Cissy and I sit in our usual seats in the back row of Biology class, waiting for the other students to settle in. My best friend bobs up and down in her chair. “Did I tell you Zeke’s parents are back from their trip?”
Only twelve times. “Yes, you mentioned it, Cissy.” The day after I first visited the Ryder library, Zeke’s parents went on a week-long diplomatic tour. Before leaving, they called Cissy’s house, saying that under no circumstances should she visit the mansion. For a few days, she and Zeke tried hanging at her place, but her parents are still having issues with Zeke’s reputation. Long story short, they’ve been counting the days until the Ryders return.
And if I’m being totally honest with myself, they’re not the only ones counting. I can’t wait to get back into the library and see what I can find out about my mother’s past and father’s identity.
Cissy doodles in her notebook. “I’m going over to the Ryder mansion after school. You coming?”
“Hells, yeah.” I didn’t realize it was a question. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Cissy chews her bottom lip. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to. Last week you left pretty early. I was worried you didn’t like hanging out in the library.”
Oh that? Only when thrax Princes show up. “No, I’m totally into it. I’ll be there after school.”
“Good news.” Cissy leans across the aisle and taps my desk. “Hey, did you see that?” She nods toward the front of the class.
Craning my neck, I spy a large glass case by the teacher’s desk. It’s a three-foot cube that’s perched on a small silver table. “Cool. The Lady always keeps it interesting.”
The Lady is LDY-99, our Biology teacher. With charcoal skin that stretches over her skeletal frame, the Lady looms seven feet tall in her hooded black robes. Her distinguishing marks are her halo-like afro, oversized eyes, and little round glasses. She’s definitely the coolest teacher at school.
“Today, I’ve a surprise for you all.” The Lady steps up to the empty glass case. “We’re going to learn about Reperio demons.”
I do a happy-dance in my chair. Reperio are awesome.
The Lady picks up a garbage can and chucks the contents into the display. Scraps of paper, broken pencils, and paper clips settle to the bottom of the case.
After that, the garbage starts to move.
The scraps of paper form into little men with eraser-eyes. The broken pencils splinter into skirts for tiny ladies with wooden bodies and paper clip heads. They prowl the display floor, pounding on the glass, and swearing up a storm.
“Every demon has a name and classification. Who knows what these are?”
I raise my hand and answer before she calls on me. “They’re Reperio Minusculus, classification Possideo.”
The Lady adjusts the glasses on her nose. “Yes, they are Reperio Minusculus.” She steps over to her desk. “But I’m fairly certain they’re classification Insultus.” She opens up a thick leather-bound book from her desktop and flips through the pages. “No, you’re right. They’re Possideo. How about that?”
I roll my eyes. Unbelievable. Even ghoul biology teachers don’t know demon basics. Everyone acts like they’ll disappear if we ignore them.
Behind the glass, the little demons make lewd body gestures at our teacher. The Lady glances between them and me. “You fight evil souls in the Arena, don’t you?”
“Yup. Demons too after I’m done with the souls.” I point to the glass case. “Want to know the easiest way to kill Reperio?”
A soft gasp echoes around the room. The Lady’s eyes open wide. “No, no, no. We all love our demon allies.” She quickly steps back to the display case. “Let’s talk about something else, class. Ah, I know. I’ll explain how to feed, clothe, and entertain our little friends.”
Cissy whispers to me from across the aisle. “Look Myla, I know you used to keep notebooks on how to kill demons, but–”
“Oh, I still take tons of notes. And Walker sneaks me into Arena matches pretty regularly. I’ve seen other fighters go after Reperio and the easiest way to kill them is–”
“Myla Lewis!” The Lady stares at me, her large black eyes look ready to burst from her head. I scan the room. The other students look at me like I just announced my frozen head collection. “For the last time. Stop sharing kill strategies for our demon allies.”
My eyes glow with rage. Demon allies, my ass.
Cissy shoots me a desperate stare. “After school, Myla. The library? Remember?”
The library, right. If the Lady sends me to Principal’s office, I’ll be suspended for sure. Knowing my mother, that’ll mean no library trips for months. I need answers more than I need to make a point about demons. I bite my lips together, hard. “I understand, LDY-99.”
“Thank you.” The Lady spends the next hour explaining how Reperio demons like to eat Cheetos, dress in rotten food, and be entertained with any kid of fart noise.
Unholy moley, what a waste of time.
***
“Greetings, Myla. You’re called to serve.”
