“Myla? Are you there?” My father sounds pretty freaked. Although, based on how confused he was about calling a cell phone from a wall phone, this might just be technology angst I’m dealing with here.
Lincoln narrows his eyes. “Who is it?”
“My father,” I reply to Lincoln. Then I speak to the phone. “What’s going on, Dad? It’s only seven o’clock. We’re not supposed to talk until nine.” My pulse speeds. “Did you learn something about Lucifer’s Gauntlets or Inferno?”
“It’s terrible,” says Dad. “Your mother got called off for that mayor’s meeting. She isn’t here and Maxon got…” He inhales a long breath.
Hells bells. Something is wrong with my baby. My body feels like I instantly plunged into an ice bath. Lincoln has dad-sense, so he pauses too. His mismatched eyes lock with mine. Every line of my guy’s face is etched with worry.
I force in a deep breath. “Just tell me what happened.”
“Maxon has … a diaper rash.”
I wait for the rest of the story. It can’t be Maxon has a diaper rash and that’s it. “Oooookay. Diaper rash. And what else?”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Dad’s voice takes on a note of hysteria. “His bum is all red.”
“So that’s diaper rash.” I make a conscious effort to sound super calm. “Got it.”
Beside me, Lincoln relaxes. The words ‘diaper rash’ did the trick. Lincoln launches into one of his classic activities when entering a new space: inspecting the walls to find hidden doors and such. Antrum is filled with these secret passages, and my guy can uncover them like you wouldn’t believe.
“Yes, it’s diaper rash,” Dad continues. “So I found the diaper cream and put it on. Here’s my question. How much is too much?”
My forehead crumples with confusion. What exactly happened here? “Tell me what you did.”
“Well, you know how butts have a crack?”
How am I having this conversation with my father? “Yes.”
“Well, I can’t see his little butt crack anymore. Only the rash cream. Is that too much?”
I have to bite my thumbnail to stop from laughing. “Yes, that’s definitely in the realm of too much.”
“Oh, no.” Footsteps sound. Dad’s pacing his office. “That cream is medicine. Do you think I’ve poisoned him?”
“No, get a towel or something and wipe off the extra cream. You just need a light amount.”
“But I thought that was a light amount. I only used one tube.”
“No, Dad. One tube of diaper cream is too much diaper cream.” I’m biting my lips together now, the urge to laugh is so hard. “Put on the stuff like you would sunscreen.”
“Sun … screen?” Dad says the word like I just spoke gibberish.
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t get sunburn. Forget that example. Put it on like you’re buttering bread.”
“Still not following.”
“I forgot again. You don’t eat food, either.” The last year or so, my father has been experimenting with meals in order to seem more human. The results have been a little nasty, especially when he tried cooking fish without removing the scales. Took us a month to air out the kitchen.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. What kind of example can I use? My eyes widen. I snap my fingers. “I’ve got it. It’s like when you’re fighting an Ocular demon, and you need to apply ionic balm to its tail and bind it.”
“Oooooh.” Cool relief sounds in my father’s voice. “I got it now. Better run.”
“Wait,” I say. “Any updates for us?”
“Updates?” My father sounds genuinely confused.
“Any news about Walker and Drayden? Or the wristwatch Ciss and Lucas are working on?” I’d wonder how my father forgot our entire mission, but my son has a way of commanding attention.
“Oh, that! Well, I’ll be honest. I’ve been too worried about this diaper rash for anything else. Mortals are incredibly fragile. Maxon could have died!”
“Maxon would not have died from diaper rash.”
All this time, Lincoln has been checking the floorboards. At my latest words to Dad, Lincoln looks up and grins. I know what my guy is thinking. Your father is a character.
I roll my eyes. I know.
“Oh, wait!” cries Dad. “There’s an envelope on my desk. It’s Cissy’s writing.” Tearing sounds echo as my father opens the letter.
For the record, I am so thankful Cissy accepts my father’s technological limitations and sends off messengers with written missives.
