My eyes burn with feelings I don’t know how to name. “Walker, I was ready an hour ago.” I’m seconds away from bursting into tears. Some warrior.
“Don’t take it personally, Myla. Most thrax have never met a quasi. They don’t understand that you’re not a demon.”
“That didn’t bother me.” My voice breaks so much, I sound like I could be yodeling. Crap, I hate it when I do that. “Okay, that totally hurt like Hell.”
Walker wraps me into a hug. His body is warm and firm, not at all the chilly undeadly-ness that I expected. “Do you want me to beat him up for you?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Not this time, Walker.” My head melts into his shoulder. “Thanks for offering, though.”
“Any time.”
Chapter Seven
With all the extra ceremonial blah-blah-blah at the match, I don’t get to school until lunch is almost over. I quickly fill my tray and scan the cafeteria, looking for my–and Cissy’s–favorite table for two. I quickly find it, but now it seats three.
Zeke has moved in. Resentment twists in my belly. Zeke gets all of Cissy’s attention after school, and I have to listen to her yammer about him non-stop during the day. Lunch is the last scrap of girl-time left in my life.
Gritting my teeth, I step up to the table and wait for some acknowledgement of my existence from Cissy and Zeke. It doesn’t happen.
“Do you want any more, Zekie?” Cissy holds a French fry in one hand. I’m pretty sure she’s been hand-feeding him. Gross.
“No thanks, honey bunches.” Zeke pats his stomach. “Have to stay in shape.” They share an Eskimo kiss (aka rub noses), and then I’ve had enough.
“Hello, there!” Forcing a smile, I give my lunch tray a little shake. “Any room for a third?”
“Myla!” Cissy twists in her chair. “Where have you been?”
“Another Arena match.” I slide into an empty chair, grab a fork and dive into my monster-sized salad.
“That’s a lot of fighting lately.” Zeke rubs his dimpled chin. “Anything special going on?”
I freeze, my fork half-way to my mouth. How much should I say?
Cissy smiles sweetly. “You know you can tell us anything.”
I glance at their eager faces. Maybe Cissy’s right. These are my friends; I should trust them. Plus, it’s been a long time since the whole ‘Myla is obsessed with Zeke’ thing happened. They’ve probably forgotten all about it.
Dropping my fork, I take a deep breath and start babbling. “At Zeke’s party I met a thrax guy who insulted quasis and said Cissy looked like a dog in heat, so I’m not gonna dance with that! But today at the match, he turned out to be the crowned Prince of the thrax. He gave me a sword, but then he said I wouldn’t last against a real demon hunter.” I slam the tabletop with both hands. “Hells bells, I want to knock his block off.” And maybe kiss him a little bit, but I’m not telling them that. I let out a low whistle. “Honestly, what am I worrying about anyway? I’ll probably never see him again, right?”
There’s a long pause where Cissy and Zeke stare at me; their eyes ready to pop out of their heads. They both burst into peals of laughter.
So much for telling the truth. I set my face into my palms and moan. It’s been that depressing of a day.
“Come on, Myla. Be serious.” Cissy wipes a tear from her cheek, her tail wagging up a storm behind her.
“If you’re not ready to confide in us, it’s fine.” Zeke hides his smile under one hand. “We get it.”
Cissy and Zeke exchange a sympathetic look. Then, with a series of loud squeaks, Cissy scooches her seat closer to mine, while Zeke moves his farther away. “Is that maybe…Better?” She gives me a tentative grin.
Hells bells, they both think I’m still acting weird because of my supposed mega-crush on Zeke. I pause, taking a long sip from my can of diet soda. Actually, if it stops all the cuddling and pet names, they can think whatever they want. I give her shoulder a little pat. “That is better.” I sniffle, loudly. “Thanks so much.”
Zeke runs his palms over his blonde head. “By the way, I heard you talked to Aunt Cecily at the party.”
Lifting my fork, I spear a new bite of salad. “Aunt who?”
“Cecily. You know: old lady, gray hair, peacock tail?”
“Oh yeah, she was–” I search for the right words “–a good listener.”