My eyes pop open. It’s early morning and Walker stands at the foot of my bed. Please let me not be dreaming. I’ve been dying for an Arena match for weeks, ever since I downed that Deacon guy. I cross my fingers under the comforter. “Am I dreaming?”
Walker folds his arms across his chest. “No, it’s really me.”
“An Arena match. Yes!” I jump out of bed and smile my face off.
Walker rubs his sideburns with one hand. “We must depart shortly.”
“I’ll be ready super-fast.” I hunt through my dresser for the least raggedy sweatpants. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Walker still lurking by my bed. I arch my eyebrow. “This is the part where you leave my room.”
Walker fidgets in his long robes. “Of course. I’m sorry, Myla.”
“No problem.” I gesture to door. “Since I’m going to the Arena, I bet Mom’s already worrying herself to death in the kitchen. You can keep her company.”
Walker patters out of my room, closing the door behind him.
I get ready in record time and sprint to the kitchen. Mom sits at the table, lazily paging through a travel magazine.
“Good morning, Myla sweetie.” Her face stretches into a warm smile. “I understand you’re going to the Arena today.”
Well, that’s a little fishy. Normally, Mom’s a heartbeat away from a coronary by this point.
“Yup, I’m off to battle the bad people.” I karate-kick the air and hear my sweat-pants rrrrrrip. “Okay, maybe not in these pants.” I roll my eyes. “What am I thinking? I should wear my fighting suit.” I jog back to my room and change.
Mom calls to me from the kitchen. “Set those sweats onto the couch before you go. I’ll patch them this morning.” She sounds downright chipper.
Hmm. That’s a lot fishy. Time to ask some questions.
I return to the kitchen and make myself a hearty sugar cereal breakfast. “So, who am I fighting today?”
Walker frowns. “You’re not fighting anyone. The angels requested you be present for a ceremony.”
My morning instantly deflates. “A ceremony?” I grimace. “There’s no chance of fighting, none at all?”
“Knowing you, always.” Walker sips his coffee. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and really piss off Sharkie.”
“Good, because I just ripped my last pair of clean sweats. It’s the fighting suit or nothing.” I turn to Mom. “And you’re totally okay with all this?” I haven’t had a Maternal Inquisition yet or anything. It feels downright weird.
Mom loads her coffee cup with cream and sugar. “I’ve known the angel Verus since before the Wars. She and I discussed this. You can attend.”
“Oh, I see.” If Mom says I can go, this must be totally boring. I eat my Frankenberry cereal one sugar puff at a time. It’s like my last meal before hitting the guillotine.
Walker hovers by my shoulder. “We must depart now, Myla.”
Anger burns through my belly. “If you gave me a little notice before these Arena visits, I’d be ready faster.”
Walker shares a sly look with my mother. “You never complained before.”
“Well, I’m complaining now.”
Mom turns another page in her magazine. “Just because you’re not fighting evildoers this morning doesn’t mean you can be grouchy with Walker.”
Ugh. I hate it when she’s right. “Sorry, Walker.”
“You’re forgiven.”
I swallow my last bite of cereal. “Okay, let’s hit it.”
Walker opens a portal in the center of the kitchen.
Mom blows me a kiss. “Have fun, sweetie!”
“I’ll try.” I give her a halfhearted wave. “See you after school.”
Taking Walker’s hand in mine, I steel my shoulders and step through the dark door. We tumble through space for what feels like hours. I almost puke at least twice before stepping onto the Arena’s dirt floor.
Around me stand a dozen quasis. Men and women, black and white, young and old…This group could not be more different, except for one thing: they all have long pointed tails like mine.
They’re all part-furor. Fighters like me. I can’t help but size up the other warriors. I could take anyone of these folks down, easily. And although most of them have fighting suits, none are as dragon-scale badass as mine.
Hey, it’s not a competition, but I’m winning.
Sharkie does his emcee-thing. The Oligarchy, angels, and demons all take their places in the Arena. An eternity ticks by while I stand near the other fighters. I pass the time playing rock-paper-scissors with my tail. My stomach growls. I must be missing lunch.
THUD. THUD. Sharkie sets his staff against the ground. “Angels, demons, and ghouls! We’ve a special announcement today from the fearless leader of our troops, Armageddon!”
The demon seats go ballistic. The angels clap politely.
Armageddon stands from his stone throne, his long black face twisting into an especially evil-looking grin. “We have found the Scala Heir.” His eyes glow with menace. “As promised.”
Verus takes to her feet. “Excellent. If this is indeed the Scala Heir, then we should be able to perform the Scala Initiation ceremony right now.”
