down Nefer’s intel about a royal abduction, so I can’t lose any time now.” I eye him carefully. “Unless you’re willing to make a trade.”

“Name it.”

“You’ll owe me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I’ll let you know when I know. But considering that the royal abduction rumors involve Armageddon, you can bet it will have something to do with him.”

Anubis rubs his neck. “Fine. One favor.”

“Good, you’ve got two minutes.”

Lincoln loops his hand around my waist. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I’d rather if you went to watch Maxon. I’d feel better knowing that one of us is with him.”

Lincoln kisses me gently on the forehead. “Be safe.” He steps toward the door, pauses, and then turns to Anubis. “If this scheme of yours hurts my wife in any way, I will hunt you down and destroy you utterly. Do we understand each other?”

Anubis chuckles, but there’s no humor in his laugh. “Yes, I do, actually.” When he next speaks, his voice comes out as barely a whisper. “I know what it’s like to feel so strongly for a woman.”

My heart goes out to the guy, er, demigod. He really has it bad for Nefer. Turning on my heel, I march down the hall, waving for Anubis to follow me. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go find your girl.”

# # #

Once again, I summon my dream-version of Purgatory’s Arena. This time, making the connection with Nefer is easy-peasy. Within seconds, she stands in my virtual stadium. Kiya sits on her shoulder, his yellow eyes glowing with an inner light.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” says Nefer.

“Same here.”

“Not sure why you summoned me, however. I’m afraid I’ve nothing new to tell you.”

“No worries.” I shrug. “I didn’t summon you to talk.”

Nefer’s pulse starts pumping so hard, the veins in her neck throb. “Then, why am I here?” Based on the fact that she’s about to go into cardiac arrest, I think Nefer knows exactly why I summoned her.

“One guess, Nefer.”

The earth rolls and buckles beneath our feet. Then, it bursts apart. A circular wall rises from the broken ground to enclose Nefer and me. Just like before, the round structure is made from a shifting fabric of slithering vines. A section of the wall pulls apart, reminding me of curtains parting on a stage. Anubis races through the new opening, stopping only when he stands right before Nefer. They stare at each other, their mutual energy filling the air.

Damn, these two need a room.

I rub my palms together. “My work is done. When I leave, you two can hang out here as long as you want. Whenever you’re ready for the dreamscape to end, just wake up your real-selves.”

“Please don’t go yet,” says Nefer quickly.

Anubis looks like someone kicked him in the gut. Suddenly, I’d rather be anywhere else than here. “Actually, I need to vamoose.”

Nefer pins me with her big blue watery eyes. “Please, Great Scala. Don’t leave me alone.”

“He’s not going to hurt you.”

“He could.” She’s totally grasping at straws now. “People get injured in dreamscapes all the time.”

“True, but we all know that won’t happen.”

“Please.” Her teary face makes my pity-meter go into overload. Damn, I’m such a sucker.

“Fine, I’ll stay. Two minutes, that’s what I promised Anubis.”

“Thank you,” says Nefer.

Anubis’s mouth trembles with disbelief. “Why don’t you want to be alone with me?”

Nefer shrugs. “There’s nothing new to say.”

“But there is a new way to say it.” He steps closer, invading Nefer’s personal space. “I haven’t touched a woman in two hundred years. Not since you.”

Nefer sets her hand on Anubis’s chest. I can see his heart rate skyrocket from here. “Anu, this is exactly why I wanted the Great Scala to stay.” She starts staring at his lips like it’s her job. “You know I can’t control myself around you.”

Anubis’s mouth winds into a sultry smile. He really is way too attractive to be stuck watching the doorway to Hell. “Is that such a bad thing? I don’t remember any complaints before.” He leans in closer.

I raise my hand. “And this is me leaving.”

Nefer rushes to my side. “Please, stay. I’m begging you.” She fixes me again with her big blue eyes, all watery and overwhelmed. “Keep your distance, Anu. Please.”

Anubis gives his kicked-in-the-balls face again, but he stays away from Nefer. The man had a plan, and the lust demon in me admires anyone who tries to use seduction to get what they want. But ultimately, his plan failed. Now, I need to get back to my family.

Nefer turns to Anubis. “What did you want to say to me?”

“I came with a question for you.”

Nefer nervously fiddles with the golden tie at her waist. “Ask away.”

“Did you ever love me, Nefer?”

Wow, way to dive right into the deep end, Anubis. I look down, pretending that a particular clod of earth is super-interesting.

“You know the answer to that question, Anu. Verus had a prophecy. I am to be Queen of Hell. It’s my destiny to break into the Netherworld and try to kill its ruler. Two hundred years ago, that was Onyx. Today, it’s Armageddon. I can’t leave until my task it done. That has nothing to do with my feelings for you.”

A long pause follows. I decide to get while the getting is good. “Since we’re all talked out, I’ll take my leave.”

“One more minute,” says Anubis. “She won’t stay unless you’re here.”

And the sucker-a-thon continues. “Sixty seconds.”

Anubis’s tone turns pleading. “Verus can’t predict anything with certainty. She sees multiple futures and tries to make the one she wants come to pass. You still have a choice, Nefer. You can escape today. Leave now. Be with me.”

“And if I escape, what would happen to all the after-realms? Verus says that if I am not Queen of Hell, they will all fall.”

“I don’t care about the after-realms,” retorts Anubis. “You’re all that matters. I’m an immortal with powerful magic. I could carve out some small corner and keep you safe. Keep us together.”

“At the expense of everyone else?” Nefer shakes her head sadly. “No, Anu.”

My heart goes out to Nefer. I know exactly how she feels. I didn’t ask to become the Great Scala either, but when my number got picked, I had to do my best. You can’t turn your back on your destiny, no matter how much that destiny sucks.

Anubis’s eyes glisten with pain. “It’s been so hard these last two hundred years. Knowing you’re so close and that I can’t see you, can’t touch you. Is there no way we can be together?”

“Yes, there is.”

“What? Name it.”

“Fight with me. Set me free and together, we’ll kill Armageddon.”

Anubis exhales a long sigh. “My powers don’t work that way, Nefer. I’m the Gatekeeper of Hell. He’s the King. Our powers balance each other. He can’t hurt me any more than I can hurt him. The only way he can fight me is by hurting someone like you.”

When she next speaks, Nefer’s voice cracks with emotion. “Then, we’ve nothing left to discuss.”

There’s an almost audible crack as Anubis’s heart breaks. His shoulders slump with disappointment. I turn around, pretending to be fascinated by the empty stands.

“Let’s have one last talk,” says Anubis. “The Great Scala could leave us so we could catch up. I miss my friend.”

“No, Anu. Seeing you like this, it only makes things harder for both of us. It’s over.” Nefer turns to me, her mouth quivering on the verge of a sob. “Great Scala, I beg you to end this dreamscape.”

Anubis rounds on me. “Wait, please.” Bit by bit, he turns to Nefer. “Are you absolutely certain?”

A long pause follows before Nefer speaks again. “Yes, my choice is to end this. Now and forever.”

“In that case, I follow your wishes.”

I do as she asks, but as I break the dreamscape link, I remember how I felt about Lincoln when he and I first got together. I must have sworn to end things with him for good at least a hundred times. Nefer sounds like Myla part deux.

Forever, my ass.

Chapter Seven

I stand against the wall of the West Gymnasium, a chamber that’s a classic example of interior exercise design circa 1500. The room is long with plaster walls and a wooden floor. The arched ceiling is filled with a latticework of long wooden beams. Like everything else in Antrum, there are no electronics here. Instead of the workout machines that fill every gym in Purgatory, here I find exercise dummies, weights and wooden bins filled with weapons. Lots and lots of weapons.

In the center of the room, Maxon and his friends get ready to play a mock-battle under my father’s expert guidance. At this point, Dad’s training seems like one long game. It’s when you get to be my age that he’ll mercilessly kick your ass for hours in a row.

In today’s training, Dad makes Maxon play a general, which is what he’ll really be one day when he’s full-grown. My throat tightens with worry. There are so many years that have to pass until Maxon’s an adult. In the meantime, anything can happen. Like Armageddon.

Don’t show you’re upset, Myla. Maxon picks that stuff up easily, and there’s no reason to ruin his play date. That’s also why Lincoln and I are waiting until the training games are over before talking to my father. Besides, watching Dad and Maxon together is nothing short of magical. There are some moments in life you don’t want to cut short.

Lincoln stands beside me, leaning against my same stretch of plaster wall. Across the room, Hildy waits in the far corner, her arms folded across her chest. Every so often, her heavily-lined eyes flicker in our direction before quickly re-locking on Maxon. All the while, her lips soundlessly whisper incantations. Hildy’s obviously already started on the spells to bind her and Maxon just in case he’s ever—

Don’t go there, Myla.

I force myself to focus on my father, who stands in the center of the room, wearing ninja-style loose pants and a grey T-shirt. Maxon and his friends are all dressed as mini-versions of Dad, complete with short-sleeved shirts and loose pants. In this outfit, it’s obvious that my boy’s left arm is covered in black dragon-scales. Our Furor heritage is strong in Maxon, and those black armscales mark him as Furor royalty. Emperor Tempest himself has taken an interest, offering Maxon dragon riding lessons.

Not sure how I feel about that.

Dad leans over Maxon’s shoulder. “Time to get started, don’t you think?” As he moves into a beam of light, I can see how the lines under Dad’s eyes have deepened. Mom says his nightmares are getting worse. Being imprisoned in hell for almost twenty years will do that to you.

“Right, Pop-Pops.” Maxon turns to his friends. “Troops, fall in!”

Three boys hustle to stand in a line before Maxon. They’re all about my son’s height and perfect examples of their respective houses. First in line is Nizam, a classic Horus boy, ebony-skinned and built like a line backer. Beside him stands Tiberius, Prince of Striga. A magical prodigy, Ty already has dreads to his shoulders that are decorated with beads of spell achievement. Next in line stands Raj, Prince of Kamal. He’s also ahead of the thrax learning curve, having already started to raise his traditional hunting animal, an enchanted hawk.

They’re a sweet bunch of boys. Loyal. Smart. Good fighters. A sense of warmth and pride fills my chest. Maxon so clearly leads this little group. He’ll make a great king for them one day.

Maxon’s gaze snaps to the last boy, Uther, who’s decided to sit against the wall beside Hildy. Maxon rolls his eyes. “Don’t be weird, Uther. I said to fall in line.”

“I don’t want to call you General Awesome. You’re already the High Prince. It isn’t fair.”

Uther’s a classic example of the new House of Acca. Nice kid. Decent fighter. A little off socially. Decades of living with psychopaths made the good members of Acca a little wacky.

“What do you want to call me?” asks Maxon.

Uther runs his right hand through his short, white-blonde hair. “Anything but General Awesome.”

“Fine, I’m General Awesomer. Now, fall in, soldier.”

I smile. My kid got a double dose of bossy in his DNA, alright.

Uther slogs to his place in line, grumbling loudly with every step. With Uther settled in, Maxon walks up and down the row of princes. Dad follows a step behind, whispering what to look out for in an inspection. Weapons, physical readiness, and mental acumen. After a few minutes, Dad stops his lecture to ruffle Maxon’s black hair.

“Good job on the inspection, little man.”

“Thanks, Pop-Pops.”

“Time to start the exercise proper, don’t you think?”

“Yup.” Maxon sets his little fists on his hips. “Okay, guys.” He points to a stuffed mannequin at the far wall of the gym next to Hildy. It’s a tall lumpy thing with a silver helmet perched atop its head. “That’s the King of Hell,” declares Maxon. “I’m going to kill him. You’re all demons in my way.”

“Yes, Sir,” say the boys in unison.

Maxon sneaks a shy look at Dad. “Now, what do I do?”

“Tell them to fall out.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right. Fall out, everybody!”

Maxon and Dad move to the gym’s entrance, right beside Lincoln and me. The boys stand in a make-shift line between Maxon and the dummy Armageddon. I think of the real King of Hell and shudder. Armageddon is seven feet tall and gangly with black skin that’s shiny and smooth, like polished stone. He has a long face, blade-like nose and wide mouth filled with pointed teeth. I’m glad Dad’s not using one of our more life-like mannequins; the kids would have nightmares for weeks.

Maxon launches into combat, his little wooden sword clutched tightly in his fist. His first battle is with Uther, who should be practicing his swordplay but keeps throwing imaginary grenades instead. Dad watches their fight and coaches, giving out pointers. Maxon bests Uther with ease. Within seconds, the boy cries ‘I submit’ and Maxon moves on.

Next in line is Ty, who casts a few minor fireball spells. Dad coaches Ty on how to attack and Maxon on how to defend. Raj and Nizam both use traditional wooden swords, and Maxon legitimately bests them all with little advice or coaching. I’m so proud.

His pretend demons downed, Maxon now races to the far wall. With a flourish, he knocks the helmet off the dummy’s head. “I got the helm, yay!” He turns to Dad. “Look Pop-Pops, I killed Armageddon for you!”

My father’s angel-blue eyes flare bright as he swipes the helm from Maxon’s hands. “He’s mine to kill,” Dad snarls. Almost as quickly as the words leave my father’s mouth, he realizes his mistake.

Maxon pulls on his ear, his classic move when he’s confused. “What did you say, Pop-Pops?”

“I said, that’s a fine kill, Maxon.”

Lincoln and I exchange a quick glance that’s the equivalent of a long conversation. The more time Dad spends away from his imprisonment, the harder his time there seems to wear on him. At least, Maxon didn’t notice anything wrong.

“Thanks, Pop-Pops.”

Dad returns the helm to Maxon. “Now, you must pick someone else to be King of Hell.”

Maxon tosses the helmet into a nearby bin. “Nah, I don’t want a new King of Hell.”

Dad raises his arm, signifying this is a learning moment. All the kids turn to watch. “Remember, children. Ruling Hell is a noble job, if done nobly. Hell is the cleansing ground for evil souls.” He turns to Maxon. “You need to pick a new King or Queen, my grandson.”

“Okay, Uther can be King of Hell.”

Uther grabs the huge helmet out of the bin and pulls it over his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” He stumbles toward Dad. “I want to hold the archangel baculum, too!”

My father pulls two simple silver rods from his waistband. “I only have these, I’m afraid.”

Uther stares at them, his face scrunching up with disappointment. “I thought all archangels had special baculum.” He lunges with an imaginary sword. “Can cut through anything.”

“Mine are still in Hell. Armageddon has them.” A pained look crosses Dad’s eyes. “He kept them close to me, but always out of reach.”

Uther sets his fists on his hips. “Well, I’m the King of Hell now, so shouldn’t I have them?”

Dad’s voice comes out low and menacing. “No one should have them but me. One day, I’ll get them back, mark my words.”

A charged silence fills the room as everyone stares wide-eyed at Dad. Uther drops his helmet to the ground with a loud clunk. “Uh, okay. I don’t need them.” His bottom lip quivers.

Lincoln steps forward to deftly break up the awkwardness. “Nice work, son.” He winks at Uther, who smiles from ear to ear. “You too, Uther.”

Maxon beams with pride. “Thanks, Father.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Dad snaps out of his angry funk. “All of you did a superlative job.”

There’s a lot of high-fives and jumping around, but now that the distraction of the game is over, I can’t share in the celebration. Armageddon wants to abduct Maxon to Hell. My shoulders tighten with worry. Dad smiles in my direction. I try to reciprocate and fail.

My father’s grin fades into a frown. “Let’s take a break, kids.”

Hildy steps away from the far wall. “How about we get a snack?”

A general chorus of happy cries echo through the room. “Yay!”

Maxon runs up to Hildy, grabs her hand, and drags her toward Lincoln and me. “Mom! Dad! This is who I was telling you about! She’s Hildy and she’s going to be my all-the-time nanny! Grandmother said so.”

“Actually, Mom and Dad said so,” I point out. I’m still too angry with Octavia to let the distinction slide. “But we’re all very excited to have her. Seems like you are, too.”

“Oh, yeah. Hildy’s a mono-syke. She can talk to me in her mind. Nizam says that’s really cool.”

Nizam folds his stocky arms over his full chest. “That’s right. Very cool.” He seems so grown-up for five years old. Then again, I forget that the other boys really are all around five or six, while Maxon only looks that way. Being the Mom of a supernatural can be tricky like that.

Uther rolls his eyes. “Why do you need a bodyguard? You’re a kid.”

“All the really important people have a monopsyche to guard them,” says Nizam. “It’s tradition.”

“Well, I don’t have one,” moans Uther.

Ty twists the beads on his braid with his right hand. “You’re not even a prince, Uther, let alone a high prince. You don’t need a bodyguard.”

An angry flush crawls up Uther’s neck. “I’m fifth in line to be Prince of Acca, I’ll have you know.” He raises his fists high. “Put ‘em up.”

Hildy presses the door open with her left hand. “Anyone who’s fighting isn’t getting a snack.”

At these words, all thoughts of animosity disappear. The boys charge out the door with Hildy close behind.

Once they’re well and gone, my father’s the first to speak. “Hildy’s good.”

“Father sought her out,” explains Lincoln.

Dad exhales a long sigh. “I suppose you’re here to discuss why Connor hired a monopsyche for my grandson?”

“Yup,” I reply. “We need some advice.”

“Connor hiring bodyguard babysitters,” repeats Dad in a low voice. “I don’t like it.” He leans against the wall, kicking his right ankle over his left. “Not one bit.”

A long pause follows as my father’s eyes glow blue with angel fire. “Now, tell me everything.”

Chapter Eight

I stand beside Lincoln and Dad, tossing wooden practice swords into equipment bins. With each new item I find on the floor, my head shakes in amazement. Hard to believe how much mess five little boys can make in one afternoon.

For some time now, the three of us have been cleaning up while discussing the latest news about Maxon and Armageddon. As we turn over each bit of information, an electric sense of alarm charges higher up my spine.

Keep it together, Myla. Panicking won’t help.

Dad hauls the fighting dummy back into a closet. “So, we’ve got Armageddon, Aldred, Connor, and Hildy. What do you think’s happening, Myla?”

I lean against a nearby wall. Man, do I ever need some extra support to admit this out loud. “Armageddon wants to abduct Maxon.”

Dad’s face becomes a mask of calm. I know that look. It’s his ‘thinking things over’ face.

It feels like a hundred years eke by as my father considers everything we’ve told him. Hope sparks in my heart. Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps there’s another explanation for all that’s happened, other than Maxon being at risk. Dad always comes up with a new way of seeing things.

Finally, my father speaks. “Yes, that’s the most likely scenario, I’m afraid.”

My skin tingles with shock. Somehow, Dad confirming the scheme to abduct Maxon makes everything too real. Part of me was hoping he’d say there was nothing to worry about.

Not this time.

“What about Connor?” asks Dad. “Do you think he’s in league with Armageddon?”

“Not in a direct sense,” replies Lincoln. His voice drips with contempt as he adds: “That would require taking a stand. Choosing a side. It’s not his thing.”

Dad nods, his eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. “Are you taking him to see the Striga Elders?”

“Yes,” I reply. “We’re going right after tonight’s Anointing.”

“And Connor joins you willingly?” The way Dad asks the question, he already suspects the answer.

Lincoln’s face is still as stone. “No.”

“I can accompany you, if you like.”

“No, Myla and I will handle it.” Lincoln meets my father’s gaze, and all the resolution in the world is there. “This is our rule and our responsibility. We’ll get the truth out of him, you can count on it.”

“It’s your choice,” says Dad. “However, a bigger question remains. When do we start preparing for war?”

My mouth falls open with surprise. The moment I heard the words ‘Helen of Troy,’ I knew Armageddon wanted to lure armies onto his doorstep. However, I didn’t think we had to play along. “Come on, Dad. No need to worry about that yet, right?”

My father stalks the floor like a caged animal. “Armageddon’s the most power-hungry ruler in a thousand years. He won’t stop until all the after-realms are under his thumb, and everyone knows it. Heaven, Purgatory, Antrum, the Dark Lands…they’re all looking for an excuse to wipe out the King of Hell. And now he threatens my grandson? If Armageddon wants a war, he’ll get one.”

“Fighting Armageddon on his turf?” Lincoln tosses his wooden sword across the floor; it lands in one of the bins with a loud thwack. “The young Lords would love it, but the older Earls and Duchesses? They won’t support a pre-emptive invasion. Not a chance.”

“Don’t be so certain,” says Dad. “Aethelwulf’s war on Hell was five hundred years ago. Surely, they’ve forgotten.”

Lincoln laughs, but there’s no humor in his tone. “Five hundred years is nothing to a thrax, you know that. Besides, Antrum was almost destroyed in that war.”

I step to Lincoln’s side in a show of support. “If Aquila hadn’t fallen in love with Ryder and started the House of Rixa, the thrax might not even exist.” My tail swipes behind me in an angry rhythm. “These says, it’s as if all you can think about is—” I stop myself before saying ‘war with Armageddon.’

“Is what, Myla?” Dad asks evenly.

“Is pointing out the war-like point of view.”

“Is that a crime? I am a general, after all.”

“And I’m a King,” says Lincoln. “In Antrum, war pales alongside trade routes and oxygen supply. We exist in a delicate ecosystem that’s miles underground. A magma river connects our network of houses, and each one supplies a critical piece in the puzzle of survival. Kill the wrong person in battle, and entire regions will fall.”

Dad sets his fists on his hips. “So, you’re afraid of war?”

“Thrax love fighting and you know it,” I retort. “All we’re saying is that we’ve seen what can happen when the balance down here is upset. Just today we learned about this horrible school in the Wastelands where they do terrible things to orphans—and it all started with Aethelwulf and his damned war. We can’t enter into a new one easily.”

“Of course, I agree whole-heartedly.” Dad slaps on his best white-toothed grin. “All I want is for you to know the facts.” He counts them off on his fingertips. “I’ve invaded Hell before. I led the archangels into the throne room to extract Lucifer. Anubis and I are friends. He let me walk through Hell’s Gates unmolested. In a war, I’d only fight Armageddon and his demons. That’s the truth.”

I rub my temples with my fingertips. “You’re not making it easy to think about other approaches, you know.”

Dad’s face turns gentle. “You wish to consider futures that don’t include battle, fine. But consider war, as well. Your people deserve that.” He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He didn’t need to say the words. His next thought hangs in the air, unsaid but true.

Maxon deserves that, too.

I straighten my shoulders. “Okay, suppose you invaded Hell again. Would the battle plan stay the same?”

Within my thoughts, the room takes on a dream-like haze. This is really happening. We’re talking about a war with Hell.

“Nothing’s changed, other than Armageddon,” says Dad. “If anything, his sorry leadership skills will make everything easier. Plus, Anubis hates the old bastard so much, he’ll grant us passage through the gates once more.” My father’s gaze meets mine, and his irises flare bright blue with angel fire. “Yes, I could take Hell again.”

My heart kicks harder in my chest. My son is in danger. Invading Hell could stop the problem before it starts. I pace the floor, nervous energy careening through my limbs. “We must protect Maxon.”

“I’ll contact my old angelic commanders right away,” says Dad. “In the meantime, Maxon’s in Antrum with a monopsyche. Hildy’s the best I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot. Still, you should double the guard around him.”

“Agreed,” says Lincoln.

“We’ll ship in extra guards from Striga, too.” My words sound hollow and strange to me, like someone else is speaking them. I never thought we’d need additional protection in Antrum; the place is locked down tighter than a drum. Another realization seeps into my overwhelmed thoughts. “We can’t leave Antrum, can we?”

“Not until the threat is neutralized,” replies Dad. “And until we get more answers, I’ll remain here as well.”

My heart lightens. “You’re staying?”

“Looks like you’re both stuck with me.”

“Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” I wrap him in a deep hug. Maybe with my father’s help, we can stop Armageddon before he causes any serious trouble.

If only that stupid nagging feeling would go away. It’s the one that keeps saying, think you can thwart Armageddon? Think again.

Chapter Nine

Lincoln, Maxon and I stand inside the reception chamber of the Amber Cathedral, which is arguably the nicest building in Acca. Before us stands a pair of tall yellow doors carved entirely of amber, the same material that makes up the rest of the cathedral.

The reception chamber itself is a large boxy room whose walls are lined with dozens of Rixa and Striga guards, all standing at attention like so many paper dolls in a row. Hildy’s here too, looking downright elf-like in her black body armor. She scans the exits for trouble while her lips silently cast more spells. Another twenty-four hours and her connection to Maxon will be complete.

My insides churn with worry. Everything is happening so fast, I have no idea if we’re making the right choices. A few hours ago, I was certain that Hildy should be connected to my son. But now? Having my baby telepathically linked to a stranger seems like a dangerous idea.

Maxon pulls on the skirts of my white Scala robes. “Mom, can Hildy walk with us down the aisle?”

“She will, baby.”

Maxon looks over his shoulder at Hildy, who stands against the farthest wall. He squeezes his eyes shut, scrunching up his little face in the process.

Across the room, Hildy’s eyes turn all white, the sign that she and Maxon are having one of their telepathic chats. Another flicker of anxiety tightens my chest. I don’t like the idea of Maxon having conversations that I can’t hear.

Lincoln gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ve been thinking the same thing, too, you know.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“To me, you are.”

“Are we doing the right thing?”

“At this point, we only have bad choices in front of us. Our only hope is to pick the prettiest pig.”

My mouth quirks up into a smile. “Well, once you bring farm animals into the analogy, it all makes sense.”

“Thought so.”

Maxon pulls on my skirt again. “Mommy, I want Hildy to walk with us-with us. She keeps saying she has to be last.”

I kneel down to look at Maxon at eye level. In the process, I can’t help but straighten his little tunic, chain mail and crown. He looks so freaking adorable in his high prince get-up. “How about if she walks right behind us, the first guard in line?”

“Yeah.” Maxon closes his eyes and then opens them again. “Hildy says that’s okay.”

I ruffle his hair with my tail. “Glad to hear it.”

Processional music swells from inside the main cathedral. That’s our cue. Pushing through the tall doors, we step into a long arched space that leads up to the altar. Above us, the ceiling is carved with scenes of war; frescoes of famous Acca leaders decorate the walls. Long benches line either side of the processional aisle, all of them filled with witnesses for today’s Anointing. There must be two thousand attendees here, including my parents, Connor, Octavia, Walker, and Cissy.

The three of us step down the long aisle, the golden carpet glittering beneath our feet. Audience members rise to stand as we pass by their rows. Our walk ends at the raised platform that makes up the cathedral’s ceremonial space. It’s a large circular stage with an altar, two amber thrones, and a smaller chair set up for Maxon.

As the music finishes, Lincoln and I move to stand at center stage. Maxon takes his chair, with Hildy standing just behind him.

Once we’re all in place, Lincoln raises his arms in his classic ‘I’m the King and I have something to say’ move. The room falls silent.

“It is with great excitement that I greet you here today,” Lincoln announces to the crowd. “Ever since my Queen and I took the throne three years ago, we’ve worked to return Acca to its former glory as one of the most powerful and loyal houses in Antrum.” Lincoln lowers his arms and turns to me.

I continue the speech. “Today, the King and I will anoint new leadership for Acca, with all of you here as our valued witnesses. May the future Earl and Duchess guide this house along the path of strength, honor and good judgment.”

I pick up the small vial of oil that rests on the altar behind us.

“Will those to be anointed come forward?” asks Lincoln.

The Earl and Duchess step across the stage. I dip my thumb in the bowl of oil and wipe some of the sacred liquid onto the Duchess’s lips, forehead and palms. “May you speak truth to your people, rule with wisdom in your mind, and work hard with your hands for the future of all thrax.”

I hand the bowl to Lincoln, who repeats the ritual with the Earl. After that, we all turn to address the assembly.

“On behalf of thrax everywhere,” says Lincoln. “We introduce you to the new Earl and Duchess of Acca!”

The audience breaks out into a riot of applause. I survey the crowd and sigh. It’s been a long journey to reach this day but now, at last, Acca has new, loyal leadership.

A strange sound soon mingles in with the applause. It’s quiet, yet impossible to miss. A soft cracking echoes through the cathedral. I scan the space, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise.

Huh. I could swear it’s coming from the ceiling.

I turn to Lincoln. “Do you hear anything?”

“Yes.” Lincoln’s gaze is already fixed at the amber roof over our heads, his face set into stern lines. I know that look. Danger is near.

It’s an effort to keep my voice low. “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s casting a spell.”

My gaze snaps to the Striga royal guard. They’re already murmuring counter-spells to block the intruding magic. By the worried looks on their faces, they aren’t succeeding at their task.

“Why aren’t they stopping the spell?” These are the best casters in Striga, and twelve of them, no less.

“I’m not sure, unless—” Lincoln’s gaze stays glued to the ceiling.

My heartbeat kicks into overdrive. What kind of spell could bypass the Striga royal guard?

Lincoln reaches into his tunic for his baculum. “Damn. This is dark magic.”

I’ve heard of dark magic, everyone has. It’s what thrax parents use to scare their kids into behaving. Go to sleep right now or the dark magicians will get you. And sure, there were evil thrax casters, but they were all hunted down hundreds of years ago. Striga has tight controls over all that stuff now. Don’t they?

“There must be another explanation.”

“There isn’t.” Lincoln’s voice comes out low and deadly. “Take Maxon and run.”

Adrenaline instantly pumps through my body. Fast as a heartbeat, I bolt across the stage, scoop Maxon into my arms, and sprint down the center aisle toward the exit doors. I sense more than see Hildy running behind me. On reflex, my tail winds with Maxon’s, holding him tight to my chest as I race with every ounce of energy in my body. Before I know it, Maxon and I are halfway down the aisle.

That’s when the ceiling implodes.

With an ear-shattering boom, the roof above our heads collapses into thousands of tiny yellow stones. They pour water-like from above, surrounding everyone’s feet to ankle-depth within seconds. The enchanted stones melt, turning into gooey amber. I try to keep running, but my feet get stuck in the muck. In my mind, I call out to my igni.

Help me, little ones. Help your Maxon, too.

Instantly, thousands of igni appear about Maxon and me, swirling in a vortex that cuts through the stone around our feet. My muscles burn with the effort, but thanks to the igni’s help, I finally break through the gooey rock that holds me back. Clasping Maxon tightly in my arms, I take a few steps closer to freedom.

Meanwhile, the rest of the cathedral collapses into total chaos. Everywhere, people are screaming, weeping, and trying to escape. Maxon’s head is pressed deep into my shoulder. He clutches at my Scala robes, sobbing two words over and over. “Mommy, no.” Each syllable tears at my heart.

More amber pours from the ceiling. The magic is growing in power.

Maxon, Hildy and I struggle on until we reach the end of the aisle.

We have to make it. I won’t give up.

At last, I can set my palm against the exit doors. My heart leaps into my throat.

We’re going to do it. We’ll actually escape. My thoughts start to wander toward Lincoln and the others, but I refocus my mind on Maxon’s escape. Once my baby’s safe, I can worry about everything else.

An avalanche of gemstones tumbles from the ceiling, quickly forming a box that surrounds Maxon, Hildy and me. Once the shape is fully in place, the stones re-solidify into amber, creating a makeshift prison around us. Thousands more igni come to my aid, winding into what looks like a giant drill. Working in concert, my igni attempt to grind into the wall of our prison. They don’t make a dent.

Behind me, Hildy starts casting rapid-fire style. Purple puffs of smoke and mist slam into the same yellow surface where my igni drill away. Nothing helps.

I command my igni to bite into the prison at a faster pace. They follow my orders, their drill shape turning so quickly, it’s nothing but a cone-shaped blur. No matter how fast they move, my igni can’t even scratch the prison walls.

“Keep going, my little ones. Please!”

But my command is useless. My igni’s tiny silver bodies start disappearing the moment they touch the wall. Soon, they’re all gone and I’m knee-deep in gooey stone. Through the translucent walls of our prison, I see Xavier in full archangel mode, his body glowing with white light as he hacks against the amber walls with his baculum sword. The rest of the cathedral is nothing but a blur. I can only make out Lincoln standing beside my father, hammering at the surface with his own angelfire weapon.

My heart sinks. Even Dad and Lincoln can’t make a dent.

Turning around, I slam my right fist into the amber wall that separates me from the exit. My blow bounces harmlessly off the smooth yellow surface.

Damn, damn, damn. There must be some trick to this magical prison. I just need to think.

That’s when I hear it. A low chuckle, and it’s coming from right behind me.

Fresh adrenaline charges through my bloodstream. I’d know that voice anywhere.

Bit by bit, I turn around to face the noise’s source. On the opposite wall of my amber prison, the goopy floor oozes up to into a familiar but stomach-churning shape. Before me stands a humanoid demon seven feet tall with gangly limbs and a long face that holds a blade-like nose and unfeeling eyes. He’s missing an arm and stands at an angle to favor his hip, both signs of injuries from his last battle with my father.

My voice comes out as a whisper. “Armageddon.”

The gemstone version of the King of Hell waves in my direction. “Miss me?” He turns to Dad, who’s hacking away at the other side of the wall. “I know he did.”

“How did you leave Hell? I locked you away with my igni.”

“I haven’t left. Not technically, anyway. This is a magical body double. Like it?”

“Leave now and I won’t kill you.”

“Such brave words from a trapped rat.” Armageddon chuckles, his voice low and smug.

“The last time I was a trapped rat, my father sliced off your arm and skewered your hip, so watch your mouth.”

“And you’ll pay for that.” Armageddon pats his empty shoulder socket and snarls. “And to make good on my promise, I have brought along a friend.”

Next to Armageddon, another amber figure rises. The intruder has a potbelly, receding hairline, and a turned-up nose.

Aldred is here. Unholy Hell.

My heart pounds so hard, the whoosh of blood sounds in my ears. It’s one thing to suspect that one of your ex-subjects is in league with the King of Hell, but it’s another to see him standing side-by-side with Armageddon. Maxon whimpers and grips my robes in his tiny fists. I clutch my baby more tightly to my chest.

Pulling two gleaming daggers from her waistband, Hildy places herself in the center of our prison, making her body a human barrier between us and Armageddon. Her lips move silently as she casts spell after spell. More bursts of purple light and mist shoot from her palms, this time heading toward Armageddon’s head. All of them fizzle and disappear before they get anywhere near their intended target.

With my right hand, I pull my baculum from my waistband, holding Maxon to me with my tail and left arm.

Armageddon touching my baby? Over my dead body.

The King of Hell’s mouth stretches into an impossibly large smile. “Now that we’re all here, you may speak the words, Aldred.”

My brain races. Aldred needs to ‘speak the words.’ Nefer’s warning echoes through my mind as well. Aldred has something of value for Armageddon. So, what of value needs words? Incantations are based in language. Same with passwords, directions, and family secrets. But how could any of those help Armageddon?

Aldred offers Armageddon a simpering grin. “Once I say the words, you’ll keep your side of the bargain. Right, my Lord?”