Zeke kicks his legs onto a nearby chair. “She said you were asking about diplomatic stuff.”
I drop my fork again. “Yes, I was.” I wanted any information on who my father could be, not that I’m telling Zekie that.
“My house has all the old diplomatic archives from quasi rule. It’s in the main library.” He taps his plate with one finger, looking at me expectantly. “You could check it out.”
Cissy nods, setting her golden curls bobbing. “What a great idea! Doing some research would give you something else to think about besides…”
My lost love for Zeke. Riiiiiight. I swallow down some frustration with another bite of salad.
Zeke puts on his Mr. Smirky grin. “There’s more to do than the library, though.”
“Oh, yes.” Cissy blinks her tawny eyes madly. “The mansion has a hedgerow maze, a fountain, and a huge greenhouse with botanical gardens inside.”
Wait a second. I’ve known Cissy long enough to recognize her eye-blinking routine when I see it.
“This is a great offer and all, but I’m wondering one thing.” I fold my hands neatly on the tabletop. “Is there is something in particular you want from me in all this?”
Leaning forward in her chair, Cissy speaks in a hushed tone. “Since you mention it, if you’re at the house and all, I should probably be there too.”
My eyes narrow. “I see. You’ll be at the Ryder mansion to keep me company, not just to hang out with Zeke.”
Cissy smiles so hard, I’m shocked her face doesn’t crack. “Yes, that’s absolutely right!”
I smack my lips once. Okay, I can see where this is going.
Cissy gazes at the ceiling, her mouth screwing to one side of her face. “And if my parents ask what happens at Zeke’s house, you could say we’re together all the time. The three of us.”
I exhale a long breath. “But the two of you will really be doing what exactly?”
Zeke holds up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Just watching television and hanging out, I swear. My parents will be around too.”
My forehead creases with confusion. “So, what’s the problem?”
“My parents heard these awful lies about Zeke.” Cissy shivers. “Now I’m supposed to have an official chaperone with me at all times and, well, I know how much Mom and Dad trust you.”
“They think I’m a weird-tailed Arena fighter.”
“But they know you’d kill anyone who tried to hurt me.”
I pop another bite of salad into my mouth. She has a point.
Cissy starts blinking again. “Pleeeeeeeeease, Myla?”
I let out a low groan. The rumors about Zeke aren’t wrong, but I’ve known Mr. Smarmy McSlutster since kindergarten. He’s never let a girl meet his friends, let alone his family. I honestly think he’s okay around Cissy. Plus, if I can get access to diplomatic records, I may find something out about my father.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
***
The rest of the day is a blur of boringness, including the long drive home in Betsy. I step through my front door to a very happy mother.
“Welcome home, Myla!”
“Hey, Mom.” I give her a kiss on the cheek.
Mom plunks down onto the living room sofa and pats the empty spot next to her. “Guess what, sweetie? I was able to snap a few pictures of you and Cissy in your gowns before you got into the car. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
I sit down beside her. She presses the images into my hand. I look and wince. Even with all the flounces cut off the dress, it was still mighty puffy, like a neon pumpkin.
“Ciss
y looks beautiful.” I sigh. “And I look very orange.”
“You’re both lovely. Be sure to show these to Cissy.”
I set the photos into the pocket of my hoodie. “I will.” In another lifetime.
Mom smiles and pats my hand. She’s in a good mood. That means now’s the perfect time to get the Maternal Inquisitor to approve regular afterschool trips to the Ryder mansion.
“So, Cissy’s started dating this guy named Zeke Ryder.”
“Oh, I know the Ryder family from before the war.”
Wow, another random fact from Mom’s mystery past.
It’s going so well, I decide to keep things moving. “Now that Cissy’s dating Zeke, she goes to the Ryder mansion after school. Her parents want a chaperone, so they asked me along.”
Mom bounces in her seat. “Oh, the Ryder mansion’s beautiful! I have a map around here somewhere.” She takes to her feet and disappears into her room.
Okay, it’s totally sketchy that Mom has maps of the Ryder mansion squirreled away. She returns to the living room and plunks down onto the sofa, a pile of folded papers on her lap.