Armageddon slowly reseats himself into his throne. “Of course.”
Verus points to our group of fighters. “Please line up along the base of the Arena wall. You’re witnesses to the changing.”
A Scala changing? That could be cool to watch. To be safe, I pick out a spot by an exit archway, the easier to duck out if things get really boring.
Verus raises her arms. “Let the initiation begin!”
All the angels take to their feet. The air echoes with the rustling of wings and robes. They speak in one voice. “Has the Scala Heir been found?”
Verus lowers her arms. “Yes. Among the thrax nobility.”
Thrax nobility? My stomach sinks to my toes. Yuck.
Moving as one group, the angels extend their white wings. Half the arena becomes blindingly bright. They speak again as one: “Let them bring the Scala Heir to us to be awakened and angelbound.” They all retake their seats.
“We will bring out the Scala Heir.” Verus smiles softly. “But first, the realm that produced the Heir will take the Arena floor. Today, this honor goes to the thrax. The thrax are divided into many Houses, the greatest of these being Horus, Striga, Kamal, Acca, and Rixa. All five will appear before us today. First is the House of Horus, the descendants of the Nubian Pharaohs.”
I exhale with relief. Nubian Pharaohs? That means Lincoln isn’t likely to take the Arena floor. At least, not yet.
I pick at the lint under my nails with my tail. Not that I care what he does, of course.
A trumpet call echoes through the air. The dirt floor shakes as the House of Horus does who-knows-what in the maze of hallways leading to the Arena floor. More trumpets blare as a dozen two-wheeled chariots barrel out of a nearby archway, each one driven by a pair of gray stallions.
The Arena floor rattles beneath my feet as the chariots charge around the stadium. My mouth bursts into a grin. These guys are so badass, it isn’t even funny.
As they tool around the Arena floor, I can see that the drivers are tall men with ebony skin, solid frames, and long dreadlocks. They wear brown linen pants topped by black leather tunics. The image of a looping Egyptian eye is sewn onto their chests in bronze thread.
The chariots ride in different formations, their paths creating a complex series of circles and lines. Golden bridles glimmer in the horses’ mouths. The chariots crisscross into the most complex pattern yet. Then, they stop in neat rows in one corner of the stadium. Whoa. I can’t believe they didn’t bump into each other at least once.
I clap wildly, but everyone else is silent. Oops. I pop my hands behind my back.
“Second is the House of Striga,” says Verus. “Their skills in sorcery and witchcraft are famous across the five realms.”
From the opposite archway, two-dozen men march onto the arena floor, their bodies thin and lanky. All have olive skin and square faces. Purple beads are woven into their long brown hair. They wear the brown leather pants, silver chain mail, and velvet tunics decorated with a purple pentagram. The stick-men march into the middle of the stadium floor, align themselves into a huge circle, and quickly bow their heads. A low chant echoes through the air. A massive ball of red flame appears by the stadium floor.
I gasp. I’ve never seen magic before.
The scarlet orb zooms up into the sky and bursts like a firework. The Striga men march to another corner of the Arena, taking their place beside the House of Horus.
I bob on the balls of my feet, excited to see what the next House has in store. Sure, it’s a bummer I’m not battling anything right now, but this show almost makes up for that. Almost.
“Third is the House of Kamal,” says Verus. “These thrax are renowned for their skill with animals.”
More thrax march into the stadium, this time their cotton tunics hold the image of three claw scratches in deep blue. The Kamal warriors form a line across the center of the Arena floor, about twenty fighters in all. Their bodies look lean and sinewy; their cocoa faces are set into determined frowns.
Scanning the faces, I look for some girl fighters, but can’t find one. Hmm. The other Houses didn’t have female warriors either. That is so weird. I wonder if all the thrax women run around batting their eyes and feeling guys muscles like that Adair girl? Hmm. Not sure I want to know the answer to that question.
The Kamal let out a loud whoop. Tigers burst from the Arena archways, racing toward the floor’s center. Falcons swoop down from the sky; long blue ribbons hang from their talons. All the creatures settle in place, one animal for each warrior. They roar and shriek so loudly, I think my eardrums will burst. The warriors bow slightly; the animals fall silent. The Kamal march in unison, taking their places beside the other Houses. The falcons perch on their warrior’s arm, the tigers stand at their fighter’s side. All the animal’s bodies remain still as stone.
My mind whirls through all the demons that’d be easier to fight with a Kamal tiger or falcon at my side. I bob my head approvingly. Those would come in mighty handy, indeed.
