Angelbound THRAX

by Christina Bauer

  “Mirror Man.”

  “LK Route.”

  After that, the igni go blessedly silent. I curl into Lincoln’s body and exhale.

  “You did it,” says my guy. “I knew you would. What did they say?”

  “It was something about a person and a place. The first is someone called the Mirror Man. Does that name mean anything to you?” I’ve certainly never heard about him before.

  “No.” Lincoln kisses the top of my head. “And the place?”

  “The LK Route. Is that a street or something?”

  Lincoln’s eyes widen a fraction. For him, that’s as good as a gasp. “It’s a secret spot in Antrum. Not even my mother knows about it.”

  “Seriously?” Lincoln’s mother, Octavia, has an amazing spy network. I seriously thought she knew everything.

  “She doesn’t know about the LK Route,” confirms Lincoln. “Walker found this place when I was a kid. It’s a royal escape path that was built in the thirteenth century. With it, royalty can make a quick getaway in times of trouble. Walker asked me not to tell anyone, and I never have.”

  “Nice.” Even though he’s a ghoul, Walker’s a super-cool guy, brilliant engineer, and incredibly good liar. If anyone could find a hidden escape route and keep the secret, it’s Walker. “So does the LK part stand for?”

  “Lime Kiln.”

  “Wow. I have no idea what that is.” Insert comment here about ghouls and crap education.

  “Lime is a stone that’s used in medieval construction. Kilns are little ovens to heat it up. Thrax call those ovens LKs. We have a line of them behind Arx Hall, so we can quickly make repairs to the palace. The last in line is also rigged for an emergency escape. You touch the top, say “in thrax sic hunt,” and it turns from a fiery oven into a mini-Pulpitum transfer station that takes you anywhere you want to go.”

  My brows lift. “How many does it fit?”

  “Only one. Lime kilns aren’t that large.”

  “Huh.” When it comes to secret passages and escape routes, I’m like a crow with a bright shiny object. I could talk about this stuff all day. “And what if someone tries to follow you?”

  “I asked Walker the same thing. He thinks it’s booby trapped.”

  “Since Mirror Man isn’t ringing any bells, maybe we should check out this lime kiln.”

  Lincoln opens his mouth to answer when a knock sounds on our door. “Hello? It’s me. I came as quickly as I could.”

  My eyes widen. My mother’s here. With that realization, all thoughts of the lime kiln evaporate. My father may be an archangel, but my mother is the president of Purgatory. She shouldn’t be zipping over to Antrum to check on me.

  But lately, that’s exactly what she has been doing. A lot.

  As I peep at Lincoln, I can’t help but cringe. “You called her again?” Over the last three weeks, I’ve been having mood swings galore, and sometimes a girl just needs her mother. Lincoln’s been really cool about it, but it’s still a little embarrassing.

  Okay, a lot embarrassing.

  Lincoln pulls me closer to him. “You’re carrying a child of incredible supernatural power, right?”

  I nod into his chest. I’m carrying the Scala Heir, and yeah, that’s a big deal. At any one point in time, there can only be two people in the after-realms with the blood of a human, demon, and angel: the Scala and the Scala Heir. Sadly, there are no real records on Scala Heir pregnancy. My mother is my solo source of information. Unfortunately, finding out that I’m in any way uncomfortable transforms her from the awesome President of Purgatory (which is her new day job) into freaked-out mom (which was how I knew her growing up.)

  “It’s just embarrassing, that’s all,” I say.

  “But you’ll talk to her?”

  “Sure. Thanks for calling her in.” Now that I know Mom is here, I really do want a chat. Does Lincoln know me or what?

  “No problem,” says Lincoln. “Would you like some privacy? There are messages I can review in the study.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. I know what that move means.

  “Don’t tell me. You got more letters from the so-called Supreme Leader?” I stifle the urge to roll my eyes. Supreme Leader…that’s the title Lincoln’s childhood friend Ethan has given himself, along with a lifelong mandate to write annoying letters to my husband. Long story.

  I take that back. Actually, it’s a short story. Some bad shiz went down when Lincoln and Ethan were kids, and now his Supreme Annoyingness lives on the Earth’s surface where he sends a never-ending tirade of letters begging for extra guards to protect him.