“It says here that Cissy and Lucas had no luck in fixing the watch. Lucas is taking the device to Antrum to see if anyone in Striga can help.” In case you’re wondering, my father’s the type who never reads exactly what someone wrote down; he always summarizes. It’s a habit from sharing battle updates.
“Also,” continues Dad. “Cissy and Zeke left for the Enmity brothers farm. That’s it.”
A series of knocks sound at the door, breaking up my thoughts. Crossing the small room, Lincoln pulls the door open.
Jaime stands in the outer hallway. He raises his candelabra. “Obsidian is ready.”
Lincoln narrows his eyes. “It hasn’t been an hour.”
Jaime shrugs. “His spells finished faster than anticipated.” He lowers his voice. “You checked out rather quickly.”
“Good to know,” says Lincoln.
I refocus on my chat with Dad. “Have to run. Call me if you find out anything more.”
We say our byes and I hang up the phone. With Jaime’s guidance, Lincoln and I leave the so-called waiting room and start another long trek through Black Wing Manor. Only this time, we keep descending one spiral staircase after the next. All signs of raven carvings disappear. The walls become nothing but rough stone. Cobwebs drip from the ceiling. The air turns stale.
At one point, I might not have known what all this means. But now, I jointly rule Antrum, and that realm is located deep underground.
Wherever we’re going, it’s down.
Chapter 17
As Lincoln and I descend the stairs for our mystery meeting with Obsidian, the moaning sounds return. Only now, they’re much louder. My heart pounds so hard, my pulse beats in my temples.
Who is hurting?
Are Lincoln and I next?
My thoughts race through battle and escape options. Lincoln is an expert tracker. No matter what bizarre route Jaime took to our destination, my guy will find a way out. Nope, the bigger question is this: what will we discover with Obsidian? I had enough trouble fighting a lava angel for the first time. Seraphim are master mages. Beyond that, I know zero about how they might act in battle.
At last, we reach a stout wooden door. It’s set into the stone wall and has a metal slider-handle. Basically, this is your classic dungeon set up. I check my baculum. Yup, they’re still in a holster at the base of my spine. Lincoln has his as well. If Obsidian wants to imprison us here—or worse—then we’ll put up a fight.
Jaime pauses by the door. For a guy who’s normally pretty smiley, his face droops into the mother of all frowns. “Your Highnesses,” Jaime intones. “No matter what you see or learn here, you must respect Walker’s wishes. Do I have your solemn vow?”
My thoughts return to the Enmity Farms trip with Walker one day and two million years ago. “I gave Walker my word that I’d help him and Drayden. Whatever you’re about to show us—is it all part of Walker’s plan?”
“It is,” says Jaime solemnly.
“Then you have my vow,” I say.
“And mine as well,” adds Lincoln.
Jaime pulls on the slider handle. The door unlocks with a heavy thud. Pressing his shoulder against the wood, Jaime forces the door to swing open. The scent of sweat and mold wafts into the outer hallway.
Lincoln and I step closer to the threshold.
At first, all I see is Obsidian. He stands at the far wall of a large stone room. That’s good. If this were some kind of trap, Obsidian probably wouldn’t wait inside
. I shift my gaze to Lincoln. My guy gives me the barest of nods. I know he’s thinking the same thing as I am.
Let’s go in.
With hesitant steps, I slip inside the stone room. I’m completely unprepared for what I discover.
The chamber is large, square in shape, and completely made of gray rock. A low, flat boulder sits in the center of the space. Atop that rock crouches a man with pale skin who is stripped down to his waist. His back faces us; it’s easy to make out the column of his spine.
I lace Lincoln’s hand with mine. Together we step closer.
Suddenly, the man’s skin changes. Images appear on his flesh: a pattern of intricate lines. Zings of recognition move down my back. This design is familiar; I saw it in Walker’s phone. It’s an aerial view of a labyrinth that’s drawn with the precision of an architect. Every few seconds, the image changes. Walls move. Doors close. The maze adapts. But why?
“Come in,” says Obsidian. I scan his face carefully, looking for any sign of an ambush or other tricks. His features are unreadable.