The King of Hell sets his bony hand on the place where his heart would be. “You have my promise.”

“And you won’t hurt the boy, either?” asks Aldred. “I don’t want the nobility to think—”

“It’s a little late to worry about your legacy,” snarls Armageddon. “Speak.”

Aldred bows low. “I grant the rights from Sakura to you, My King.”

Sakura? What in blazes is a Sakura?

Leaning forward, I pull on Hildy’s arm. “Lincoln said something about black magic. Is that what they’re talking about?”

“I’ve heard rumors that some of the lesser houses dabble in black magic.” Hildy’s heavily-lined eyes dart wildly about as she tries to remember something useful. “Nothing this powerful, though.”

Aldred bows deeply. “I did as we agreed, my King. Now, keep your side of the bargain. Set my soul free.”

Armageddon chuckles, his voice deep and evil. “Set you free? So you can do what, exactly? Haunt castles and rattle chains?”

“That’s not your concern. You promised if I did this, you’d let me go.”

“Did I?” Armageddon purses his thin lips. “Well, now I’ve decided to imprison you for all eternity. Go.” The King of Hell snaps his fingers and Aldred melts back into the ground.

With Aldred gone, Armageddon rounds on me, a red light shining in his amber eyes. “Where were we, then?”

Hildy’s hands become wrapped in purple mist as she casts spell after spell. Nothing works.

“Get behind me, baby.” I move Maxon to cling to my back while igniting my baculum as a longbow. I summon an angelfire arrow into my weapon, and shoot it straight toward Armageddon’s chest. The projectile bounces right off his rib cage.

Armageddon strides toward me, his good arm swinging to slap Hildy out of his path. His fist glances off at the last second, like it’s hit an invisible barrier. The King of Hell groans in disgust. “It seems the magic I wield here is powerful but limited. Unfortunately, there’ll be no killing or casting for either of us.” He steps around Hildy and moves closer to me.

“No!” screams Hildy. She tries to attack Armageddon from behind, but can’t get anywhere near him. It’s like the invisible barrier now surrounds me, Maxon and Armageddon.

The King of Hell steps closer.

I change my baculum into a long-sword and swipe the blade at Armageddon’s skull. The weapon ricochets harmlessly off its target. The force of my failed blow sends my baculum tumbling from my hands.

No, no, no!

Maxon sobs behind me. Crouching down, I grip his trembling body against my torso. “It’ll be alright, baby. Hold on to Mommy.” My boy weeps into my shoulder; every cry cracks my heart more deeply.

Armageddon grins. “I’ll take what’s mine and leave, thank you very much.”

Panic spikes through my limbs. He can’t take Maxon. He won’t. I angle my body away from Armageddon, shielding Maxon by the prison wall. My son’s tail grips my waist so tightly, it’s hard to breathe. Armageddon’s hand winds about me.

There are few options open to me now. My baculum are gone. Hildy, Dad and Lincoln can’t get anywhere near me. I can only plead for mercy. “Take me, Armageddon. Leave my son alone.”

A hungry gleam flares in Armageddon’s amber eyes. “Wish I could, but no.”

The world seems to move in slow motion as Armageddon’s long, opaque arm reaches closer. I’m vaguely aware of the bursts of light from Hildy’s casting and the flares of angelfire as Lincoln and Dad hack away at the amber walls. Only one thing can really hold my attention.

Armageddon’s outstretched hand.

I try to grip Maxon more tightly, but a purple light flares along my skin. Fresh magic. This new spell turns my limbs rubbery and useless. All I can do is hunker down, curling my own larger body around Maxon’s tiny one. The cold amber wall presses onto my side, hard and unbreakable. My throat tightens with fear and grief.

This can’t be happening.

Armageddon’s long, three-knuckled fingers grip Maxon’s shoulders. I’m powerless to move as the King of Hell tears my son from my lifeless arms. My boy screams, his tiny features contorted, his face flush with terror. Armageddon clutches Maxon under his arm, like my boy is a sack of flour instead of a weeping child. Maxon reaches for me, his small voice howling ‘Mommy’ over and over.

I sob, I scream, I try to move. No sound comes from my lips. My arms don’t do much as twitch under my command.

Together, Armageddon and Maxon slowly seep into the earth, a pair of bodies trapped in amber quicksand. Soon, I can only see little hands reaching for me, and then, nothing at all. A howl of pain echoes through the air. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m the one who’s screaming.

“No, baby, no!”

I’m vaguely aware of Hildy gripping my shoulders. Some part of me knows I should be happy that the magic has set her free, but I can’t seem to care.

“Myla, listen to me.”

I can’t make eye contact with her. I can only stare at that terrible place where my son disappeared and repeat the word ‘no,’ over and over.

Hildy shakes my shoulders roughly. “Pay attention. This is about Maxon.”

My brain finally snaps out of its daze. “I’m listening.”

“Whatever happens, do not wake me up. Promise me that.”

“I don’t understand, Hildy.”

“I haven’t finished casting the spells to link Maxon and me, so I can’t pull him out of Hell. But I can make sure he remembers nothing of it, at least for a while. I can take over his mind for a day or two. So, don’t wake me up. Promise me.”

“Yes, I promise.”

Hildy’s eyes turn white and roll back into her head; she crumples into a heap on the floor. I kneel at her side, touch her throat, and check her pulse. She’s alive. I pull back her eyelids. The pupils are still all white.

Hildy’s connected to Maxon, protecting him.

I exhale in relief and look upward. Bad move. The amber ceiling is melting, dripping quickly down on me in long, gooey sheets. It takes only seconds for Hildy and I to be completely covered up to our necks. I struggle under the coating of rubbery stone, but I can’t move a muscle. The liquid amber covers my mouth and eyes, and then the world around me fades into nothingness.

For what feels like years, I dream of meandering in the darkness, looking for Maxon. His cries are always just out of earshot. Every time I close in, I hear Armageddon’s laugher as Maxon’s screams fade away and the process starts all over again. Soon, my eyes are sore from crying and my body trembles with the need for sleep. Through it all, I keep stumbling through the all-black dream world around me, repeating one phrase, over and over.

“I will save you, sweet baby.”

# # #

When I become aware again, I find myself lying on a cold floor, curled onto my side. My mind is a jumbled mess. I press my eyes closed tight, trying to recapture the thread of my last thought.

It was night and I was looking for something in the darkness. What was I searching for again?

Familiar fingers run through my hair, bringing me back to the present moment. “Myla, come back to me.”

My eyes flutter open. I’m lying on the floor of the Amber Cathedral. Looking up, I meet Lincoln’s gaze. His eyes are red-rimmed.

“There you are, Myla. Thank Heavens.” Lincoln leans forward and kisses me gently on the temple. “You were catatonic for almost an hour. Some kind of reaction to the dark magic. They wanted to touch you—cast spells and things—but I wouldn’t let them. I was so afraid they’d make things worse.”

“I must have passed out.” I hoist myself up into a sitting position. “That magic was—” It all comes back to me in a rush.

The Anointing. Armageddon. Maxon. Hell.

I jump to my feet, gasping for breath, my head lolling from side to side as I look around the empty cathedral. “Where is everyone? Where’s Maxon?”

“Everyone’s fine, we evacuated them. I got scared when you wouldn’t wake up, so I sent them all away and waited here with you. I guess I lost my mind for a bit.”

I grip Lincoln’s hands in mine. Please let it have been a dream. A misunderstanding. Anything other than what happened.

“And Maxon?”

“He’s gone, Myla.” Lincoln’s voice catches. “Armageddon has him.”

If someone ripped my heart out of my rib cage, it couldn’t hurt worse than what I feel right now. My baby was taken. Lincoln and I fold into each other’s arms and weep.

Together, we cry for what feels like an eternity. Between sobs, I relate every detail of what happened with Armageddon and Hildy. Eventually, we both run out of tears and energy. My head leans into the crook of Lincoln’s shoulder, while his hands brush through my hair in long, soothing strokes. I want nothing more than to stand here forever, hiding inside the cathedral, holding Lincoln. I don’t want to face the reality of what happened to our son.

But my inner wrath demon stirs in my blood. Her cackling voice talks about fighting, freedom and vengeance. How Maxon is an innocent and no one’s better equipped to save him than Lincoln and me. She makes my fingers itch to grab a baculum and start kicking ass. “I’m going to kill him.” No question who ‘him’ is. Armageddon.

“You’ll have a lot of help.”

“They’ll all want a war now, you know. It’s no longer just a question of a pre-emptive strike.”

Lincoln shakes his head, unconvinced. “We’ll see. What they want and what they’ll get may not be the same thing.”

I try to wrap my head around the idea of all the after-realms clamoring for battle. It’s too much to contemplate after everything else that’s happened today. Instead, I focus on something I can understand. “Where’s Hildy?”

“She’s in the infirmary.”

“Has she said anything? Done anything?”

“Not that I know of, but I haven’t left your side since you fell.”

“Let’s go see her first. After that, we can hopefully get more information from the Striga Elders. Maybe once we know the full story, we’ll discover a peaceful way to get Maxon back. Perhaps a spell or something?”

“That’s the plan. With any luck, we’ll find out information from Father that will end all this quickly.”

A sad weight settles onto my shoulders. In these situations, Lincoln and I are rarely lucky.

Frantic knocks sound on the cathedral doors. “Are you alright in there?” It’s my mother. Suddenly, I can’t wait to see her face and share a hug.

I open the cathedral door to reveal a reception chamber that’s packed with family. Lincoln and I navigate through a flurry of hugs and tears from my parents, Cissy, Octavia, and Walker. Connor is noticeably absent, which is for the best. If I saw that guy right now, I’d snap his neck.

For a time, I comfort and am comforted. All the while, a small voice in my head cries that Maxon needs me to haul ass. Somewhere after the tenth hug, the little voice takes over; my mind clicks into warrior mode. Everything fades away except the desire to fight for Maxon’s life. Bottom line: hanging around here and hugging people isn’t helping my baby. Lincoln and I need to see Hildy.

I turn toward the exit. “We’ve got to go, guys.”

Mom wraps me in another deep hug. “Where are you off to? I’ll go with you.” She’s in overprotective-Mommy mode, not that I blame her. But I can’t get anything done when I have to deal with my mother’s über clingy-side.

“I know you want to help, Mom. And I appreciate that, really. But right now, Lincoln and I are going to see Hildy, and we have to do it alone.”

Mom dabs under her eyes with her fingertips, but it does nothing to fix the streaks of mascara pooled there. “Hildy? Is that Maxon’s bodyguard, the one everyone’s been talking about?”

Here it comes. When Mom’s upset, she asks obvious questions over and over. I have trouble handling this personality trait at the best of times. But right now? It’s an effort not to punch her. “You know who Hildy is, Mom.”

“Why do you need to see her right this instant?”

Dad steps up to my rescue. “Myla and Lincoln must get some intel. First from Hildy, and then from the Striga Elders.”

“Striga Elders?” says Mom with a gasp. “What do you need them for?”

Nearby, Octavia stiffens. “You should go alone tonight.” Her bottom lip trembles with grief. “I can’t face—” She stops herself before saying ‘Connor.’

Lincoln sets his hand gently on his mother’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go to your chambers? We’ll update you as soon as we know anything.”

“Thank you.”

Mom grasps Octavia’s arm. “You’ve been acting strangely since Maxon was taken. Where is Connor? What aren’t you telling me?”

I know my mother, and she’s moved on from rapid-fire questions as a way of dealing with her stress. Instead, she’s now trolling for a nice verbal battle to help release the tension, and Octavia just served her one on a silver platter. At this point, it’s everything I can do to stay in warrior-mode and focus on helping Maxon. Dealing with crazy mothers is off the table.

Walker and Cissy get into the act, with Cissy backing up Mom and Walker coming to Octavia’s defense. This is turning into a disaster.

Dad steps into the center of the room and raises both arms. “Everyone, quiet!” He gets his archangel on, so his huge golden wings magically appear, spread apart at their full length. Everyone falls silent. Dad scans the room with glowing, angel-blue eyes.

As of this moment, I have never been happier in my life that I have a badass archangel general for a father.

“This is what we’re going to do,” orders Dad. “While the kids are getting more information from Hildy, we’ll work together and call a Fealty Ceremony.”

One thing you have to say about the thrax; they have a tradition for everything. When the King and Queen are in trouble, they call a Fealty Ceremony. It’s where everyone who has ever sworn an oath of loyalty to the crown comes forward and says what they can do to help. It can be more information, spells, troops, anything.

“Only the crown can call a Fealty Ceremony,” says Lincoln slowly.

“Then, do you wish one?”

Lincoln turns to me. “What do you say, Myla?”

I scratch my cheek and contemplate. Who knows? Maybe someone in our realms will have a quick fix for this mess. “Hey, I’m up for anything that could help.”

“In that case,” says Lincoln. “We’ll hold the ceremony for one purpose only: to gather information, not organize troops. Myla and I haven’t decided on any particular course of action going forward.”

My father frowns. “I should think it’s pretty obvious how all this will end.”

“You think we’re going to war,” I say.

“I know we’re going to war,” retorts Dad. “Still, the fealty ceremony is a good start.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I think.

My father starts barking out orders. Cissy and Mom must gather representatives from Purgatory for the ceremony. Walker will coordinate hosting the ceremony in the Dark Lands, since it will be faster to gather everyone there. Walker will also organize his Aquilinean brothers and sisters to provide portal transport.

Once the plan is set, Dad pulls us all into a huddle, summarizes orders, and sends everyone off on their respective tasks. Lincoln and I head to the Infirmary to see Hildy. As we walk along, I can’t keep the image of my father’s face out of my mind. “Is it just me, or—”

Lincoln finishes my thought. “Is your father railroading us into something?”

I nod slowly. “That’s exactly it. You remember when we first talked to him in the gymnasium. Armageddon tortured him in Hell, tried to kill his daughter and succeeded in kidnapping his grandson. I think he’s ready for a showdown.”

“But are we?”

“I don’t know, Lincoln. I honestly don’t know.”

Chapter Ten

Lincoln and I step through the main doors to the emergency infirmary at Arx Hall. The effect of our unannounced visit is only slightly less chaotic than setting off a small explosive. People start rushing about, tidying beds and finding superiors. The place is a snug, square, high-ceilinged chamber covered in white tile. Rows of small cots line the floor. Silver doors mark the back wall; those lead to private rooms for nobility.

A young, red-haired nurse in a white uniform steps up to see us, a wide smile on her freckled cheeks. She can’t miss the fact that we’re the King and Queen. Hopefully she hasn’t heard the news that we just lost our son, because otherwise, I may need to slap the chipper right off her face.

“Greetings, Your Highnesses. I’m Nurse Emily. Who are you here to see?”

“Hildegard,” says Lincoln.

“What house?”

“None.”

“Oh, then she’s over by the wall somewhere.”

I scan the infirmary. The place seems relatively empty of patients. The attendees at the Anointing were more scared than hurt. Anyone with a serious injury got emergency care here and then was routed to the main infirmary about a mile away. I’m still not sure how Hildy stayed around, let alone how she ended up outside of a private room.

“She’s over by the wall?” I repeat slowly. This better be where the luxury beds are. “Show us.”

If Emily catches the ice in my tone, she doesn’t show it. “Please follow me, Your Highnesses.”

We trail Emily across the infirmary floor to a small cot in the corner, right by an exit doorway. Nice safety precautions; anyone could drag her down the back staircase and no one would be the wiser. What in blazes is that about? This girl is the only thing keeping Maxon away from the tortures of Hell. How dare they shove her in a corner?

“Her vitals are excellent,” says Emily brightly.

“Who decided to put her here?” asks Lincoln coolly. The ice behind his stare tells me he’s inches away from losing it.

“The Head Nurse. This is what we always do when someone doesn’t have a house.”

“Go find the Head Nurse.” My eyes glow red with demonic rage. “Now.”

Emily lets out a little ‘eep’ noise and scurries away.

Lincoln and I turn our attention to Hildy, who’s sitting on the bed with her eyes closed, knees curled against her chest, and her back resting against the white tiled wall. She looks asleep.

“Hildy should be linked into Maxon’s mind,” I explain. “So, she shouldn’t know we’re here, unless—” I exhale a long sigh.

“Their bond is broken,” finishes Lincoln.

“Right.” I cross my fingers behind my back. Please let the link still be in place.

I gently touch Hildy’s shoulder. “Hello?” She doesn’t so much as flinch. My shoulders slump with relief. “I don’t think she knows we’re here. They’re still connected.”

“I wish we could talk to her.” Lincoln sits down on Hildy’s cot. “Maybe there’s a way to communicate without breaking their bond.” He closes his eyes for a long moment. “I can sense something, Myla.”

“What?”

“Our minds were connected before, back in the audience chamber. Maybe I can use that now.” He sets Hildy’s palm onto his own. “It’s me, Lincoln. I’m here with Myla.”

Hildy immediately opens her eyes, her all white gaze staring blindly forward. Her hand jerks away from his. “I can’t talk to you for long.” Her voice comes out dead and lifeless. “It might break my link to Maxon.”

Lincoln opens his eyes and steps back from the bed like it was on fire. He takes my hand in his. “You can stop whenever you’re ready, Hildy.”

“Oh, I will, don’t worry about that.” Hildy moves her hands around, miming the shape of walls about her. “I’m in a metal box. A prison. Armageddon says it’s like the one he kept Xavier in, only smaller. Do you know what I mean?”

I frown. “I see your hands moving around, but I’m not one hundred percent sure what you’re doing.”

“This’ll be easier if I show you.” Hildy raises her right hand and her pointer finger glows with purple light. Like she did back in the Wastelands, Hildy draws a circle in the air. A Looking Glass.

I gasp. Hildy’s using magic and show us Maxon. My breath hitches with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. I’ll see my baby again.

A purple haze fills the oval Looking Glass. Bit by bit, an image appears in the violet mist. It’s Maxon, crouched inside a metal box.

“Do you see him?” asks Hildy.

Lincoln smiles with relief. “Yes, we can see our boy.”

As Hildy speaks, Maxon’s mouth forms the same words. His body language is the same as well. He stoically leans against the back wall of the box-prison, just like how Hildy rests against the tiles behind her own cot. His eyes are all white, too.

“Has he woken up at all?” I ask.

“Not yet,” says Hildy. “He’s fine for now.”

The Looking Glass hovers in the air before Hildy. Stepping up to it, Lincoln sets his pointer fingers at opposite sides of the magical oval, the same way that Hildy did back in the Wastelands. He draws his hands together, bringing the Looking Glass down to a small size. “Show me your wrist, Myla.”

A warm sense of love blooms through my chest. Lincoln wants me to have the Looking Glass. My husband’s never offered me a more precious gift.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Positive,” he says, his voice gentle. With careful movements, Lincoln sets the enchanted oval onto the inside of my right wrist. There, the spell settles until it looks like a detailed, shifting tattoo in purple ink. Some of the heavy worry seeps off my shoulders. Now, I can see Maxon whenever I want. I’m unsure whether to smile or cry, so I do a little bit of both.

“I’m wearing the Looking Glass, Hildy.” My finger lovingly traces the circle on my wrist. “Thank you so much.”

The lines of Hildy’s face turn solemn. “That spell will only last as long as I do.”

My body freezes at her words. “Meaning?”

“Once I lose my connection with Maxon, it will disappear.”

Her words send a jolt of terror through my throat. “How long do we have?”

“A day, maybe two.” Hildy’s voice lowers to a whisper. “So far, we have an advantage. Since I’m so quiet, Armageddon figures Maxon is asleep. He’s waiting until our boy wakes up to try anything. Says he likes his guests to be well rested before he shows them a good time.”

My hands ball into angry fists. What a sick bastard.

“Where are you?” asks Lincoln.

“In the throne room. Armageddon says this is where he used to keep Xavier, too.” Her head lolls on her shoulders. “I have to go now.” Her eyelids flutter. “Look, I won’t have the strength to talk again and keep Maxon safe at the same time, so don’t try, okay?”

I nod so quickly, I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash. “Sure, Hildy.”

“Come get our boy soon. Before the Looking Glass wears out.” Her eyes close once again and she falls silent.

One or two days.

We have forty-eight hours, tops, before our son is subjected to Armageddon’s tender mercies. My tail sways behind me in a predatory rhythm. Beside me, waves of rage roll off Lincoln.

This is the moment when Emily decides to return, her bright smile back in place. “The Head Nurse is on her way. Would you like me to waken this girl with adrenaline?” She holds up syringe. “Perhaps you want to interrogate her for some reason?”

“No!” I bellow. “Put that thing away!” Whipping the syringe from her hand, I smash it onto the floor. “Now, bring the damned Head Nurse or my tail will skewer you where you stand.”

“Your Highness, I—”

“Head Nurse, now!” My voice echoes through the mostly-empty infirmary. A tall, bony woman scurries across the room, stopping when she reaches Hildy’s bed. Her long brown hair is tied into a bun at the back of her neck. I want to rip out every strand.

“So sorry I kept you waiting, Your Highnesses. I was checking the intake forms on this girl. She doesn’t seem to be affiliated with any house, so we didn’t know what to do with her.”

I point to Hildy, every inch of me vibrating with rage. “Nurse Emily just offered to wake her up for us.”

“I t-told her to m-make that offer,” stammers the Head Nurse. “She’s without a house, so we thought she was a prisoner. Someone you’d want to interrogate.”

I step close to the Head Nurse until we’re literally nose-to-nose. “Who’s your second in command?”

“C-command? The Junior nurse on staff tonight is Emily.”

I wave Emily over. She approaches us, wide-eyed and anxious. “Yes, Your Majesties. What can I do?”

“Do you know where to find the staff directory?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good. How many of those workers could have anything to do with Hildy?”

“Oh, about thirty or so, Your Majesty. We’re a small operation. The main infirmary is about a mile from here, but the Head Nurse didn’t think Hildy needed to go there.” She face-palms herself. “But you know where the main infirmary is, of course. Do you want us to move Hildy to it?”

Emily’s babbling, not that I totally blame her. Lots of people get overwhelmed around royalty, especially their first time. “No, I want Hildy here, where she’s a short walk from the royal suites. So, that’s why you’re calling in all the support staff, right now. The King and I will talk to them. Once we’re done, we’ll assign the best team to Hildy.”

The Head Nurse purses her lips in frustration. “I assure you, I’m more than qualified to assign support staff—”

Lincoln glowers at her. “No one’s talking to you.” He turns to Emily. “This girl Hildy is all that’s keeping our child safe while he’s in Hell. No one’s by her side unless the Queen and I have personally approved them. Do you understand?”

“I’ll call them all in, just as you ordered, your Majesties.” Emily rushes away.

The Head Nurse sighs. “We’re all so sorry to learn about the High Prince, Your Highnesses.”

Lincoln steps up to my side. “Your sentiments are appreciated. You’re fired.”

Her mouth falls open with shock. “What?”

“You heard what the King said,” I snarl. “You’re fired. I can’t believe I have an infirmary run by someone who shoves thrax in a corner because they aren’t affiliated with the right house.” She keeps staring at me, her mouth open. “Fired means you move.”

“Yes, Your Highnesses.” At last, the Head Nurse walks away as Emily approaches us once more.

“I sent out royal messengers to find all the support staff. They’ll start arriving in a few minutes.”

Lincoln rubs his chin. “Thirty staff members.” He sits down on the cot across from Hildy. “How long do you think those interviews will take, my love?”

I scratch my chin, thinking. “An hour or two.” At this point, I can tell within two minutes if they someone has their head screwed on.

“Agreed,” says Lincoln. “What time is it, Emily?”

“You remembered my name,” stammers the young nurse. “It’s ten o’clock at night, Your Highness.”

“Thank you. Excellent work, Emily. You may go.”

Emily blushes, curtsies and then hurries away. Lincoln watches her leave. “She follows orders and fast. That one might end up being the best in the bunch.”

“True.” I loop my arm through his and rest my head on his shoulder. After I woke up in the cathedral, my guy seemed frightened and out of control. Now, with every passing second, he’s more and more his old Kingly self. It’s comforting.

“The Striga elders don’t gather until midnight,” says Lincoln. “So, we’ve a few hours to kill, anyway. Might as well spend it here.”

I link his fingers in mine. “We’ve got them on high alert, and that’s always the best start.”

Lincoln gives my hand a squeeze. “I can feel the sphincters tightening from here.”

Despite the doom and gloom, I can’t help but chuckle. One great thing about Lincoln, no matter how tough things get, he can always make me grin. “Thanks, Lincoln. I needed a smile.”

He kisses the top of my head. “And I needed your smile, too.”

Chapter Eleven

Lincoln and I ride in a Viking-style long-ship headed for Striga. Our cargo for this journey is a very self-pitying Connor along with a handful of stoic Rixa guards.

Thankfully, it’s a very long boat and Connor has decided to hold his self-pity party in the last row. Lincoln and I stand up front by the dragon-headed prow. Worry presses in on my temples like a vice. I glance at the Looking Glass my wrist. Maxon is still seated against the wall of his prison box. His eyes are firmly closed. Hildy’s still protecting him. But that won’t last for long.

Try to take your mind off it, Myla. Working yourself into a frenzy will not help Maxon. Focusing on the task at hand will.

I force myself to look down and watch the outer hull of our enchanted vessel. Below me, the wood glistens with angelfire as it’s magically propelled along the Incaenda Way, a magma river that connects all of Antrum’s distant houses and lands. The combined light of the angelfire and magma dances across the blackened cave walls. Normally, this sight is a calming one.

Not tonight. The red-hot magma only calls to mind the fires of Hell, and churns up more worry about Maxon.

At last, our boat pulls over to a nondescript stone dock in a rather ordinary stretch of grey cavern. You wouldn’t know this was an entrance to the land of Striga, but that’s the point. If Antrum stays under air-tight security, then Striga’s stuck a perfect vacuum. They have every reason to be cautious, of course. Their magic comes from Lucifer’s crown, a power source that half the after-realms would love to steal. Unlike his orb, Lucifer’s crown is a source of good magic. Striga casters recharge their powers by touching objects—or more powerfully, their own hands—to its surface.

A drumroll of footsteps interrupts my thoughts. A dozen Striga dignitaries step along the stone dock to where our long-ship is tied off. The men wear purple tunics with the Striga pentagram on the front. The ladies look pale and ghostly in their long purple gowns.

The Earl and Duchess of Striga lead the group. Their faces are understanding and kind; I appreciate their wordless support right now. The Earl pauses at the end of the dock, sets his feet shoulder-width apart, and grips his fist behind his back. His long grey dreads fall almost to his waist.

“The Elders are ready for you, Your Majesties.”

“Thank you, Lucas.” Lincoln’s voice is strong and confident as he grips the Earl’s hand within his own.

Lincoln and I follow the group to a Pulpitum transfer platform, which is a round metal disk set into the cavern floor. Connor slogs along behind us, his chains rattling with every step.

The Earl activates the platform. The metal circle glows with a lavender hue.

“It’s just you three from here on,” says Lucas. “Elder’s orders. Will you be alright?”

Good question. The Elder’s Chamber is something few thrax ever get to see. “What’s their Chamber like?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t know.” Lucas shrugs. “Receiving an audience is rare. Although, my father was called inside once. He said it was dark.” The Earl smiles gently. His father was notorious for being a man of few words.

Lincoln sets his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“Anything for you two.” Lucas nods toward Connor. “He won’t cause you any trouble?”

Connor rattles his chains. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. These are enchanted. Now, let’s get this over with.”

Lucas’s eyes widen with shock. “How can you speak to them in this manner, after what they’ve been through?”

“And what is that, precisely?” Connor asks with a sneer. “I’m the one who’s been locked in solitary confinement like a criminal.”

“No one told you what happened?” I ask.

“I’ve had no visitors since you imprisoned me, if that’s what you mean.” Connor’s cheeks burn red with rage. “Not even Octavia came to see me off.” He starts pacing the Pulpitum like a caged animal. “Now, more things have happened and no one tells the old king? Shameful!”

“This isn’t the time for one of your rages,” says Lincoln.

Connor stops his pacing. “You’re still not going to tell me what happened?”

“No, Father. We’re getting this over with as soon as possible.”

“Start the Pulpitum, Lucas,” I say firmly. “We’ll take it from here.”

Lucas bows low. “As you command, Your Highness.”

Normally, Pulpitum travel means locking hands on each other’s shoulders. On this trip, Lincoln wraps his arm around my waist while Connor sulks on the opposite side of the platform. Works for me.

“On my signal,” calls Lucas. “3, 2, 1.”

The Pulpitum rocks and bucks as we zoom even deeper through the earth. Visions of rock, stone, and magma flash by us as we careen toward the Elder’s Chamber. After a few minutes, we come to a stop inside a great, darkened space made of purple stone.

My breath hitches. This is it. The Striga Elders and, with any luck, some answers about how we can get Maxon back.

The Elder’s Chamber is a marvel of a room with angled walls that—if you’re looking from on high—form the shape of a great pentagram. We stand at very the center of the space, so we have a direct view into each pentagram-point. In every corner, an Elder stands in a pool of indigo light. I count four men and one woman, Elder Faustina. She hobbles toward us with a stooped back and craggy cane, her long white dreads dragging behind her.

“The Elders greet you.” Faustina speaks in what sounds like an Italian lilt, but since she’s been alive since ancient Rome was the new kid on the peninsula, I’m pretty sure the accent’s all her own.

Faustina gestures to Connor’s manacles. “You don’t need those-a here.” The chains instantly fall away.

“Thank you, Elder Faustina,” says Connor.

“Don’t thank-a me yet.” Faustina starts chanting in Latin, and the other Elders join in. I don’t catch all the words, but they say something about the bringer of light and power.

And then, a light appears.

An orb of gentle lilac-colored brightness descends from the ceiling, slowly lowering until it hovers at shoulder level. Inside this gleaming sphere sits a golden circlet decorated with angel wings.

Lucifer’s crown.

Faustina hobbles up to the enchanted circle of gold, touching it with her left hand. The orb pulses with violet light. With her right hand, Faustina draws a large circle in the air. Her finger leaves a trail of purple brightness that hovers in the semi-darkness.

“I try to see the truth, Connor.” She shakes her head sadly. “I conjure a Looking Glass many times.” She steps up to the circle in the air, and its surface glistens with lavender light. “Show me the boy.”

My heart cinches. The Looking Glass fills with the image of Maxon at his play date, running and laughing. On reflex, I glance at the magical oval on my own wrist. Maxon sits upright, his eyes all white, same as before. I exhale with relief. He’s still protected.

Faustina shakes her head. “See? The boy at play comes-a easily.” She gestures across her Looking Glass. “Now, show me what seals Connor’s tongue.”

The interior of the Looking Glass turns into a dripping sheet of blood. My stomach twists as the grisly sight. “I always see this,” says Faustina. “Blood.” She hobbles closer to Connor. “Speak!”

“I…It…” Connor’s face turns the same odd purple hue that happened when Lincoln interrogated him before. He’s clearly struggling to breathe.

“I know who worships blood.” Faustina steps closer, glaring into Connor’s eyes. “Black magic, right?”

“What is it?” I ask breathlessly. “Do you know who’s behind this?”

“Yes.” Faustina’s wrinkled mouth twists into a sneer. “Sakura.”

“That’s right,” says Lincoln. “Myla heard the name Sakura in the Amber Cathedral.”

Faustina waves her hand, and Connor starts to breathe again. “Sakura,” says Faustina. “From the House of Taizo.” Her heavy-lidded eyes narrow. “Do you know her?”

“I can’t say,” replies Connor quickly.

“Maybe you know of a geisha witch, then?” asks Faustina. “She wears a white kimono. It drip-a with blood.”

Connor tries to speak, but his words catch in his throat again.

“I thought as much,” says Faustina. She grins, showing a mouth of missing and cockeyed teeth.

My heart slams against my chest. Faustina’s making some progress here, but I don’t understand a damned thing she’s saying. I force myself to bow low at the waist. “With all respect, Elder Faustina, what does this mean?”

“It means-a this.” Faustina points to Lucifer’s crown. “Striga magic comes from Heaven. For House of Taizo, it comes from blood. Death.” She circles Connor like a wolf stalking its prey. “They were a powerful House once, Taizo. But they find the best blood magic come-a from killing each other. First a hundred Taizo, then fifty, then ten, then one. The geisha with the kimono that drips with blood. She became the most powerful of all. Sakura. She cast this spell. She seals your tongue. We are old enemies, her and I. You speak now?”

Connor shakes his head. “I can’t.”

Faustina points to the Looking Glass, which is still filled with blood. “I see this most of the time. But not all the time.” She touches the surface of the conjured mirror, and it turns into a swath of jungle. Long vines hang in the Looking Glass, blocking out anything else. “You know this spot?”

All the color drains from Connor’s face.

Faustina nods slowly. “So this is where it happened. I thought as much.” She hobbles to stand before Connor, and then raises her withered hand to his mouth. His lips glow with a violet light as Faustina casts a spell in a language I’ve never heard. From the other corners of the odd-shaped room, the remaining Elders join in her chanting. A violet light encircles Connor’s body, growing more intense by the second.

Once the brightness becomes almost blinding, Faustina barks out one word. “Speak!”

Connor sets wrings his hands at his waist. “I can’t. I’m weak.” With every word, the purple light around him dims. “Don’t ask me to do this.”

The magical brightness around Connor withers and fades. The other Elders cease their chanting. The chamber falls oddly silent.

“It is done.” Faustina shakes her head. “There is nothing more I can-a do.”

Connor looks up to me and Lincoln, his face streaming with tears. “You can handle this. You can help Maxon. He has Hildy now. I don’t have it in me.”

Lincoln steps closer to his father. “But you had it in you to make some bargain with a blood witch? Create a pact sealed with black magic?”

“I found Hildy!” barks Connor. “It took me years, but it’s all done now. Maxon will be fine!”

“No!” Lincoln’s voice bellows through the chamber. “Maxon’s not fine. He’s in Hell, Father.”

Connor’s face falls slack with shock. “That’s not true.”

“It happened at the Anointing,” I say, my voice breaking. “Aldred and Armageddon showed up. Aldred said he gave over the rights of Sakura to Armageddon. Magic filled the air and Armageddon took Maxon from my arms. There was nothing I could do.”

“No!” Connor rushes over to the crown. For a long moment, he stares as Lucifer’s crown hovers inside the pulsing orb of violet light.

“Father, what are you doing?”

“If you put that on-a your head,” Faustina says slowly. “It will kill you.”

“Will it loosen my tongue?” asks Connor.

“Sakura’s power is nothing compared to Lucifer,” explains Faustina. “Yes, it will work.”

Connor grabs the crown, his withered hands visibly trembling.

I share a worried look with Lincoln. This is where one of us could scream ‘stop.’ But we don’t. If Connor makes this choice to help us free Maxon, I’m taking him up on it.