  “It is Ethan, isn’t it?” I ask.

  Lincoln sighs. “I have to accept his messages. I’m still his king. Besides, our annual diplomatic summit with Ethan’s almost here.” And by almost here, Lincoln means tomorrow.

  My heart sinks. Not only does my honeymoon end today, but I also have to hang out with Ethan the Irritating tomorrow. Only one thing can make this summit palatable. “Can I kill him?”

  The ghost of a smile rounds Lincoln’s mouth. “No, and you’re leaving your mother waiting.”

  Mom pipes up through the door. “Yes, you’re leaving me waiting.” Our chambers in Arx Hall are magically soundproofed. Guess that’s not the case here in the honeymoon palace.

  Lincoln chuckles and kisses my cheek, which is my cue to slide off the comfort of his lap. And away I go, but I do take my time about it. Lap-snuggling with Lincoln is a definite marriage perk. We’re sitting side by side on the mattress when Mom speaks through the door again.

  “I need to see you, Myla-la.”

  Uh-oh. Things are getting serious if Mom’s cracking out childhood pet names. I give Lincoln a gentle nudge with my elbow. “You better take off.”

  Lincoln rises and stretches. For the record, I love watching the play of muscles across his bare chest. “Fine. I’ll be in the study.” Although the bedroom has been our favorite hangout, this palace is huge. The study’s in the adjoining chamber.

  “I’ll give you two your privacy,” he adds.

  “That’s right,” says Mom through the door. “Myla and I need girl time.”

  Lincoln guides me to my feet and straightens the lapels of my fancy black robe. “I’ll be close.”

  One nice thing about thrax palaces is they all have hidden doors to adjoining rooms. Arx Hall even has a ton a secret passageways. In this palace, Lincoln only has to touch a panel of wall to open an archway to the study. The panel closes behind him with a soft click. I can’t decide if I’m relieved to have time with Mom or sad to see Lincoln go.

  I tap my chin. Sad, definitely.

  “Is he still in the room?” asks Mom through the door.

  “He’s gone. I’m coming over.”

  After pulling my robe more tightly around me, I cross the fancypants chamber and open the door. Mom rushes in, looking panic stricken. She resembles an older version of me, so she has long auburn hair, a curvy figure, and a long black tail that’s covered in dragonscales. She’s wearing one of her classic purple skirt-suits, which means she just came from being presidential somewhere. A lead weight of guilt settles onto my shoulders.

  She should be running Purgatory. Not coddling me.

  After kicking the door shut behind her, Mom wraps me in one of her too-tight hugs. It feels great. “What happened?” she asks. “Did you see more orangutans in diapers?”

  “No, this time it was my igni. They wanted to give me a message.”

  Mom leans back and inspects my face carefully. “They’ve done that before.”

  “Never this loudly, though. They pounded in my head until I figured out what they were saying.”

  Mom sighs and slips onto a nearby chair. “Some days, I wish I’d been the Great Scala instead of just pregnant with one.”

  “The igni choose who gets to be the Great Scala and Scala Heir. Consider yourself lucky. It’s not that choice of a gig.”

  “That’s just the problem. I could be far more helpful to you in cases like
this if I had personal experiences with igni.”

  “You’re sweet.” I slump into a seat beside hers. “Talking to the igni was tough, but there’s more bugging me. Everything feels so intense now. Is that normal?” For the record, I’ve asked this question a hundred times, but it helps to hear her answer.

  “Being emotional is very common in pregnancy, even when you’re carrying a so-called typical child.”

  I nod slowly, taking in this news again. It’s good to hear how all pregnant ladies have mood swings. “Anything turn up from Dad’s research?” My father’s been using his “from the dawn of time” connections to find out more about Scala pregnancies.

  “Yes, Xav uncovered a few items.” Mom says this while making an eek face, so I know this isn’t good.

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Every Scala pregnancy is different. Some last years; others are over in a matter of a few months. It seems that the stronger the supernatural power, the shorter the pregnancy.”

  “Is there a baby power rating scale or anything? I’d really like some idea of the timeline here.”