I grip Lincoln’s hand more tightly, pulling strength from our connection. Together, we can do anything. With careful steps, we walk around the low boulder. As we move closer, the man seated atop the stone doesn’t so much as glance our way. At last his face comes into view.
He’s a ghoul who looks just like Walker.
Only he isn’t Walker.
“Drayden?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Is that you?”
The ghoul doesn’t seem to hear me.
Like Walker, this ghoul has a whip-strong build and high cheekbones. Beads of sweat dot his bald head. His eyes are large, all-black, and stare forward as if in a daze.
Lincoln takes up the question. “Drayden?”
“He’s changing the maze,” says Obsidian. “He won’t respond to anyone for hours.”
I look over my shoulder, hoping to find Jaime. But the manny has left. Not that I blame him. This is one bizarre situation, right here.
“His skin.” I swallow past the knot of anxiety in my throat. “It’s covered with a labyrinth map.”
“Yes.” Obsidian taps the ground with his staff. “That’s the maze right below our feet. It’s where we imprison Lucifer. Drayden must change it regularly in order to keep Lucifer contained. That archangel is rather clever.”
Drayden lets out another low moan.
Anger heats my blood. “You said you didn’t imprison him.”
“This isn’t a prison,” retorts Obsidian. “Drayden chose to become Labyrinth Master. He considers it an honor to keep the after-realms safe from Lucifer.”
That sounds like Drayden, all right.
I scan Drayden more carefully. All ghouls are already pale, but Drayden’s skin has also taken on a greenish hue. “Walker said he was poisoned.”
Sadness glistens in Obsidian’s blue eyes. “Yes, the Viper snuck into the manor and shot a poison directly into Drayden’s veins. Drayden couldn’t escape from the villain. And as Labyrinth Master, he can’t even be healed. Drayden must remain magically merged into the labyrinth itself.”
For the first time, I focus closely on Drayden’s frame. While couching atop the stone, Drayden balances on his hands and feet. When I see it, a gasp escapes my lips. Drayden’s hands are magically combined with the stone. Rock covers those limbs up to his wrists.
No wonder Walker is so desperate to free his brother.
“How long has Drayden been here?” asks Lincoln.
“2,132 years,” replies Obsidian. “Drayden has been our longest standing Labyrinth Master. Then again, his angelic gift of intellect has aided him immensely. I believe he could have lasted forever, if not for the poison.”
“Two millennia,” I whisper.
“Now you know our secret,” intones Obsidian. “We wait here and protect Lucifer’s prison. The gate and fence magically guard the manor. The Chosen One has additional power to help keep our enemies at bay. Recently, that Viper criminal found his way in here. Believe me, once I find the Viper—and I will catch that fiend—then I dispose of the villain painfully.” Obsidian steps closer to Drayden. “The Viper suffer for what was done to you.”
Now, I’m ninety-nine percent sure I know the answer to this question, but I have to ask it anyway. I steel my shoulders. “And who is your next Labyrinth Master?”
“Why Walker, of course,” says Obsidian.
I grip Lincoln’s hand with such force, I’m surprised I don’t break a bone. My thoughts race. So do my words.
“Let me get straight,” I begin. “Walker and I were just at this worm farm. We discussed how Walker was going to this disappearing place. I hoped he meant a beach. But he didn’t. Walker is coming down here where his hands will be merged into a stone until what? He dies from exhaustion?”
“I’m not a monster,” says Obsidian. “Before any Labyrinth Master agrees to the role, they know it’s to the death. I made an exception for Walker and Drayden. If Walker takes over before the countdown ends, then I will save Drayden. But only if Walker becomes Labyrinth Master in time.”
“Suppose Walker doesn’t take Drayden’s place?” asks Lincoln. “Is there another ghoul who can step in?”