Opening the top map, Mom runs her finger across different points. “The Ryder mansion’s shaped like a giant letter ‘U.’ In the center of the building–the base of the ‘U’–is the reception hall. From there, you go to the West Wing–that’s where the Ryders live–or the East Wing.” Mom sighs. “The East Wing’s especially beautiful. It holds the ballroom, diplomatic offices, and library.”
“Diplomatic offices, huh?” I let the words hang out there. Mom doesn’t take the bait.
Instead, she points to another spot on the map. “Oh, and there’s the hedgerow maze right between the two wings. A lovely fountain’s at the center. After that, the grounds have tennis courts, botanical gardens, and all sorts of other things to entertain diplomats.”
“Whoa. Zeke’s house is way huger than I thought.” How-oh-how am I going to segue this conversation to get actual answers about Mom’s past?
Mom makes a tsk-tsk noise. “The grounds are actually a lot smaller now. You should have seen it before the war.”
“I would’ve liked that.” Man, it’s taking all my personal control (of which I have very little) not to push her right now for details.
“The library’s a marvel, be sure to check it out, Myla-la.” She flips to a different map that shows only the East Wing. It’s a long and thin rectangle made up of four floors. “The first floor’s the ballroom, the second’s diplomatic offices. The library covers both the third and fourth floors.” She shakes her head from side to side. “That library is unbelievable. The records cover everything from quasi government to demon history to ancient diplomatic archives.”
My personal control issues reach the breaking point. “Aren’t I doing a great job not asking you about the diplomatic stuff you did before the war?” My mouth starts moving on its own. “I mean, it’s pretty clear you worked in the diplomatic offices in the Ryder mansion. Maybe you met my dad there? Researched stuff in the library together or something?” I lean forward, my restraint level at zero. “Am I right?”
Mom opens her mouth as if to speak, but the words choke in her throat. She lets out a long sigh instead. “Has Verus sent you any dreamscapes yet?”
“Not since the first one we talked about.”
“Ah, well.” She rises to her feet. “Maybe soon.”
With that, Mom walks away and hides the maps again.
Damn.
***
I race up to the front door of the Ryder mansion and slam on the bronze knocker. I am so freaking late meeting Cissy and Zeke, it isn’t even funny.
The pristine white door whips open, revealing a blissful Cissy. “Welcome to the Ryder mansion.” The way she works the entrance, you’d think she and Zeke had dated for years instead of weeks.
“Hey, Cissy.” I step into the reception hall. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Betsy broke down again.” Over the years, carburetors, wadget screws, and manifolds have all become my personal bitches. Normally, I appreciate the extra smoke, drama, and grease, but today it was a big hassle. I loathe being late.
“No worries.” Cissy makes goo-goo eyes at Zeke. “We were just chatting.”
I scan the reception room. It’s two stories tall and filled with ornate golden furniture and matching nick-knacks. Normally, it contains Zeke’s parents, too. “Where are the Ryders?” To say Zeke’s parents took an instant liking to Cissy is the understatement of the millennium. For the last two weeks, Zeke’s Dad has been hovering beside the pair of them, glaring at his boy with a look that says ‘don’t screw this up, literally.’ Today’s the first day I can actually play chaperone.
“They’re playing tennis.” Cissy wraps her arm around Zeke’s. “Do you want to join us in the West Wing?”
Ah, no. I see enough of the ‘Cissy and Zeke Love Show’ at school. My goal here is plain and simple: get some intel on my dad. “Thanks, but I thought I’d check out the East Wing today.”
Cissy leans her head against Zeke’s shoulder. “Are you sure? We’d love to hang with you.”
Ah, sure you would. I appreciate Cissy trying to be nice, but I couldn’t be more of a third wheel if I were a tricycle. “Thanks, but I’m good. I honestly want to check out the East Wing.”
Cissy tilts her head to one side and frowns. “What aren’t you telling me, sweetie?” She elbows Zeke in the ribs. “I told you, she’s hiding things from me lately.”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?” Cissy’s mouth curls into her ‘thinking frown.’ That means she’s debating about making it a group field trip to the library. Searching my ghoul heritage is nasty enough on its own; I’d rather not have an audience.