“I should have done this years ago.” Connor grips the crown and sets it directly on his head. A sizzling noise fills the air along with the scent of burned flesh. A burst of purple light surrounds Connor as he screams in agony. His body visibly withers before us, turning into little more than a skeleton covered in skin. His eyes turn bulbous in their sockets.

“That’s enough.” Lincoln races toward Connor. “Father, stop!”

Faustina flicks her fingers in Lincoln’s direction, and he’s frozen mid-step. “No, you wait-a now,” she says in her thick, gravelly voice. “I tell you when he’s had enough.”

Connor crumples over with a long howl, collapsing onto his side. The crown tumbles from his head, rolling across the black marble floor. Blood spills from his mouth, nose and ears, pooling on the polished stone.

“Now, you can go,” says Faustina.

Lincoln is released from his freezing spell. He rushes to Connor’s side and kneels beside his father, as do I. Connor’s eyes are large grey orbs in a papery face. His thin, pink tongue runs over his wrinkled lips as he tries to speak. “Max…Maxon.”

“Oh, Father,” says Lincoln in a low voice. Tears roll down his cheeks and drip off his jawline. “Speak to us. Please.”

Connor’s voice comes out as barely a whisper. “Blood oath…With Aldred.” His skeletal chest heaves with every breath. “Blood witch…Sealed it.”

Lincoln gently takes his father’s withered hand within his own. “And then what happened?”

“A trade…Body and soul…Of my first born grandchild…I gave it for…” His breaths come ragged and short. “Octavia…must never know.”

Disbelief washes over Lincoln’s features. “You traded Maxon’s body and soul?”

Connor tries to speak, but he can’t seem to suck enough air into his lungs. “Octavia.”

I stare at Connor for a minute that lasts a thousand years. After all this, Connor’s last words won’t be about Maxon, but Octavia. Part of me feels touched that his final thoughts are of his beloved wife. Another part is freaking enraged that he cares more about her than anything else.

Connor’s eyes flutter closed. “Octavia.” His chest stops heaving.

A long minute passes before Lincoln sets down his father’s bony hand. “He’s dead.”

I turn to Faustina, my heart beating double-time in my chest. “Please, tell me that helped you.”

The Elder witch nods slowly. “A blood oath means that you must kill Armageddon.”

My brain rushes through the implications of this. “My father’s been saying that we can invade Hell and get Maxon back.”

“Not until Armageddon is-a dead. Maxon will never cross the gates.”

“And what about the blood witch?” asks Lincoln. “Don’t we have to do anything about her?”

“Not in order to free your boy. But I think-a she find you, now that you know the truth. Your blood would add to her power.” Faustina snaps her fingers and the Pulpitum platform lights up once again. “Now, you go. I must rest.” She starts to hobble back to her point in the star-shaped room.

“Thank you, Faustina.”

“We owe you a great debt,” adds Lincoln. “What can we do to repay you?”

Faustina pauses for a long moment, and then turns around to face us. Her eyes glow with a purple light as she replies. “I tell you what you do,” she says in a low growl. “Kill that son of a bitch Armageddon.”

Chapter Twelve

I stand on the main stage of the Spires, the most beautiful complex of buildings in all the Dark Lands, aka ghoul central. Everything in the ghoul’s realm looks either like a Goth graveyard or a Brutalist concrete lump. Not the Spires. This complex of buildings is lovely with winding white towers that reach into the dark, lightning-filled skies like so many delicate fingers.

And I don’t say that simply because my favorite ghoul engineer and architect designed them, either. I’d adore this place even if Walker didn’t mastermind it all.

I lean into Lincoln’s body, feeling his warmth beside me. We spend about half our time standing on some stage or other. Somehow, this comforting routine almost makes me forget why we’re here.

Almost.

The image of Maxon’s screaming face appears in my mind. I shudder and glance at my wrist. My Looking Glass still shows Maxon awake, sitting upright and white-eyed. Still safe. “I wonder how Hildy’s doing.”

“I’m certain she’s fine.” Lincoln loops his hand around my waist. “Have you ever seen this chamber before?” That’s what he says, but I know him well enough to know what he really means. Don’t think about Maxon, Myla. Try to stay focused on the now.

“No, tell me about it.” I force a smile, which is my way of saying, I’ll try.

“We’re in Meeting Hall J-29. Walker just finished it six months ago.” He gestures above my head to the great sheets of gray concrete, each one several yards wide. They drip down the towering back wall like so many May pole ribbons. The different streams roll together by the floor, weaving themselves into the flattened stage where Lincoln and I now stand.

“Notice anything different?” Lincoln asks.

I glance around the hall. “Not in particular. Seems like a lot of Walker’s other stuff.”

“Look closely at the concrete beneath our feet.”

I focus on the floor. “I don’t see anything.”

“Sometimes it takes a minute for the magic to kick in. Be patient.”

Suddenly, a constant stream of scrolling text appears across the strips of billowing concrete. Ghoul minds are all connected in Group Think, and the concrete shows a live feed of what they’re saying. Right now, it’s a lot of talk about the Fealty Ceremony that’s due to start any second.

KLX-2849: Just portalled in the last visitors from Antrum.

WKR-7: Bring them to the Meeting Hall J-29 immediately. The ceremony will soon start.

OWB-0275: The Furor want to land in the main square of the Spires.

KLX-2849: What? Tell me they aren’t in dragon form.

OWB-0275: They couldn’t exactly land if they were in their human state.

KLX-2849: It’s against regulation to allow dragons to land in the main square.

WKR-7: Screw regulations. The Furor Emperor sees Maxon as his Heir. We don’t want him any angrier than he is right now. Let them land anywhere they want and please, stay out of their way, at least until they return to humanoid form.

“It’s amazing,” I whisper.

“It’s Walker.”

A hiss sounds from behind us. I don’t need to turn around to know the source of the noise. It’s the Oligarchy, the four craggy old ghouls in red robes who rule the Dark Lands. They march off the stage and down the center aisle, which is an undulating ribbon of concrete covered in scrolling text. The words streaming down it all read various versions of ‘the ceremony is starting.’

The four skeletal ghouls make their way to the back doors of the hall, their long red robes dragging behind them. A sickly sense of unease crawls up my throat. Yesterday, we were in a different chamber, on a different aisle, and with a different set of doors, but the event ended in Maxon’s abduction. I straighten my shoulders and try to stay positive. With any luck, today’s ceremony will close with a solid plan for his rescue.

The Oligarchy reach the back wall, where they stand in pairs, one set on either side of the aisle.

That’s the signal. Time to start.

I raise my arms, and the crowd quiets to a hush. My voice carries loud and strong through the hall. “The King and Queen of Antrum greet you. The Houses of Antrum are bound by vows of loyalty to our throne.” I lower my arms and turn to Lincoln.

“Tonight, we call upon those vows to help our son, Maxon,” he says. “Come forward and show your fealty.”

The concrete doors swing open, and a parade of faces march down the center aisle. One by one, the Earls and Duchesses of each house approach the stage, offering us soldiers and weaponry. As the leaders make their pledges, some have tears in their eyes over Maxon. A handful recall the terrors of the last war with Hell that was started by King Aethelwulf. Many share some story of how Armageddon murdered a loved one. Most want one thing: revenge.

More dignitaries march up to address us. Mom, Dad and Cissy arrive next, pledging Purgatory’s army to our cause. After that, the Furor Emperor approaches us in his handsome human form. He offers the unlimited use of his entire dragon horde. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Dad smiling his face off. In the Battle of the Gates, the Furor fought against Heaven and that sucked with a capital S. To say the Furor are badass in battle is a crazy understatement.

After that, seven archangels step through the opened doors. I outright gasp. This represents the entire archangel population in the after-realms, if you don’t count Lucifer. And since he’s been imprisoned for eternity, no one’s counted Lucifer for a very long time.

They step forward, different faces and skin tones, but all of them serene and beautiful. They pledge their armies and power to us. Dad steps up to join them. He announced that he’ll lead them all in the greatest army in the history of the after-realms. Together, they’ll finally destroy Armageddon.

The crowd goes nuts, but a sense of unease seeps into my bones. I turn to Lincoln, and I see the same questioning look in his eyes.

Once the archangels process out, another angel takes appears at the back of the hall; one with exotic, almond-shaped eyes and long straight black hair.

It’s Verus, the oracle. She steps silently down the main aisle, her white robes and wings glowing with their own light. She pauses before our stage.

“I am here today to tell you of my prophecy,” she says simply.

Prophecy updates? Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

I know Verus’s system. Her prophecies are almost always bad news, especially for me. I lean back on my heel and eye Verus carefully. I’ve been standing onstage for hours, my son is missing, and this crown weighs a ton. I do not want to deal with her manipulative crap right now.

I lower my voice to a hush. “If I tell you to take your prophecy and vamoose, will that make any difference?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Sometimes, I hate you, Verus.”

“Just sometimes?” A smile dances in her almond-shaped eyes. “I must be growing on you.”

Verus turns to address the packed audience. “I come with news of my vision. Years ago, I had a prophecy concerning Myla and Lincoln.”

My tail arcs over my shoulder, the arrowhead end pointing directly at Verus. With everything going on right now, she’s finally coming clean about the old Myla and Lincoln prophecy? I’ve asked her a million times to explain what made her manipulate our lives and bring us together. No matter how I pleaded, she wouldn’t tell me dick. Now, my kid is missing, and she decides it’s time to blab.

“My prophecy is this,” declares Verus. “The offspring of Myla and Lincoln will be the ultimate warrior in the after-realms. This child, and this child only, will thwart our greatest threat. Though Armageddon is pure evil, he is not the worst terror I see in our future. We need Maxon alive. He is the key to our survival. He must return home as quickly as possible.” She surveys the rapt crowd for effect. “I believe that means war.”

The crowd loses their freaking minds. A chant of ‘war-war-war’ fills the air. Lincoln raises his arms, signaling that sharing-time with the oracle is over. A muscle flickers along his jawline. “Thank you, Verus. You may leave, now.”

She kneels before us, which is an extraordinary move from her. “I hope you can forgive me when you have Maxon safely back in your arms. Whatever I do, it’s for his ultimate benefit.” She rises to her feet again, her eyes glowing a preternatural shade of blue. “Your Maxon must live.”

“We couldn’t agree more,” says Lincoln.

“You must declare war,” demands Verus. “Now.”

“Thank you for your advice.” I gesture toward the back door, the universal royal move for ‘shut up and get out.’

I watch Verus walk away and suppress the urge to tackle her from behind. After all these years, she comes out with her prophecy, and it’s only to manipulate Lincoln and I into starting a war.

Oh, hell. Maybe she’s right. Maybe they’re all right.

Last to come are the Oligarchy, pledging the support of ghoul-kind in order to transfer the armies to the Plains of Fire, the area surrounding the Walls of Hell. The audience restarts their cheer of “war, war, war!”

I watch the frantic faces. All the free peoples of the after-realms are represented here: angel, quasi, thrax, furor, and ghoul. They’ve all pledged their support to our cause. Stupidly, I thought there would be offers of magic or back entrances to Hell. Somewhere along the way, everyone decided we were going to war.

“This feels wrong, Lincoln.”

“I know,” he replies. “But what other choice do we have?”

My mind spins through possibilities and approaches, but I can’t think above the din of the shouting crowd.

Seems like we don’t have any options left.

War it is.

Chapter Thirteen

I pace the cold floor of a gray concrete room at the top of the tallest tower of the Spires. The room is windowless, but that will change once Walker returns with Dad. The Fealty Ceremony ended an hour ago, and my father asked to meet Lincoln and me here. He has something special to show us.

“Any ideas what your father’s up to?” asks Lincoln.

“None.” I stare at the concrete wall, watching the Group Think go by. It’s a lot of the practical side of having company in the Dark Lands.

GHT-1628: Picking up thrax from Pulpitum V.

KPO-12: Airspace access approved for Furor use in Sector Nineteen.

BQ-14: Janitorial detail to Sector Four.

A low-pitched hum sounds as a black door-sized hole appears in the center of the tower floor. A portal opens. Through that darkened shape steps my father and Walker. Dad’s in his silver armor, his long golden wings on display. A manic gleam lights his eyes as he wraps Lincoln and me in a warm hug.

“Could you believe the ceremony today?” says Dad. “The archangels and the Furor? There’s never been an army to match this one.”

Walker grips my shoulders, his all-black eyes staring deeply into mine. “How are you holding up?”

My breath hitches. That was the first time I’ve had a conversation with anyone today about Maxon. It’s all been war, war, war. This is why Walker’s the best honorary older ghoul brother ever.

“Life passed surreal about an hour ago. Now, I’m in what you call a dreamlike haze.”

Walker frowns. “Should we do this later?”

“Of course, not.” Dad eyes Walker suspiciously. “When did you become afraid of war? I trained you to fight first and question later.”

“I’m not afraid,” explains Walker. “I was merely asking if—”

Dad slaps his hand against Walker’s back. “Why don’t you give me some time alone with the kids, eh?”

Walker’s great black eyes focus on me. “Is that alright with you?”

“Sure, Walker. Take a break. Go eat some worm soufflé or something, you’ve earned it.”

Walker nods, opens a black portal and disappears.

Once he’s gone, Dad rubs his palms together greedily. “Now, as I was saying. There’s no time to waste. We need to kill Armageddon. Make him pay.”

A sinking feeling creeps into my bones. “I thought we were saving Maxon.”

“Of course, we are,” says Dad quickly. “But to do that, we have to kill Armageddon, right?” He eyes me carefully. “That’s what Faustina told you.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good, so we’re agreed.” My father steps over to the wall. “Where’s the door in this place, anyway?” He pats another section of stone. “Ah, here it is.” The outline of a doorframe appears in the wall. He turns to us. “Ready to step out onto the balcony?”

My voice comes out low and dreamy. “Sure.”

Lincoln’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “What’s out there?”

“You’ll see,” announces Dad as he pulls the concrete door open. “This is why I brought you here. Your surprise. I hope you’ll be pleased.”

Dad walks through the opened door; Lincoln and I follow. We all step out onto a small cement balcony many stories above the earth. The air is brisk and thin, making me hug my elbows for warmth.

My father gestures across the landscape. “There they are.”

I scan the horizon. Everywhere I look, the land seems covered in a sheet of slowly shifting concrete. “I don’t see anything.”

Dad gestures me to the balcony’s edge. “Come here, right by the wall.”

I step up beside him, resting my elbows on the lip of the concrete barrier that marks the balcony’s edge. Leaning forward, I scan the landscape again. Grey shapes come into color and clarity.

“That concrete isn’t moving. Those are bodies.” Bit by bit, I can make out the different colors of thrax houses, the dark robes of the ghouls, and even the floating shapes of dragons as they dive through the air.

“Yes,” answers Dad happily. “The troops are starting to come in. I’ve had them bivouac around the Spires.”

Lincoln steps up beside me, scanning the same view. “There must be millions of warriors down there.”

“About five million,” announces Dad. “Within a week, we’ll reach a hundred.”

A jolt of worry zings through my nervous system. “It will take them a week?”

“Fast, am I right? We’ll be able to move out in two weeks. That’s amazing for an army of this size.”

“But Hildy can only protect Maxon’s mind for another day or so.”

“Please, Maxon will be fine.” A manic gleam sparkles in his eyes. “I was under Armageddon’s thumb for twenty years and look at me.”

“Yes, look at you.” I scrub my hands over my face. “You’ve never really recovered from your time with him. We both know that.”

“How can you say such a thing? I’ve an archangel’s power to heal.”

“And Maxon doesn’t,” says Lincoln.

My father folds his arms over his chest. “Maxon’s part archangel.”

“Fine.” My tail points right at Dad’s nose. “For the sake of argument, let’s say Maxon does have your power to heal. Even you still get nightmares. And you’re growing more obsessed with killing Armageddon by the day. That’s the first thing you said just now. Kill Armageddon, not save Maxon.”

“I want to kill the old bastard because he took my grandson,” growls my father. “I realize that you’re unused to war, but that’s what’s going to get your son back. The sooner we all accept that and turn our minds to planning the battles, the better.”

“But war is the only way you’ve considered, Dad. We haven’t even spent a minute thinking about other options.”

“Because there are none. If all goes well, I can get Maxon out of Hell in a month or two.”

“And if it doesn’t go well? King Aethelwulf started a war against Hell, and he fought it for decades.”

“I’m not King Aethelwulf.”

“So, can you assure me that your war won’t take decades, too?”

Dad’s mouth thins to a determined line. “There are no guarantees in war, but going into it questioning yourself will only doom you to failure.” He points to the millions of troops on the ground. “They can smell fear in their leaders. It takes the fight right out of them.”

“It’s my job to ask questions, Dad. I’m their Queen.”

Dad rounds on Lincoln. “And what do you say as King?”

“I say that what’s most important is this.” He gently cups my wrist in his hands, exposing the Looking Glass image that still appears there. “To be a great king, Maxon needs to be whole and well. We need to look into all—” His voice drops off as he stares at the image on my wrist.

I follow his gaze and my world shatters.

The Looking Glass shows Maxon inside his prison, wide awake. His mismatched eyes dart wildly around the cell as he screams in terror, his fists pounding on the shifting walls. Although the Looking Glass doesn’t allow me to hear my son, I know exactly what those screams sound like. Every cell in my body is electrified with alarm. Even my igni take up the cry, filling my head with weeping.

Someone speaks in a whisper. I realize it’s me. “I thought Hildy was protecting him. What if Armageddon’s in his throne room right now? He’ll know Maxon’s awake. He could start torturing him any second.”

Lincoln grips my wrist harder. “It’s already been a day, her powers must be running out.”

In the Looking Glass image, Maxon’s eyes flicker between their typical hue and the all white look of Hildy’s powers. After a few seconds, his irises and pupils disappear once again. He sits calmly against the cell wall.

Hildy’s in control once more. I watch the Looking Glass, searching desperately for any sign that Armageddon heard my son’s cries and has decided to hurt him. Nothing happens. I let go of a shuddering breath. My child is still safe.

Terror tightens my throat, making it hard to speak. “Maxon’s okay for now, but Hildy’s powers are breaking. We don’t have more than a day before by baby is at Armageddon’s mercy. We have to do something right now.”

Lincoln steps away, the lines of his face set and hard. “It’s obvious what we have to do. Prepare for war.” He gestures to my wrist. “Hildy’s already failed. Forget about her. Maxon will get shattered in Hell, yes. But we’ll figure out how to put the pieces back together after we get him out.”

Shock prickles across my skin. “So that’s it. We’re giving up on Maxon. He’ll be tortured in Hell and that’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” yells Lincoln. He inhales a long breath, composing himself. “We have to look at practicalities here. I agree with Xavier. Any other discussions that don’t center on war are a waste of time. Even worse, they will make our people question our resolve.”

I nod, unable to form words. My sweet Maxon left to be tortured by Armageddon for years? The King of Hell tore the wings off Dad’s back every day. What will he do to my baby? I set my hand over my mouth, suppressing in a sob. Lincoln wraps his arm around my shoulder.

“Myla and I need some time alone, Xavier.”

Dad nods. “I’ll be in the war room when you’re ready. We’ve a lot of planning to do and not much time.” Arching his great golden wings, he leaps off the balcony’s edge and slowly circles toward the ground. Normally, I love it when he exits this way. This time, I feel nothing but sadness as I watch him slowly glide downward.

A long silence follows.

“We need to talk about this, Lincoln. There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t, Myla. We must join Xavier in the war room.” He gently kisses my head. “Or perhaps I’ll join your father while you get some a rest. Things will seem more clear after you’ve had some sleep.”

Lincoln’s words echo strangely through my mind.

Sleep.

Dream.

Dreamscape.

Nefer.

An idea begins to form. Nefer tried to kill sneak into Hell and kill Onyx. Maybe she’d have some ideas on how to take down Armageddon, too. I have to ask.

I nuzzle into Lincoln’s shoulder. “Actually, I will take a quick nap.” And contact Nefer while I’m at it.

“Good. I’m sure it will help.”

“I certainly hope so.” As the words leave my lips, I can’t avoid the uncomfortable feeling that Nefer is my last and only chance to really save my son. My smiling, innocent, happy Maxon. My throat tightens with worry and grief.

Please, let her be able to help.

Chapter Fourteen

It took Anubis all of a nanosecond to agree to my dreamscape with Nefer. This time, when I conjure my virtual-Arena, the circular wall of slithering vines were already there, along with me, Anubis and Nefer. Kiya sits on Nefer’s shoulder, his long tail swaying over her upper arm. The sympathetic looks on all their faces say they already heard the news.

I inhale a shaky breath. “I guess you know why I called you all here. My son Maxon was taken by Armageddon.”

“Your child never crossed my gateway,” says Anubis. “I’d never have allowed your boy into Hell. Armageddon must have found a powerful magician.”

My throat tightens as I picture the geisha in white robes dripping with blood. “He did. So strong, in fact, that she allowed my child to be pulled out from Antrum itself.”

“Who would have imagined it?” Nefer shakes her head. “Antrum hasn’t been breached in that way since the days of Aethelwulf. I’m so sorry.”

“I know what you seek,” snarls Anubis. “I have friends in other realms. Together, we will track down whoever this witch is. You’ll have your revenge.”

“I don’t want revenge. I want to save my son.”

“Oh, my poor Myla.” Nefer twists her hands anxiously at her waist. “If your child’s with Armageddon, then his mind is already gone.”

“I’m afraid Nefer is right,” says Anubis gently. “You must prepare yourself for the inevitable. He’ll be broken beyond repair.”

My eyes flare red with demon rage. I am not giving up on Maxon!

“My child’s mind is protected right now, and he will stay protected for the next twenty-four hours. He’s linked with a Grand Master monopsyche.”

“A Grand Master?” Nefer purses her lips, impressed. “Then your son does have a chance.”

“Exactly. And I’m not going to waste that opportunity. I’m going to kidnap Maxon out of Hell and you’re both going to help me.” I point to Nefer. “First, you’ll tell me how you broke into Hell.” I gesture toward Anubis. “Second, once I get in, you’ll sort me straight into Armageddon’s throne room.”

Anubis frowns. “I’m not sure I can—”

“Shut it, Anubis. You owe me and you know it.”

“Fine, Great Scala.”

Nefer’s shakes her head. “It’s not so easy to navigate through Hell. I trained for my mission for two-hundred and fifty years. Before that, it took me a hundred years to find Kiya and earn his trust.” Kiya lets out a little squawk of agreement. “I snuck into Hell with fifty warriors. All of them died.”

Despair presses in around my body, heavy as a cloak of stone. This is so impossible, Myla. Why do you keep pushing?

And then, I remember Maxon’s smiling face. I return my attention to Nefer.

“How did your warriors die?”

Nefer’s eyes darken as she recalls the memory. “To reach the throne room, we went up a secret passageway that protected by the Veil of Fire.”

I turn the words over in my mind. The Veil of Fire. That doesn’t sound so tough. I look over Anubis from head to toe. He’s a badass demigod. I can’t imagine a little veil holding him back. “Can you pass through it?”

“Sure,” says Anubis. “But why would I want to? I’ve no desire to treat with Armageddon.”

“If you can pass through, why can’t you take other people along, too?”

“My magic holds no sway over the Veil. This isn’t a gateway, it’s a safeguard. A lock, if you will. No one enters the throne room via the secret passageway unless they cross through the Veil.”

“What does it do? Burn you?”

“In a way,” replies Anubis. “It takes you to your own personal hell. It’s a trial.”

“Not just any trial, though,” adds Nefer. “It’s a specific test that brings out the worst in your soul. And whoever passes through the veil with you, they go through your personal hell as well.”

I force myself to look on the bright side. “That doesn’t sound so bad, having someone to keep you company.”

“They’re more than company,” explains Anubis. “They join your test. And that means that their errors can make you fail. And when that happens, you go straight to Hell’s torture pits.”

Okay, that sounds pretty shitty, right there.

“Is that what happened to you, Nefer?”

“I went in with fifty warriors,” says Nefer with a sigh. “Since fifty of us went in together, we all went through fifty trials. Fifty hells. I thought my warriors were strong enough to take it. They weren’t. Only three of us made it past the veil and into the throne room. Onyx was ready for us and sent the rest of my warriors to the torture pits. I would have gone as well, only Anu stepped in to help me.” Her face warms with a smile. “You shouldn’t have, you know.”

Anubis grins at her in return. “I’d do it again. You know that.”

While the two of them make goo-goo eyes at each other, I turn Nefer’s words over in my mind. There must be a way in this to save Maxon.

Suddenly, a spark of hope lights in my chest. If what she’s saying is true, then a small raiding party could be better than an army. If I go in alone, I only have one personal hell to face.

“Tell me. How did you get to that secret passageway in the first place? Did Anubis help you?”

“No, Anu can only open the main gates, and those are too well watched for anyone to sneak through. That’s why I needed Kiya. As a first animal, the old walls of Eden do as he commands.” Kiya chitters and bounces on Nefer’s shoulder, showing his agreement.

Anubis steps closer, setting his right hand on my shoulder. “You’re emotional and overwrought. I can see where your mind is going, but if Nefer couldn’t kill Onyx with fifty warriors, what hope do you have against Armageddon?”

A little voice in side my head says ‘he’s right, you know.’ Then, I glance down at the image of Maxon on my wrist. My boy is wide-eyed and screaming in terror. Rage blasts through my nervous system. Maxon’s in pain; that’s what matters. I straighten my spine and steel my resolve.

“I know I don’t have much of a chance, but—”

“Much of a chance?” barks Anubis. “How about none? No one has ever been rescued from Hell. Not since the dawn of time. Don’t forget that.”

My eyes flash red with demon rage. “Stop telling me what no one’s ever done! My child’s mind has only a day before it’s shattered. If there is anything I can do—no matter how slim the chance—then I have to try. Otherwise, I’ll never forgive myself.” Seconds pass and my eyes glow angel blue. “Besides, I’m not just anyone. Don’t forget that.”

Anubis shakes his head. “You talk madness. Armageddon already knows a rescue party is coming for Maxon. As we speak, he’s at the wall’s high tower, awaiting the arrival of Xavier’s army.”

“Good.” I set my fists on my hips. “That means he’s not expecting a small raiding party.”

Anubis sniffs. “One crazed warrior is not a small party.”

“I’ll help you,” says Nefer quickly. “Anubis can send you to my prison block before you go to your personal hell. Free me, and I’ll stand by your side as you take on Armageddon.”

Anubis leans back on his heels and lets out a great howl of rage. The bones of his face snap and reform, turning into the jackal head that has adorned so many Egyptian tombs. “No! I have not protected you for two hundred years, only to see you captured again. Onyx was a reasonable Queen.”

“She was a tyrant,” snaps Nefer.

“She was a saint compared to Armageddon. If you’re caught again, it will be the torture pits for you. I won’t be able to help you this time.”

“I never asked for your help in the first place, and I’m not asking for it now. Kiya can lead the Great Scala to my prison.”

Anubis raises his arms. Vines burst out of the walls, heading straight toward Kiya. “No, he won’t!” Fast as lightning, the vines wrap around Kiya’s body, holding him immobile.

“You’re breaking your promise to me,” I add. “This is my favor. Keep your word, Anubis.”

“Choose another favor,” he snarls. “This one’s impossible.”

I raise my hands and summon my igni. Instantly, hundreds of tiny white lightning bolts swim up and down my arms. “No one tells the Great Scala what’s possible. I’ll use my igni to break into Hell, and Nefer’s prison block.”

Nefer straightens her stance. “And I would welcome you with open arms.”

A snarl curls along Anubis’s muzzle. “Use your igni, and you’ll call every demon to you. They know igni bring evil souls for them to feast on. It’s like ringing a dinner bell. You’ll bring all of Hell down on her head.”

“No, I’ll have a chance at saving my son.”

“What about my wishes?” cries Nefer. “I say bring Hell to my door. At least, it will give me a warrior’s death.”

Anubis lets out another long howl, and his face returns to its typical handsome shape. He paces the ground for a long minute, and then stops. “You’re both resolved to do this thing?”

“Yes,” say Nefer and I together.

“Then, I will help you. At least, I can give you a little more time before you both fail and are thrown into the torture pits.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, asshole.” I crack my neck from side to side, my mind snapping into warrior mode. I have a mission now, and I always feel better with a plan.

“I believe in you, Great Scala.”

“Thank you, Nefer. Now, let’s go through this one last time. There are four steps we need to go through. First, I break into Hell with Kiya. Second, Anubis sends me to Nefer’s prison cell, where I break her out. Third, I go to the secret passageway and my own personal hell. And fourth, once that trial is over, I can enter Armageddon’s throne room. Am I missing anything?”

Anubis shakes his head. “Only that this plan is impossible.”

“It’s mostly impossible, Anubis. That’s all I have right now, so I’m going with it.”

Nefer rubs her forehead, her eyes lost in thought. “To get to the Walls of Hell, you need to reach the Plains of Fire. The walls are hidden in there. How will you leave your own realm?”

“I have a ghoul buddy who can portal me there. Once I wake up from this dreamscape, I’ll grab my stuff and go straight to the Plains. I should be able to break into Hell within an hour or two.”

“Be careful,” warns Nefer. “The Plains are home to all sorts of foul creatures.”

My stomach twists with anxiety. Isn’t it bad enough I have to make it through Hell on my lonesome? Now, I have to pass through some evil-infested Plains of Fire, too? I force my face to stay carefully neutral.

Don’t let them see how worried you are, Myla.

“I’ll be fine. My ghoul buddy is a warrior.”

“You won’t ask anyone else?” Nefer eyes me carefully. “Your husband’s warrior skills are known throughout the after-realms.”

“He’ll never agree to this. He wants to plan for war.” My eyes sting with held-back tears. “Besides, if I don’t come back and the armies do free Maxon, at least my son will have one of us.”

Nefer nods slowly. “I wish we had more time to plan.”

“Me, too.”

Kiya leaps down from Nefer’s shoulder, clambers across the ground, and quickly nestles into my arms. His little heart beats fast as hummingbird wings against my chest.

I can’t help but smile at the creature in my arms. “You have something to say?”

Kiya chitters another line of noises. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but the tone is sweet and encouraging. I can use all the support I can get, right now. “Thank you, Kiya.”

The little monkey perches on my shoulder, where I guess he’ll stay for the duration. He waves enthusiastically to Nefer. I do the same. “We’ll see you soon.”

Nefer’s eyes bead with tears. “Yes, I know I’ll see both of you.”

Anubis shoots me a frustrated glare. Obviously he thinks I’ll get killed before I even reach the Walls of Hell. I want to kick him in the head for being such a downer, but I stop myself. He’s agreed to help me, which is more than I thought he’d do.

I better get while the getting’s good.

As I close my eyes to end the dreamscape, I realize a sobering thought. This is, without a doubt, the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

And that’s really saying something.

Chapter Fifteen

I tiptoe through a darkened passageway in Arx Hall, on my way to the palace transfer station to Purgatory. Walker has an art studio near my parent’s place. He’s usually there this time of day. With any luck, I’ll catch him and talk him into taking me to the Plains of Fire.

Kiya sits silently on my shoulder, his tiny hands gripping my hair and ear. At last, I reach the transfer Platform, a large round disc set into the marble floor. As I step onto the circle, the floor lights up.

My breath catches. The brightness reveals that I’m not alone in the hallway.

Lincoln is here.

“When were you going to tell me?” He wears jeans, a white t-shirt, and a desolated look on his face.

“I wrote you a letter. I was going to leave it with Walker, so he could give it to you after I’d left.”

Lincoln steps closer. His eyes are red-rimmed and full of pain. “A letter?”

Guilt burns up my throat. Okay, when he says it like that, I feel like a total shit-bag.

“I thought it would be best.”

Lincoln takes another step closer, stopping when he’s just inches away from me. Based on the ice in his tone, I feel like we might as well be miles apart. “You didn’t take a rest, did you?”

“No.”

“You dreamscaped with Nefer, and now you’re sneaking off so you can break into Hell alone.”

“Yes.” Damn, he knows me too well.

“And you didn’t tell me because you thought I’d disapprove. Plus, you wanted someone here for Maxon in case you never came back.”

“It sounded a lot cooler than that in my head, but yeah.”

“Tell me honestly.” He grips my upper arms in his hands. “How outrageous is this plan?”

“Rescuing Maxon out of Hell, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Well, no one’s ever been rescued out of Hell before. I have to get through the Plains of Fire, sneak into the underworld, break Nefer out of prison, go through my personal hell, kill Armageddon, free Maxon and then get out alive. Nefer and Anubis have agreed to help me out, but even so, it’s only the slimmest of chances that I can do this.” My new monkey-pal bounces on my shoulder, letting out a long string of chattering noises. “Oh, and Kiya here is helping me, too.”

Lincoln presses his palms against his eyes. My heart cracks with sorrow. This is hard enough without having this conversation before I go. “What are you thinking, Myla?”

I pull at the neckline of my dragon-scale fighting suit. Suddenly, it feels too tight. “Honestly? I think I can’t live with myself if I don’t try this. You need to stay here and support the war. Dad will eventually get Maxon out and then, our boy will need you.”

“Show me your wrist.”

I know what he wants to see. I turn my right hand over, showing the Looking Glass image of Maxon. Unlike last time, he sits calmly in his cell, his eyes all white. Hildy’s in control and protecting him. Armageddon hasn’t started to torture him yet.

Lincoln stares at me for a long minute. His face is unreadable, all stony features and Kingly calm. He slips his hand into mine. “I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll help Dad with the war and with Maxon, in case I fail.”

“We both saw what happened to Hildy’s friend Marcus after just an hour in the torture pits. And we both know that Armageddon will make the torture pits look like a holiday. Marcus was a grown man and Maxon’s only a child. If there’s any way we can spare him this kind of pain, then we have to do it.” He starts to pull me down the hallway.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To the Demon Patrol prep rooms. If I’m going with you, I can’t go like this. I have body armor and supplies in there.”

Panic shoots through my limbs, freezing me in place. I stop Lincoln from dragging me anywhere. “But what if my plan is terrible? I can’t be responsible for Maxon losing both of us.”

Lincoln cups my face in his hands. “Your plan sounds brilliant to me, Myla. You were the only one who thought to ask questions instead of getting caught up in the thrill of war. In fact, the only flaw in your thinking is that you didn’t ask me to join you.”

A warm and yummy feeling spreads through my rib cage. “Brilliant, huh?”

He kisses me once, gently. “Totally insane, but brilliant.”

Kiya paws at my face and makes soothing chatter.

“See?” asks Lincoln. “Even Kiya agrees with me.”

“On which part?”

“All of it, I think.” Bit by bit, he tilts his head forward until our foreheads touch. When he speaks once more, his voice cracks with a mixture of love and pain. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you, Myla. Wherever you go, that’s where I want to be. Always. Promise me that you’ll never leave again without talking to me first.”

“I promise, Lincoln.”