“Fourth is the House of Acca. These thrax are renowned for their abilities with a crossbow.”
I lean against the stonewall, hitching my right foot across my left. This is taking a long time, but the warrior displays are super-interesting. Who knew there were so many ways to fight demons besides hand-to-hand? I work hard to look casual and actively ignore the unwanted images of Lincoln’s mouth that keep popping into my mind. An anxious feeling tightens my stomach. Stop thinking about him, damn it.
Twenty warriors walk onto the Arena floor, their black velvet tunics sewn with the image of a gloved yellow fist. All have stout bodies, pale skin, and golden hair. Each fighter wears metal-studded gloves and carries a silver crossbow. The Acca warriors march to the floor’s center and stand in a long line. Moving as one unit, they all fire a single metal bolt straight into the air.
I purse my lips. That’s not so impressive. I know zero about crossbows, and I could do that, easy peasy.
The stadium holds its breath as the bolts fly skywards, then reverse direction and speed back to the ground. The warriors lift their arms, catching the bolts in their gloved hands.
I take it back. That’s a pretty neat trick.
“Fifth is the House of Rixa, rulers of the thrax and the only bloodline who can wield the mighty baculum.” A hush falls over the stadium as Lincoln, his father, and mother process onto the Arena floor. All three wear silver crowns.
On instinct, my body tenses into battle stance, tail arcing over my shoulder. All my forgotten anger from the library slams back into me, raw and present. ‘Real thrax warrior,’ my ass.
After the royal family, sixty warriors march onto the Arena floor in neat lines, each step in perfect unison. These men dress in black leather pants topped by silver chain mail and a black velvet tunic. The image of an eagle is sewn onto their chests in silver thread. The bird swoops downward, claws extended.
My tail whips behind me in a slow, predatory rhythm. My inner demon awakens, anger pumps through my veins. I grit my teeth as I take in the scene.
King Connor stands sturdy and tall, a silver sword hanging from a belt about his waist. Beside him, the Queen is arrayed in a black velvet gown with a full skirt and long looping sleeves, all edged in silver ribbon. Her sandy brown hair is wound into a bun at the base of her neck. Lincoln walks beside them with military precision. Shadows shift across his full mouth, brown hair, and strong shoulders.
My eyes flicker red with wrath.
The Rixa march to the Arena’s center, forming three columns of twenty soldiers each. The King, Queen, and High Prince stand nearby.
Lincoln steps forward, raising one hand. “On my mark!”
The men in the first column reach behind their backs, pulling what looks like two short silver rods from the folds of their tunics.
I squint, trying to see the weapons in their hands. Are those teensy little sticks the ‘mighty baculum?’ Not too impressive, Prince Pompous.
Lincoln lowers his arm.
The soldiers place one stick in each hand. A line of fire extends from both ends of the baculum, turning the rods into two short spears made of white flame.
The warriors toss the spears into the air. The lines of white fire whip skyward, then spiral back into the warrior’s hands. The Rixa set the two baculum together, creating one longer, heavier spear. Holding it before them with both hands, the warriors thrust the spear into the earth.
Okay, maybe that’s a little bit impressive.
Lincoln turns to the next group and nods.
The second column brings out their baculum, holding both sticks together in one hand. Fire extends from the baculum, turning the short silver rods into long tridents made of white flame. The warriors run through a series of synchronized lunges and spins. Like the first group, they end by setting the base of their tridents into the soil.
I hate to admit it, but that was cool, too.
Lincoln faces the last set of soldiers.
The third column raises their arms shoulder-high, one baculum in each hand. A rope of white flame extends between the silver rods. Before each warrior, the fiery baculum cord weaves back and forth until it turns into a small net made of fire. The soldiers toss their baculum-nets high into the air, where they all link together into one huge and fiery web. I can’t imagine a demon getting out from under that thing.
The fire-web hovers in the sky for a moment, then wafts slowly downward. When the great net lies just above the warrior’s heads, the Rixa raise their arms high, catching their baculum with ease. The fighters lower their hands. The fiery web breaks back into individual nets.
Lincoln pulls out two baculum of his own. He sets them together in his palms. A fiery broadsword appears in his hands. He sets his feet apart in battle stance and raises the fire-sword high above his head.
“In thrax hic sunt!” He speaks Latin, like the Scala. I’ve no idea what it means, but I guess it’s something like ‘thrax are in the house.’ At the sound of his voice, fresh anger zings through my system. I crack my neck and try to stay cool.
