Acca (Angelbound Origins Book 3)

by Christina Bauer

  Lincoln gestures to the window. “So those people outside don’t know you, yet they are reacting because of how you live your life. Does that really have anything to do with you?”

  I ponder that one for a full minute. “I guess not.”

  “You’re a symbol for something inside those people, nothing more. You represent some corner of their own souls that they love or hate. You can’t take either their praise or their hated too seriously.”

  I frown. “But I do like the praise part.”

  “If you accept their praise and light, then you must take in their hatred and darkness, too. And that’s a horrible road to walk down. Because, ultimately, you have nothing to do with how they see you or treat you. It’s all inside them.” He cups my face in his hands. “Allowing someone into your heart…That’s a privilege you must only grant to those who truly love and know you.”

  A weightless feeling seeps into my bones. “Wow. That makes total sense.” I give him the barest of kisses. True, it’s breaking the rules of the bet, but at this point, I don’t care. “How’d you get so smart?”

  He smiles. “I told you. Octavia.”

  “Somehow, I think this is more than your mother. You’re an amazing man.”

  Our gazes lock, and the temperature in the limo seems to spike about fifty degrees. My lust demon instantly awakens inside me. Nothing like super-smart words of wisdom from your honey to put you in the mood. Suddenly, I’m rather shocked that Lincoln and I have never fooled around in a limo before. Lincoln meets my gaze, and the way he’s looking at me? I might as well be naked.

  Fooling around in a limo. We should definitely give that a try.

  I am so convincing him to call the kiss. Right now.

  Gunnar’s voice crackles over the speaker again. “We’re here.”

  Or not.

  With that, my lust demon gets pissed. This is the umpteenth time she’s been thwarted today. “Gah!” It’s not my most eloquent complaint, but it captures my mood perfectly.

  Lincoln’s face turns unreadable, which is nothing less than amazing. My guy can go from molten-hot to Mister Cool in two seconds flat. I shake my head. Lincoln chuckles.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Did you have some unseemly plans for my person, Myla Lewis?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “Good. Remember them for later.”

  Still Mister Cool. I really have to learn how he does that.

  Gunnar opens the limo door beside me. A row of guards in purple body armor line either side of the walkway to the Pulpitum. The crowd stays behind them. This is Purgatory’s new army that was started after I drove Armageddon out of town. These troops are led by Cissy’s boyfriend, Zeke. His guards don’t fool around when it comes to keeping us safe.

  It almost makes me want to take back all that nasty stuff I said about Zeke being a tool for ignoring Cissy all those years while she pined away for him.

  Almost.

  As I slide out of the limo, I tightly grip the satchel that carries the codex. Desmond ripped that thing away from me once. In retrospect, he probably was using a ton of stealth potions while he did it, but still. No way will I allow anything like that to happen again.

  We exit the limo and step toward the Pulpitum.

  The annoying shouts continue as we hustle past the mob and rush toward the round building. Like Lincoln said, there’s always a crowd here, waiting for someone famous to transfer somewhere cool. I should get used to it. They call out more irritating crap, but my tail waves to the throng. It really doesn’t care what they say as long as attention is involved. What a ham.

  The guards stay outside as Lincoln and I enter the Pulpitum. It’s strangely quiet in here compared to the chaos outside. The Pulpitum is a circular chamber made of stone. Like always, the place is lit with fires that burn in these copper bowl thingies. A large metal disc takes up most of the floor. Lincoln and I step to the center of the round platform.

  “This is Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus. Activating standard station.”

  White laser beams pulse across the Pulpitum. This body scan confirms who we are. When it comes to security, the thrax are all high tech. Other than that, they’re pretty much stuck in the Middle Ages. Not that I blame them for the high-tech security part. There’s no place the demons would rather break into than Antrum. After all, it’s home to all the demon killers in the after-realms. Where better to attack if you’re demonic? Long story short, thrax spare no expense on the Pulpitums, and that’s a good thing.

  A man’s disembodied voice echoes through the chamber. “Identity confirmed. Good afternoon, Your Highness. And greetings, Great Scala.”