He exhales a long sigh. “And that’s all I need to hear.”

Chapter Sixteen

I tumble through black and empty space, my left hand clasped with Walker’s, my right entwined with Lincoln’s. Kiya sits on my shoulder, as much as anyone can sit when you’re spinning through darkness like a dried leaf. Kiya’s tail is wrapped tightly around my neck while his little hands grip my ear so tightly, he could draw blood.

Kiya’s no fan of travelling by portal. Unfortunately, that’s all we’ve done for the last hour as Walker tries to find the Walls of Hell, which are somewhere in the Plains of Fire. It wasn’t easy to talk him into helping us, but Walker gave in once he realized that we’d find another ghoul if he didn’t agree.

Within the pitch darkness, a tall door-shaped rectangle of crimson light appears. Somehow, Walker aims our whirling bodies toward the portal’s exit. Together, we somersault out the opened door-hole and onto a scorching hot stretch of sand. Waves of stifling heat envelop my body. A foul, oily smell assaults my senses.

We’re here. At the Plains of Fire. Again.

I slowly rise to my feet and look around. We’ve emerged in a low desert valley surrounded by stepped plateaus, spouts of fire, and burned-out brush. My tail pounds my thigh in frustration. There’s no wall anywhere in sight.

“Why are these things called Plains again?” I groan. “This place is basically a valley. And the last spot we hit was downright mountainous.”

Walker chuckles, low and soft. “My dear Myla-la, why would the name of the lands surrounding Hell be anything but misleading?”

Okay, he has a point.

Kiya tightens his death-grip on my earlobe while chatting angrily away at high-speed. I pet his back in soothing strokes. “Sorry, we didn’t find it this time, friend.”

Friend.

That’s what Nefer had called Kiya and I’m quickly learning why that’s the perfect term to describe my little critter. From his perch on my shoulder, Kiya lets out a never-ending stream of excited chitters, screeches and growls. No question about it. If I were trapped in a prison cell for two hundred years, I’d definitely want Kiya with me.

Lincoln brushes the sand off his black body armor and then sets down his massive backpack. Good idea, honey. I do the same. This crazy-heavy sack will be no-fun to drag through Hell, but we can’t count on finding any water coolers or takeout menus. We’ve also packed ourselves flare guns and an all-purpose death potion, if the need arises. I actively try not to think about that part.

“I’ll check for look-out points on the plateau,” says Lincoln. He jogs off, scoping out the landscape as he goes.

Kiya watches him leave, launching into a fresh round of grumbles while gesturing wildly at Walker.

That’s one angry monkey.

“Come now, Kiya.” I say soothingly. “Walker’s trying his best. He needs a little more direction from you, that’s all.”

With a high-pitched chirp, Kiya leaps down from my shoulder and walk-gallops across the desert floor, yammering madly as he paces around in circles. Small puffs of dust appear behind him with the movement. After a minute, he pauses and points toward the southwest.

Walker steps up to my side. “Let me guess. He wants us to go in that direction, eh?”

“Wow. It’s like you speak monkey.”

Lincoln jogs back to join our group. “I’ve scoped out the surrounding area. Unfortunately, I think we’re a long way from the Walls of Hell.”

“If you had to guess, how far would you say we are?”

“Five leagues to the southwest.”

I punch him gently in the upper arm. I knew he’d nail it. Lincoln’s spent years hunting and tracking his ass across every terrain there is. “That’s what Kiya said, too. Well, just the southwest part.” I rub my palms together. “We better give it another try. What do you say, Walker?”

“Uh, how about we take a break?” Walker stares guiltily at his colorless hands. “We’ve been at it for an hour now. You must be tired. Maybe we could portal back to the Dark Lands for something to eat?”

“Walker,” I say with a sigh. “We’ve been over this already. Lincoln and I are not going back to the Dark Lands to tell Xavier what we’re doing.”

“This isn’t right,” explains Walker. “Your father took me in and trained me when no one would consider me anything but a ghoul.”

“You’re part Aquilinean, same as me,” says Lincoln. “As part of the bloodline of the archangel Aquila, you were never just any ghoul.”

“No one else saw it that way. I owe Xavier. It feels wrong to secret off his daughter to Hell without letting him know.”

“Not a chance, Walker. If I talk to Dad, he’ll just try to railroad me into war. That won’t save Maxon. Not really.” I poke him on his bony shoulder. “If Lincoln and I can rescue our boy before he’s seriously tortured by Armageddon, then we have to try. And we can’t afford to waste time while Dad attempts to talk us out of this. Every second we wait, Maxon’s at risk. Hildy’s protection could run out at any second.”

Walker rubs his sideburns anxiously. “It would only take an hour.”

“No, Walker, and that’s final. Now open the damn portal or go home.” Worry spikes through my belly and I glance at my wrist. Inside the Looking Glass, Maxon leans against the prison wall, knees pulled against his chest, sobbing quietly.

“See this?” I thrust the image into Walker’s face. “My child is trapped and I will save him, make no mistake.”

Walker stares at the image and winces. “But your father could help.”

“Dad’s your guy if you want a war and that’s it, Walker.” I yank my wrist away. “Enough. Lincoln and I would rather hike through the desert alone than have this conversation every five minutes.”

Walker turns plaintive eyes toward Lincoln. “Is that really what you’d say?”

“Word for word, Shield Brother.” He points to a spot on the horizon. “Five leagues to the southwest.”

Walker opens another portal. Our little group steps through, tumbles through more darkness, and then rolls out onto a new patch of fiery desert. This time we’ve come out on flatlands.

I shield my eyes and scan the landscape. A darkened green line snakes across the reddened landscape. My heartbeat speeds with excitement.

This is it. The Walls of Hell.

Lincoln steps up to my side, wrapping his long arm around my waist. “We found it.”

Kiya bobs on my shoulder, chattering happily.

I slip my hand into Lincoln’s. “We better go.” I glance over my shoulder at Walker. He stands like a forlorn sentinel, a white-faced figure in black robes against the backdrop of red desert.

“Thanks, Shield Brother,” says Lincoln.

“I know this was hard for you.” I try to smile, although it comes off as more of a squint. “I appreciate your standing by us. And Maxon, too.”

Walker’s large all-black eyes glisten with emotion. “You go along now. I’ll be waiting.”

“We don’t know how long it will take,” I say.

“Or where we’ll come out,” adds Lincoln.

“That doesn’t matter,” says Walker simply. “I’ll be here.”

I frown. “It’s not exactly safe.”

Walker shakes his head. “You’re going into Hell and you’re worried about me?”

I shift my weight from foot to foot. “Yeah, I guess. I know you’re a trained warrior but you’re like my brother and I never want to say—”

“Don’t utter those words.” Walker steps up and sets his hand in mine. His skin feels cool and firm. “No farewells. Get out quickly and use your flare guns. I’ll find you.”

My voice cracks as we start to walk away. “Bye, Walker.”

“No,” he says sternly. “See you soon.”

# # #

We’ve been hiking for an hour and damn, do I ever want a drink of water. But we need to be stingy with our supplies, so Lincoln and I are only allowing ourselves the equivalent of a shot-glass full of liquid every two hours. Kiya gets all he wants since he drinks so little anyway. Besides, it’s impossible to refuse his cute little face and button eyes.

As the minutes tick by, the Walls of Hell loom larger and larger. In retrospect, we shouldn’t have sent Walker away so quickly. From our landing-spot, it looked like the wall was a stubby thing that was a short walk away.

Boy, was that ever wrong.

Lincoln pauses, shielding his eyes from the glaring sun. “We’ve got company.”

I stare in the same direction he’s looking. “I don’t see anything.” Kiya bounces on my shoulder and gestures excitedly in the same direction. “Kiya sees it, though. What am I missing?”

“You have to look—”

A black line appears on the horizon. “Oh, wait. I can see them now. Riders on horseback. Normally, I can’t find stuff like you do. At least, not when it’s so far away.”

“They were really far away. Now, not so much.”

I shake my head in confusion. “How did they get closer so quickly?”

“They’re ghoul-demon hybrids, Myla. Bandits.”

Eew.

“That’s not good.”

There’s a lot of human trafficking that goes on in Hell. Bandits abduct living mortals and then sell them to Armageddon at a huge profit. Most of these criminals are greedy ghouls, looking to make some quick gold. Normally, I wouldn’t worry because ghouls are notoriously crappy warriors, except for Aquilineans like Walker. But a hybrid?

“What’s the mix?” I ask.

“If I had to guess, I’d say they’re a cross between ghoul and demon rider.”

A lead weight of disgust settles onto my shoulders. Demon riders are like undead cowboys on steroids. And with a ghoul mix in them? They can create portals to pop in and out wherever they want. Dangerous stuff.

I scan the horizon again. “Where’d they get to now?”

The air fills with the pounding of hooves as four hybrid bandits ride out of separate portal doors, bearing down on us. The riders are rotting corpses with chunks of pink flesh torn from their faces and hands. They whoop with evil glee, lassos spinning high in the air.

“Lookie here!” cries the tallest rider. “And we didn’t even have to portal to Earth to catch these two or nothin’!”

As much as I love the water bottles in my backpack, I can’t fight properly with so many extra pounds on my shoulders. Quick as a heartbeat, I ditch the pack and leap high into the air, somersaulting backward until I land right behind the tallest hybrid, balancing on the horse’s backside. I drop to sit behind the rider. His head spins around one hundred and eighty degrees to look me right in the eyes.

“Aren’t you a clever filly?” Up close, I can see his teeth jutting through his decaying cheeks.

“Guess what else I can do?” I grip the rider’s skull between my hands, twist hard, and tear it off his neck. It pulls free with a satisfying pop. “That.”

The dead body slumps off the horse; I chuck the head in the opposite direction. Beneath me, the demon horse goes berserk, bucking on its hind legs and whinnying up a storm. It knows its rider is gone and is none to happy.

I grip the saddle, ready to hoist myself off the horse and back onto the ground, when a pair of ropes land right around my chest. Two of the other riders have lassoed me, pinning my arms to my side.

Luckily, they didn’t get my tail.

The arrowhead end of my tail swipes around me, slicing through the ropes. I spring off the horse and look for Lincoln. He stands nearby with his baculum ignited as a long-sword. One of the other demon horses has been decapitated and Lincoln is skewering its rider through the chest.

The remaining two riders circle us, howling and yelping with rage. They open a new pair of ghoul portals and charge through them, disappearing from the desert. An odd silence follows after they’re gone.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” I ask.

“Yup.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Because that’s exactly what I was thinking, too.

A portal opens right before me, revealing a rider on a black horse. The demon animal rears on its hind legs, its front hooves suspended in the air for a moment before slamming down toward the exact patch of ground where I’m standing. I roll away at the last second, but not before a fresh round of rope loops around my ankle.

The rider bursts forward, dragging me across the desert floor. I eat a mouthful of dirt and rock before I gain enough sense to cut through the rope again with my tail. I look over for Lincoln. The other rider tried the same trick with him, only Lincoln was able to cut himself free with his baculum. We both look like we’ve been dragged through a mile of desert.

The riders whoop before disappearing through into a new pair of portals.

“Change position,” orders Lincoln. “They’ll try the same trick again.”

I run a few yards to my right and, sure enough, a rider comes barreling out of a fresh portal at the spot where I just stood. Once more, the horse rears on its hind legs. This time, I use the opportunity to jump high into the air, pull my legs into a crouch, and kick the rider firmly in the chest, throwing him off his horse. The hybrid swaggers to his feet as his horse gallops madly around.

The rider’s eyes glow demon red as he pulls a six shooter from his hip. “The pair of you are no end of trouble, chucking me off my ride.” He stalks toward me, aiming the gun right for my head. “But I think I’ve got you just where I want you.”

Behind me, I hear the low-pitched hum of a ghoul portal opening. He’s going to try to shove me into the portal, alive or dead. I stare down the barrel of the gun. I’m fast, but I’m no match for a bullet. I take a half-step backward, but my heel hits nothing but air. I so don’t want to fall into a ghoul portal without a ghoul—I’ll tumble through empty space for eternity. I move forward a bit, and raise my hands to shoulder-height, palms forward. “I won’t give you any more trouble.”

“I know you won’t.” The rider saunters closer. “And I’m guessing Armageddon will pay a pretty penny for the likes of you. He always wants ‘em feisty. More fun to break ya.” With his free hand, he rubs his chin. A chunk of rotting flesh falls off. “My buyer’s gonna love you, little girl.”

The rider stalks closer in what feels like slow motion. With every step, his spurs echo more loudly through the desert. A realization hits me. I might get caught here, on the Plains of Fire, before I ever get anywhere near my son.

How could I have been so reckless?

I scan the plains, looking for any sign of Lincoln or Kiya. Were they already abducted by the other rider? My husband could be on his way to the torture pits right now. My heart kicks so hard in my chest, I think it might break free.

The rider pauses before me, the exposed tendons in his neck flexing as he speaks. “Here’s what you’re gonna do.” With his right hand, he points the barrel of his gun at my head. “Take my hand and step back into that portal behind ya.”

The rider raises his grisly left hand toward me. Bits of moldy flesh hang from his fingertips.

Bracing myself, I slowly lift my hand to meet his. A heavy sense of doom presses onto my shoulders.

The rider grins and gives my hand a little squeeze. “Now don’t be so—”

After that, an amazing thing happens. The rider’s eyes roll into his head and he slumps over, dead, a dagger embedded in the back of his skull. Once he falls, I can see Lincoln riding toward me on a demon horse. In his left hand, he holds a gun to the last rider’s head. His right hand reaches toward me. Kiya sits on Lincoln’s shoulder.

As Lincoln rides by, I grab his right arm and get hoisted onto the horse’s back. There’s not a lot of room with three of us, but my tail anchors me to the saddle enough to hang on.

The horse leaps through the still-open portal behind me. We all tumble through empty space, coming out right by the Wall of Hell. Everything looks deserted. I immediately slide off the horse’s barrel. Kiya leaps from Lincoln’s shoulder to land on mine.

“You made a promise,” says the rider. “If I brought you here, you wouldn’t kill me.”

“Dismount,” orders Lincoln.

“There’s no point in stealing my horse. It won’t answer to no one but me.”

“Dismount,” repeats Lincoln. “Don’t make me say it again.”

The rider slides off the horse and lands on the desert floor before me. Lincoln does the same. With quick glances, he scans the horizon.

“No one’s around,” says the rider. “Just like I promised. Now, you keep yer word. Don’t kill me.”

Lincoln uncocks the gun. “I won’t kill you.”

The rider’s eyes flare demon red as his fingers creep toward the knife on his belt. “I didn’t think you had it in ya.”

“He won’t kill you.” I stab the rider straight through the heart with my tail. “But I will.” I yank my tail out of the rider’s chest. The demon crumples forward and falls onto the desert floor.

Lincoln leans over him, checking for any sign of life. “He’s dead. Nice work.”

“Not the cleverest of the bunch, I’m guessing.”

“Fortunately for us.” Lincoln slaps the horse’s hindquarters. “Hyah!” The animal rears on its back legs, whinnies and takes off into the desert at a gallop. Lincoln watches it go and shrugs. “Sometimes they return to normal once they’re away from their riders. It’s worth a try.” He turns to me. “How are you holding up?”

The adrenaline rush of demon-killing pumps happily through my veins. I can’t help but smile. “Great. I ate a mouthful of sand and lost my backpack.” Kiya chatters into my ear; I pet his tail in long strokes. “But I suppose I kept my most precious cargo, thanks to you.”

Lincoln shifts the weight of his own pack on his shoulders. “See? And I kept my pack, too.” The thrill of battle is brightening him as well. “That’s why you need me desperately.”

“I’d say that you’re right, but then, I don’t want you getting a bigger ego than you already have.”

“Oh, say it anyway.” Lincoln rolls his eyes. “You know my ego can’t get any bigger.”

“Fine. I need you…to step back so Kiya can open our way into Hell.”

“Yeah.” Lincoln stares at the towering wall, and all the adrenaline seems to disappear from both our systems. “We need to do that, don’t we?”

“We’ve already lost time in this desert.” I flip over my wrist and check out the Looking Glass. Maxon is now white eyed and sitting calmly. Hopefully he’ll stay that way until we reach him. I prod Kiya with my pointer finger. “We’re ready for you.”

Kiya scales the wall of vines and pauses about seven feet above the ground. Around him, the snaking cords transform from blackened ropes into bright green vines with wide leaves and tiny white flowers. Kiya lets out a happy screech. In response, the vines below him turn the same emerald shade, all the way to the desert floor. Kiya pats at the now-vibrant wall of green. The vines part like a veil, revealing an all-black interior beyond.

My breath catches. We’re here. The back entrance to Hell.

My heart hammers in my throat. Somewhere inside that darkness waits Maxon, my sweet baby. And he’s imprisoned by Armageddon. What if we can’t save him? What if he ends up tortured?

I look to Lincoln, feeling my eyes sting with hidden tears. I’m sure I’d be bawling my eyes out if I had any extra hydration in me.

Lincoln takes my hand in his. “We can do this,” he says in a low voice.

The cool resolve in his mismatched eyes thrums through me. My spine straightens; my heart rate slows. My wrath demon unfurls inside my soul, heating my blood with rage.

Fuck Armageddon. We’re getting our kid back.

We step inside, still holding hands. Kiya scrambles onto my shoulder, his little hands gently pawing my cheek as his chatter turns low and soft. Behind us, the wall-hole silently closes. My heart leaps into my throat.

Suddenly, the vines burst forward, pulling us against the wall, and then, inside it. Vines band around my chest, making it hard to breathe. My pulse skyrockets. Complete darkness surrounds me. I sense my body tumbling through space—moving downwards so quickly, I could be jet propelled—with the vines dragging me the entire way. I focus my energy on keeping my palm locked with Lincoln’s.

If we can stay together, we’ll be all right.

My body hits the ground with a shock of motion that I feel in every joint and vertebrae. The vines push Lincoln and I forward, through the wall and into a small chamber made of the same dark cords. Somehow, Kiya has managed to stay perched on my shoulder.

Nice work, Kiya.

I step around, inspecting the shifting walls. “Looks like we landed in a reception chamber.”

Lincoln kneels to the ground, touching the shifting vines under our feet. He pulls out a tuft of hair and rises to stand. “This is Anubis’s space, no question.”

On my shoulder, Kiya shrieks and points to a stretch of wall across the room.

The opposite vine-wall opens, and a familiar figure steps through. It’s Anubis.

His ebony face breaks into a white-toothed smile. “You made it. I was starting to worry.”

“The hike across the Plains of Fire kicked our asses,” I explain. “This place is hard to find.”

“That’s by design, I’m afraid.” Anubis’s bright smile disappears. “Are the two of you ready for Nefer’s prison block?”

“What guards her?” asks Lincoln.

“Insectus demons. They aren’t smart, but what they lack in brains, they more than make up for in number.”

“I remember,” says Lincoln. “I’ve fought them before.”

“I wish I could go fight with you,” says Anubis.

“Really?” I ask. “You seemed pretty convinced that this was the worst idea in the history of ever.”

“I still believe that, but if Nefer’s fighting, I belong at her side. Only, my powers end with gateways.” He inhales a ragged breath. “Well, you know the story.”

My heart goes out to the guy. I’d go crazy if Lincoln were going into serious danger and I couldn’t be there. “Hey, you’re helping her a lot right now.”

“I suppose,” says Anubis with a sigh. “Remember, after you free Nefer, I’ll transport you to the secret passageway to the throne room. Pass through the Veil of Fire, and you’ll reach your personal hells.”

Hard to forget that part.

“What about Nefer?” asks Lincoln. “Will she go through a personal hell too?”

“Yes, it’s the price of crossing the Veil of Fire.”

More of the adrenaline-buzz from our successful demon battle starts to wear off. I feel my Mommy-self returns, and she wants to freak the fuck out and cry for her lost child. Not helping. “Anything else, Anubis? Because I’m ready to go.”

“No, we’re done.” Anubis sets his warm palms on both of our foreheads. “Go and free her.”

Vines burst forward from behind us. Within a heartbeat, they’ve wrapped around our bodies, pulling us back inside the wall. Everything returns to darkness as we’re dragged off to Nefer’s prison block.

As I careen through the black space, I keep whispering one phrase, over and over: “We’re coming for you, baby.”

Chapter Seventeen

Growing up in Purgatory, I often heard mice scurrying about in the ceilings of our ranch house back on Dante Row. Every so often, I’d even catch sight of a tail hanging out of a particularly cracked ceiling tile, reminding me of the tiny crawl space that existed between the so-called ceiling and the floor above.

Right now, that memory stands out crystal-clear for one simple reason: the vines have just deposited Kiya, Lincoln and me onto a network of white plastic tubes that act as the ceiling for the large cement room below us.

In other words, we’re the mice.

I shift my weight, trying for a better view of the room below by peering through the gaps between the plastic pipes. The place is laid out in classic prison style; it’s two stories tall with an open central space and a wrap-around walkway along the second floor. The walls are lined with metal prison doors that have small barred windows. One long wall-panel extends from floor to ceiling, its surface covered in levers of all shapes and sizes. About a dozen Insectus demons rush around, their humanoid forms encased in shiny brown exoskeletons that look like plated body armor.

My heart starts pumping so hard, my pulse throbs in my neck. We’re here. Nefer’s Prison Block. Club Dead. One step closer to Maxon.

We need to break Nefer out of here. It’s crazy enough to take on Hell with just the three of us. Nefer trained for this over two hundred years.

Below, an Insectus guard steps to the far wall, pausing before the panel of floor-to-ceiling levers. The largest of these large metal switches sits at chest-height and is painted bright red.

“Prisoners in Sector Q prepare for cleansing!” The Insectus pulls down one of the levers and a section of prison doors swing wide open. Once the inmates stumble out of their cells, the Insectus guards shuffle them onto the main floor of the space. I see humans, angels, and even a few high-ranking demons. Kiya bounces happily on my shoulder, gesturing wildly at Nefer, who strolls out with the rest of the group.

While I’m happy to see Nefer, she’s not who really has my attention. A tall woman inmate with blue-green hair and matching eyes is scanning the prison block, her nostrils flaring as she catches a scent on the air. Through her ragged sheath-dress, I can clearly see her armscales, the sign that this prisoner is a full-blooded Furor or damned close. That means she can take dragon form if she’s strong enough. Her tail’s also identical to mine, only the scales are colored bluish-green instead of black. All of this adds up to one possible disaster.

She’s Furor, and Furor have an extraordinary sense of smell.

The woman stares right to our hiding spot in the ceiling. Her face reminds me of an eel: oval-shaped with a long nose and small button eyes.

Lincoln taps my shoulder. “What’s her tribe?”

“Enchelýs tribe. Eel dragons. They draw their power from water.”

“Friendly?”

“Water dragons are the oldest types around. Not necessarily friendly or not. They keep to their own.”

The woman’s tail arches over her shoulder and waves in my direction. I slap my hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp of shock.

Unholy Hell. She’s going to blow our cover.

Before I can stop it, my tail darts down a gap in the tubing so the arrowhead end peeps through the pipes. It waves enthusiastically to her before I can yank it away.

I smack the arrowhead end. “Bad boy!” I hiss. My tail slinks to hide behind my ankle, where it will undoubtedly sulk for awhile. Damn that thing and its independent mind.

The Furor smiles knowingly and returns her attention to the Insectus guards. My heart beats so hard, I’m surprised the entire cell block can’t hear it. Seconds pass and the Furor doesn’t make any move to speak to her jailers.

“It doesn’t look like she’ll expose us,” whispers Lincoln.

“Not any more than she already has.” Fortunately, another prisoner has noticed our hiding place. Nefer. Her blue eyes linger on our spot in the ceiling a second too long to be coincidence, and that’s good.

I press my palms onto my eyes, trying to force a plan out of my skull. My thoughts keep returning to one image: the eel Furor. Get that prisoner some water and she could cause serious damage, creating a diversion that would allow us to take Nefer. On the floor below, the Insectus Commander starts rounding up prisoners. Unlike the other demons, the Commander’s exoskeleton is all-black.

“Gather in the center, you lot!” he cries.

The eight prisoners move to stand in the center of the room, which I now notice has grillwork as a floor.

The Commander points to the Furor. “Not you!”

A trio of guards drags the Furor toward the wall. She struggles against their grasp. “This is Class 1 Solitary!” She cries. “You’re not allowed to torture me like this.”

“And you’re not allowed to attempt to escape,” says one of the nearby guards. “The Commander has ordered this punishment for you. Be thankful you weren’t sent to the torture pits.”

Once the Furor is restrained, another Insectus pulls on a wall-lever. A series of plastic pipes snake down from the ceiling, pointing toward the group of prisoners at different angles. The Insectus flips another lever and water blasts at the inmates.

The Furor shrieks in pain and want. Her skin is dry and scaly; she clearly craves water. However, giving her any will only recharge her strength. The guards can’t let that happen; no one wants an angry dragon on their hands. Still, making her stand so close to the water she so desperately needs is cruel.

“Now’s our chance,” I whisper. “You have plenty of water left in your pack, right?”

Lincoln’s eyes grow large with realization. “On it.” He rushes to the far wall of the prison, right above where the Furor is held. His movements are a blur as he pulls his water jug out from his pack, uncaps the top, and pours the contents through a gap in the pipes. The steam is directed right for the Furor.

The moment the first drops of water strike the Furor, she changes. Her muscles instantly plump; her skin takes on a glittering hue. The dragon prisoner leans back, her mouth open, and guzzles water in fast gulps.

The guards quickly notice. “There’s a break in a pipe,” cries one.

Another yanks the Furor away. “Let’s get her back to her cell.” His antennae-fingers bite into her arms. “Move it, you!”

But the Insectus are already too late.

The Furor’s body hisses and crackles as she transforms from a slender woman into a full-grown dragon the size of a pick-up truck. Her long tail whips around her, crushing Insectus demons with every swipe.

Lincoln ignites his baculum into a long-sword and hacks away at the pipes beneath us. “We have to get down there and grab Nefer.” He quickly creates a gap to the floor below. “You first, Myla.”

I secure Kiya onto my shoulder and leap down through the fresh hole in the pipeworks, landing on back of an unsuspecting Insectus demon. The creature’s body crumbles beneath me into a pile of exoskeleton and green goo. Lincoln lands beside me.

An ear-splitting alarm sounds in the air. More Insectus demons pour in through the main doorway to the prison block. I scan the sea of bodies, looking for Nefer.

Where is she?

A wall of Insectus guards close in on Lincoln and me. We both ignite our baculum and go to town, cutting them down as fast as they approach. They aren’t necessarily hard to kill, but there are so many of them! Soon, my muscles ache with effort.

The Furor smashes more of the Insectus as well, but they swarm all over her body, chattering angrily and slashing at her with their sharp antennae claws. Fortunately, those don’t make of a dent in dragon hide.

I look up at the network of tubes above our heads. “I hope she knows which one of those leads to water.” Beside me, a pair of Insectus slash at Lincoln’s pack, tearing it to ribbons.

Man, that’s a bummer. We could have used that pack.

Lincoln decapitates another Insectus with a swipe of his sword. “And if she does find the water pipe?”

I impale another demon and toss it aside. “Then, things are going to get nasty. In a good way.”

With a great roar, the Furor dragon leaps up onto her hind legs, her scaly body shimmering with power. Insectus demons tumble off her as the Furor grabs one of the larger ceiling-tubes with her claw-hands. Yanking down the tube with all her strength, she pulls the entire pipe out and tosses it aside.

A low rumble sounds. The floor begins to shimmy and buck.

I slice another Insectus in half, and then look up to the hole in the ceiling where the pipe once was.

Lincoln smiles. “I think she knows which one leads to water.”

Liquid blasts out of the ceiling. A familiar tang fills the air. Clean water. Leaning back, the Furor dragon sucks in more gulps of water. With each passing second, her muscles grow even stronger, her body larger. Her eyes glimmer with green light, the pupils thinning into reptilian slits.

She’s in full dragon mode now.

The Furor lets out a high-pitched howl and slams her tail into the wall where the room’s sole exit door can be found. The cement crumbles in on itself, turning the only escape route into a blocked pile of rubble.

Lowering her head, the Furor opens her jaws, releasing long bolts of electricity that blast forward, burning out anything in its path. Dozens of Insectus demons fall over, dead.

I watch the electric arcs in awe. I heard that eel dragons could kill their prey with a charge like their earthly counterparts, but I’d never seen it in action. It’s terrifying and beautiful, all at once.

The Furor twists her head from side to side, sending long arcs of electricity around the room, killing every demon in her way.

Once every last Insectus is dead, the Furor retakes her human form. She stands before us, once again a willowy figure with greenish-blue hair, eyes and tail. “Thank you for freeing me.”

My own tail waves at her frantically. “Same here.”

The Furor jogs over to the control panel. “Let’s share the love, eh?” She tilts her head back, and scales appear along her neck and face. Opening her mouth, the Furor sends another arc of electricity into the panel of levers, which begins to smoke and crackle. She sets her now claw-like hand on the red lever and pulls it down. With a series of clicks, the other prison doors swing open. A mix of angels, humans, quasis and demons rush around the prison, yelling with elation, fear or both. They frantically search for an exit that no longer exists.

“How do you expect everyone to escape?” I ask.

“I don’t.” Still in her hybrid dragon-human form, the Furor scales the walls to the network of tubes that hang from the ceiling. “I only expect them to buy me time so I can get out.” She grips one of the larger tubes and shimmies inside, feet-first. “Not you, of course. I expect to see you again, very soon. I’m Ka and you’re?”

“I’m Myla. He’s Lincoln.”

“Goodbye, Myla and Lincoln.” With that, she crawls into the tube and disappears.

A familiar voice sounds behind us. “And now, it’s my turn to say hello.”

Spinning about, I see a smiling Nefer standing before us. Joy warms my heart. With a happy screech, Kiya scrambles across the prison floor and into Nefer’s arms. She holds him close to her chest. “I missed you too, my friend.” She turns to us and smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” says Lincoln. “Especially considering you just increased the size of our fighting force.”

The grating beneath our feet begins to vibrate and groan. Alarm zooms up my spine.

Something’s about to happen.

“That’s Anubis,” explains Nefer. “He’ll send for us in a moment.”

“I almost forgot,” I say. “He’s taking us to the secret passageway and the Veil of Fire.”

Nefer nods. “Too bad his vines can’t go straight into the throne room. Still, once we pass the Veil of Fire, he can deposit us there easily.”

I smile from ear to ear. We’re talking about the throne room. We’re getting closer to Maxon. “Nefer, I can’t thank you en—”

The entire left wall of the prison implodes. Rocks and debris fly everywhere. A horde of Insectus demons charge through the fresh opening, killing hysterical inmates as they wipe across the prison block.

Nefer reaches for my baculum. “May I?”

I stare at her, dumbfounded. “Sure.”

She takes the two silver rods, one in reach hand, and ignites them as short-swords. Her huge black wings extend over her shoulders and within seconds, she’s airborne and moving with a speed and grace I’d only seen my father wield. Her body’s a blur as she dives over the oncoming Insectus demons, leveling whole groups with one great swoop. Kiya rides on her shoulder, chittering happily.

“Nefer!” I call. “What are you doing?”

“Buying you both time,” she says as she glides through the air. “And enjoying myself immensely.” She takes down another half-dozen guards with one twisting dive. “I’ll stay here and fight them off.”

I can’t deny that she’s doing an ace job of keeping the new guards near the explosion-hole, but I can’t let her fight them all alone. Lincoln hands me one of his baculum rods and ignites his remaining weapon as a short-sword. He doesn’t even need to ask me about this; we’re already of the same mind.

“Myla and I are coming over to he—”

Lincoln never finishes his sentence. At that moment, the floor explodes. Great vines burst from under our feet, wrapping Lincoln and I from head to toe. From across the prison block, Kiya and Nefer watch the slithering cords drag the pair of us into the ground. On reflex, I fight the sensation of being confined, but it’s no use. The pull of the vines is too powerful.

Thick cords wrap around my face, blinding me. Darkness surrounds me as I’m dragged deeper into Hell. As Lincoln and I disappear from the prison block, Nefer calls to us in a loud voice.

“Tell Anubis to wait for me in the secret passage by the Veil of Fire. We’ll meet you in the throne room!”

A grim voice inside me head says ‘if we ever get to the throne room.’ Honestly, we barely made it out of Nefer’s prison block alive.

# # #

The vines deposit us into a dark and snug passageway made of black stone. Anubis stands above us, holding a lit torch in his right hand. “Where is she?” he asks through panting breaths. “Where is Nefer?”

I slowly rise to my feet. “We freed her from prison, but she decided to stay behind and fight off the Insectus demons.”

Anubis’s brown eyes grow wide with shock. “Why would she do that?”

Lincoln sets his hand on Anubis’s shoulder. “To give us a chance to escape. She said she’d meet you here, in the secret passage, and then we’d all reunite in the throne room.”

Anubis slams his fist into the wall, cracking the shiny black stone into a web-pattern at the impact point. “No!”

He’s not taking it well, but I wouldn’t either, if I were him. “I’m sorry, Anubis. She just took to the air and didn’t give us any choice. We wanted to stay back and help her, but then your vines appeared.”

Anubis avoids my gaze, his mouth set into an angry line. He points down the hallway. “The Veil of Fire is that way.”

I step closer to him. “Anubis, I’m so—”

“Just go,” he says in a low voice.

Lincoln takes my hand in his. “Come with me, Myla.” He’s ignited his remaining baculum into a small torch, which casts a flickering light on the shiny stone walls.

“We’ll see you in the throne room, Anubis.”

The demigod shakes his head. When he speaks again, his voice is barely a whisper. “Just leave me.”

I don’t need to be told another time; Lincoln and I have work to do. We rush down the darkened passageway until a curtain materializes before us. Like the name indicated, the shifting fabric is made from glimmering yellow flame.

The Veil of Fire. We’ve reached it. Satisfaction winds through my chest, charging my body with hope and adrenaline.

“Do you think we’ll remember what we’re doing?” I ask. “When our personal hells start, I mean.”

“As in, will we still know it’s a test?”

“Yes. It will be easier if we know we’re in a trial.””

Lincoln exhales a long sigh. “We could, if we’re lucky.”

“But we’re never lucky, are we?”

“Not lately, that’s for certain.”

He gives my hand a squeeze. Together, we walk forward and into the shifting fabric of yellow flame.

Please, let us be lucky.

Chapter Eighteen

The next thing I know, I’m seated in a cramped white office on a rickety wooden chair. Lincoln sits beside me. Before us, a Mantis she-demon is perched behind a rusted metal desk. She’s tall, lanky and bright green with a tiny head, large bulbous eyes, and long bony arms with an extra set of elbows. Her black hair is pulled back into a tight bun.

“You’re late, Myla Lewis,” she says, scribbling something on a sheet of paper.