From her white throne, Verus sweeps her arm across the crowd. “The senior maiden of each major House is that house’s Great Lady. We’re fortunate to have four Great Ladies here with us today: Nita of House Kamal, Keisha of House Horus, Gianna of House Striga, and Adair of House Acca.”
Adair? As in ‘ooh you have such muscle-y muscles’ Adair? I grit my teeth and work hard to slow my breathing. I’m built to show up and kick ass, not stand around while girly dips do their thing.
I inhale a slow breath. Keep it together, Myla. I’m sure she’ll just prance out onto the Arena floor and then stand somewhere and look pretty.
Four girls around my age step through a stadium archway, each wearing a gown in their house’s color: yellow, purple, bronze, and blue. They saunter across the Arena floor to stand before the King, Queen, and High Prince. Lincoln lowers his baculum; the fiery blade disappears.
I glance at my watch. School’s almost over. This bleeding ceremony has to end soon.
“The procession is complete,” says Verus. “We will now awaken the Scala Heir.”
The angels once again rise to their feet, their great wings extending behind their backs. They speak in unison. “Who is the Scala Heir?”
The Lady Adair raises her hand to shoulder level, palm forward. “I am the Scala Heir.”
What?! No freaking way. The Scala is supposed to be part angel, demon, and human. Thrax are only part human and angel. I eye Lady Adair carefully. She’s so perfect and cute-sy, she could easily be part-demon. Maybe she’s descended from one of those swamp monsters who pretend to be a lovely, drowning lady. You try to rescue the pretty, and you’re lured to your death. Yeah, that’s it.
Lady Adair speaks again, her voice snapping me out of my thoughts. “I look forward to following in the long tradition of a thrax Scala.”
I grimace. The old Scala can’t last much longer. If she’s the Scala Heir, I could spend years of quality time with this loser. Gross.
Adair carefully positions her long blonde hair over one shoulder. She’s tall and willowy with porcelain skin, high cheekbones, a thin mouth, and a turned-up nose. One mismatched eye is emerald green, the other’s drab brown. All in all, she looks perfectly capable of getting a book down from a shelf without any help.
Verus nods. “We shall now awaken the Scala Heir.” All the angels lower their heads. A point of white light appears in the air above the stadium. I wince and shield my eyes with one hand. My body relaxes a bit. Things are getting interesting again.
The Queen of the Angels raises her arms toward the floating white light. “We draw forth igni power to the Scala Heir.”
My gaze shifts between the magical light and Adair, who whispers back and forth with Gianna. I raise my brows. I’m bored too, but I’m not chit-chatting from the middle of the Arena floor.
Inch by inch, the tiny star lowers until it rests just above the sandy ground. The Arena grows oddly quiet as the star twinkles away. My tail starts freaking out, trying to drag me out the nearest archway. I smack the arrowhead end and tell it to behave.
With a deafening crack, the point of light bursts, filling the Arena with hazy brilliance. The angels raise their heads, their eyes blazing bright blue in the thick white fog. The demons howl and cough.
I inhale deeply, the air tastes sweet and calming. My tail quiets down.
Once the air clears, Verus gestures to Adair. “Prove you have igni power.”
Adair raises her arms above her head. “I am the Scala Heir.” Tiny points of light tumble from her fingertips like grains of sand.
Verus nods. “Now that the Heir has been awakened, she must be angelbound. Igni power comes from the angels. Once the Scala Heir displays true love toward someone with angelic blood, it will further activate her abilities with igni. When the current Scala dies, her full powers will appear.”
I count off the steps in my mind: awakened, angelbound, and then full Scala when the old one dies. Makes sense that the angels would want to control when and how the Heir is awakened. It’s a big job. I look at Adair, my mouth twisting onto one side of my face. Not sure she’s really cut out for it.
Verus gestures to the Scala Heir. “To whom do you wish to be angelbound?”
Adair grins. “I choose my true love, the High Prince Lincoln.”
My back teeth lock. I think I’m going to be sick.
“Does the High Prince accept this?”
Lincoln’s expression is unreadable. “Yes.”
Verus gestures to Adair. “Would you like to say a few words before you’re angelbound?”
Adair beams. “Yes. Thank you all for this lovely initiation.” She glances straight at me. “I’m glad that the lesser creatures could be here too.”
Anger spikes up my spine. What did I ever do to her? First, she makes snotty comments about me in the library. Now, she does it again in the Arena. Someone is asking for an ass-whooping.
Adair and Gianna start whispering again.
I roll my eyes. Sheesh, save it for the ride home.