  “Thanks, Marty.” Like all Pulpitum operators, Marty is actually back in Antrum at Transfer Central. More high-tech fanciness.

  A rustling of papers sounds through the intercom. “It seems that you’re late. Queen Octavia and King Connor were waiting for you at the Courthouse Pulpitum, but they got called off to another emergency.”

  Lincoln’s brows quirk slightly. “What happened?”

  “A demon patrol went missing.”

  The thrax divide up the Earth’s surface into regions. Each House has a territory that’s theirs to guard against demonic activity. When thrax warriors talk about demon patrols, they’re referring to a group of five fighters from a particular House that visit Earth on an eight-hour stretch. The patrols plan demonic protections, watch out for bad activity, and—if they’re super-lucky—they get to kill stuff, too.

  I love joining demon patrols.

  I frown. This is totes weird. Demon patrols never go missing. “Where did that happen?”

  “Some place on Earth, Great Scala. It’s called Nova Scotia.”

  The name means nothing to me. Then again, my high school was run by ghouls. If it didn’t involve learning how to suck up to our undead overlords, they weren’t big on teaching it. It’s a goal of mine to grab Lincoln’s royal tutors and catch up on things. You know, after I find a way to get more demon kills into my schedule. A girl must have priorities.

  “Where would you like to go today?” asks Marty.

  “Courthouse Pulpitum,” answers Lincoln.

  “Confirmed and ready at your signal.”

  Lincoln wraps his arms around me, and I lean into his chest. Hands down, the best part about Pulpitum travel is that it requires snuggling. The worst part? The Pulpitums are enchanted to actually fly through the ground, yanking us between areas in the after-realms. In this case, we’re about to fly from Purgatory to Antrum (aka underground Earth.) For all their worries about security, the thrax don’t give two fucks about safety. There are no guardrails on this thing. If you get too close to the edge, your face could get burned off by magma.

  “Launch transfer on my mark,” says Lincoln. “Three…two…one…mark!”

  The round platform beneath our feet shudders for a moment.

  The platform hurtles into the ground. The Pulpitum disappears, replaced by streaks of brown earth, red lava, and multicolored minerals. Every so often, the disc whips from side to side, which is why the snuggle is so key to staying upright. I may take a few opportunities to pretend to lose my footing so I can slip my thigh between Lincoln’s legs. What can I say? I’m part lust demon.

  The platform lurches one final time, and our journey is over. We’ve come to a halt at the end of a long black corridor. This is the Courthouse Pulpitum. Lincoln pulls out his baculum and lights them up as a torch. The angelfire casts a beam of shifting brightness down the passageway.

  That’s when I notice him. The Earl of Acca. The hallway lights are out, and Aldred stands just inside the shadows. Waiting.

  My tail makes a lewd gesture over my shoulder, and I don’t even smack the arrowhead end. This is a huge bummer. I’d expected Lincoln’s parents to meet us here, not this freak in thrax clothing.

  Speaking of outfits, the Earl wears his traditional thrax tunic, which is a long velvet shirt. In Aldred’s case, that tunic bears the symb
ol of a gloved fist, aka the sign of the House of Acca. The Earl has receding red hair, a barrel chest, and small black eyes. Plus, his face is all lit up with a too-bright smile. Prick.

  “Greetings, My Prince!” The Earl bows slightly at the waist before turning to me. “And you, Great Scala.”

  Lincoln glares at the Earl. “What do you want, Aldred?”

  I nod. Good question.

  “Why, the other Earls and I merely had a few queries for you.”

  I stare off into the shadows. “Earls? I don’t see anyone. Who’s here, exactly?”

  Aldred waves his plump hand. “Some of the other Houses happen to be close by. Nothing to fret your pretty head about.”

  I lower my voice an octave. “This pretty head can send you to Hell right now.”

  “How very amusing of you, Myla.” Aldred chortles like I just made a charming joke. That really sets my blood boiling.

  “The great scala asked you a question,” says Lincoln. “Who else is here? Step forward.”

  Three other Earls shuffle into the light. I instantly recognize their faces and insignias: the Earls of Kamal, Striga, and Horus. Together with Acca, these are what the thrax call the four Great Houses. They’re the most powerful groups in Antrum outside of Lincoln’s House of Rixa.