  “I’m afraid not.” She leans over and pats my hand. “Don’t worry, Myla-la. I was pregnant with you for three months. I bet your pregnancy will last that long as well. Plus once the baby is born, things will get easier. I’m setting up a nursery right next to our bedroom.”

  “Our bedroom?”

  “The one your father and I use. You still plan on living with us after the honeymoon, don’t you?”

  That would be no, not that I’m sharing this info right now. Lincoln and I plan to split our time evenly between Purgatory and Antrum. And even when we’re in Purgatory, there’s no way we’re permanently living with my parents. Don’t get me wrong; I love my parents. It’s just that being around them all the time would quickly get super-awkward. As soon as we can, Lincoln and I plan to buy our own home.

  “You are moving in, correct?” Mom is so not letting this drop.

  Instead of answering, I dig into my years of mom management and make a noncommittal “umm” noise, which my mother takes for agreement to her “live at home forever” plan.

  “I’m thrilled that you’ll stay with us,” she gushes. “Are you sure Octavia won’t mind? I know she’s wanted you in Antrum full time.”

  Every thrax alive knows Lincoln’s mother wants us in Antrum full time.

  “Lincoln and I will deal with Octavia.”

  “You two know best.” Mom bobs a little in her seat, she’s so happy. Cue additional guilt loading onto my shoulders. Mom grips my hand. “The remodeling has already begun, by the way. All our rooms will be in a row.”

  “A row?” I slowly slip out my hand from hers.

  “First, there’ll be our room, then the baby’s room, and finally a room for you and Lincoln. We’re even building a guesthouse in the yard for his parents.”

  “Ummm.” For some reason, that’s all I can get out again.

  Sure, I knew Mom and Dad would want me and Lincoln to live nearby, but they’re actually doing renovations at this very second?

  “When will you move in?” asks Mom. “Tomorrow night, maybe?”

  Thank Hells I have a good answer to this question. “Oh, Lincoln and I have a summit that starts tomorrow, remember? It lasts for a week.”

  “Ah, yes. You’re talking with that thrax who wants guards so he can live on the Earth’s surface. Bethan.” For the record, Mom hates Ethan almost as much as I do. She makes a point of forgetting his name. I never correct her. “What house is he from again?”

  “Viator.” Thrax life is divided up into houses. There are four major houses—Acca, Horus, Kamal, and Striga—and a bunch of minor ones. Viator is one of those minor houses, as in very minor. In fact, their big claim to fame is that they were the first thrax to use Pulpitum platforms in order to transfer to the Earth’s surface. Not sure what else they’ve done, other than create a mega-loser like Ethan.

  Mom folds her arms over her chest. “Tomorrow you start a week of negotiations, but what about after that? When will you move in exactly?”

  My jaw falls open. Mom is pushing this super hard. Time to change the subject. “Honestly, Mom? I can’t focus on the future right now. I’m still stuck on something the igni just said.”

  Mom’s eyes light up with concern. “What’s that, honey?”

  “They gave me a name. Mirror Man. Is he some Purgatory guy?” I cross my fingers, hoping for good news here. My tail pops up and does its own modified version of a finger-cross, which involves curling its arrowhead-shaped end. I appreciate the support.

  “Mirror Man.” Mom shakes her head. “That’s a name that I’ve never heard before.”

  “Oh.”

  My disappointment must be obvious because Mom gives me an extra-bright smile. “But I will ask your father.”

  “Thanks.” I squirm in my chair, thinking how Mom is constantly running around for me. “You know, I really appreciate you coming over on short notice. I do realize that you have all of Purgatory to lead.”

  “It’s fine. I always keep a transport Pulpitum on standby for Antrum.” She does that mom-thing where she beams at me like I hung the moon and stars. It’s pretty awesome.

  “You’re the best.”

  “Of course, I am.” Mom winks. “I gave birth to you.” She stands up, takes a step toward the door, and pauses. “Oh, I almost forgot. Your rooms will be ready tomorrow, so you and Lincoln can move in once that silly diplomatic meeting with Kethan is over.” She fans herself with her hands. “I can’t believe it. My baby will be home again—and with her own baby, too.”