I try to understand what’s happening and fail utterly. “My personal hell is this office?”

“Obviously, and you’re tardy in the extreme.” Her mouth is teensy and has long pointed teeth.

I exhale a long breath. At least, I know this is my personal hell.

Lincoln eyes the Mantis demon carefully. “Why is there a time schedule here?”

“There is and the ‘why’ is none of your business.” She points her pen in my direction. “And for the record, this is her personal hell.”

“No offense, but when I thought of my personal hell, I didn’t picture you.” I can kill a Mantis demon with one hand tied behind my back.

“That’s because you’re a fool.” She adjusts the lapels on her three-piece suit. “This isn’t a torture pit. This is a test. And since the two of you were stupid enough to try to pass the Veil of Fire, it’s a test you’ll take together. He screws up and you still hit the torture pits, understood?”

I really want to poke her in the eye with that pen. “Yeah, I got it.”

The Mantis picks up a stack of papers before her and straightens them carefully. “First, you must fill out some paperwork.”

I roll my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I never kid.” The Mantis glances down at the top sheet. “First question. Why did you wish to pass the Veil of Fire?”

My eyes flare red with demon anger. “That’s none of your damned business.”

She starts scribbling away. “I’ll write that you’re here to save a loved one. It’s the same reason all of you fools try to break into the throne room. You’d think the fact that no rescue has been successful since the dawn of time would discourage you a tad, but it never does.” She smacks her tiny lips. “Next question.”

I press my palms against my eyes. Damn, I hate this so much. Mindless bureaucracy, just like the ghouls stuck me with when I was growing up. I flip over my wrist and peek at my Looking Glass. Maxon is awake and crying. Only this time, instead of pounding on the walls and screaming like he did before, he now cowers in a corner, his arms looped around his knees. My strong boy, my fearless warrior, now so frightened and alone. Frustration tightens my neck.

Whipping out my baculum from their holster, I ignite the silver rods as a spear, aiming the tip directly at the Mantis’s head. “This is the part where you decide to skip the paperwork.”

The Mantis makes a series of clicking sounds and her small shoulder-wings flutter. “If you had the patience to go through all this paperwork, it would help you with this test.”

“And I said fuck the paperwork.”

Lincoln sets his hand on my shoulder in a show of solidarity. “I’d really listen to her, especially because if she doesn’t kill you, I will.” He rises to stand, takes a dagger out of his belt and chucks it onto the desktop, where it skewers the pile of sheets with a thunk. “We’re here to rescue someone, and we’re running out of time.”

The Mantis visibly shivers as she stares at the dagger. “But if you don’t do this paperwork correctly, you could end up in the torture pits. Aren’t you afraid of that?”

Lincoln struts up to her desk, pulls out his dagger, and sets it by her long neck. “Not in the slightest.”

“Fine, fine,” says the Mantis quickly. “Let the test begin.” She purses her lips. “Lower your weapon.”

“Fine.” I extinguish my baculum, but keep a tight grip on the silver bars.

The Mantis slides out the top center drawer of her desk and presses a button inside. Two doors appear, one on either wall of the room. “This is your test. Behind each door is a version of the loved one that you have decided to—” she makes a great show of sarcastic coughing. “Try and save. One is a perfect replica of your loved one at some point in his life. The other is an evil doppelganger. You are to meet both versions and then choose the true replica.”

My body freezes with shock. I’m going to see Maxon? I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to hold him right now.

“Let’s begin.” The Mantis snaps her fingers. The left-hand door swings open and Maxon races into the room, wearing a torn princely tunic. His face is dirty and lined with tears. He barrels into our arms and weeps.

If someone reached into my rib cage and pulled out my heart, it couldn’t hurt as much as this does right now. Maxon’s tiny fingers wind into my hair.

“You’re here, Mommy! You found me.” He leans back, brushing his palms against his cheeks to clear away the tears. He only leaves fresh smears of dirt across his face. It’s adorable and heartbreaking, all at once. “We can go now, right? I want to go home.”

Lincoln sets his palm on Maxon’s neck. “We’ll go home in a little while.”

Maxon sniffles and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “I want to leave, now. Please, Daddy.”

“It won’t be long. Who’s my best soldier?” asks Lincoln.

Macon puffs out his chest. “I am, Daddy.”

The Mantis steeples her fingers under her chin. “You must stand over here now, boy.” She taps the right-hand side of her desk with her claw-like hand. Maxon dutifully marches over to stand in place, his lower lip trembling as he holds in tears.

“That was the first choice.” The Mantis snaps her fingers. “Here’s the second.” The right-hand door swings open to reveal a handsome man in his twenties with short black hair and mismatched eyes. He wears camo pants, combat boots and a torn black T-shirt. He steps into the room and looks around, his face crumpled with confusion.

A jolt of realization freezes me in place. In appearance, this guy is the perfect blend of Lincoln and me. This is out Maxon, only an older version.

“Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?” He eyes us carefully. “You look young.” He points at Lincoln. “You, especially.”

“You’re having a bad dream,” says the Mantis. “The sooner you tell your parents what you recall of your time in Hell, the more quickly it will end.”

The adult Maxon swings about, spies the Mantis demon and laughs. “Any reason I shouldn’t kill you?” he asks.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” I say.

He stares at me for a long minute. “What’s going on here?”

“Do as I say,” order the Mantis. “What do you think of your time in Hell? Tell them honestly.”

Maxon scratches his neck, his mouth winding into a half-smile. “And then this shit is over?”

The Mantis makes a note on the sheet before her. “Quite.”

“Since this is a dream and all, I’ll tell you what I really think.” The adult Maxon stares down at the ground. “My years with Armageddon tore out my soul.”

The world around me turns dream-like and cold. Years with Armageddon? That can’t be right.

My hand reflexively moves to my throat. “You don’t spend years with Armageddon. We’re here to free you right now. You escape with us.”

“That’s what you think? Look at me. Really look at me.” The adult Maxon raises his gaze to meet mine, and his face changes. His handsome features melt away. Suddenly, my son’s skin is a patchwork of scars and open wounds. His right eye socket is empty, the skin folded over. “I’m broken and evil and you made m this way.” He notices the other Maxon in the corner. “You made both of us.”

The young version of Maxon scrubs his face with his tiny hands. When he pulls his palms away, his small face is covered in bruises. A line of blood oozes from the corner of his mouth. “It hurts, Mommy.”

His tiny voice strikes me like so many heavy blows. It was a mistake to come here. I should never have tried. My legs turn boneless beneath me and I crumple forward. Lincoln kneels beside me, rubbing my back in soothing strokes.

“You have to choose, Myla. It’s our only way out of here.”

“That isn’t a choice. Neither of those can be true.”

“Choose one of them, and we’ll make the future different.”

I raise my gaze to the Mantis demon. She watches me with greedy interest, a small smile curling her tiny mouth. “This is the part where you fail. It’s where everyone fails. Accept your defeat and you may avoid the torture pits. I can be merciful, you know.”

My inner wrath demon stirs in my belly. “If these are my two options for reality, I reject them both.”

“Really?” The Mantis chuckles. “Then what will you do?”

“This!” In one swift movement, I leap onto her desk, whip my baculum out as a long-sword, and slice the Mantis clear through from shoulder to hip. The top part of her body slides off to the floor.

“Screw you, bitch,” I snarl. “I’m here to get my kid.” Turning about, I raise my weapon high over my head. “Anyone else have other ideas? You can talk to me.”

I have just enough time to see the shocked look on the faces of both versions of Maxon as a wall of flame bursts up between us.

“Good job, Mommy,” says the younger Maxon. “You passed the test.”

“You’re up next, Dad,” snarls the older one. “And I know just what’s waiting for you, too.”

The flames burn more brightly, charring my skin. In the searing pain and maze of fire, I somehow find Lincoln’s hand.

“What is it?” Lincoln asks Maxon. “What’s coming next?”

“The torture pits,” says the older version of our son. “You’re going to fail your test, Daddy-O, no question about it.”

With that, the flames engulf us both and the room disappears.

Chapter Nineteen

The vines set me down into a forest of cherry trees in full bloom. Lincoln stands by my side. Before us, an arched wooden bridge leads to a four-story red pagoda. Pink blossoms are everywhere.

This scene should make me feel familiar and safe. I’ve been on Demon Patrol in Japan before, and there are plenty of places that look like this. Only this spot has an extra addition that makes me feel anything but secure.

A geisha stands at the center of the bridge. The hem and sleeves of her white kimono drip with blood. Even from this distance, I can see her long red nails.

It’s Sakura.

She stares at us intently, her pale white face tilted to one side. She raises her arm and waves us over, but I’m in no mood to move quickly on this one. “Do you think that’s really her or an illusion?”

Lincoln eyes her carefully. “It’s her, all right. She must live in Hell.”

“In that case, I suppose we better go.”

Lincoln moves to stand right in front of me. “Answer me one thing first.”

“Sure.”

“Back in your personal hell, both versions of Maxon were false.”

“They better be.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t.” My voice catches as I picture the two tortured versions of my son. “Maxon being broken like that? It’s my worst nightmare. I couldn’t accept that it could be true.” A sad smile rounds my mouth. “I suppose I was too stubborn to follow the rules.”

He gently kisses my forehead. “Keep on being stubborn, Myla. It’s gotten us this far.”

I set my hand onto his neck, feeling his silky hair tickle my palm. “I’ll try.”

Sakura raises both her arms. “Over here, now. I won’t hurt you. I’m must administer your test.”

“Oh, well.” Lincoln slips his hand into mine. “We can’t keep the evil blood witch waiting.”

We step through the cherry trees and climb the bridge toward Sakura. Up close, I can see the sickly blue color of the skin around her eyes and hands. I’ve seen that happen to warriors on the battlefield. She’s dying.

Good. The little bitch had something to do with Maxon being abducted. I hope she keels over in front of us.

Sakura’s gray eyes inspect me from head to toe. “You hate me, Great Scala.”

“Sure, I do. Release my son from whatever spell you cast and maybe I’ll hate you a little less.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” says Sakura. “But I can show you the truth of what happened. Follow me.” She turns and shuffle-walks toward the pagoda.

Once she’s out of earshot, I whisper to Lincoln. “I think we should see where this goes, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t like it. This whole situations screams ‘trap’ to me.”

“Me, too. Glad I’m not the only one.”

Sakura pauses at the pagoda’s entrance and then waves us in. Keeping a tight grip on each other’s hands, Lincoln and I follow her inside.

“Let’s have tea.” Sakura shuffles across the room, the bottom of her robes dragging a trail of blood behind her.

My warrior sense makes me pause at the doorway, assessing the scene for any hidden dangers. The pagoda’s interior is a tall space that’s sparsely decorated. There’s a wooden floor, bare white walls, and a small low table set with a Japanese teapot and cups. That’s it. Nothing screams booby-trap, but that doesn’t stop my sense of caution from flying through the roof.

Sakura sits down at one side of the table and starts to pour tea. She gestures to a line of floor cushions. “Have a seat.”

We walk across the floor and sit down on the opposite side of the table. With each step, I fight the urge to turn and run for my life. Something about this blood witch screams danger.

Our hostess gestures around the room. “Do you like my home?”

I glance about, mostly for show. “It’s nice, for Hell. I guess.”

“I’ve cast many enchantments to make it more comfortable. Unfortunately, this is the only place in the after-realms where my enemies can’t reach me.” She lifts her teapot from the tabletop. “Would you like some tea?”

Now, I know enough about witches not to ever accept anything from them without knowing the fine print, especially if it involves food or drink. I drum my fingers on the tabletop. “What’s the catch?”

She lifts the teapot to her nose and inhales deeply from the nozzle’s steam. “Breathe in the vapor and you’ll see exactly what happened with Connor.”

“You’ll cast an enchantment?” asks Lincoln.

“No, I’ll use the same type of spell that your monopsyche cast. You’ll be able to join in my memory. That’s all.”

I drum my fingers some more. She’s so full of shit. There’s a hidden trap in here, I know it. “I find that hard to believe.”

Sakura starts pouring us each a cup of steaming tea. “This is what I believe. You’ll inhale the vapor of this tea and see what came to pass between Connor and me. After that, I’ll give Lincoln a chance to fix everything. That is his test. Will he be wise enough to pass?” She sets a teacup before each of us. “Go ahead. Inhale the vapor.”

I pick up the small ceramic cup set before me and eye the contents carefully. The liquid inside is crimson in color and has a thick consistency. My tail makes a no-no motion by my shoulder. “This is blood, not tea. I’m not getting anywhere near it.”

Sakura tilts her head. A high-pitched tinkling sounds from the many bangles in her elaborate hairstyle. “And what if I insist? Will you kill me like you did the Mantis?”

I set down my teacup. “The thought did cross my mind.”

“Suppose I cast a compulsion on myself?” asks Sakura. “The spell will ensure that no harm will come to either of you.”

Lincoln and I share a long look, and there’s an entire conversation hidden in our stare. Bottom line, it’s worth seeing her cast the compulsion spell, especially if it ends with giving us the truth about Connor. That kind of information could make the difference between life and death on this mission.

“Alright,” says Lincoln. “Cast the spell.”

Sakura circles her own teacup by her chest. A long stream of vapor rises from the liquid, swirling and churning until it takes the form of a woman’s face made of thick red mist. A band of silk is tied over the apparition’s eyes. Sakura inhales deeply, and the mist-spell enters her lungs. “I will not harm Lincoln or Myla while I show them my memory of Connor, nor afterward when I offer Lincoln the chance to fix his father’s mistake.” She exhales, and the mist-face appears in her breath, only this time it’s smiling.

“The compulsion is cast,” says Sakura.

I turn my attention to Lincoln. I haven’t seen half as many spell castings as my guy has, so I’ll take his call on this one.

“That’s satisfactory.” He gently rests his hand on my forearm. “I’ll go first.”

Normally, I’d fight him on this, just on principle. No warrior lets someone else walk into danger first without at least trying to take their place. It’s like the unwritten code of badassdom. But in this case, I’ll let Lincoln take the lead. If there’s something phony about the spell, he’ll have a much better chance to catch it than I will.

I pat Lincoln’s hand gently. “Be careful.”

“I intend to.”

Lincoln raises his teacup near his face. Red vapor rises, taking the form of a pair of slender hands wrapped in long bands of crimson silk. The vaporous fingertips enter Lincoln’s mouth.

A pang of panic thrums through my chest. What in blazes is that spell anyway?

Minutes pass before Lincoln turns to me. I scan his face carefully. Nothing seems obviously strange.

“Go ahead, Myla. It’s all right.”

“Fine.” I raise the teacup. “Here’s to nothing.”

I draw the teacup close to my mouth. The same misty hands rise up from the surface of the blood. I breathe in deeply. The red, misty fingertips gently pry my lips open and slip inside.

After that, the world around me changes utterly. Within the blink of an eye, Sakura, Lincoln and I no longer sit inside the pagoda. Instead, we stand in the heart of a topical jungle. Green plants are everywhere. Tall winding trees tower above us, their branches ending in a high canopy of leaves. Insects buzz through the air.

“I’ve seen this place before,” I say slowly. “Does that sound crazy?”

Lincoln shakes his head. “Actually, I was having the same feeling myself.”

A familiar voice echoes through the underbrush. “Come on, lads. I’m over here!”

I’d know that tone anywhere. It’s Connor.

A memory comes rushing back to me. Standing in the Elder’s Chamber as Faustina cast a Looking Glass of this exact stretch of jungle. What were her words again?

I know who lives in that jungle. Sakura, the blood witch.

Connor’s voice sounds again. “Over here, patrol! I’m in the clearing.”

Lincoln steels his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.” He gestures to a particular stretch of jungle. “His voice is coming from that direction.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” says Sakura.

As I follow Lincoln through the undergrowth, I realize that my personal hell focused on my fears for Maxon being tortured. Lincoln’s personal hell seems to be centered around both Maxon and Connor. A bitter taste of worry enters my mouth.

My husband is a level-headed guy, except for one particular area: anything to do with his father. And Sakura offered to give Lincoln a chance to undo everything his father did wrong? My heart sinks.

We may be in deep trouble.

# # #

It’s only a few minutes, but it feels like hours pass as Lincoln walks through the dense jungle, checking for broken twigs and whatever else he does when he’s in hunter mode. “This trail is only for Father. I don’t see any signs of the remaining Demon Patrol.”

I scan the surrounding ferns. It all looks alike to me. “Well, he did say something about the patrol finding him.”

Lincoln pauses just outside of a small clearing. “Ah, here we are.”

I follow Lincoln’s gaze to find a young version of Connor stomping about the greenery, his face contorted with frustration. He’s an imposing man, tall and broad-chested with wild blond hair.

Connor cups his hand by his mouth. “Come on, lads! Don’t make me keep calling! I’ll drive all the demons away.” He kicks at the jungle floor with his boot. “If I haven’t already,” he mutters.

A piercing whistle cuts through the air. I know that sound. It’s the distress call of a Demon Patrol.

“Damn, they’re in trouble.” Connor takes off into the green undergrowth, racing over roots and under low hanging branches. We try to stay as close behind him as possible. Somehow, Sakura manages to stay a few paces behind us despite the fact that she’s dragging around the world’s soggiest Kimono. We rush through the undergrowth, and then Lincoln freezes in place. “Stop, Myla.”

I pause, careful to scope out the scene. The jungle abruptly ends in a cliff. Tiny rocks and leaves cascade over the cliff’s edge, making small crackling noises at they plummet to the ground below.

“Help!” cries Connor.

“He’s here,” says Lincoln. Together, we inch closer to the cliff’s edge, finding Connor about a yard down the rock face, clinging for his life, his fingertips gripping a small ridge of stone.

“Someone! Help me!”

A familiar outline steps out of the jungle. Aldred. He looks younger. His pot-belly may be smaller and his hair thicker, but he’s still the same rotten bastard I always knew. Like our visit to Hildy’s memory of the Wastelands, Aldred doesn’t see Sakura, Lincoln or me. Instead, he steps up to the cliff’s edge and peers down at Connor. “You never could resist a distress whistle.”

Connor grips the rock’s edge, trying to keep his footing. “That signal was you?”

Aldred sits down by the cliff’s edge, swinging his left leg over the side. “I had to do something. We need to talk.”

“And you think luring me over a cliff will inspire a conversation?” Connor shakes his head. “You’ve gone daft, man.”

“No, I’ve found a new friend. Although, imagine my surprise when I discovered she’s your acquaintance as well. She’ll be here soon, paying us both a visit.”

“Stop talking nonsense and help me. I can’t hang on all day.”

“In a minute,” says Aldred. “I’d like to have a little chat first. You’ve been avoiding me for years, Connor. Making trouble for my house with your feisty wife.”

“I’ll rip out your tongue for even speaking of Octavia. You aren’t fit to contemplate her, let alone say her name. And yes, she and I have been working to reform your foul house.” He huffs as he adjusts his grip on the rock face. “If you want to watch me die, that’s your choice. But I won’t trade my life for leniency against Acca.” He looks up at Aldred, fiery determination in his mismatched eyes. For the first time, I see something positively Lincoln-like in him. Who knew Connor had a spine that anything but bend over and kiss ass?

“Go, leave me to die,” adds Connor, his voice firm. “Octavia will still take you down.”

Aldred makes a tsk-tsk noise. “Is that any way to treat someone who knows Octavia’s awful secret? Even the sweet Queen isn’t aware.”

Connor pauses from his struggling. All the blood drains from his face. “What do you know, exactly?”

“The same thing you told our mutual friend, Sakura.”

Connor’s mouth falls open with shock. “The blood witch. She told you?”

“Yes, she shared every last detail. By the way, Sakura’s a marvel isn’t she? She can uncover secrets even Faustina couldn’t imagine. You were a fool to trust her with yours, though. She told me how our sweet Octavia is under an unbreakable curse. She can never bear children.”

My mind reels with this news. I’d heard that Octavia and Connor waited a long time to have Lincoln. Sure, there were rumors that they had trouble getting pregnant, but Octavia said they simply waited until they were ready.

“You bastard!” snarls Connor. “You put that curse on her.”

“Sadly, no. Although it would have been a capital idea. I just found out about it, that’s all. And I have excellent news for you. Sakura has found a way to break that curse. You’ll have a son. One child. Strong, smart, and brave. All the best from both you and Octavia. A future king for all the ages.”

I shoot a quick glance at Lincoln. His face is unreadable as he soaks in the scene. Future king for all the ages? Thanks for laying that load on his back.

“We could adopt a child,” says Connor quietly.

“Let’s be honest. How many children would you have to adopt to get what Sakura could guarantee? One? A hundred? I’m offering you a way to ensure the monarchy stays in good hands. Isn’t that worth something?”

Connor stares at the rock wall. “Let’s say I even consider this, which I’m not. What would you want in exchange?”

I suck in a short gasp. Asking what the child would cost? That means the poor dumb jerk is definitely considering it.

Aldred puffs up his chest. “All I want is a guarantee that our children would wed.”

“I’m never marrying off a child of mine to your spawn.”

“But you do want a strong heir. Think about it. A strong king can rule alone. Our children barely have to speak to each other.” He leans half-way over the ledge. “Look, I’m offering you a golden opportunity for a solid legacy. How many kings have fretted that even the sweetest child would turn sour? You won’t have to worry about that. You’ll know Antrum is safe.”

Aldred braces his left hand on the cliff’s edge. With his right, he reaches to Connor. “You and I, we run the two greatest houses in Antrum. Our children will wed. Your boy will love fighting and war, like any thrax. What will he care for love when there are armies to lead? And you’ll raise him that way, too, won’t you? A true thrax. A great king. Bring him into the world. Take my hand.”

I want to scream, weep, even kick his sorry ass down the cliff-side. Don’t do it, Connor.

“You’re a rotten pile of demon dung. You know that, Aldred?”

“Clearly. But do we have a deal?” Aldred stretches his arm lower.

“We have something to discuss, perhaps.”

“A discussion is always a good start,” says Aldred. “Sakura will arrive any second to answer your questions.”

Connor stares at Aldred’s hand for a long minute, then he takes it.

My heart cracks. Turn away, Connor.

Aldred quickly hauls Connor up to the safety of the jungle floor. I gaze between the two of them, trying to process what I’ve seen. So, this is how it happened. Connor became Aldred’s puppet in exchange for a strong king to take over Antrum. I look over to Lincoln. The same bewilderment I feel now shows on his face as well.

“Excellent,” declares Aldred. “Now, all we need is Sakura.” The figure steps out of a dense line of trees. “And here she is.”

A younger version of Sakura moves to stand beside Aldred and Connor. The biggest difference I can see between the old and young blood witch is that the current model has a bluish tinge to her skin. She clearly needs to feed.

“I greet you, Earl of Acca.” The young Sakura bows to Connor. “And you as well, King of the Thrax.”

Connor glares at her for all he’s worth. “You’re a traitor.”

“I never promised to keep your secret, only to discover the truth behind Octavia’s barren state. You should’ve known better than to seek my help. I am a blood witch, after all. The only blood witch, now, thanks to you. Without you as motivation, Aldred wouldn’t have helped me kill off my brethren and gain ultimate power.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And your mind is easy to read.” Sakura taps Connor’s forehead with her pointer finger. “I saw it clearly when you came for my advice about Octavia. You worry that there will be another weak ruler, another Aethelwulf, and that the thrax won’t survive this time.”

Connor visibly shivers. “My grandfather, Ryder, took me with him to bury the dead from Aethelwulf’s wars. There were whole thrax cities that were nothing but rotting skeletons. People starved or asphyxiated. We’d bury the corpses and then seal off the cave.” His voice shakes with grief. “Ryder wouldn’t let anyone else oversee the work. He saw it as part of his responsibility as king.”

Sakura takes a few shuffling steps closer to Connor. “Aethelwulf started off as such a good king, too.”

“That’s the truth,” says Connor. “But you never know how someone will react to power.”

“I do,” says Sakura sweetly. “You’ll have a child who will be a strong ruler. As good a king as Ryder, maybe better.”

“My Grandfather was the greatest of the thrax. He founded the House of Rixa with Aquila.”

“Then honor him with a child suited to his legacy. Doesn’t he deserve that? Don’t you?”

Connor stares at the ground for a long time before speaking again. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

“Excellent!” Aldred rubs his palms together. “Now, I’d like to talk about the guarantee regarding our children’s marriage.”

“Guarantee? I gave you my word that your daughter will marry my son. Isn’t that enough?”

“Ah, no. You see, I’ve paid a mighty steep price for Sakura’s services. She’s a blood witch, Connor. She’s been paid in souls. And not just any spirits, either. I had to round up every last member of her house for a nasty blood sacrifice. Grisly business, I assure you. After all that trouble, I can’t take a chance that you’ll change your mind.”

“I’ll never waver.”

“Come now.” He claps his arm around Connor’s shoulder. “An additional guarantee is not an unreasonable thing to ask.”

“And what kind of guarantee do you want, exactly?”

“I want blood rights to our first-born grandchild.”

Connor steps away, stunned. “You want me to hand over the body and soul of my grandchild to you?”

Panic charges my nervous system. Don’t do this, Connor. No, no, no.

“Think about it. You’ll never have another child with Octavia. This bargain with Sakura will give you one son. And you’ve already promised that your boy will marry my daughter. So it’s not your grandchild, it’s our grandchild, right?”

Connor’s voice comes out very small. “I suppose that’s true.”

“And for all my monstrous qualities, do you really think I’d ever hurt a hair on my own grandchild’s head?” The evil gleam in his eye says he’d roast his own mother if it suited him.

Connor pauses for a long minute. “I suppose not.”

My mouth curls with disgust. I’ve seen Connor do this a million times. Promise him the moon and he’ll believe you, as long as it’s the moon he wants. If Octavia were here, there’s no way she’d allow him to make this crap bargain.

Aldred chuckles. “Quite right. Even I’m not a baby killer.”

Connor frowns. “We’re not talking about death, Aldred.”

“No, we’re discussing life. A new one for you and Octavia as parents, am I right?”

“Yes,” says Connor in a low voice. “You are.”

Sliding my arms around Lincoln’s waist, I bury my head in his shoulder. His body is warm and trembling.

“So this is how it happened,” I whisper.

Lincoln nods. “Father sold Maxon’s soul to Aldred in exchange for me. Then, when Aldred reached Hell, he traded Maxon again, this time for Armageddon’s mercy, which turned out to be no mercy at all.” His voice turns low and sad. “I never imagined this was Father’s secret.”

Sakura steps toward Aldred, a grim smile on her mouth. “Let’s seal the deal.” She pulls a long knife from the sleeve of her robes. “You first.”

Aldred takes Sakura’s dagger and slices his palm open. He hands the blade to Connor who does the same. Aldred and Connor grip their bloodied palms together as Sakura whispers a spell over their joined flesh. “Be it known that in exchange for a strong son and future high prince for King Connor, the first child from that high prince’s bloodline shall belong to Earl Aldred, body and soul. This shall be sealed this day along with a compulsion to never speak of it again. Do you so agree?”

Connor and Aldred reply in unison. “We agree.”

A flash of red light erupts from where their palms touch. The young Sakura nods. “It is done.” She bows to them both. “I shall now take my leave.” With that, she disappears.

Aldred steps away from Connor and laughs. “Odd little minx, isn’t she?”

“Not the words I’d use, but the sentiment is true enough.”

“Octavia will have good news for you in a month, I swear.”

Connor smiles. “A son, yes. She’ll be thrilled.” He shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. “I should return. Goodbye, Aldred.” Connor starts to march away.

“Goodbye, friend.” Aldred watches Connor march away through the underbrush. “Oh, and one more thing?”

Connor pauses and turns around, a wide smile on his face. “Yes?”

“When we’re in court next time, make sure I’m the first to make my requests known. You haven’t been giving me any chance to speak as of late.”

A long silence follows as Connor’s smile disappears. The color visibly drains from his face. “And what if I don’t?”

“Your future grandchild will die.”

Connor’s face reddens with rage. “I thought you would never touch a hair on our child’s head?”

“You wanted to believe that to take the deal, so I fed it to you. But I’ll do anything I want to our spawn if you displease me. Anything.”

“Damn you, Aldred!” Connor bellows. “I will make you pay for this. Octavia and I aren’t through with you.” He wraps his thick arm about Aldred’s throat and drags him toward the cliff’s edge.

“Do it, I dare you,” gasps Aldred. “My soul still holds the power over your grandchild. I’ll drag the little whelp straight to Hell the moment it’s born.”

Connor pauses at the edge of the cliff, Aldred’s body half-hanging over the edge. “You won’t.” Still, his grip on Aldred’s throat loosens.

“I will and you know it. Unless you don’t wish a child or grandchild. In which case, toss me over, I dare you.”

Connor releases his hold and steps away. “Damn you, Aldred.”

“That’s a foregone conclusion, I’m afraid.” Aldred rocks back on his heels. “Back to my question. Will I be first to speak?”

“Aldred!”

“You don’t want to be on my bad side. Now, more than ever.”

“I’ll consider the proposal.” Turning around, Connor starts to march off again, more quickly this time.

“Oh, and Connor?”

“What?”

“I’d also like that trade contract for the Incaenda. Future in-laws and all that.”

“That’s traditionally gone to Kamal.”

“Now, it goes to me.”

Rage tightens Connor’s features. “Don’t push me.”

“Connor,” says Aldred slyly. “What else is family for?”

There’s almost an audible snap as Connor’s resolve breaks apart. He starts to chortle in that fake carefree way that I used to find so irritating. “You’re a scoundrel, make no mistake, Aldred! But yes, you’re family. We’ll speak more of this later.”

“Yes,” says Aldred slowly. “We surely will.”

Connor and Aldred step away from the clearing, leaving Lincoln and I alone with our thoughts. Right now, mine are pretty fucked up.

“How did you enjoy the show?” asks the present-day Sakura.

Lincoln ignores the question. “I’m ready for your offer now. You seem to enjoy making bargains with my family.”

“Why, yes,” Sakura says sweetly. “Yes, I do.” She exhales a long breath, and a great mist leaves her lips. When the haze clears, the jungle is gone and the three of us are once again seated around the tea table in Sakura’s pagoda. “More tea?” she asks.

I pointedly slide my teacup away from me. “Keep the tea and make your offer.”

“Connor made a blood oath against your child. Shall I reverse his actions?”

“No,” I say quickly. “Don’t listen to her. This is one crazy bitch.”

“Let’s hear her out,” says Lincoln. “This is about Maxon, after all.”

Sakura runs her slender finger along the lip of her teacup. “I’d be willing to trade your father’s soul for your son’s. The magic is the same from my side. This is your test, King of the Thrax. Your personal hell. What do you say?”

Lincoln rubs his chin slowly. I know that face. He’s seriously considering this.

“Don’t listen to her.”

“I want Maxon back.”

“I do, too, Lincoln. But this isn’t the way.”

Lincoln rounds on me. “Turnabout is fair play. Our son is with Armageddon right now. Any second, the King of Hell could start torturing him. If this could work, we have to try.”

“It will work.” Sakura pulls a bloody blade from the folds of her kimono and offers it to Lincoln. “You will live and so will your son. I’ll only make Connor pay for his deeds. What do you say?”

I grab Lincoln’s arm. My voice turns pleading. “If you do this, you’re no better than Connor.”

“I am better. This is for my son.”

“That’s exactly what Connor thought, too.”

“I’m doing this, Myla.” Lincoln’s eyes turn wild. “Maxon could be suffering right now.”

“In my Hell, I was tested, too. What would any common criminal do in this situation? And eye for an eye, right? Connor created this situation, so Connor pays for it.” I set my hands into his. “Be a better person, Lincoln. A better father. A better king. Send this bitch packing.”

“Nice speech, Your Majesty.” Sakura tosses the dagger to Lincoln who catches it, setting the blade against his palm.

“No, Lincoln. Please. I don’t want to fight you on this, but I will.”

Lincoln pauses, the blade pressed against the flesh of his palm.

Sakura leans in closer, her voice bewitching in its sing-song quality. “At this very moment, Armageddon could be torturing your boy. You have the power to free him, and yet you hesitate. What kind of man are you?”

Lincoln’s arm tenses, pressing the blade harder against his skin. Still, he doesn’t shift the edge and draw blood.

That means I have a chance.

“We have to stick with our plan, Lincoln. Don’t make the same mistake your father did. You think this is what you want, but it isn’t, really. You both desired something so badly for your child and your people, and it isn’t wrong to want for those you love. But this choice? It’ll change everything, don’t you see? You’ll become the same stooge your father was to Acca. Only instead of Aldred, you’ll answer to her.”

Lincoln meets my gaze, his eyes steely with determination. “Assuming this is real, anyway. Everything we do here could be one big illusion.”

“Perception is reality, my love. This choice in this moment? It’s real. Believe me, there will be real consequences from it, I guarantee you.” I gently set my hands on his neck. “Please.”

Lincoln meets my eyes. “Tell me we can do this. Say we can rescue Maxon without her magic.”

I slowly move the blade away from his skin. “Together, we’re a match for anything.”

“That’s my Myla.” He tosses the dagger across the floor. “I refuse the bargain.”

Sakura purses her lips into a pout. “What a pity.” She touches the skin around her eyes. “See this ugly blue color in my flesh? It means that I’m not getting enough blood, and I haven’t ever since I was forced to hide out in Hell. Aldred used to being me fresh goodies to eat, but he’s been gone these past three years. I’d hoped you’d take his place.”

Lincoln slowly rises to his feet and pulls his baculum from his belt. “Sorry to have spoiled your plans.”

I rise to stand beside him, freeing my baculum rod from its holster. “So, what will you do now?”

“Now?” She raises her arms above her head. “The personal hell is over. Congratulations, King Lincoln, you have passed.”

I look around the room. “Where’s the Veil of Fire? Why aren’t we moving on?”

“Why, I’m using my magic to keep you here, of course.”

Lincoln’s voice lowers an octave. “And why would you do that?”

“Simple. I plan to drink you both dry.”

Fast as lightning, Sakura bursts forward, the long red nails on her right hand digging deep into my neck. With a gasp, I realize that her fingers run in a puncture line right along my jugular vein. Within an instant, my body turns blissfully immobile. There’s no fear at all as I realize what should be a disturbing truth: Sakura’s drawing out my life’s blood through her nails. It takes a concerted effort to swing my gaze over toward Lincoln. His eyes flutter, half-closed, and his features lie slack. Sakura’s nails dig into his neck, too.

“That’s right,” coos Sakura. “You both want me to consume your blood. You’ve always wanted this. Now, wait quietly. It will all be over soon.”

My head swims in a dream-like haze. It would be so easy to stand here, quiet and peaceful, while Sakura ends all my pain. I angle my head down, the better to give her access to my vein.

That’s when I see it.

My gaze runs across my wrist, and the image of a screaming Maxon fills the Looking Glass. His features are twisted with anguish as his tiny hands claw at the walls surrounding him. Shock and worry charge my body with alarm. A single thought overwhelms my mind.