  Unfortunately, over the years, it seems like most folks have fallen to Aldred’s careful information gathering, deal-making, and blackmail schemes. It’s rumored he has dirt on everyone in Antrum, even Lincoln. My guy says he battles that rumor by never doing or saying anything he wouldn’t want to be discovered. If our places were reversed, I think my head would explode.

  Lucas, the Earl of Striga, steps forward. Like all thrax from the House of Striga, Lucas looks pale, tall, and lanky in his purple robes. His waist-length dreads are gray and strung with beads of spell achievement. “We were ordered here to witness the conversation between Aldred and Prince Lincoln.”

  “Quiet, Lucas,” snarls Aldred. “You’ll speak when tradition dictates.”

  Lucas toys with one of his many beads of spell achievement. “Or I’ll simply cast a vomitus spell on you, and we can all go home.”

  I smile like it’s my job. The Earl of Striga is the bomb, pure and simple. It doesn’t hurt that his House is the main source of magic in Antrum. That seems to give him some leeway with Acca.

  “I asked you a question, Aldred.” Lincoln’s voice gets deeper with anger. “What do you want?”

  “Why, to see the magic codex that holds all the evidence against my House, of course. Our court date is tomorrow morning. However, the vault keepers tell me the Rixa Codex isn’t there.”

  What a dick. He totally tried to set us up with Desmond.

  Therefore, it feels super-sweet to raise my messenger bag high in my hands. “The codex in is here.”

  A flicker of unease moves across the Earl’s piggish face. “Then show us the item in question.”

  “With pleasure.” Lincoln pulls out the codex and raises it high. Aldred’s neck burns red. The other Earls sigh with relief. Lincoln slips the codex back into my messenger bag.

  “We never doubted you had it,” says the Earl of Kamal.

  Sure, you didn’t. Creep.

  “What a waste of my time,” says Lucas. “I would never have come here, except Aldred asked the other major Houses to be present for an official review of the evidence.” He shoots a nasty look at Aldred. “That’s your right under thrax law. Even so, you shouldn’t abuse it.”

  Aldred puffs out his chest. “Tradition can never be abused, only upheld.”

  “That’s untrue and you know it.” Lincoln’s voice is deadly low, and every inch of him oozes badass. It makes me want to kiss him again. What can I say? I’m part lust demon.

  A flurry of footsteps sounds in the long corridor. Torchlight flashes in every direction, blinding me.

  “Stand aside!” I’d know that voice anywhere. It’s Octavia, Lincoln’s mother.

  My tail does a happy dance over my shoulder. Octavia is a nasty woman, and I mean that in the best sense. This is getting good.

  The Earl of Striga gasps and steps back into the shadows. You better hide, buddy. Lincoln is an only child. Saying his mother is overprotective is pretty much the biggest understatement of all time.

  Both of Lincoln’s parents come into view. They’re both in full regal mode today. Octavia wears a black velvet dress with her long hair in a tight bun. Connor has on his silver battle armor. Today he reminds me of an eagle, what with his imposing presence, broad shoulders, and longish white hair.

  These two aren’t playing around.

  Connor marches right up to the Earl of Acca. For the first time, I notice the legion of Rixa guards that fill the corridor behind them. “What are you up to, Aldred?”

  The Earl of Acca raises his chin. “Merely protecting my own House. We do know how to take care of things, you know. At one time, Acca ruled all of Antrum.”

  “Right,” Connor sniffs. “And the place almost went down in flames as a result.”

  The change of leadership from Acca to Rixa happened hundreds of years ago, so you’d think everyone would be cool with things by now. Didn’t happen.

  Connor taps Aldred in the center of his chest. “Leave my son alone. He should be spending this time preparing for his nuptials, not dealing with your tricks.”

  “And what of my House? My family?”

  “They’ll be fine,” says Connor dismissively. “You won’t, though.”

  I can’t begin to tell you how much I love seeing Connor stand up to Aldred. For ages, Lincoln’s father was a huge pussy when it came to the Earl of Acca. It’s beyond awesome to see him come into his own.