  My heart sinks. Sure, it’s no surprise that the rooms will be ready so quickly. My father is general of the angels, and he has all sorts of magical folks with feathers who build things quickly. In addition, it’s no shocker that my honeymoon is ending.

  It’s just a total bummer.

  I try to slap on a smile. “Thanks, Mom.” My tail rises behind me to give her a modified wave. It’s much better at pretending happiness than I am.

  “Excellent. See you in a week!” She practically skip-walks out of the room.

  Once Mom is gone, I stare at the closed door. Lincoln and I haven’t really chatted about our plans after the honeymoon is over. Of course, we’ll split time between our realms. That said, we haven’t discussed which one we’d hit first. Getting married was a drama—Armageddon crashed our wedding ceremony after all—and our honeymoon has been spent doing important things like playing kissing games. Now, reality looms large.

  And it will be here tomorrow.

  The idea makes me want to cry, and for once, I don’t think it’s all pregnancy hormones. The actuality of being a ruler, wife, and mother becomes overwhelming. Take the queen stuff, for instance. I have no idea what’s needed from me, other than a laundry list of projects. For instance, we have problems with the magical flow of oxygen to Antrum. To help out, I promised to review plans for a new system. If I screw that up, no big deal, everyone just dies a painful death without air. So that’s what I know about queenly stuff.

  When it comes to being a wife, all I know is that there’s some nutjob who’s decided to plague my husband with daily messages. How do I stop Ethan? Even more importantly, how I prevent Lincoln from feeling responsible for every little thing in Antrum? No easy answers there, either.

  And last but not least, there’s the baby. I haven’t even thought about anything maternal. For example, I don’t know what crib I’ll get for the baby’s room. Mostly because I haven’t made a final decision on what room or rooms to put said baby into.

  Hells Bells.

  Standing up, I go off in search of Lincoln. Sometimes, a girl just needs a hug from her husband.

  Chapter Three

  I find Lincoln in the study, which is an oak room lined with leather-bound books. Every so often, the many tall shelves are separated by a single floor-length mirror. Comfy club chairs and round tables dot the floor. It’s a classic thrax space, really. If it ha
s a ton of secret passageways and silencer spells, it could be just like Arx Hall, our main palace.

  Lincoln stands in the chamber’s center, his arms braced onto a round wooden table that’s piled high with white envelopes. A few medieval parchments lay rolled off to the side. My throat tightens with anger. I know exactly who sent all those white envelopes. Ethan.

  What a creep.

  Lincoln still wears his jeans and nothing else, which is great to see. Most thrax stay “medieval traditional” even when they’re hanging at home. However, Lincoln’s logged so many hours doing demon patrols on Earth, he likes to dress mortal-style. It’s one of the many things I like about him: my guy isn’t afraid to do his own thing.

  I step closer, and sure enough, the many large envelopes sport the insignia of Ethan’s company, Hunter Enterprises. All the messages have been opened, except for one. It rests on the table between Lincoln’s braced arms.

  My tail whips behind me in a predatory rhythm. “Are you going to open that new letter from Ethan?”

  “Opening things from Ethan?” Lincoln shakes his head. “I have far bigger things to worry about.” Lincoln scoops up a parchment, unrolls it, and pretends to be fascinated by its contents. Riiiiiiight. I know my guy. That unopened letter is bugging him. It always takes him a while to work up to reading these nasty missives.

  I stand behind Lincoln and wrap my arms around his waist. “Hey, I get that you and Ethan were buddies, but he needs to leave you alone now.”

  Lincoln and Ethan hung out when they were kids. Then everything changed. Ethan’s parents became possessed while on demon patrol. After returning to Antrum, they killed Ethan’s only sister and then offed each other. It’s a truly horrific story.

  Still, something about the whole thing has always struck me as strange.

  I mean, the entire reason thrax live underground is to screen people for stuff like demonic possession. Case in point: Lady Adair was possessed, and she set off alarm bells all the time. In her case, she had a good cover story. Everyone thought she was the Scala Heir, and that role is supposed to be partly demonic. But Ethan’s parents just waltz into Antrum with demons inside them, and not a single alarm goes off? I don’t get how that happened.