“Now we come to my great folly,” intones Obsidian. “Time was, I spent years cultivating possible Labyrinth Masters. I found clever ghouls who were willing to do anything in exchange for the right wealth or spell. But Drayden has been Labyrinth Master so long, I became complacent. Lazy. Foolish. I reached out to no ghouls and created no contingency plans. Now there are no other Labyrinth Masters ready to step in, only Walker. And if we don’t find Walker? Inferno will get what she wants. Lucifer will be released in a matter of hours and … you know what Lucifer will create.”
A bloodbath.
My eyes widen. “I’ve got it. I’ll summon my father. Only an archangel can destroy another archangel, right? He can get his buddies to together and do it.”
“Hear my truth.” As he speaks, Obsidian’s eyes glow angel blue, so I know he means every word. “Your father and the other archangels tried to kill Lucifer many times before we seraphim stepped in. The challenges did not work. Your father and his peers lost every duel. They can not destroy Lucifer.”
How I hate to admit this. “You’re right. My father said … something about that.”
“We have only one solution here,” states Obsidian. “We must find Walker and make him Labyrinth Master.” Obsidian slams his staff onto the floor in a movement that says conversation closed. “Which brings me back to why I’ve taken you into my confidence. You promised to help find Walker. To do that, you need more information. Happy will now give you show you our grounds. The manor includes several critical insights into Inferno which must be seen to be understood. After that, we’ll see if you can be useful to the Whispers.”
Okay, that was a lot of information. Not to mention the fact that while all that content went down, Drayden was moaning and making mazes nearby. It’s all I can do to whisper two words. “Hells bells.”
Obsidian stomps toward the door, then pauses by the threshold. “Know this. If you try to cross me, my magic will strike you down.” The raven eyes on Obsidian’s staff glow red. With that, Obsidian stalks out the exit.
For a long moment, it’s just me, Lincoln, and Drayden. Eyes that look so much like Walker’s still stare out into space.
Two millennia.
My feet seem to move on their own. With careful steps, I approach Drayden and kneel beside him. Every cell in my body feels charged with a mixture of fear and pity. Trembling, I reach forward and wrap my hand around Drayden’s wrist. His skin feels cool and loose.
Poor Drayden.
“I don’t know if you can hear me,” I say in a low voice. “But I’m Walker’s adopted sister. That makes you my brother, too.” My eyes sting. I recall the image of Drayden’s statue. How he stood tall in his angelic robes, a heavy book under his arm. Now Drayden is only skin, bones, and shifting labyrinth lines.
“You’ve sacri
ficed so much to help keep the after-realms safe,” I say, my voice cracking. “Now, it’s our turn to aid you.”
Lincoln kneels beside me. Reaching forward, my guy wraps his hand around Drayden’s free wrist. “Walker is my best friend. Myla is my wife. We’ll fight for you with everything we have inside us.”
The next words come tumbling from my mouth without any close screening from my brain. “And I swear to you, we will find a way to free both you and Walker. I’m not slapping my honorary older brother onto a rock until he’s dead.”
Drayden blinks and for the first time, his gaze focuses. He looks directly into my eyes. When he speaks, his voice is a hoarse croak. “Save … Walker.”
My heart just cracked in two, right there.
“We will,” states Lincoln. “We swear it.”
“How?” asks Drayden.
“Honestly?” I sigh. “We don’t know yet.” I’m tempted to add that we never know how we’ll get out of these life-or-death situations. Not sure that’ll be comforting.
Drayden gives us the barest of nods. After that, the blank look returns to his eyes. The labyrinth markings on his body shift faster.
Lincoln gently rests his hand at the base of my spine. “We should go.” With soft movements, he guides me toward the door.
So glad one of us is functioning right now. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’d just kneel here and hang with Drayden.
Out in the hallway, Jaime waits for us. “I’ll take you upstairs. Happy is waiting for us by the front door.”
My head is officially foggy. I might say thank you, I’m not sure. I do know that Lincoln keeps his hand gently pressed against my back while we return to the manor house proper. With every step, my thoughts whirl through everything we just learned.
The Labyrinth Master.
Drayden’s two thousand years.
The Dark Lands (Angelbound Origins Book 5) Page 10