  Octavia steps up and kisses me lightly on the cheek. “You look lovely, my dear. We’re so excited for your wedding on Sunday.” She glares at the other Earls. “Aren’t we?”

  A chorus of “Yes, your Majesty” sounds through the air. I’m half surprised they don’t make kissy noises too.

  Lincoln steps forward until he’s standing nose to nose with Aldred. “Desmond is dead, and so are the dyad demons. Your plans have failed. Try anything like that again, and I’ll tear you apart piece by piece, tradition be damned. Do I make myself clear?”

  Aldred bows. “I don’t know of what you speak, but I shall endeavor to please.”

  What a lying liar.

  Lincoln sets his hand on the base of my back and guides me through the packed corridor. Everyone steps away to make room for us as we go. We’re halfway to the vault when I speak in a whisper that only Lincoln can hear.

  “I don’t believe him, Lincoln.”

  Lincoln’s face is stony. “The Earl?”

  “Yes. He’s not done being a douchebag. He still has plans within his plans.”

  “He won’t win.”

  I hip-check him as we walk along. “I know. Just promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I get to be there when you kill him.”

  He gives me an easy smile. “Anything for you, my sweet fiancée.”

  As we head into the vault, I keep thinking one thing over and over.

  I am so going to love being married.

  Chapter Seven

  Lincoln and I walk down a stone access passageway deep in Antrum. We’re heading toward the entrance to the Vault, the place where precious thrax information is kept, including evidence for trials. With every step, I’m careful to keep the messenger bag with the enchanted codex pressed tightly against my chest. No way am I losing that thing again.

  Lincoln’s parents keep pace behind us as we head deeper underground. The four of us have been walking through the maze of passages for a while now. We haven’t seen anyone else around, which isn’t surprising. The Vault isn’t exactly a thrax hot spot.

  At last, the passageway opens into a small reception room. This is a boxy space that’s lit by torches. It holds the circular portal-door to the vault itself, as well as a line of guards. Like the Pulpitum, all thrax H
ouses take turns supplying warriors to guard the Vault.

  Today’s group is from Acca. Ick.

  Lincoln and I step into the reception room first. As we march into the torchlight, the Captain of the Guard eyes me from head to toe. He’s typical Acca—average height, light skinned, and his hair is the color of spun gold. Not sure what kind of conditioner they use in Acca, but it really makes some of their tresses looks like metal. If they ever got around to bottling that goop, they could charge a fortune in Purgatory.

  “What is this? You’re not supposed to be here.” Unlike the other guards, the Captain wears a tunic and chainmail that appear to be made of gold. He glares at us while setting his hand on the pommel of his sword.

  Connor steps forward out of the shadows. “It is the royal family, my man.”

  “Ethan,” corrects Lincoln. “The Captain’s name is Ethan.”

  Everyone stares in surprise at Lincoln. I know he memorizes the guard rotation for his personal chambers, but Lincoln tracks the Vault as well? I can only smile. My guy is so stealthy.

  “Ah, Ethan,” huffs Connor. “We’re here to see Cryptan, the Protector of the Vault.”

  Protectors are regular folks who get offered an eternal job. Personally, I got drafted into my supernatural gig as the great scala. Cryptan volunteered, though. Unless he meets an untimely death, he’ll spend eternity doing the same thing over and over, which in his case means sitting alone in a vault. Not my bag.

  “Cryptan is well, my King. My team checks on him every hour. He responded to my hail some twenty-seven minutes ago.”

  “Thank you,” says Connor. “You may return to your duty.”

  If you didn’t know Connor, you wouldn’t think he was super-pissed right now. That said, I’ve been hanging with Lincoln’s father long enough to know when he’s angry. The way his fingers drum on his thigh? The man is pissed. Ethan will get his ass handed to him later, I can guarantee it. In Connor’s mind, you don’t go around pointing swords at his son’s fiancée. However, Connor sees himself as too royal to reprimand anyone directly. For my part, I can’t wait to have a crown and the authority to kick verbal ass down here. Right now, I have to keep my mouth shut. That said, once I’m Queen? Closing down stupidity will be a total job perk.