This bitch is going down.

“Come here,” I whisper.

Sakura steps toward me. “You have something to say?”

My voice is barely audible. I take care to roll my eyes back into my skull. “Yes, come closer.”

Sakura moves within a few inches of me, a smug grin rounding her painted mouth. “What, oh Great Scala?” She puts extra sarcastic emphasis on the word ‘great.’

I curl forward, pounding my forehead into her skull. “That.”

Sakura tumbles backward, her fingernails falling away from both Lincoln and me. I hop to my feet and kick her once in the chest, hard. Sakura goes flying across the room, her back slamming into the far wall. On instinct, I press my hand to my neck. The puncture holes ooze a bit of blood, but it isn’t too terrible.

Beside me, Lincoln leaps to his feet and charges after Sakura, his baculum ignited as a short-sword. He slams his weapon down, but Sakura moves with preternatural speed, barely avoiding each of his strikes.

Sakura reaches forward, her nails dripping with blood. “Come to me, my sister!”

Across the floor, the teapot shakes, thin tendrils of smoke winding from its nozzle. The pause in movement allows Lincoln to land a serious strike on Sakura’s upper arm. She hisses with pain.

“Get rid of that damned thing, Myla!” cries Lincoln.

I race toward the teapot, grip it tightly and then toss it outside. The moment the object passes the opened doorway, the air rends with an ear-shattering boom.

Sakura races for the door. “Sister! My Sister!”

As the blood witch rushes past me, I knee her in the gut, making her crumple over onto the floor. My tail juts forward, wrapping her ankles tightly to prevent her escape. Sakura struggles, twisting from side to side, trying to free her legs. Her injured arm leaves a trail of blood across the wooden floor.

“Don’t waste your last moments trying to escape,” I warn her. “My tail’s held down much bigger demons than you.”

Lincoln steps to my side, his baculum still ignited as a short-sword. “Any last words?”

Sakura spits at him and misses her mark.

“I’ll take that as a no,” says Lincoln. He raises his weapon high above his head, swinging it down in a graceful arc. The angelfire blade is about to slice through Sakura’s chest when another explosion sounds, knocking us both off our feet. I lose my grip on Sakura.

One entire wall of the pagoda implodes. Shards of wood scatter everywhere. When the dust settles, a figure stands in the opened wall. It’s a woman made of red mist, her wrists and eyes bound with strips of silk. Along her neck are the same puncture wounds Lincoln and I now bear.

My heart sinks. I know what that is. A blood slave. Someone Sakura almost killed, but left alive just enough to serve her for all eternity. And this woman is her sister? That’s some cold shit, right there.

“Blood,” the slave rasps. Her body turns from mist to solid flesh. “I smell blood for my sister.” She disappears for a moment, only to reappear in front of Lincoln. Fast as a heartbeat, her body turns from mist to solid flesh. The sister slams her elbow into Lincoln’s neck, right where Sakura’s puncture wounds ooze blood. My guy collapses to the floor like a marionette who’s strings have been cut.

Twisting about, I point my baculum sword at Sakura’s throat. “What have you done to him?”

“A little sleeping spell from my sister,” she says with an evil smile. “It seems I was too aggressive, trying to drink both of you at once.”

“Release him. Now.”

“No, my sister wouldn’t like that.”

Ice-cold hands grab me from behind, pinning back my arms. It’s Sakura’s sister, holding me with another of their sleeping spells. I command my tail to skewer her now-solid body, but the order comes too late. Already, my mind wants nothing more than to sleep again. My head lolls to one side, and I can see Lincoln lying in a heap behind Sakura, his body unmoving.

Fuck, we’re in bad shape.

That thought doesn’t really bother me, however, and I know damned well that it should. I shift my shoulders, trying to break my hand free so I can get another glimpse of Maxon. Seeing him before gave me the will to break Sakura’s magical hold; maybe another glimpse will do it again.

Behind me, the blood slave tightens her grip on my arms. My hands can’t so much as shift under her grasp, let alone break free.

Sakura steps toward me, arms extended, her long nails dripping blood. “Now, let’s finish what we began,” she sighs.

Her nails slowly scratch their way up my throat until they find the puncture holes once more. She lets her fingers rest there, hovering for a moment before she breaks into my jugular vein once again.

“Your man asked if I had any final words, I should pay you the same courtesy. I am a civilized witch. What have you to say?”

My body feels slack and heavy. My brain can barely function. Still, some tiny part of me knows my chest chance for freedom is to play off the emotions of the blood slave behind me. Steeling up all my strength, I reply to Sakura.

“I’ve a question for you, filth. You murdered your own sister to create a blood slave. What did you do? Tie up her hands and cover her eyes before you took her life?” The body behind me twitches a bit and hope sparks inside me. Maybe there’s enough of her mortal sister left inside that red shell. If I push more on the whole ‘sister-murder’ thing, maybe she will set me loose.

“That’s exactly what I did.” A nasty smile curls Sakura’s painted mouth. “And much as she hates to hear you talk of her death, I assure you that my sister has no choice but to heed my every command.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Thank you. Are those your final words? I like them.” Laugher dances in her eyes. Sakura’s enjoying this way too much, like a cat playing with a mouse before the kill.

My mind races through options and strategies. If she likes playing with her kills, then I’ll give her something to play with. If nothing else, it could buy me a little time. “No, those aren’t my final words.”

“Ah, then. What are they?”

My gaze runs across Lincoln’s prone body. “Watch out behind you.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Your sister released Lincoln from her spell. Now, he’s coming to kill you.”

Sakura laughs, a high, tinkling sound that has nothing to do with humor. “How interesting you are. Your blood’s quite tasty.”

“No, listen to me. Your sister released Lincoln from her spell and now he’s coming for you!”

Come on, Sakura. Please say something that your sister can interpret as a command to free Lincoln. I know this undead slave behind me wants to destroy your ass as much as I do.

I lean forward and scream in Sakura’s face. “Did you hear what I said?”

Her eyes narrow with rage. “Yes, of course I heard you. Your Lincoln is awake.” Her fingers plunge deeper into my skin. “That’s enough talk out of you.”

Instantly, the desire to sleep overwhelms me. I can barely keep my eyes open. But thin though my line of vision may be, I can still see Lincoln climbing to his feet and stalking in our direction.

Behind me, the undead sister gasps in delight.

It worked. Your Lincoln is awake. It must have been enough of a command that the sister could follow it.

Lincoln pauses behind Sakura, lifts his baculum sword high and finally, plunges it into her rib cage. Sakura’s hands fall from my neck as she tumbles to the ground. Her skin starts to bubble with crimson, like she’s boiling in her own stolen blood. Sakura screams in agony as more of her body gets eaten away. Within seconds, she’s nothing more than a bloody skeleton on the pagoda floor.

I whip around to see what’s become of Sakura’s sister. The one-time blood slave smiles as her body turns from solid flesh back into red mist. Bit by bit, she disappears.

The pagoda turns deadly quiet. I pat the puncture wounds on my neck. Still there, still oozing. I wish we had our first aid kit with us, but Lincoln lost his pack ages ago in Nefer’s prison.

I turn to Lincoln and force a smile. “Well, that was a whole lot of awful.”

“Agreed. I liked your hell better.”

“Me, too.” I glance around the pagoda. “Where’s the Veil of Fire? It should reappear, now that we’ve killed Sakura. She was the only thing blocking it before.”

From the corner of my eye, a flickering light catches my attention. I follow the brightness, and find that it’s shimmering through the hole that Sakura’s sister punched in the pagoda wall.

“I think I found it.” I jog out of the building to find the sheet of flame flickering on the small foot bridge.

Lincoln grabs my hand. “Hurry, it won’t last long.”

# # #

Lincoln and I step through Veil of Fire, finding ourselves back inside the secret passage leading to Armageddon’s throne room. Only this time, the Veil flickers to our left instead of our right. I exhale a long rattling breath.

We made it. We passed through the Veil of Fire.

Seconds pass before Anubis appears in the shadows, holding a torch in his right hand. “You both passed through your personal hells.”

“Barely,” I say. “Where are Kiya and Nefer?”

Anubis straightens his stance, as if preparing his body for a blow. “They haven’t arrived yet.”

I chuck him on the lower arm. “Sorry, Anubis. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

“Are there any rumors about the prison break?” Lincoln asks.

“All of Hell has been alerted,” explains Anubis. “Everyone blames it on an eel-dragon. Some fool gave her water.”

I can’t help but smile. “That would be us.”

A small smile rounds Anubis’s mouth. “The official word is that all the prisoners were killed. But they’d say that even if some were still at large. It wouldn’t do to have Hell’s official escape record tarnished. Nefer and Kiya may still be heading this way.” A muscle flickers along Anubis’s jawline. “How I hate waiting.” He looks at us as if to say ‘I know you’ll hate it, too.’

No way are we standing around. I’m nipping this little misunderstanding in the bud.

“We’re not waiting, Anubis.”

The demigod frowns. “I thought you had to kill Armageddon to free your son. That means waiting for Nefer, doesn’t it? You can’t get this far and not fulfill Verus’s prophecy.”

“Lincoln and I just killed the blood witch who cast the spell, so we don’t have to kill Armageddon anymore. Dead witch, spell over. We grab Maxon and go.”

“So you won’t…wait for Nefer.”

A small, guilty weight settles onto my shoulders. I do feel a shitty about leaving Anubis alone, especially after all he’s done for us. But Anubis is a big boy, unlike my son. At this point, my only real concern is how to get him to transport Lincoln and me into the throne room. I decide to lead with logic.

“Hey, you said yourself that Armageddon and his entourage are at the main tower to the walls of Hell.”

“That’s true,” says Anubis in a low voice. “He’s waiting for your father to arrive with his army.”

“Perfect.” I shoot him a hearty thumbs-up. “Then, there’s no better time for us to free Maxon.”

Anubis nods and stares at the fire-wall in dismay. I step up to him and gently set my hand on his shoulder. “Anubis, I know you’re worried. But we have to get in there and free Maxon. Lincoln and I can’t help Nefer here.”

Lincoln stares up the remaining length of tunnel. “Myla and I can try to sneak in without your vines. Where does this passageway lead?”

Anubis follows Lincoln’s stare. “To a tile in the center of the throne room floor.”

“Great.” I roll my eyes. “That’s about the most exposed spot to surface, I bet.”

“It is,” says Anubis. “That’s how Nefer got discovered the first time around. She wouldn’t want that for you.” He raises his arms. “I’ll have my vines set you down on the balcony. That’s your best chance for a sneak attack.”

Cool relief washes through me. The balcony sounds like a much better deal than the middle of the floor. “Thank you, Anubis.”

“Just get your boy.” Anubis raises his arms, and vines curl up from the ground, wrapping their slithering bodies around Lincoln and me. With a lurching haul, they pull us deep into the earth. Once again, there’s the sensation of falling through empty space. Only this time, I’m able to find Lincoln’s hand in the darkness. I smile.

We made it. We’re off to the throne room.

Chapter Twenty

With slow, gentle movements, the vines shift Lincoln and I out of the darkness, setting us onto a high stone balcony.

Together, Lincoln and I belly-crawl over to the balcony’s edge, which is a series of tall spindles topped by a wide wooden railing. My shoulder presses against Lincoln’s as we peer through the line of rods. The sight tightens my throat with excitement and terror.

It’s Armageddon’s throne room. We’re really here.

The chamber is long, rectangular and made of shiny black rock. Across the room, a stone staircase rises up to end in a small, square platform and a pair of stout black thrones. On those chairs sit Armageddon and his dead mother, Onyx.

His dead mother? Really? This guy is un-freaking-believable.

Armageddon looks creepy as usual: seven feet tall with gangly limbs and a long face. Simply looking at him makes my skin crawl with disgust.

But as awful as Armageddon appears, he’s got nothing on the figure in the throne next to his. There sits the corpse of his mother, Onyx. She’s wrapped up like a mummy and strapped into the chair at a cock-eyed angle. Her head hangs low on her chest.

I shake my head in disbelief. So, not only did Armageddon kill his own mother, but he’s also strapped her into the throne next to his, hip to hip through all eternity. That’s one messed-up relationship.

Straining in the dim light, I look for Maxon’s prison box. Chests of goodies surround the stone thrones, along with a small metal cube. That’s it.

Maxon’s right there.

I grit my teeth, fighting the desire to rush across the room, speed up the stairs, and free Maxon. The only thing holding me back is the fact that the King of Hell now sits on his throne.

My breath catches. I so want to kill that bastard. Now.

A quiet moan echoes through the massive chamber, grabbing my attention. Armageddon hears it as well, and his gaze snaps to the small metal container.

“Look who’s waking up,” says Armageddon. He stretches out his long arm, pounding on the top of the metal box with his three-knuckled fist. “The monopsyche can’t protect you much longer, you know.” He leans closer to the box. “Yes, I know you’re in his head now, Hildy. Once I’m done with Maxon, I’ll send for you later.”

Emotions race through me. It all begins with a wave of cool relief. Sure I have the Looking Glass, but now I can see for myself that Maxon is alive. We aren’t too late. The tight, anxious pain I’ve been carrying in my chest loosens just a little bit. Even better, he’s not wide awake yet. Armageddon hasn’t had much of a chance to do damage.

After that, comes fear. It’s obvious that the King of Hell has been sitting beside Maxon, waiting for the second that he’s conscious to start torturing my boy. My pulse kicks up a notch, thudding with such force, I can feel it in my neck.

Finally, I’m hit with white-hot rage. Anger churns through my bloodstream, my muscles itching with the desire to run, fight, kill. Armageddon better not lay one finger on my kid.

Another groan fills the air. Maxon’s waking up and fast.

I turn to Lincoln, careful to keep my voice low. “Where’s the court?” Royalty never hangs out alone in a throne room. I should know.

Lincoln frowns. “Anubis originally said Armageddon was waiting in the tower at the Walls of Hell, looking out for Xavier’s army.”

“And they’re still hanging at the walls, but without Armageddon? That doesn’t make sense. Something’s fishy about this whole set-up. At least, there should be some guards in here, but I don’t see anyone.”

“They’d be stationed by the doors below us. We can’t see them because we’re on the balcony.”

“Right.” I force my breathing to slow. Dad always says that recon is the most important part of any mission. Now, we need to sit still, watch and wait. Someone will come through those doors. When they do, we’ll know who we’re up against and can make a plan.

A long creak sounds below us. Looking down, I see the source of the noise. A pair of huge lacquered wooden doors swing open beneath me, the great iron handles wielded by a pair of frost golems. At two stories tall, the icy creatures look like the Mr. Clean guy from TV commercials back in Purgatory. They move with slow, lumbering steps, the tops of their bald heads reaching just below the balcony’s floor. Across the darkened chamber, Armageddon eyes the ice-blue monsters from his black stone throne. The look on his face turns hungry and mean.

I frown. “Frost golems. Those can be tricky to kill.”

“We need a way to take them out fast.” Lincoln shoots me a knowing look. His strength is long-term battle strategy. Mine is off-the-cuff attack plans. In other words, killing these frost golems falls right in my wheelhouse. Or it would if we had any kind of weapons to kill them with.

“I gave my baculum to Nefer, so we only have one set between us. A single baculum can’t be ignited as much. We could each have a dagger or maybe a short-sword.”

“It’ll take us hours to kill them that way.”

I rub my temples with my fingertips. “There has to be something I’m missing.”

Please, let there be something I’m missing.

Two small figures walk through the now-opened doors. Without making a sound, they march down the long red walkway. Even in the dim light, it’s obvious that their bodies are semi-transparent. These two are ghosts, no doubt about it.

Once the spirits near the base of the staircase to Armageddon’s throne, the pair of frost golems lumber back underneath the balcony. As they pass below, I can see their liquid brains churning inside their great ice-blue skulls. A deep scraping sound fills the air, followed by a deafening slam.

The frost golems have closed the doors once again.

I grip my single baculum rod in my hand. There must be a way to take those frosties down. If I give myself a minute, something will come to me. No way did we get this far to get trapped up here.

The two ghosts scale up the steps leading to Armageddon’s throne. My eyes widen as I recognize them. One spirit is missing an arm and walks with a pronounced limp. That’s a total giveaway. It’s Aldred and his daughter, Lady Adair.

Aldred bows low before Armageddon’s throne. “We greet thee, oh King.” His voice carries easily through the large marble chamber.

“So nice to see you, Aldred.” Armageddon lets out a dramatic sigh. “But I’m disappointed at the lack of greeting from your wayward daughter. Where’s my proper hello, you little fool?”

Adair bows low, an odd affair since her hip is obviously not working properly. Too bad your ghost-body gets frozen with your appearance at the time of death. Let’s just say that wasn’t Adair’s best day. “Greetings, oh King.”

Armageddon leans forward, his face the picture of rage as his remaining hand grips the stone armrest of his chair. “You can do better than that.” Little bits of black spittle fly furiously from his mouth. “I lost my arm due to your incompetence, and the proper use of my hip.”

“Excuse me, oh King, but I don’t recall fighting you. I thought that was Xavier.”

My brows lift in surprise. You have to hand it to the girl. She’s an equal opportunity sass-mouth, and I know sass. Unfortunately, this isn’t the place for sarcasm, no matter how much I’m enjoying it.

“You’ll pay for that.” Reaching out with his good arm, Armageddon grasps Adair by the throat. Her ghostly body turns red, and then, it bursts into flame, making Adair scream in pain and terror. Every shriek rattles up my spine; no one should endure agony that intense. Through her horrified howls, another, smaller moan echoes through the chamber.

It’s Maxon again. I glance down to the Looking Glass on my wrist. My boy lays curled on his side, his eyes fluttering open. The spell itself starts to flicker in and out of existence. Hildy’s finally losing her connection to my son.

Think, Myla.

I have to get past those golems. An idea starts forming at the back of my mind. My pulse skyrockets.

Give another minute, Myla. You’ll figure it out.

On the floor below us, the King of Hell releases Adair’s throat, tossing her aside. Her body quickly cools to the typical shade of ghostly white. Rising to his full height, Armageddon looms over the quaking figure of Aldred. “Control your daughter. I won’t say it again.”

Aldred rushes over to Adair’s prone body. He stares at it for a moment before hauling back his leg and kicking her in the gut. Ouch. This is why we keep spirits in the Ghost Towers sedated; they can do a number on each other when they’re pissed.

“Do as the King of Hell says, bitch.” Aldred looks over to Armageddon, anxious for approval.

Adair curls into a fetal position. “Whatever you say, Father.”

A memory flashes in my mind. I offered Adair the chance to go to Heaven in exchange for information on the traitors in Acca. As I later found out, the numero uno traitor was Aldred, and he’d manipulated everyone around him into joining his quest to reclaim the throne of Antrum. Adair had been obsessed with Lincoln, sure, but she was also brainwashed into doing whatever her father told her, and Daddy said she was going to marry the high prince. The whole thing had short-circuited her brain.

Now, we’d discovered the rest of the story. Connor had literally promised Lincoln to Adair. Aldred had thought it was a done deal, even before either of them was born. No wonder Adair had an outrageous sense of ownership about Lincoln. She was undoubtedly raised to think he was her property.

A sickly taste seeps into my mouth. Adair wasn’t wrong, ultimately. Lincoln did belong to her, in a sense.

Armageddon limps back to his throne. “Much better groveling, my sweet broken girl.” He plunks back into his stone chair. The movement seems robotic and odd.

Adair slowly rises to her feet. “If I please my King, then I am happy and whole.”

“No, you’re still a broken little thrax and always will be,” snaps Armageddon. “But I have good news. Maxon’s monopsyche is almost shattered, too. After that, our little guest will wake up.” He rubs his long hands together. “Fun times ahead.”

My knuckles whiten around Lincoln’s arm. Panic and rage twist across my shoulders. This can’t be happening. No way can Lincoln and I wait here while Armageddon tortures our boy.

Lincoln sets his hand on mine and whispers one word, “soon.”

“Yes, soon.”

I grit my teeth so hard, my jaw aches from the pressure. Lincoln’s right. This isn’t our moment. I close my eyes and concentrate. The idea for how to take down those golems feels just out of reach; I can almost hold it in my mind.

Meanwhile, Aldred slinks up to Armageddon’s side. “May I assist in the torture?”

I stifle a gasp. Aldred could be joining in hurting Maxon? That’s something I never considered. My temples pulse with anxiety and rage. Beside me, a muscle twitches along Lincoln’s jaw. He’s as close to losing it as I am.

Armageddon turns to the figure in the throne beside him. “What do you say Mumsy, should we share our fun?” He grips Onyx’s shoulder and shakes her violently, making her head swivel from side to side. “Mumsy says no. I’m the only one who gets to have fun around here.” He back-hands her cheek. “How right you are, Mumsy.”

“In that case, it seems I’m not needed.” Aldred takes a few shaky steps away from Armageddon. “If there’s nothing else you require, I’d like to return to the torture pits.”

“Leaving so soon?” Armageddon leans back in his chair, lacing his three-knuckled fingers over his thin belly. “I have time to kill while the little whelp gets conscious. Tell me everything you know about Myla and Lincoln, starting at the beginning.”

Lincoln and I share a look of surprise and disgust. I wonder how many new residents of Hell get interrogated this way. It’s unsettling to think about the Armageddon spending hours picking through the minutiae of our lives. Yet another reason why this freak must die.

Aldred fidgets with the hem of his tunic. “I’ve already told you all I know.”

“Well, tell me again. You’re a simple sod prone to forget important details. It’s crucial for me to understand my enemies. You’ve never met Xavier, have you?”

“No, he began visiting Antrum after I was imprisoned.”

“Pity. Tell me about the demon girl and boy scout prince, then.”

Aldred bows so quickly and deeply, I’m surprised he doesn’t snap his back. “Yes, my King. To understand Lincoln, I should probably start with Connor.”

“Go on.”

“I knew Connor as a child…” Aldred launches into detailed explanation of everything I already know about Lincoln’s father. My chest tightens with anxiety. Armageddon is distracted now. The throne room is relatively empty. The emptiness may be odd, but there’s no reason not to take advantage of it. This could be our best and last chance to free Maxon.

At last, an idea appears, fully formed and beautiful.

I turn to Lincoln and mouth one word. “Whips?”

He grins from ear to ear. “Whips.”

A pang of excitement shoots through my nervous system.

This is really happening. We’re on.

After sharing a quick nod, Lincoln and I creep to opposite sides of the balcony, careful to stay out of view. I take out my baculum; Lincoln does the same. Our gazes lock. This is it. Go time. My heart pounds with such force, blood whooshes in my ears.

Lincoln raises his right hand, counting out on his fingers.

Three, two, one…

I lower my baculum to the balcony floor, imagining it turning into a whip of white angelfire. A long razor-sharp wire of flame snakes out from the end of my weapon. At the same time, Lincoln does the same with his baculum, creating another long whip. The ends of both of our lines twine together, forming a single line of laser-sharp wire, strong enough to cut through most metal, and definitely hot enough to slice through a frost golem.

Seeing the crackling line of fire, I know we need to hustle. There’s no way we can sit around, waiting for someone to notice the sudden light burning on the darkened balcony. Lincoln and I share another small nod.

Let’s do this.

Moving in sync, the two of us leap atop of the balcony railing, balance for a moment, and then make the long jump down to the chamber’s floor. As we move, the fiery whip-line between us slices straight through the frost golems. The guardians roar with rage when they see us approach, only to have their torsos slowly slip forward as they fall to the floor, lifeless. Once their ice-blue bodies split, they immediately begin to melt.

But there’s no time to appreciate the beauty of a frost golem getting its due. Lincoln and I race across the chamber floor with one goal in mind.

Kill Armageddon.

Aldred scampers across the stairs, hiding his bulky body behind Adair’s frail form. “Protect me, daughter.”

What a piece of work.

Lincoln and I extinguish our baculum and race like blazes, reaching the base of the stairs in seconds. Armageddon leans back in his chair and chuckles. “I was wondering when you’d come to visit. Though, honestly, I thought it would be an army.” He taps his chin dramatically. “Want something?”

My voice comes out with just the right level of menace. “Hand him over.”

“Never,” snarls Armageddon. “You think I have only frost golems here to protect me?”

With those words, Onyx’s corpse springs to life, moving in jerky motions down the stairs. She raises her arms toward Lincoln and I, and makes a classic mummy ‘uuhhhhh’ sound.

“Mumsy has an excellent kill record, by the way. No one’s lasted more than twenty seconds against her dead body.”

“Really?” I ask. “What’s Mumsy going to do, exactly? Hum us to death?”

Onyx lets out another low groan. The black wrappings whip off her right arm, zooming in my direction. The strips wind tightly around my throat, choking off my breath. At the same time, the wrappings from Onyx’s left arm loop around Lincoln’s torso, preventing him from accessing his baculum.

I pull at the wrapping around my neck, but there’s no give. My lungs burn for air.

Onyx stands a few yards away, her left arm tethered to Lincoln’s torso, while her right arm holds the line about my throat. Her head lists to one side, and I swear I can see a smile beneath her wrappings.

Armageddon rises from his chair and limps down the steps toward Lincoln. “I’ve so looked forward to the day when I could consume your soul.” He eyes Lincoln from head to toe. “Wrap up his feet too, Mumsy. I don’t want him running away.”

Onyx’s head twitches, and another wrapping-strip shoots out from her arm, this time binding Lincoln’s ankles. I try to run toward him, but the strip around my neck grows tighter as Onyx pulls me closer to her side. My lungs scream for air.

“That’s perfect, Mumsy.” Armageddon stalks closer to Lincoln. “Fortunately, I can still consume souls with my good hand.”

My wrath demon burns to life inside me. Maxon imprisoned? Lincoln’s soul destroyed? I’ve still got one good minutes of consciousness left, as well as my baculum. Those demons are going down.

What happens next takes seconds, but each one oozes by in agonizingly slow-motion. My next attack simply has to be perfect, or we’ll all wind up dead.

Quick as lightning, I ignite my baculum into a dagger, slicing through the bindings that choke me. I suck in deep breath right before fresh wrappings loop around my neck. Onyx lumbers toward me, her arms outstretched.

At this point, running won’t work, I’ll only tighten the choke hold on my neck. And cutting the bindings only buys me another breath. Instead, I need an entirely new approach. This time, the idea comes to me quickly.

A grenade. Oh, yeah.

To protect my hand, I pull the sleeve to my dragon-scale fighting suit over my left palm. Taking my baculum in my right, I imagine it filled with liquid angelfire that I then pour into my left hand, where I shape the flames into a grenade. Once my weapon’s complete, I toss it toward Onyx. The small explosive bursts by her feet, consuming her mummy wrappings in fire. A high-pitched screech sounds as her body chars and curls, withering into a burned-out husk. The hold around my neck crumbles. Lincoln breaks free from his bindings as well. Onyx shrivels into a pile of ash.

Killing Armageddon’s Mom? Nailed it.

The world starts moving again at regular speed as Armageddon lets out a great roar of rage. “How dare you?”

“Whips, Lincoln!” I yell.

Acting in unison, Lincoln and I reignite our baculum as whips, cracking the fiery cords toward Armageddon’s throat. The angelfire lines constrict the demon’s windpipe, choking him. Armageddon claws at his throat, his face contorted in anger.

With our whips tightly in place, Lincoln and I yank on the lines with all our strength. The motion sends Armageddon tumbling down the steps, his body landing in a heap by my feet. Quick as lightning, I change my baculum into a short-sword. Lincoln speeds to my side, his weapon now in the same form.

Armageddon twitches on the floor, his beady eyes glaring at our combined blades. Memories of Verus’s prophecy run through my mind.

“Should we wait for Nefer?” I ask. “Maybe tie him up?”

“Yes,” hisses Armageddon. “You should wait.”

“No way,” snaps Lincoln. “We can’t pass this up. Verus can see another future.”

Armageddon blinks at me innocently. “Mercy, Great Scala.”

His words send white-hot rage pumping through my bloodstream. My eyes glow red with wrath. “Mercy? Like you showed my father and Maxon?” I look to Lincoln. “Let’s do this.”

Moving in a single motion, we plunge our swords into Armageddon’s chest. I feel the tug of the blade as it slices into his flesh.

That’s for Maxon, asshole.

On the floor before me, Armageddon screeches with pain, molten fire churning under his skin. Excitement whirls through my bloodstream.

We’re doing it. We’re actually killing Armageddon!

Like the bodies of so many of his own victims, Armageddon starts to burn and fade, turning into ash. For a moment, his form holds it’s Armageddon-like shape, and then it crumbles into a pile of dust.

Aldred claps from his cowering-spot by the wall. “Well done, my King! Bravely fought, my Queen! You killed Armageddon.” Adair stares at us, an odd look on her face. Not elation like her Father, but something else. Scheming, maybe?

“Shut up and stand by the wall,” orders Lincoln.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

I stagger back a few steps. “That was too easy.”

“Agreed.”

“And where is everybody still?” I scan the throne room. “Two guards and a couple of ghosts? It’s so strange.”

Lincoln shakes his head. “Whatever it is, we’re taking it and getting out of here.”

A new object appears in the center of Armageddon’s ash-pile, commanding our attention. It’s a simple black helmet, the Helm of Hell. Whoever puts this on will become a greater demon and the ruler of the underworld.

On instinct, I look around for Nefer. This is her part of the plan. She was supposed to kill Armageddon, put on the Helm of Hell and become its Queen. I don’t want to touch that thing without her. Besides, freeing Maxon would be a lot easier with the Queen of Hell adding her powers into the mix.

But the room remains silent and empty. There’s no chattering of Kiya. Nefer doesn’t appear.

“Where is she?” I ask. There’s no need to explain who ‘she’ is.

“We’re not waiting to find out.” Lincoln starts scaling the stairs to Armageddon’s old throne, taking two steps at a time. “Let’s get Maxon and go.”

Adair and Aldred still stand by the wall. Aldred beams with glee. Adair looks as if the wheels of her ghostly brain are churning overtime. I can’t bother with them now, or Nefer, for that matter. Lincoln’s right. Our primary concern is freeing Maxon and going home.

Lincoln and I rush up to the metal box that holds our son. Up close, I can see it’s a simple metal cube, just like the one Armageddon held Dad in for so many years. A sickly feeling creeps up my throat. My son is in here.

A quiet whimpering sounds from inside the container. “Mommy, Daddy, is that you?” Maxon’s little voice quavers with fear. “It’s dark in here. I don’t like the dark.”

My little one’s words send alarm coursing through me. I set my mouth close to the metal. “We’re here, baby.” My voice breaks with emotion.

We came to rescue you. We made it.

I brush my fingers lovingly across the metal top. “Now, Mommy and Daddy will get you out, okay?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Check the seams for weaknesses,” says Lincoln. We quickly run our eyes and fingertips around opposite sides of the metal box. The prison is new and lacks any obvious way to open it.

I gently tap the left wall of the box. “Stay over here, sweetie. Mommy will to cut you out of there.” I hear shuffling inside the metal container.

Maxon speaks through sobs. “Okay, Mommy. I moved.”

“That’s right, baby.” I ignite my baculum as a dagger and plunge it into the top metal panel. The angelfire barely ignites near the metal. “Baculum aren’t going to work.”

“I’ll check the treasure chests,” says Lincoln. “Maybe there is something in there that can help us.”

“Look for Dad’s old baculum. He said it might be around here. The original archangel ones can cut through anything.”

Maxon’s quiet cries fill the air. My heart cracks with worry and grief. I crouch down beside the box, speaking in a soothing voice. “Mommy and Daddy are both here, baby. Listen to me. It won’t take us long. We’ll get you out.”

I keep talking to Maxon, low and soothing. I’m not even sure what I say; I just keep up a steady stream of calming chatter while Lincoln tears through the various treasure chests by Armageddon’s throne.

As I speak to Maxon, Adair’s misty form slowly steps toward me. I’m not worried. There’s nothing she can do me as a ghost. For his part, Aldred crouches against the wall, trying to merge with the shadows. He’s such a loser.

Adair limps to stand beside me, careful to keep her back to her father.

Interesting. If I know anything about interrogations—and I’ve learned a lot the last few years—then Adair wants to say something to me. And the way she’s angling her body away from her father? She doesn’t want him to know a single word.

Adair’s mouth barely moves as she speaks. “Don’t react to my voice.”

I keep searching the box, checking and rechecking the seams. Across the room, Aldred tilts his head to one side, his ghostly eyes fixed on Adair.

“I have information,” whispers Adair. “I can help.”

Ghost or not, I know how Adair’s mind works. “In exchange for what?”

“My freedom, Myla.” She moves closer. “I want you to kill my soul.”

“What? You may be in the torture pits now, but there are other levels of Hell that are more pleasant. Now that Armageddon’s dead, a friend of mine may become Queen. I could put in a good word for you. But if I kill you now, you’ll be erased for all eternity. Are you sure you want that?”

“You heard me. Free my soul.”

Turning around, I look into her spectral eyes. Every line of her face is etched with agony. “You’re certain?”

“Yes, I’m begging you. I gave up so much for Aldred’s dreams of rule. I thought I was doing it for my father’s love, but he cares nothing for me. Every moment I’m here is pure torture, and that pain comes from not from the torture pits. It’s from knowing I wasted my life on empty lies. I want to be free from that. Do you understand?”

I nod slowly. “I’ll free you.”

“Thank you.” She chokes back a sob. “I’m so sorry, Myla. For everything.”

The agony in her face is almost unbearable. “I know you are. I’m glad I can give you peace.”

Aldred starts to march up the stairs, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What are you two gossiping about?”

“I’m calming my son,” I say in a menacing tone. “You keep your foul self away from me or I’ll skewer you into nothingness. Do we understand each other?”

He bows low. Got to hand it to the guy, he’s an ace at groveling. “Yes, Great Scala.”

“Get back to your place against the wall. I want you where I can see you.”

“As you command.” Aldred scurries away.

I reignite my baculum as a dagger. “Are you ready, Adair?”

“Wait,” she says quickly. “There’s something you need to know. I…” She swallows on against another sob.

“What is it?”

“It’s Armageddon.”

“What about him?”

“He’s not dead. That was an enchanted double in case someone broke in to save Maxon. The real Armageddon is in the tower at the Walls of Hell, watching the Plains of Fire. He’s waiting for Xavier’s army to attack.”

My heart sinks. I knew it couldn’t be that easy. We didn’t kill Armageddon; this was all his back-up plan. Schemes within schemes, including a fake helm. How very Armageddon of Armageddon. Damn, I hate that guy.

“We don’t need to kill Armageddon any more. If he’s up at the Walls of Hell, then he can stay there for all I care. I’m getting my kid and making tracks.”

“There’s more. That helm is booby-trapped.” She glances nervously around the room. “You have to kill me now. If he finds out what I’ve told you—”

“I’ll keep my word, Adair. Tell me about the trap.”