Verus gestures to Lincoln and the Scala Heir. “Please turn and face each other.”
Adair quickly steps in front of Lincoln. Their gazes lock. Adair’s forehead crinkles. After that, she swoons and tumbles to the ground. Lincoln helps her back to her feet. Adair looks around the stadium, her eyes blinking madly.
The stadium lets out a collective gasp. Adair’s eyes, once mismatched, now both glow bright blue. Angel eyes.
“Lady Adair, you are awakened and Angelbound,” says Verus. “Our initiation is complete. When the current Scala dies, you will gain your full powers from him. We bow to you, our Scala Heir.”
The angels bend at the waist, the demons howl and screech. Armageddon leans back in his black stone throne, eyes gleaming red and missing nothing. The whole scene seems way over-the-top and sketchy to me. But what do I know? I’m used to killing things in the Arena, not watching crap like this.
Lincoln offers his arm to Adair, she wraps her fingers around his bicep. Of course. Together, they process off the stadium floor.
Suddenly, I’m totally regretting my decision to stand by an exit archway. They’re heading straight for me. My inner rage monster turns positively frantic.
As the Prince and Scala Heir step nearer, Adair eyes me from head to toe. “What do they call these lesser demons again? Partials? Semis?”
Fury twists my stomach. We’re called quasis.
Lincoln gazes in my direction. His face is stone. “I’m not sure.”
Adair sighs. “Whatever they’re called, I’m glad they saw ‘real warriors’ in action today.” She grips Lincoln’s bicep tighter.
More fury flows through me. I set my feet apart, ready to pounce. My tail arcs over my shoulder. Lincoln watches the movement, the ghost of a smile curling his full lips in a way that says ‘how cute; the little demon wants to fight.’ My blood pressure skyrockets.
The Prince steps past me through the archway. “Yes, I’m sure it was quite an education for the poor creatures.”
That does it.
Mindless rage blasts through my veins. My eyes positively beam with red light. I rush forward, ready to tackle them both behind the kneecaps.
Instead, it’s Walker who pounces on me, knocking me straight into a portal. We tumble through space, coming to a landing in the empty parking lot outside my school.
“Walker? What in blazes are you doing?” I ball my hands into fists. My eyes burn bright red.
“You’re asking me?” Walker shakes his head in disbelief. “You were about to flatten the thrax High Prince. A hundred of his best warriors were standing nearby. Even you can’t fight that, Myla.”
I pace the parking lot. The movement helps the anger seep from my body. My eyes cool a bit. “Okay, you’re right.” I pause and take three deep breaths. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Walker rubs his sideburns. “That was some look on your face, Myla. I’ve never seen your eyes turn that red.”
“I guess I lost my temper big time.” I shift my weight from foot to foot. This incident has gone from rage-inducing to totally embarrassing.
“I understand. Ghouls are the same way. We’re quiet enough and then–KABOOM–we lose our cool.”
Maybe that’s a genetic trait I got from my father. Barf. A heavy sadness seeps into my bones. I slouch and hug my elbows.
Walker tilts his head to one side. “Is there something wrong, Myla?”
I meet his gaze, seeing his black button eyes fill with concern. I start blabbing everything. “I’ve been getting these dreamscapes about Mom’s past from the angel Verus.”
Walker nods. “Your mother told me.”
“Well, I think my dad may be a ghoul.”
“Have you asked your mother about this?”
“Not yet.” I slump a bit lower. “Maybe I don’t want the answer to that question so much anymore.”
“I understand.” Walker rubs his sideburns thoughtfully. “Perhaps a change of subject is in order. I’ve learned the Scala will perform an iconigration soon.”
“Really?! Will you sneak me in?” Iconigrations are when the Scala transfers souls in a huge group. So cool.
“Of course.” A wisp of a grin rounds his mouth. “And where would you like to go now?” He opens a portal.
I soak in Walker’s warm smile. A knot of emotion forms in my throat. “Thanks again, Walker. For everything.”
“No need for thanks.” Walker sets his hand on my cheek, his touch is warm and grounding. “You’re very important to me, Myla.” He glances at the black portal. “Now where to?”
I check my watch. “Well, school ended an hour ago. Can we go to the Ryder library?”
“Absolutely.” Walker takes my hand in his. Together, we step into the portal. For once, I actually don’t feel ill as we tumble through space. We step out right by the mansion’s front door.
I give Walker’s hand a little squeeze. “See you at the iconigration.”
Walker nods. “Until then.” He steps into the dark portal and disappears.