“Really-really.” I shoo them toward the opposite hallway. “You kids run off and have a good time.”
Cissy stands frozen, her forehead creased with worry. Zeke sets his hand on her shoulder, guiding her about to face him. Once they’re eye-to-eye, he shoots her a come-hither smile. “I’d love to show you our stables today.”
Cissy blushes. Oh, yeah. She’s coming hither. “That would be great.”
I wave good-bye as the pair turn toward the West Wing. They step away, their footsteps clacking down the marble hallway in perfect sync. As they stroll along, Cissy stays snuggled into Zeke’s side, his arm wrapped firmly about her shoulders. Something in the movement makes my throat tighten. Will I ever feel that way about someone? At this rate, probably not, unfortunately.
A shiver rattles my shoulders. Maybe my ghoul heritage means I can’t love any guy who still has a pulse. Yuck, that’s a depressing thought.
Shake it off, Myla. You’ve work to do.
Turning about on my heel, I face the long hallway to the East Wing. It’s all gleaming marble floors, tall gilded mirrors, and anxiety-inducing mysteries. Mom said it held a ballroom, offices, and library. My mouth twists as I consider the options. Nodding to myself, I decide to start my search in the fourth-floor library. From what Cissy’s said, that’s always open and usually deserted.
Taking a deep breath, I straighten my spine and march up to the fourth floor. The library’s a labyrinth of tall wooden bookshelves. The scent of dust and old parchment fills the air. I scan for other visitors, but the place is empty. Good.
I find a section marked ‘history’ and haul out a particularly large, leather-bound volume. Bay windows with cushioned seats line the library’s far wall. I slide into the nearest window seat, open the book in my lap, and gaze through the glass to the mansion’s grounds outside. Far below me, figures mill about the hedgerow maze. My tail flips to the title page:
Quasi Diplomacy: A History
A rustling sound echoes from the other side of the library.
“Cissy, is that you?”
Silence.
Shrugging, I return my attention to the book:
Introduction by Sanctus Lewis
I stare at the words again. Sanctus Lewis. I have Mom’s last name, and San
ctus Lewis was her mother. Could be a coincidence. I read on:
As every quasi citizen knows, the Lewis family has been instrumental in the development of afterlife diplomacy, which is why I’m pleased to write this preface to the tenth edition of…
“We’re here!” A strange female voice rings in my ears, but I’m too engrossed to call out to its owner. I pull the pages closer to my nose. The book has a ton of blah-blah-blah about giving people a second chance at a good afterlife, then the author writes:
I’m proud that my dear daughter Camilla has been elected to the traditional Lewis family seat as Senator of Diplomacy, an honor that…
My first real clue! Mom’s name is Camilla, so Grandma definitely wrote this before she died in the Wars. I grip the edges of the book tighter. And Mom was a Senator? My insanely over-protective and weepy mother? I shake my head and turn the page.
“Lincoln, don’t!” A shrill giggle fills the air. “You’ll muss my dress.”
I freeze.
Did she just say Lincoln? Can’t be the same guy.
“Apologies. It’s such a lovely dress too.” It is the same guy. Ugh.
I try to focus on my reading, but I can’t help but overhear them. Okay, maybe I could help, but I’m curious what Prince Pompous is up to.
Lincoln speaks again. “The minister said the Libra Scala would be over here.”
“Oh, I think I see it.” She makes little grunting noises. “Oh my, the shelf’s soooo high. Could you please pull the book down for me?”
Scrunching up my features, I mime the words ‘the shelf’s soooo high’ and stick out my tongue.
“Of course, Lady Adair.” A soft scraping sounds as the book slides down.
“Thank you, your Highness.” She giggles again.
My back teeth lock while my tail slices something nearby. Glancing about, I spy a sunny yellow pillow, now lying in two neat halves on the window seat. Anger and shock zing through my body. I just skewered a pillow without knowing it. I don’t do stuff like that, even during a Maternal Inquisition. Why does this random guy get my demon up in such a raw way?
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