“The helm is a bomb on a timer.”

“What kind?” I’ve learned a lot about booby traps while on demon patrol.

“A pretty basic variety, I think. A level one demon made it.”

“Why so low?”

“Everyone’s who’s useful is at the wall, waiting for your father.”

“That’s good, then. Level one means we’ll get some ticking before it goes off.”

“Still, when it explodes, it won’t hurt ghosts like me. And Maxon will be protected in his prison. But you and Lincoln?” She shakes her head. “You need to run.”

“I’m not leaving my son. And if it’s on a timer, then you said a key word. Time. We have some and we’re going to use it.” I gesture to Lincoln. “Any luck over there?”

“Not yet.” A small pile of odd junk lies around his feet.

“We’ve got a countdown to worry about here.”

Lincoln freezes, his gaze shifting between Adair’s frightened face and my look of steely resolve. He knows both of us well enough to get the gist of what’s going on without playing twenty questions. “How much longer do we have?”

Adair raises five fingers in my direction. “We’ve got five minutes.”

Lincoln tears open another treasure chest. “This is the last one. There’s got to be something in here.” The last wooden box is so huge, Lincoln has to crawl inside to pull all the items out. He can no longer see what’s happening with Adair and me.

“And is that all you have to tell me?” I ask Adair.

“Isn’t it enough? Now, save yourselves and run!”

“From my kid? Never.” I stand up, adjust my grip on my dagger, and stab her straight through the heart. “I’m so sorry, Adair.”

She crumples forward, smiling. “I’m not.” The particles of her body disappear.

I bow my head. “Goodbye, Lady Adair,” I say in a low voice. “In the end, you died a true thrax.”

With an overly dramatic gasp, Aldred races up to the spot where Adair fell. “What have you done to my daughter?”

Sure. Like he really cares.

“Only what she asked me to. Seems your own daughter couldn’t stand eternity with you.”

“No matter.” He smiles greedily. “I’ll have Connor for company, soon enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you notice I bypassed Purgatory and went straight to Hell? That’s a little unexpected side-effect of the deal Connor and I made with Sakura.”

“She’s dead now. That can’t hurt him.”

“Ah, but is Connor dead?” Aldred watches my face carefully and smiles. “I can see that he is. And he died while Sakura was alive, I bet. That means he went straight to the torture pits, just like I did. How lovely.”

“That’s enough out of you, once and for all.” I flip the grip on my baculum dagger, lean forward, and stab the old creep deep in his belly. “Adair didn’t ask me for this, by the way, but I’m throwing it in for free. Whatever Adair became, I’ve no doubt it’s all your fault, you crazy bastard.” I slide my blade out from his gut and watch him slowly disappear. A warm sense of satisfaction blooms through my rib cage.

That was a long time in coming.

Maxon pounds on the box’s metal walls, refocusing my attention. “Mommy, where are you? Don’t leave me.”

I crouch down beside the container once again. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Daddy and I aren’t going anywhere.”

“I found something,” cries Lincoln. He runs over in my direction, holding an elaborate sword-hilt.

“That’s it. Dad’s old baculum.” My heart lurches at the sight. Something about it calls to me. My fingers itch to wrap around the golden hilt and kick ass.

Lincoln tosses it my way. “Make him proud.”

Closing my eyes, I imagine the baculum igniting as a dagger. It becomes one, only with orange hues that dance inside the white flame. I tap the left side of the box again. “You still over here, baby?”

“Yes, Mommy. Hurry!”

I raise my arms over my head, and with all my strength, I bring the dagger down into the top right corner of the box’s upper panel. The blade slides through the metal.

“I see it, Mommy!”

“You’ll be out soon, baby.” I turn to Lincoln and smile. “We’re close.”

Lincoln opens his mouth to speak, but a great roar echoes through the throne room, drowning out any words from his lips.

“Open these gates!” cries a guttural voice. “On the command of the King of Hell.”

Lincoln looks at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What’s going on?” He scans the throne room. “What happened to Aldred and Adair?”

“Adair traded me information in exchange for her death. We didn’t kill Armageddon; it was a double. The real deal is up at the Walls of Hell, watching for Dad’s army. Once we killed the double, he must have sent his guard down to investigate.”

“Open up!” cries the rasping voice again. “On the order of the King.”

“We better work fast,” says Lincoln. “It won’t take them long to bring the battering ram.”

“The helm is booby-trapped, too. We’ve got four minutes.”

Lincoln rakes his right hand through his hair. “Four minutes will be enough.” He sets his hands around mine, and together, we slice through one side of the box-top. Inside the metal container, I hear Maxon shifting around.

“I see your baculum, Mommy. I won’t let it burn me.”

I can’t help but smile. “You’re smart, baby.”

A fresh round of roars sounds from the lacquered doors. “Open up! I’m Captain of the King’s personal guard. Whoever you are, you won’t keep any of that treasure. It’ll be the torture pits for you.”

I turn the Captain’s words over in my mind. “He thinks we’re demons, trying to steal from the throne room while Armageddon’s away.”

Lincoln sighs. “Makes sense. Armageddon would be down here in a heartbeat if he knew it was us.”

The Captain pounds on the door, making it rattle in its frame. “There’s no way out but past us,” he growls. “You might as well let us in now. If you share your prizes, we may forget we found you.”

“We have to keep going.” Lincoln lifts his hands from mine. “It’ll be faster to make the second cut if we shift position.”

“Right.”

Moving together, we angle our bodies to pull the blade together toward us. With a great heave, we make the second slice through the box.

The Captain’s voice turns menacing. “If we break this door down, the King will punish us all, but you’ll get it worse.”

The huge wooden doors rattle harder, bits of black lacquer chipping and tumbling to the chamber floor. The staccato screeches of flying monsters are added into the mix. Long talons make scratching noises as they claw at the door.

“Bring the battering ram!” cries the Captain.

Lincoln and I finish the third slice in the box-top. We both dig our fingers into the edges of the opening, hoping to peel back the lid and free our son, but the metal doesn’t give. Damn.

Great booming footsteps sound in the hallway outside. Scraping echoes from the outer passage as larger, stronger, and slower demons drag what sounds like the metal battering ram up to the door. With every approaching footstep, the floor vibrates beneath our feet.

“Set the ram in place!” A cacophony of howls sounds outside the door. “Now, heave!” A great boom reverberates through the throne room as the ram slams into the door, making the surface splinter. My breaths tighten in my chest. Maxon’s low whimper slips from the metal box.

We’re running out of time.

Lincoln and I reposition our bodies for the final cut. “Together on my mark,” he says quickly. “Three, two, one…”

Fear and determination combine for our greatest effort yet. We pull the blade through the metal, faster than ever before. As we make our slice, I can see Maxon’s peeping at us through the long slits in the steel. His mismatched eyes are red-rimmed and borderline hysterical. “Mommy, Daddy! Get me out! Hurry!”

The blade catches halfway through the metal. “One minute baby. We’re almost there.”

“One final haul and we’ll do it,” Lincoln says. “On my mark. Three, two, one!”

We start to make our final slice when a new sound echoes through the throne room. This time, it isn’t the din of demons and monsters at the door. There are no loud roars, screeching cries or thundering feet.

This is a ticking sound. And it’s coming from the helm.

My gaze snaps over to the shiny black helmet, which now starts to glow in ever brighter shades of red.

Unholy Moly. We’re out of time. I pull frantically at the baculum blade, trying desperately to make the last slice and free my son. Every cell in my body is focused on this final movement. My palms turn slick with sweat. Around my hands, Lincoln hauls harder than ever before. Whatever our blade is catching on isn’t giving.

We have to make it. There’s no other choice.

Suddenly, bright red light fills my senses along with an ear-splitting boom. A pain sharper than I’ve ever known slams into my chest. I’m vaguely aware of falling backward down the black stone steps, and then everything turns into darkness around me.

Within seconds, my consciousness fades into oblivion.

Chapter Twenty-One

Little by little, my awareness returns. At first, only hazy shapes cloud my vision. I know that I’m sitting in a chair made of ice-cold stone. Shivers roll up and down my spine. I try to move, but my limbs are secured in place with heavy bindings. Slowly my vision clears, until a terrible realization slams into me. I’m not sitting in just any chair.

I’m bound to Onyx’s old throne, right next to Armageddon’s.

I press my eyes closed and try to conjure igni. I know Anubis warned me not to, but at this point, I’ll do anything. Where I normally hear their tinkling laughter or grating voices, there is nothing at all. Instead, an emptiness fills my soul where their precious presence would normally reside.

What’s happened to me? Where are my igni?

My heart pumps so hard, I think it could burst out of my chest. I crane my neck around, scanning the scene. Lincoln kneels before me, his hands and legs bound together, his head lolling forward onto his chest. His body armor is partially shredded. Beside Lincoln there sits Maxon’s prison box, the top panel still lined with our blade marks. My heart cracks. We came so close to freeing him. My son’s soft whimpers echo through the throne room; my chest constricts with grief and rage.

A drumroll of footsteps sound up the black stone stairs, each footfall growing louder as the figure draws nearer. It’s Armageddon. He pauses once he reaches the top platform. A pair of Leech Guards stand behind him—nasty humanoid demons with a nearly impenetrable outer skin and long dangling arms. Their tiny heads hold beady eyes and long, needle-like mouths.

“Look who’s awake,” Armageddon pauses before my chair, his mouth stretching into an impossibly large smile.

Damn, I knew it was too easy to kill that bastard.

Somehow, I muster a badass face. “You’re alive.”

“Obviously.” Armageddon chuckles evilly. “I’ve been in the tower at the Walls of Hell. You killed an enchanted double. Convincing, eh?”

“Actually, it wasn’t your best. I thought something seemed a little off.” I twist in my chair, trying to pull loose the bindings around me. They only bite more deeply into my skin.

Time for Plan B.

Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I try to conjure igni again. Can’t.

Armageddon watches my failure with amused interest. “You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to leave you with the power over igni?” He taps the bindings on my arm with his long finger. “See those bands tying you to your new home? I had them enchanted just for your sweet Scala self. No igni will come to your call unless I approve the summons.”

Hearing Armageddon’s voice, Lincoln shakes his head and looks around. He quickly gains his bearings and meets my gaze. Without words, our eyes say the same thing.

This is not good.

“And our noble King has awakened as well,” sneers Armageddon.

“Eat death,” snaps Lincoln.

“Such brave words.” Armageddon kicks a charred bit of Onyx down the stairs. “Especially considering that you just burnt Mumsy to a crisp.”

Like he gave a crap about his mother. He killed her, became a greater demon and then enchanted her corpse. What a sick move.

“What do you want, Armageddon?” I ask.

The King of Hell sighs dramatically. “Must we start every conversation this way? I should have thought my goals more than obvious by this point. Maxon Bane was neither handsome nor particularly intelligent. As a son, he was an utter failure. But he was also the Great Scala, so that feeble-minded thrax held my unwavering interest for one thousand years. After that, we have Lady Adair, a boring and easily manipulated nit-wit who had but one redeeming quality. Can you guess what that was? She’d gone half-way through the initiation ceremony to become—ah, whatever could it be?—oh, that’s right, the Great Scala. And now I have you, a slow-minded lust bucket with a bad attitude. The only reason I’m interested in you is that I wish you to do my bidding. Whoever controls the Great Scala, controls the after-realms.”

His words slowly seep through my head. I’m trapped. Sure, I knew getting captured was a risk on this mission, but I had death potion in my backpack and a son to rescue. Imprisonment by Armageddon wasn’t even on my radar screen. My stomach sinks.

We were close, so close.

Armageddon exhales a dramatic sigh. “Admittedly, I would’ve preferred to capture you along with Xavier as part of a greater attack on Hell. War does bring out the worst in people, which is good for business. Still, you’re here in the end. That’s what counts.” Demonic fire glows in his eyes. “I’ve wanted to destroy your family for ages.”

I glare at him for all I’m worth; it’s really my only weapon at this point.

Armageddon makes a tsk-tsk noise. “Now, you’re making surly faces at me.” He strolls over to Maxon’s prison-box, pausing before it. My breath catches with fear.

“I’m glaring at you because I know something you don’t.” My only shot right now is to play the Nefer card and hope like hell that she’ll show up. “You and your guards are about to be massacred.”

“Nice try.” Armageddon snaps his fingers. “Bring them in.”

Along the back wall, the tall wooden doors slowly swing open, revealing a dozen more Leech Guards. The demons’ long arms link together like a sling to carry two metal prison boxes. Unlike Maxon’s, these two containers have thin steel bars so I can see who’s imprisoned inside.

It takes everything I have not to scream.

The first prison box holds Nefer, while the second contains Kiya. Both are awake and alive, but sad-eyed and silent. A pang of shock and agony thrums through me. They didn’t make it. Armageddon caught them.

The King of Hell waves his long gangly arm. “Bring them this way.” He turns to me, stopping when his face is inches away from mine. “You’re going to love this bit.”

“So you captured them. That was a dumb thing to do.”

Anubis will find a way to save Nefer. He won’t let her fall to the torture pits.

Armageddon’s mouth winds into a too-wide smile. He chomps his teeth right before my nose. “How I’m going to enjoy this.” Spinning around, the King of Hell watches as the Leech Guards carry the prison boxes across the floor, setting them down at the base of the stairs. The Guards then line up to one side, revealing the figure that had been walking in their wake.

It’s Anubis.

Unholy Hell. This can’t get any worse.

Armageddon twiddles his fingers at Anubis. “Greetings, Gatekeeper.”

Anubis leans back. A series of crackling-sounds fill the air as his head changes into its jackal form. “Don’t push me,” he growls. “Or I’ll change my mind on our agreement.”

“A thousand pardons, Gatekeeper.” Armageddon steeples his long fingers under his chin. “Now, tell the Great Scala about our deal.”

Anubis turns to face me, his jackal-face set in serious lines. “I will block your father’s army from entering Hell.”

Armageddon rolls his eyes. “There’s more to it than that.”

Anubis bares his teeth. “I will use my powers to pull any who approach the Walls of Hell into the torture pits.” He turns to Nefer. “In exchange, Nefer will not be harmed.”

My mouth falls open with shock. “But my father expects you to open the Walls of Hell for him. Let him march through the main gate like you did when he came for Lucifer.”

Armageddon sneers. “I heard all about that invasion to grab Lucifer. Xavier led the approach personally.”

I stare at Anubis as my mind tries to process this. “If my father approached the Walls of Hell again, would you use your vines to drag him into the torture pits?”

“That’s the arrangement,” says Anubis, his voice dead.

“And guess what?” asks Armageddon. “Once your father crosses into Hell, his old vow to be my torture toy through all eternity goes right back into effect. Oh, I made a mistake when I invaded Purgatory, I’m demon enough to admit that. I brought Xavier out to show your mother and break her focus, and that allowed you to free him. Rest assured, once I have Daddy Dearest back in my realm, I won’t ever make that error again. He’ll be mine for eternity.”

A warm tear rolls down my cheek. “Anubis, no.”

“The deal is made,” says Anubis, his jackal features still as stone.

My gaze locks with Lincoln’s. The ache of despair that I feel in my own heart is reflected in his eyes. Xavier, Lincoln, Maxon and me, all trapped with Armageddon for eternity. Our failsafe plan to have Nefer rescue us is a total loss. And the only powerful being that could have helped us—Anubis—is now on Armageddon’s team.

My face turns pleading. I don’t need to say a word and Lincoln knows what I’m asking. Any ideas?

Lincoln shakes his head. Nothing.

My body freezes with shock. Armageddon did it. He’s trapped us all in Hell. It’s only a matter of time before he has all the after-realms at his feet.

“You understand now,” says Armageddon slowly. “I’ve done it at last. Destroyed your entire family.” He raises his fist. “How beautiful.”

“You can’t destroy us,” I say, but my words seem hollow, even to me.

“Ah, but I already have.” Armageddon slips into the throne next to mine. “And I see that’s not the only family destroyed today. You killed Aldred and Adair, too. What a pity. They were so much fun to torture.”

Lincoln glares at the King of Hell. “Stop it, now. You have something you want, so ask for it.”

Armageddon keeps talking as if Lincoln hasn’t said a word. The old demon is enjoying prolonging his moment. “You know, when Aldred first arrived in Hell, I didn’t give him much thought. But then, news came that you were pregnant and Aldred simply begged me for a private audience. He insisted that he had something to offer in exchange for his eternal comfort.” Armageddon rises to his feet and steps over to Maxon’s prison box. My insides tighten with fear and dread.

The King of Hell slowly sets his palm atop my son’s metal prison. “I finally decided to meet him. That’s when Aldred told me all about his deal for your sweet boy. And no longer was this exchange for some possible future child, but it held sway over a real babe soon to be born. How thrilling.”

Armageddon slowly runs his fingers across the top of Maxon’s prison box. My mouth turns dry with panic.

“The deal was perfect,” snarls Armageddon. “Once your spawn inherited your powers, I could make him mine. I would have the Great Scala irrevocably in my grasp. But then, Connor went and hired the little monopsyche. A few more days and she could have protected your boy.” He rolls his eyes. “Ah, Connor. Always trying to do the right thing. Always failing miserably.” Armageddon’s palm flares red with fire. The metal around his hand starts to bubble and smoke. “Now, it will be you and me through all eternity, little Scala. Your son isn’t so important any more, is he?”

“Answer Lincoln’s question,” I cry. “What do you want with my powers right now, Armageddon? Out with it.”

Maxon starts to pound on the walls of his metal prison. “Smoke!” His breath comes in little gasps. “Mommy, Daddy, I can’t breathe!”

The Leech Guards chitter with glee. That pisses me off.

My eyes flare demon red with rage. “He’s only a child. Stop that, now.”

“What a coincidence! I’d love to stop as well.” Armageddon leans his weight onto his hand, causing the box to glow orange around his skin. “Why don’t you send Verus to Hell and I’ll take a little break? She and I have unfinished business.”

His words echo through my mind. Bring Verus here? She’s an oracle angel and one of the most powerful forces in the after-realms.

“If I bring Verus here with my igni, she won’t be able to leave. Ever.”

“Oh my, that would be the case, wouldn’t it?” Armageddon bares his teeth. “How someone with your feeble mind evaded me for so long is a mystery.” His eyes glow a brighter shade of red. “Bring me Verus. Now.”

My heart sinks. If I deliver Verus to Armageddon, he could use her to foresee any plots against him. My eyes bead with warm tears. I look to Lincoln, seeing the despair on his face as well. He shakes his head once again. I know we’re thinking the same thing.

“I can’t do that,” I say quietly. “Ask for someone else.”

“Verus only.” Armageddon grinds his palm onto Maxon’s box; the metal turns bright red. Maxon screams in terror.

“Mommy, Daddy, no!”

I writhe in my chair, trying to pull free of my bindings. “Stop it, now. Leave him alone.”

“Give me what I want, then!” Armageddon howls. “Look, it’s only a matter of time. I can see it in your eyes. You’re so close to giving in and I haven’t even started on lover boy yet.” His mouth winds into another impossibly large grin. “I think he’d look better without ears and a nose, don’t you?”

Maxon’s tiny hands pound on the metal walls. “Help!”

My chest tightens. Tears stream down my face. This can’t be happening.

“Help me! Daddy, please!”

Armageddon kicks the side of the metal box. “Pipe down, you little fool, or I’ll kill your Daddy right now.”

Maxon starts screaming hysterically. “Leave my Daddy alone!”

Armageddon rolls his eyes. “I’ve never had a way with children.” He stalks over to Lincoln and grabs his hair, pulling his head back. Armageddon leans in, his long shiny face inches away from Lincoln’s. “Such bright eyes. How about we pluck those out? Fancy eternal darkness, King of the Thrax?”

Maxon’s voice turns deadly low. “I don’t like the dark,” he snarls. “Daddy doesn’t like it, either.”

I look over to Maxon’s box. Tiny lightning flashes are visible through the slits we cut in the top. A memory appears in my mind. Nanny Rowena. I can’t control my igni, but Maxon? It’s worth a shot. My heart beats even faster in my chest.

Please, let this work.

“Remember Nanny Rowena, baby? Remember what you did when she kept you in the dark?”

Armageddon opens his mouth and his long tongue snakes out, the end burning brightly as a red-hot poker. My stomach churns as the broiling tip heads straight toward Lincoln’s right eye. Every muscle in my body contacts with fear.

“Maxon, baby. Do it! Do it now!”

Armageddon stands up; his long tongue retracts into his mouth. “What do you think this child can possibly accomplish?” He chuckles. “You didn’t come into your powers until you were eighteen. My son didn’t see a spark of ability until he was fifty.” The King of Hell stalks over to Maxon’s prison box and raps on the top panel. “Is the little-wittle prince afraid of the dark?” He leans in, his voice a snarl. “Because I’ll leave you in eternal darkness, too. How would you like that, you—”

Suddenly, massive bolts of lightning zoom in from every direction, the web of crackling light instantly converging on Maxon’s prison box. With an eardrum-shattering clang, the metal explodes, sending red-hot shards whipping out in every direction.

On reflex, I twist in my chair, trying to protect my body from the worst of the blast. Shards embed into my fighting suit, tearing it. A Leech Guard leaps onto me at the sight of my blood, and latches its stinger onto my neck. I struggle against my bonds; I’m still locked in place. My body turns cold as the life is literally sucked out of me.

The force of the blast sends Lincoln toppling over onto his side. Thankfully the worst of the shrapnel speeds over him. My vision wavers. At the bottom of the stairs, Anubis rips open the prison boxes holding Nefer and Kiya. They both leap free, looking relatively unharmed. I search for Armageddon, but it suddenly becomes a chore to stay awake. I’m aware that the Leech Guard is about to kill me, but all my attempts to fight back result in little more than body twitches.

My vision goes in and out of focus. Is that Kiya scrambling up the throne room steps? My sleepy mind tries to process what’s happening, but there isn’t enough energy left in my body.

In a dream-like haze, I see Kiya grab a sharp piece of shrapnel and hands it to Lincoln, who uses the knife-like bit of metal to cut away his bonds. Then, Kiya scrambles onto my shoulder. With a loud screech, he bites down hard onto the long needle-mouth of the Leech Guard. The demon stumbles back, its mouth detaching from my neck at last.

My mind instantly clears. Fuck that fucking leech! I’ll kill it with my bare hands. Lincoln hops to his feet, having used the shrapnel to cut himself free. In one smooth movement, he grabs Dad’s baculum, ignites it into a long-sword, and skewers the Leech Guard through the throat.

My brain focuses on a single thought. How is Maxon?

Craning my neck, I strain to see my son. His prison box is no longer an impenetrable square container set on the marble floor. Instead, it’s now a ragged shell of burnt-out metal with Maxon standing in the center. My boy wears a charred Rixa tunic, his black hair disheveled and mismatched eyes wild. His chest heaves with erratic breaths. I’ve never seen him so utterly out of control.

“I can make my own light!” screams Maxon. His little arms reach high. Long bolts of lightning crackle out from his fingertips, slamming into either wall, bursting huge holes in the smooth black stone.

I gasp with horror. Oh, no. He’s lost it completely.

“Maxon! Listen to me. It’s Mommy. You need to stop right now.”

“I don’t like the dark! Don’t make me stay in the dark!” Maxon swings his arms around violently. Two more shafts of lightning stream out from his hands, this time blowing massive holes in the ceiling. Chunks of stone tumble to the ground around Maxon, narrowly missing him.

Unholy Hell. He’s going to kill us all.

I scan the room, looking for Armageddon or any of his demon guards. Bodies lay all around. I don’t see the King of Hell, but I do find Anubis and Nefer standing tall and still at the base of the stone stairs that lead to Armageddon’s throne.

“We’re coming to help you,” says Anubis.

“No!” screams Maxon. Another blast whips off his arms, slamming Nefer squarely in the chest. She crumples forward; Anubis cradles her body in his arms. Kiya lets out a piercing cry and scrambles to her side.

Not Nefer. He can’t have killed Nefer.

Lincoln slowly steps toward Maxon. “You need to calm down, son.”

Maxon’s head snaps in my direction, his arms pointing directly at my chest. “I don’t like the dark, Mommy!”

Damn. If he lets out another igni burst right now, I’ll get hit full-on, just like Nefer. “I understand, baby. No one will keep you in the dark.”

“The bad man did! The bad man said so!” He reaches out for me, fresh bolts of lightning crackling around his fingertips.

It’s an effort to keep my voice calm. “Maxon, put your hands down.”

More lightning bolts whirl around his arms. “I don’t like the dark!”

The room fills with a blinding bright light as Maxon expels his greatest electric charge yet. I brace my body, waiting for the impact. Just as the lightning bolts release from my son’s arms, Lincoln lunges at Maxon, aiming his little hands toward the ceiling again. The huge blast shoots out from his fingertips, slamming into the arched stone overhead. More chunks of rock tumble to the ground. Lincoln curls his body around Maxon, protecting him from any fallout. A hailstorm of rock slams into my husband’s back.

For a moment, everything is silent. I crane my neck, trying to see what’s become of my husband and son. My heartbeat is so strong, I can feel it in my throat. “Maxon? Lincoln?”

No reply.

“Please, can you hear me?”

A long groan finally sounds in response. Lincoln sits upright, Maxon clinging to his chest, weeping. They’re alive, both of them. I start crying too, great sobs tearing from my throat.

Anubis still holds an immobile Nefer at the bottom of the stairs. Kiya paws her face gently.

Lincoln wraps his arms more tightly around our son. “Don’t worry, buddy. Daddy’s got you.” With pained movements, Lincoln rises to his feet and limps over to me. He kneels beside my throne, ignites my father’s baculum into a dagger and starts cutting loose my bindings. Maxon’s face stays buried in Lincoln’s chest. Once I get free, my first order of business is to wipe the Leech Guard venom from my neck. That stuff is gross.

I spy the glisten of red on Lincoln’s upper arm. “You’re hurt.”

“I got hit in the shoulder and my lower back. Body armor took most of it. I’ve had worse.” He releases the last binding from my torso. “There, now you’re free.”

I leap from the chair and wrap my arms around Maxon and Lincoln. “Mommy’s here, baby. We’re safe.”

Maxon talks through sobs. “Where’s the bad man?”

His words freeze me in place. Good question.

I slowly rise to my feet and scan the throne room. Armageddon sits halfway down the stairs, his torso hunched over. He breathes in rough wheezes, his eyes fixed on us with an evil stare. A small cloud of dust and rock surrounds him, blocking a full view of his body. I slowly approach the King of Hell.

My mind snaps into battle mode, ready for his counter-strike. What is Armageddon playing at? Another booby trap? The dust settles around him, and I can see that this time, there is no game he can play.

Almost a full metal panel of Maxon’s old prison box is now embedded in Armageddon’s chest. Black blood pools around his seated form. I stalk closer, reaching for my baculum in their holster at the base of my spine.

A memory appears in my mind’s eye. Verus’s prophecy. Nefer has to kill the King of Hell and take his throne. I race to the bottom of the stairs. “How is she?”

Anubis shakes his head. “She doesn’t have long.”

“What happens if she puts on the helm? Will it heal her or kill her?”

“I don’t know. No one has ever taken the helm in a weakened state. It’s enough of a risk having someone strong make the change to greater demon.” Anubis’s voice cracks. “She could turn evil.”

“She’s not going to turn evil,” I say, hoping I sound confident. “Now, let’s have her kill Armageddon before he bleeds out.”

“I don’t know,” sighs Anubis.

I fix my gaze with his. “Could you honestly live all eternity with yourself if you don’t try?”

“You’re right.” Anubis slowly rises to his feet, dragging a semi-conscious Nefer along with him. He hauls her to stand before Armageddon.

The King of Hell looks at Nefer and lets out a hollow laugh. “What will she kill me with, exactly? You fail again, Nefer.”

I turn to Lincoln. “Throw me father’s baculum.” I catch the weapon in mid-air, igniting it as a long-sword. “Hold this with me, Nefer. Together, we can destroy Armageddon. The prophecy says you strike the final blow, but it didn’t say you couldn’t have help, right?”

“Right.” Nefer grits her teeth and laces her fingers with mine.

Together, we raise the long-sword high. I call out in a loud, calm voice. “In the name of my father Xavier and all that is holy and good in the after-realms, we now sentence you to death.”

Armageddon slowly looks up to meet my gaze, his eyes blazing demon red. “I hate your family.”

“The feeling’s mutual, asshole.” Moving in sync, Nefer and I bring the sword down in a great swoop. The blade tugs as it slices through Armageddon’s neck. An electric charge jolts through my body as the power of the sword thrums through my nervous system. Nefer passes out cold.

Armageddon slumps forward, his head rolling down the black stone stairs.

Fire bursts out of Armageddon’s severed neck, a great geyser of flame that shoots toward the ceiling. His headless body shakes violently, and then falls silent. Seconds tick by before Armageddon is utterly destroyed.

His body explodes with an ear-shattering boom.

On instinct, I crouch down as the shower of goo that was once the King of Hell rolls over me. When I rise to stand, I find myself covered in his foul black blood.

Maxon peeps up from the safety of Lincoln’s chest. “Is the bad man dead?”

“Yes, baby.” I reply.

A low pulse sounds, like the beat of a base drum. The Helm of Hell sits empty beside what’s left of Armageddon’s skull. It throbs with a dark light, calling a new demon to become ruler of Hell. I scoop up the helmet and rush over to Anubis, who holds Nefer’s unmoving form.

“Is she alive?” I ask.

Anubis’s voice cracks. “I’m not sure.”

I raise the helm over her head and look at Anubis. “You still up for this?”

The demigod nods. “Do it.”

With a slow, gentle movement, I set the Helm of Hell onto Nefer’s head.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, long cracks form in the walls as bright red light seeps through in long, spidery arcs. Nefer opens her eyes. “Stand back!”

Red light bursts through the throne room, seeping into Nefer’s body, and turning her skin solid as stone. Her eyes glow the brightest shade of demon-crimson that I’ve ever seen. The helm that covers her face now melts into her skull, becoming part of her body. Power radiates from her skin.

Anubis cups Nefer’s face in his hands. “Are you alright?”

She kisses him, long and deep. “Never better.” Nefer hops to her feet. “They are coming. I can sense them.”

I look around the smashed-up throne room, wondering what could possibly happen next. “Who’s coming?”

“All of Hell, of course. They want to test my power.” Nefer inspects Maxon, Lincoln and me. “You won’t live through the battle that’s to come. You need to get out of here.”

“I’m all for that.” I turn to the broken doors of the throne room. Even now, I can see a demon horde racing down the main hallway. I’ve never seen anything like it. Crawling, flying, slithering…Every monster in Hell is heading straight toward Nefer. A mix of staccato chitters, deep growls and skull-piercing howls fill the air.

Nefer shifts her stance, pointing her arms toward the wall of demons. She calls out one more word.

“Move!”

The world freezes. The demons stop their running; the throne room turns silent. I know I should run or cower or scream, but I can’t move, either.

Suddenly, a burst of red fire rolls off Nefer’s arms and through the mass of demonic bodies, opening up a long tunnel through Hell. At the other end, I can see the familiar landscape of the Plains of Fire.

We start to haul ass, but the tunnel closes almost as quickly as it opens. The demons don’t come any closer, but we aren’t getting out, either.

“Damn,” says Nefer. “There are too many of them, and my powers are so new.” She kicks at the ground with her sandal. The marble shimmies, groans and crackles from her touch.

Anubis looks at her, his face brightening with a ten-thousand watt smile. “Want some help getting rid of these three? Gateways are my specialty, you know.”

“I did know that.” She steps closer to him. “And then?”

“We’re getting married.”

Nefer positively beams. “Right now, we’ve a demon horde to fight, and that’s what you want to talk about?”

“Actually, it’s what I’ve wanted to discuss for two hundred years.” He winks. “Besides, you don’t want to be sitting all alone when you have two thrones in here, do you?”

“No, I don’t, as a matter of fact.” Her voice cracks. “I never want to be without you again.”

As touching as this scene is, we need out of Hell already. “Can we move this along, guys?”

Anubis nods, turns to face the hallway, and raises his arms parallel with the floor. From his outstretched hands, vines curl into a corkscrew shape that grinds through anything before it. The slithering cords drill through the demon horde, leaving behind a green, shifting tunnel in their wake.

“Goodbye, little Scala,” says Anubis. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to see either of you for a very long time.” Anubis chuckles, and Lincoln and I don’t need to share any further goodbyes.

Gripping Maxon to my chest, I haul ass toward the tunnel, Lincoln at my side. Together, we race down the shifting channel of snake-like cords. Every so often, demonic arms break through the vines, grabbing at whatever they can get their hands on.

We’re about halfway through when the snake-like head of a Viperon demon bursts into our makeshift tunnel, flashing its long fangs. My tail tightens protectively around Maxon. Viperon are incredibly toxic. Fast as lightning, Lincoln wraps his right arm around the creature’s thick neck. The long demon writhes and snaps in his grip. Twisting his body to the right, Lincoln cracks the demon’s spine with one quick motion.

“Keep running!” he cries.

I don’t need to be told twice. Gripping Maxon ever tighter, I haul ass toward the exit. I’m pretty sure I lose a chunk of hair and Lincoln adds a sprained ankle to his list of injures, but the adrenaline keeps pushing us forward.

There’s no time to think or worry, there’s only me, Maxon, Lincoln, and the red landscape that grows larger and larger before us. With one final burst of effort, we rush through the last steps in the dark, slithering tunnel, emerging onto the dusty heat of the Plains of Fire.

We collapse onto the ground, panting for breath. There we lie for who knows how long, half-conscious and almost entirely out of our minds. I barely notice the wall of vines closing up behind us, sealing my family away from Hell, at last.

“We did it, Lincoln,” I say in a low voice as I kiss Maxon head.

“That we did.”

And those are the only words either of us can say for a very long time.

Chapter Twenty-Two

As soon as I catch my breath, I climb to my feet again. We might be out of Hell, but we’re certainly not out of danger.

“No more dark, Mommy.” Maxon burrows into my shoulder, shivering.

“Shh, baby.” I run my fingers through his hair. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

That’s a major Mommy-lie if I ever told one.

Every demon in Hell probably knows that we’re out here. Nefer’s holding them back, but how long can she keep doing that with untested powers? And even then, how in blazes are we getting home? Walker said he’d keep a look-out, but we also stowed some flares in our backpacks to signal him. Those are long gone now.

My adrenaline high starts to wane. All of a sudden, I want a pass out like it’s my job. My mouth turns dry as sandpaper. Every pulled muscle and scratched patch of skin starts complaining for attention. A stinging sensation prickles on my neck.

Lincoln sets his hand gently on my shoulder. “You alright?”

“As good as can be expected.” I lean over, craning for a look at Lincoln’s back. His gashes are still open and bleeding. “How about you?”

“I’ve had worse on demon patrol.”

“Wish we still had our first aid kit.”

“If we can get out of here, there’s a whole palace infirmary waiting for us.” He eyes my throat. “What about that bite form the Leech Guard?”

“I think I got all the venom out.” I pat my neck.

“Let me know if you feel dizzy at all. Leech Demons have a sting that can hit with a wallop.”

“Sure will.”

Lincoln takes a few hobbling steps away from the wall. “I’ll scope out the perimeter.”

“Let me do it, I’m more mobile. You know, in case we want it done this week.” I whisper in Maxon’s ear. “Baby, go sit with your father while Mommy takes a walk.” Maxon crawls into Lincoln’s lap.

“Done this week, eh?” Lincoln wraps his arms around Maxon. “Glad to see your sass made it through Hell unscathed.”

I wiggle my hips at him. “You love it and you know it.” I gesture to a nearby line of hills. “I’ll climb over there. See what I can find.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

As I walk away, I get a better look at Lincoln’s wounds. My breath catches with shock. The torn skin on his back now has an odd, purplish hue.

“Did one of the creatures get you on the way out?”

Lincoln nods and pulls Maxon closer. “The Viperon.”

Okay, so that’s mega-poisonous. My heart lurches in my chest. There’s no point telling Lincoln everything will be fine; he knows better than anyone what kind of poison a Viperon demon carries. He’s got an hour or two at most.

Damn. At some point, our luck has got to change.

“Be right back.”

Turning on my heel, I jog across the empty red earth to the nearest jut of crimson rock. For the first time, I notice my fingers still curled in a death grip around an object. Strange that in all the chaos I didn’t even notice what my hand was doing. Looking down, I see Dad’s baculum hilt is still gripped tightly. My shoulders straighten. That feels like a good omen.

We’ve gotten through Hell. Now, all we have to do is get through the Plains of Fire.

I ignite dad’s baculum as a long-sword and hike up to the top of the jutting rock. The air is thick with heat and moisture. The sun hangs low in the sky. I scan the horizon. No one’s around.

Not so good.

I race down the outcrop of rock and over to my husband and son. In just the few minutes I was away, the flesh on Lincoln’s back has turned an even darker shade of purple. Maxon lifts his head, his eyes puffy from tears. “Do you have water Mommy? I’m thirsty.”

The sun lowers on the horizon. We need to find shelter. Ghoul riders are the least nasty things that roam these deserts at night. I set my father’s baculum into one of my holsters. “I don’t have any water, baby.”

Lincoln kisses Maxon’s temple. “Why don’t you and Mommy go look for shelter and Daddy will wait right here for you until you get back.”

I crouch down beside Lincoln, checking his pockets. Unlike my fighting suit, Lincoln’s armor is jam-packed with little places to hide stuff. Maybe there’s a healing potion squirreled away somewhere.

“Myla, please. You and Maxon should go.”

“No way. We are not leaving you here.” Panic rises through my blood.

We did not just get through Hell only to have Lincoln die on these stupid plains.

“There must be something else we have to help you.”

A new voice sounds from behind me. “You have me, Myla-la.”

I whip around and, Unholy Hell, I’ve never been happier to see Walker. “You found us!”

He wraps me in a deep hug. “I’ve been patrolling for hours, worrying myself silly. You three would have given me a heart attack, if I still had a beating heart.” He closes his eyes, and a portal opens immediately to his right. Another ghoul steps out. “Tell them we found them.”

“With pleasure.” Walker’s buddy steps back through portal and disappears.

“Everyone’s waiting at your Mom’s place in Purgatory.” Walker scans Lincoln’s back. “You look like Hell, Shield Brother.”

Lincoln’s voice comes out a rough rasp. “Well, I’ve been through it.”

“We’re skipping your mother’s place. I’m taking you to Purgatory General first, okay?”

“That’s fine with me,” says Lincoln.

“Good thinking, Walker. Lincoln got hit by a Viperon on the way out.”

Walker closes his eyes, and a low hum sounds as a new portal opens. Maxon climbs up into my arms and our tails entwine.

Lincoln rises slowly, wincing with each movement. I actively ignore the fact that the wound on his back is oozing some kind of black pus. Together, all of us step through the portal and into the blindingly bright light of Purgatory General.

An antiseptic scent assaults my lungs. Bodies in white scrubs scurry everywhere in the blinding brightness. “All medical personnel to triage immediately,” announces a nasal voice over the loudspeaker. “The Great Scala and her companion have returned, along with the Scala Heir. Repeat, all medical personnel to triage.”

Someone places Lincoln on a gurney. Another someone sets down Maxon and starts running his vitals. The room starts to move in and out of focus. Yet another new medical someone is trying to talk to me. I see the nurse’s lips move but can’t understand a word. Pain spikes in my neck.

What the?

My legs give out from under me and I collapse onto the floor.

# # #

My soul is a bird, soaring through pure white space. I’ve been this way for ages, flying though dreamlike air, looking for someone. White mist reels over me, tiny prickles of cold stick in my skin.

A voice sounds on the clouds. It’s familiar. My mother, maybe?

Baby, come back to me. Wake up.

I want to tell her that I’m already awake. I’m flying through the clouds, wheeling and diving. A deep sense of peace flows through me. I never want to land.

More voices echo through the air. This time it’s Elder Faustina herself.

There is nothing-a more I can do.

My hazy brain remembers that I love Lincoln and he was sick. Is he better now? I want to land and find out, but I can only keep soaring through the skies, feeling the rush of air against my feathers.

Little fingers twist into my hair. It’s Maxon, my baby. Someone tells him he has to sleep.

I won’t sleep until everybody wakes up.

His tiny hand wraps in mine. “Wake up, Mommy. Wake up.”

Memories fly back into my mind. We were in Hell. Maxon was captured. I have to find out if he’s safe. Screw all this flying around. I need to wake up and find my son. With all my focus, I force my larger hand to tighten around Maxon’s little one.

My father’s voice sounds in my ears. “She’s waking up. Get Lincoln, Cam.”

My eyes flutter open. Maxon stands beside my hospital bed, his eyes red and bleary from crying. “Don’t worry, baby,” I say, my voice hoarse and croaking. “Mommy’s awake.”

I scan the room. Dad and Walker stand nearby, beaming from ear to ear.

“I woke you up,” announces Maxon with pride.

“That you did. Thanks, baby.”

Lincoln bursts into the room, my mother on his heels. He rushes to my side, leans over the bed, and kisses my forehead. “Myla, you’re awake. We were so worried.”

Mom, Dad and Walker say their hellos as well, before Cissy shows up and shepherds them all out of the room. Cissy always knows when I need time alone with my guys.

Maxon crawls onto my lap, his little hand twirling in my hair. “We missed you, Mommy.”

Lincoln points to Maxon’s head and mouths two words. “Not sleeping.”

“How’s my little man?” I ask.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” says Maxon. “It was scary.”

“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”

He nods and curls into my chest.

“Can you sleep now, baby?”

“Not until Hildy’s awake, too,” explains Maxon. “I keep calling to her in my head. She can’t forget about me or she won’t wake up.”

I wrap my arms around him more tightly. “How could anyone forget about you?” He curls his little hands about my torso and I smile.

“Maxon has the right idea here,” says Lincoln. “Scooch over.”

The hospital bed is small, but I make some room for him. “That enough?”

“Perfect.” Lincoln slides in next to me, and it’s a comfort to feel his warm, solid body beside mine.

I make a yummy noise and cuddle closer. “And why am I here, exactly?”

“You were infected with the Leech Guard’s venom.”

I nod slowly. “Oh, yeah. It sure did hit me with a wallop, like you said.”

“We caught you just in time.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Little over a week.”

“What?” My mouth falls open with shock. “That was some wallop.”

“It was.”

“And how’s your back now?”

“Fine. I have some new scars to add to the collection. Maxon says it makes me look tougher.”

Reaching up with my free hand, I gently brush my fingertips along the stubble of his jawline. His eyes are red and swollen. “You could use some sleep, too.”

“It’s an idea at that.” He looks down at Maxon and smiles. “You have the magic touch.”

Following Lincoln’s gaze, I look down to see a very asleep Maxon in my arms. He cuddles into my side, making little ‘puh’ noises as he exhales. A welcome mixture of joy, satisfaction and relief warms my chest.

Lincoln shifts his position to lay down beside me. With gentle movements, he guides my body to recline beside his. Maxon lies between us. It’s a squeeze, but it’s lovely.

“Should we be doing this?” I ask.

“Absolutely not. Against regulation.”

“The hospital won’t like it.”

“Good, I hope they hate it. We haven’t caused trouble in Purgatory in ages.” Lincoln chuckles and pulls me closer against him. “Damn, I missed you.”

I nestle into his shoulder, feeling my own eyes grow heavy. “Lincoln?”

“Mmmm?”

“We did it, didn’t we?”

“Yes, Myla.” He gently kisses the top of my head. His voice cracks as he adds: “We got our family back.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

I stand at the doorway to Dad’s study in Arx Hall. Actually, both my parents use this place to work when they’re visiting, but right now, he’s the only one around. Candles dot the room. Flickering light dances off the leather bindings of books lining the walls. Dad sits hunched over his great wooden desk, scribbling away with a feather stylus on a fresh sheet of parchment.

“How long are you going to watch me?” A sly smile rounds Dad’s mouth as he makes another note with his feather-pen. “I can do far more entertaining things than write, you know.”

“I have—” I almost say ‘a gift,’ but the words get stuck in my throat. My gift may be no gift at all. I hover anxiously in the doorway. I only woke up a week ago in Purgatory General; maybe this was a mistake. “I should go.”

“Please stay.” Dad’s gaze locks with mine, and understanding shines in his blue eyes. “I know what you’re going through, Myla. I spent nearly twenty years in Hell. It’ll help to talk about it.” He gestures to the leather chair across from his desk. “Besides, Cissy left some brownies.”

Ah, my father knows me too well. I smile.

“Home-made?” Cissy’s cooking skills are nothing less than legendary.

“Just dropped them off today.” Dad slides a cardboard box to the edge of his desk. “Fudge almond.”

“Okay, that settles it.” I step into the room, sink down into the leather armchair, and start chomping away. “This is Heaven.”

“Where’s your mother?”

I speak through a mouthful of brownie. Not ladylike, but fudge almond is my favorite. “Trying to get Maxon to fall asleep.”

“Still?”

“He’s on another no-sleep-athon. Now he’s up to—” I check the nearest clock, silently making calculations. “Fifty-six hours now. I was with him for the last eight and, well, I had to take a break.”

“He’s worried about Hildy.”

“Yeah, Maxon’s convinced that if he goes to sleep, Hildy will forget to wake up.”

“And his flashbacks?”

“Still happening. If he gets into a confined space, he loses control. Thinks he’s back in his cell.” I shake my head sadly. “It breaks my heart, Dad.”

“Anything we can do to help?”

“You’re already doing so much. I really appreciate you and Mom coming to Antrum. It’s not easy running Purgatory from here, and you’ve been away a week already.”

“A week, a month, a year, it makes no difference,” says Dad. “We’ll be with you until you kick us out because you don’t need us anymore. Besides, I think the quasi population would riot if we were anywhere else. They’re very fond of Maxon, you know.”

“True.” Our home in Purgatory is almost submerged in flowers and candles.

Dad leans back in his chair and eyes me closely. “So, what happened, Myla-la?”

My chest tightens. I’ve been dreading answering to this question almost as much as I’ve been wanting to set the words free.

“I don’t know where to begin.” I decide that now is a really good time to check how my cuticles are doing. Yup, still there.

Dad’s voice is gentle. “Take your time.”

Stop pussyfooting around, Myla. You can do this.

“I have a gift for you.” Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees. This whole conversation makes me restless. It’s like I could crawl out of my own skin. “At first, I thought it would be a good thing to give this to you but then, I worried it might bring back bad memories.”

My father shoots me one of his trademark toothy grins. “I welcome any gift from my daughter.”

I let out an awkward chuckle. “Wait until you see it.” Slipping my hand behind my back, I pull an item from the waistband of my jeans, and set it gingerly onto the desktop. “It’s your old baculum.”

Dad’s toothy smile disappears. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches forward, his fingertips brushing along the baculum’s carved surface. “The Almighty gave this to me when I was created. My baculum.” His voice breaks. “I never thought I’d see it again.”

My father rises to his feet, his golden wings appearing down his back. He takes the baculum in both fists, igniting the blade as a long-sword. With blinding speed, he starts running through battle moves, including a bunch of fancy jabs that are part of the Dawn Crucible, a special type of archangel battle training. After a few minutes he pauses, holding the hilt at eye level, watching the blade crackle with angelfire in the dim light. A look of ultimate satisfaction glitters in his blue eyes. His gaze locks on mine. “Tell me you killed him with this.”

“Nefer and I did. Together.”

Dad extinguishes the baculum and retakes his seat. “Oh, ho! I want a blow-by-blow account.”

“Sure, but first I have to ask about something else.” I straighten my shoulders and stiffen my resolve. I can talk about this.

“What is it, Myla?”

“It’s about Connor.” I fidget in my seat. “I think his soul may be trapped in Hell.”

“It is, Myla.” Dad folds his hands onto the tabletop, which is his ‘I mean business’ move. “Connor’s permanently tied to the torture pits. I’m so sorry.”

My body feels numb with shock. This can’t be right. Dad was supposed to find us a way out of this mess. “Aldred told me Connor was doomed to Hell, but I hoped we could change that. You know, pull Connor out to Purgatory or something. Get him a Trial by Jury. I thought you could help.”

“I wish I could, Myla-la. I did some digging while you were gone. I found out everything. Connor died while Sakura was still alive, so now his soul is trapped in the torture pits.”

“I was afraid of that.” I rub my neck in a weary rhythm. “What are we going to do?”

Dad’s big blue eyes fill with sympathy. “I think you already know that.”

A lead weight of dread settles into my stomach. “I need to summon Connor to a dreamscape and offer to kill his soul.” My throat tightens with a mixture of exhaustion and grief. “That’s the best I can do to help him.” My body trembles. I’ve only been out of the hospital a week; I’m not sure I can handle a killer dreamscape with Hell. Still, I can’t stand to think of Connor in pain.

Dad reaches across the table and sets his hand on mine. “You’re in no shape to dreamscape with Connor, Myla.”

“He can’t stay in Hell and be tortured, either.”

“I’ll see what I can do about putting him somewhere less painful, at least for a little while. It’s not a permanent option but it will buy you some time. Nefer owes me more than a few favors, anyway.”

“Thanks, Dad. Appreciate it.”

“Now, let’s return to more pleasant subjects.” Dad slides the brownie box closer and takes a peek inside. “Empty.” He rises to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat. Your mother stocked the freezer with new ice cream from Earth.”

My brows lift with interest. Humans suck at a lot of things, but dessert isn’t one of them. “I scoured that kitchen. Where’s she hiding it?”

He offers me his arm. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I stand beside him and wrap my hand around his forearm. “Lead the way, General.”

# # #

It’s late by the time I slip back into my bedchambers, my belly filled with five different kinds of ice cream. Mom has finally gotten Maxon to sleep, but my mother ended up having to hold him in her lap like I did that first day in the hospital. The smile on her face says she doesn’t mind, but I can’t help but worry. Holding Maxon through the night isn’t exactly a scalable solution. Still, it’s better than nothing.

I tiptoe across the floor to our bed, but as I get closer, I realize I needn’t have bothered staying quiet. Lincoln’s wide-awake, too, staring at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes. I slide under the covers and curl into his side.

“Dad confirmed it.” I don’t need to explain what ‘it’ is. Connor’s soul is trapped in Hell.

“We can’t even bring him to Purgatory for a Trial?”

“No. Dad will talk to Nefer. Maybe we can get Connor placed somewhere comfortable until I can dreamscape with him.”

“Until we can dreamscape with him.”

I cuddle deeper into his side. “And what if Connor wants his soul to die?”

“Then, I’ll do it.” Lincoln’s voice breaks as he speaks. “And I’ll tell Mother about Sakura, too. She needs to know everything before she faces him for the last time.”

“No, we’ll tell her about it.”

Lincoln loops his long arms around me, pulling me onto his bare chest. “I love you, Myla.”

“I love you, too.”

A few minutes pass with our bodies entwined and souls finding a little bit of peace. Before long, we both fall into a deep and restful sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Four

It’s who-knows-what-o’clock in the morning, and Maxon is dragging me down a darkened corridor in Arx Hall. We thought that staying in Antrum would put his little mind at ease about Hildy, but if anything, being close to her has made him even more agitated.

As long as I’m awake, she won’t forget to wake up, either. Classic kid logic, and I can’t talk him out of it. At least, he’s not having one of his flashbacks again. I found him cowering in the corner of his bedroom this morning, crying about the dark. Makes me want to weep too, every time.

“Come on, Mommy. Faster!” Maxon’s black hair sticks up at odd angles, as do the lapels on his striped pajamas.

I start to jog. “Okay, baby. But remember our deal?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

We turn down another hallway, taking the well-known path to the infirmary. “What’s the deal, then?”

“I see Hildy one more time and then, I go to sleep.”

“Okay, as long as we’re agreed.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

We reach the set of white doors that mark the entrance to the infirmary. Maxon presses them open, and then rushes inside. The place looks like it always does. White tiled floor and walls, tall arched ceilings. Maxon navigates his way through the maze of beds to a silver door along the back wall. Hildy’s private suite.

Stepping inside the room, we find a trio of familiar faces inside: one night nurse and two security guards. The steady ping of Hildy’s heart monitor fills the air. Her tiny body lies curled up on the bed.

My heart clenches in my chest. Hildy looks so small and frail.

A pang of guilt thrums through me, thinking back to the lively, feisty girl who came to my chamber door about two weeks and a million years ago. She barely spent two days with Maxon before she put her life on the line for him. And now, she may spend the rest of her life on this bed, all in a bid to help save our son. I’m grateful and angry and incredibly sad, all at once.

Maxon waves to the red-haired nurse. “Hi, Emily!”

“Good morning, Prince Maxon.” Emily turns and bows to me. “Your Highness.”

I eye Emily from head to toe. It’s hard to believe that this is the same young nurse we met the first day we saw Hildy in the infirmary. To her credit, Emily has worked extra hard to make up for her initial disregard for Hildy. I notice the new, larger bed that Hildy’s sleeping on. Emily’s handiwork, no doubt

Meanwhile, Maxon eyes the two guards suspiciously. “You two are new.”

They stiffen their stance, clicking their black booted heels together. The taller of the two speaks. “King Lincoln himself assigned us here. We’ve got family in Rixa as well as Striga.”

Maxon folds his arms over his chest. When it comes to Hildy, he’s very security conscious. “Show me.”

The taller guard holds his hand out, palm facing upward. A purple flame dances up from his skin. Maxon nods approvingly. “You’re both are okay, I guess.” He turns his attention to the sleeping Hildy. Her black hair has grown out, showing long blonde roots. Her hands curl under her chin, the black fingernails now half-free of paint. I inhale a shaky breath. Hildy did so much to protect Maxon. Will she ever wake up?

Maxon presses his fingers onto the edge of the mattress. “Why the new bed?”

“It’s bigger,” explains Emily. “Now you can sit next to her while you read her stories.”

Maxon’s face lights up, his mismatched eyes glimmering with excitement. “Wow, that’s great!” He scampers up onto the mattress and sits down beside Hildy, who doesn’t so much as flinch. “Do you have my book, Emily?”

“Sure do.” Emily scans the piles of toys and books stacked around the room. She hands Maxon a dog-eared copy of ‘The House of Horus.’

Maxon whips open the first page and starts reading. “Once up on a time, there was a thrax prince named Horus…”

While Maxon’s busy reading his story, I pull Emily aside. “Any change?”

Emily shakes her head. “No improvement.”

“We can’t keep Maxon in Antrum much longer. He isn’t getting any sleep and Hildy isn’t getting any better.” I exhale a long sigh. “We’ll need to pack up Maxon’s things later today. We leave for Purgatory in the morning.”

Suddenly, the steady ping of Hildy’s heart monitor goes into a fast drumroll. Maxon drops into a crouch so he’s eye-to-eye with Hildy. “Do you like my story, Hildy?” He presses closer until his nose almost touches hers. “I’m going to stay here and talk to you, just like you stayed in my head and talked to me. You’re going to get better Hildy, wait and see.” He sits back up, reopens his book and starts from the beginning. “Once upon a time…”

I pull Emily aside again. The ping of Hildy’s heart rate goes faster. “Has this happened before?”

Emily shakes her head, her eyes wide with surprise. “Never.”

I frown. “You don’t think it’s because of what we were talking about, do you?”

“I don’t know.”

One way to find out. I turn to Maxon and say in a loud voice. “We’ll stay right here in Antrum, Maxon, until Hildy wakes up.”

The heart monitor immediately slows to a steady beat. I share a look of surprise and excitement with Emily.

“I think she heard us,” I say.

Emily smiles from ear to ear. “I think so, too, Your Highness. Should I try another revival serum?”

“No, those haven’t worked and it only upsets Maxon. Whatever we’re doing, it’s working, so let’s not mess with it.” My chest lightens with a sense of joy and relief. I can’t believe it. The first signs of light and life from Hildy.

Maxon’s gaze snaps to mine. “Of course, she heard you, Mommy. I did too.” He pats Hildy’s head, his mouth set in a protective line. “Don’t worry, Hildy. I’m not going anywhere.”

The wave of relief I felt before transforms into a sense of overwhelming exhaustion. I slump over to the chair beside Hildy’s bed and sink in. As Maxon continues his story, I watch Hildy’s eyes flicker beneath closed lids. It’s the first time I’ve seen any motion in her face in what feels like ages.

Curling forward, I set my forehead into my palms, grief and joy tightening my throat in waves. I stifle the urge to sob, but tears still wet my cheeks.

Maxon’s right. Hildy may actually recover.

Hell, so might all of us.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I lie back in bed, close my eyes, and start the dreamscape. My jaw clenches with anxious energy and I wish I were somewhere, anywhere, doing anything but this. However, the truth is unavoidable. I’ve been putting off this dreamscape with Connor long enough.

Time to get it over with.

“Octavia, Lincoln, and Connor, I summon thee to dreamscape.”

When I open my eyes again, I stand in a dream-version of the Gray Sea, Purgatory’s largest desert. Octavia and Lincoln stand silently beside me. Undulating dunes of charcoal-colored sand stretch out around us, as far as the eye can see. Black billowing clouds roll overhead. The heavy scent of sulfur hangs in the air.

The Queen Emeritus turns to me, her hands clasped tightly at her waist. A spark of anger gleams in her mismatched eyes. “Where is he?”

Basically, Octavia’s pissed at Connor and I don’t blame her. The fact that he’s not showing up for my dreamscape isn’t helping his case, either.

“Let me try again.” I crack my neck from side to side. “Connor, I summon thee.”

Minutes tick by as we all wait for Connor to appear. He doesn’t have to heed my summons. He doesn’t have to answer, but since he’s in Hell, you’d think he wouldn’t have better things to do.

What a wiener.

Disappointment weighs on my shoulders. Connor was never big on facing unpleasant truths, and maybe now is no exception to this rule. Only, I was hoping that he’d rally. We could all use some closure. I was up half the night with Maxon, holding him through the latest round of nasty flashbacks. He’ll be dealing with the consequences of Connor’s choice for the rest of his life.

How could he sell his grandchild’s soul to anyone?

Perhaps it will help if I try the pushy approach. When I speak next, it is with my most goddess-like and booming voice.

“Connor Banning Osric Aquilus, King Emeritus of the Thrax, I summon thee!”

Still, Connor doesn’t appear.

Octavia’s lower lip quivers; Lincoln’s face turns still as stone. I know they both must be dying inside. I’m not-so-chipper either. Saying goodbye would definitely have helped me, as well. Lincoln and I exchange a sad look.

I’ll give it one last try.

Pleading isn’t my favorite thing to do, but I can’t walk away without having worked every angle.

“Connor, it’s Myla.” I’m careful to keep my voice calm and gentle. “I’m here to dreamscape with you. Lincoln and Octavia are here as well.”

Another long pause.

Another nothing happening.

What an ass this guy is. I know he hears me.

My voice cracks as I ask one last time. “Please, Connor. You owe us this.”

A misty shape forms on the dark sands. It’s the King Emeritus. He wears the same thrax tunic he did on the day he died in the Council of Five.

For a long minute, there’s a lot of awkward staring. Then, Connor speaks in a low voice.

“How is Maxon?”

“He’s home safe,” says Octavia.

“Good.”

No way is he getting off the hook that easily.

“Maxon has nightmares and flashbacks all the time, Connor,” I say. “He’s a very hurt little boy, and he doesn’t even know his Grandfather sold his soul to Armageddon.”

Connor stares at the sands. “Thank you for not telling him.”

“We didn’t do it for you,” I say. “We did it for Maxon. He’s suffered enough.”

Connor meets my gaze, his mismatched eyes lined with tears. “You can’t forgive me. Maxon’s your son. I’m not your blood and I made a terrible mistake with him.” He cautiously seeks out Octavia’s gaze. “How about you, my Queen?”

Octavia’s eyes glisten. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, either. You made this choice without asking me. At the time, we were married and happy. I knew there were problems having a child, but I was at peace with our lives. You and me, that’s all I needed. Aldred tortured us for twenty years because of this deal you struck with him. And my sweet grandson…The things he went through.” She sets her hands over her mouth.

“I know, Octavia. I’m so sorry, to all of you. I had a weak moment and I made a bad decision.” He turns to Lincoln. “How about you, son? Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“For the one-time decision, yes. We all make mistakes, even huge ones. I’m not immune.”

Connor rubs his hands together. “Good. I knew you’d see reason.”

“But for how you dealt with it all those years?” Lincoln shakes his head. “That’s not so easy to forgive. You pretended like everything was fine when it wasn’t. You placed the burden of the crown on my shoulders at an early age. And you treated anyone who disagreed with your point of view as unreasonable. Even now, you’re still doing it.”

“I’m sorry. I was so ashamed of what I did, I wanted to pretend it never happened. Since I was king, everyone went along with my act and I was able to forget—”

“Your own troubles,” finishes Lincoln. “All while doubling the load on everyone else. I appreciate that you’re acknowledging this at last, but…” He shrugs.

“I know.” Connor’s face takes on a hollow, haunted look. “I’m paying for my errors, believe me.”

I stare at Connor’s face, and something about it seems familiar. He reminds me of Adair right now. The horrors of being tortured seem fresh on him, like it did with her. “did I pull you from the torture pits?” I ask.

Connor nods.

“I thought Dad got you out of there. He was supposed to talk to Nefer.”

“He did. I refused. I deserve what’s happening to me. And the physical torture isn’t anything compared to realizing what I’ve done to everyone I care about.” His voice breaks as he speaks. “I’m so sorry.”

Octavia steps forward, her face lined with worry. “We are not sending you back to the torture pits.”

“Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter. I’m there right now.”

“There’s another option, Father.” Lincoln pulls his baculum from his packet. “We can set you free. You can be erased.”

Connor looks to Octavia, his eyes lined with tears. She gives him the subtlest of nods. “If you wish this, you have my blessing.”

Lincoln’s voice turns gentle. “Is that what you want, Father?”

Connor stares at the baculum for a long moment. “Yes. That’s what I want.”

Lincoln ignites his baculum as a dagger, like I did with Adair. He plunges the blade into Connor’s heart. Tears stream down the faces of both father and son. My shoulders shake with silent sobs.

Why does this have to be so hard?

Connor gasps as the dagger hits him, and then, his face calms into a peaceful smile. The last image I have of him is that sated grin. Connor disappears.

I turn to Lincoln, cupping his face in my hands. “You did the right thing.”

He nods, and a sense of peace glimmers in his mismatched eyes as well. “I know.” He gently kisses my cheek. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

I open the door to Hildy’s private room in the Arx Hall infirmary. Maxon sits at the foot of her bed, playing poker with two guards. Based on the piles of gold around him, Maxon’s fleecing them both. I can’t help but be a little impressed, but Lincoln’s less pleased.

“Who gave you permission to leave your posts?”

The guards snap to attention. “Apologies, Your Highness.”

Maxon sets his fist on his hip. “While you’re gone, I’m the ranking noble. They have to listen to me. I wanted to play poker.” He picks up a pile of gold coins in his chubby hand. “And I’m winning.”

“They don’t have to play games with you; they have to do their jobs.” Lincoln glares at both of them in turn. “And they know it.”

I can almost see the thought bubble reading yipe-yipe-yipe above the guards’ heads as they scurry back into their places against the far wall of the room.

“Alright, baby,” I say. “Time to get some sleep.”

Maxon scooches closer to Hildy. “I don’t need sleep. I’m super-natchal.”

“Come on, son,” adds Lincoln. “Let’s give it a try.”

Maxon folds arms over his chest. “No. Hildy needs me.”

And now begins a glare-a-thon between Lincoln and Maxon. I remember how Lincoln and Connor used to have similar visual show-downs. Scenes like this don’t necessarily facilitate great family memories. In fact, the room starts getting downright uncomfortable when a soft voice breaks the silence.

“Listen to your parents.”

Maxon’s eyes widen with shock. “Hildy?”

Her heavy-lidded eyes flutter open. “I was trying to sleep, but you’re too fidgety.”

Maxon wraps his arms around her neck. “Hildy! You’re awake.”

Hildy shakily lifts her arm to pat his back. “And you’re not listening. Go with your parents and get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay, sure,” says Maxon quickly. He raises his arms toward me. “Snuggle tails, Mommy?”

“You got it.”

I scoop him up onto my hip. Our tails entwine and I feel like he’s hugging me in a relaxed way that I haven’t felt in months.

Lincoln motions to one of the guards. “Get the doctor.” He steps closer to Hildy’s side. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired but good.” Her mismatched eyes narrow. “That was a bitch. I want a raise.”

Lincoln chuckles. “You’re getting one.”

Emily bursts into the room. “You’re awake! You’re awake! The doctor is on his way. We need to run some tests.” She starts fussing with the bedcovers.

Hildy bats her nurse away. “I’m on this.”

“We still need to run some tests.”

“Stick your tests up your ass. I healed myself and I’m fine now, thank you very much.”

I gesture toward the door. “Please give us a moment alone.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Emily scurries out.

Lincoln and I share a smile. We thought Hildy’s recovery was a long shot, but just in case it happened, we had a plan. My heart kicks harder in my chest.

This is going to be gooooooooood.

Hildy lies back in bed and laces her fingers behind her head. She’s looking better by the second. “So, what’s my raise?”

Lincoln bows. “As the King of Antrum, I hereby declare you Princess of Rixa, with all the falderal, money, and properties that entails.”

Hildy’s eyes almost bug out of her head. “Did you say Princess?”

“I know you’re not into titles.” I wink. “Just focus on the money.”

Maxon bobs up and down on my hip. “Yay yay yay!”

“There should be some sucking up to look forward to as well,” adds Lincoln. “You’re now in line for the throne, the whole deal.”

Hildy’s voice comes out low. “Me?”

Lincoln nods. “You were already acting like part of the family, now it’s official. You’re a member of the House of Rixa. Under thrax law, you and Maxon are now cousins.”

“I’ve never had a family.”

“We know that, too,” I say gently. “Now, you do.”

“One of my scribes will explain what it all means,” continues Lincoln. “When you’re ready, of course. Oh, and I’m afraid Octavia will have lots of opinions on your life now.”

“I don’t mind.”

Maxon winds his hand through my hair and pulls. “Mommy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I want to nap now.”

Hildy yawns. “That makes two of us.”

Lincoln and I step out the infirmary door and walk down the gilded hallway. We’re in no particular rush to reach our chambers. Maxon curls into my shoulder; Lincoln slides his arm around my waist.

“Guess someone was tired,” he says.

Looking down, I see Maxon’s fast asleep, his tail still linked with mine. I gently kiss the top of his head. “He’s been exhausted for weeks. Nothing but sheer determination has kept him up.”

“Wonder where that comes from?” asks Lincoln.

I chuckle. “No idea.”

“Well, now Hildy’s a royal and Maxon’s asleep.” Lincoln gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “One of our best days of work on record, I’d say.”

“You know, it’s funny. Armageddon was out to destroy our family, but he ended up making it bigger, instead.”

“Quite the fitting legacy for the old bastard, actually.”

As we step along, I press more closely onto Lincoln’s side, loving the feel of his firm body against mine. “You’re onto something there with the legacy idea. As a matter of fact, I think it’s perfect.”

The story continues in Maxon. Out May 12 2015.

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For more information and updates about the series, go to: http://inkmonster.net/books/angelbound-series

Acknowledgments

Armageddon was a gut-wrenching bitch to write and I don’t care who knows it. In my creative process, I try to follow my little muse wherever it wants to go, and with Armageddon it wanted rehash one of the toughest periods of my life, when my son was diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder. At that point, my sweet two-year-old boy experienced the world as an overwhelming and often terrifying place. He exhibited many of the classic signs of trauma. My husband and I were at a loss for how to ease his suffering.

We were incredibly fortunate when Jane Koomar came into our life and family. She taught us how the brain remains plastic through old age and that we all have the potential to grow and heal, whatever the pace. She showed us that our child’s sensory challenges were a puzzle that could be solved, and that our family could have a fun time doing it. Sensory integration therapy with Jane and the wonderful team at OTA Watertown (now OTA the Koomar Center) made all the difference in our son’s development as well as our lives as a family. We are one of many that were blessed with her presence.

Jane was also a friend. She and I shared an intense way of soaking in the world and new pursuits that may seem odd to outsiders, but made perfect sense to us. We’d email esoteric brain development research back and forth, geeking out on the implications for days. When I’d join in my son’s therapy sessions, Jane had no issues pushing both of us on the platform swing if I had to take an emergency call from the office. “That’s how it is when you’re a working Mom, Christina. Watch your head.”

Jane wore a different, more official face when she was her public-self versus the private, effervescent think-tank who brainstormed how to end third-world poverty with stationary bikes (and yes, she had a concept that would totally work!) She read my books and encouraged my writing. She was taken from us far too soon.

In summary, I can only end these acknowledgements by recalling Walker’s sentiments to Myla on the Plains of Fire. With some people, there are no goodbyes. Only see you soon.

Jane, you are missed. See you soon.

Christina Bauer graduated from Syracuse University’s Newhouse School with BA’s in English as well as Television, Radio, and Film Production. Her day job is in marketing for companies like Microsoft and Cisco. Back in the go-go 90′s, she founded her own software start-up, Mindful Technologies. Christina believes that, upon close examination of Tolkien’s text, it’s entirely possible that the Balrog was wearing fuzzy bunny slippers.

Coming October 2014 from Ink Monster and Aileen Erin, Cipher. The first book in The Shadow Ravens series.

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Out now from Ink Monster, Becoming Alpha by Aileen Erin.

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