Angelbound THRAX

by Christina Bauer

  Lincoln is still pretending to be fascinated by his scroll. He gives the parchment a little shake. “What an interesting analysis of food distribution between the houses.”

  I go on tiptoe and peep over his shoulder. “Really? Because you’re holding it upside down.”

  Lincoln resets the parchment on the table and sighs. “Ethan is my subject. He has every right to send me messages. It’s my problem that I allow his requests to bother me.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

  “Yes, I can. I was on Pulpitum-training duty when Ethan’s parents came through. I should have detected their possession.”

  “How? You were ten years old.”

  “Someone could have looked into their eyes. With that level of possession, their irises had to be glowing.”

  I rest my cheek against his back. “You can’t take responsibility for everything. There’s a whole magical system for detecting demons when thrax transfer in and out of Antrum. It should have set off alarm bells without anyone checking eyeballs.”

  “Well, the alarms didn’t sound, and I was there. As the ranking noble, that makes it my responsibility.”

  Now, I want to ask whether the thrax engineers found anything wrong with that particular Pulpitum afterwards, but Lincoln always gets super-grouchy whenever I raise this issue. So, I silently vow to keep my mouth shut.

  Aaaaaaaand my vow lasts all of two seconds.

  “Did they ever find anything wrong with the transfer station?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “So, it’s been successfully detecting demons ever since then?”

  “Myla, you know it has.”

  “The whole thing doesn’t make sense, that’s all I’m saying.” I mean, the odd demonic item can come in and out without setting off alarms. But people? Never.

  “We’re a traditional society and our rulers always take responsibility.”

  Don’t point out Lincoln’s father. Don’t point out Lincoln’s father. Don’t point out Lincoln’s father.

  Screw it. I’m pointing out Lincoln’s father.

  “When your dad was king, he didn’t take responsibility. Like ever.”

  Lincoln pinches the bridge of his nose. “Myla.” He’s getting exasperated, and yeah, I feel for him. But if I don’t tell him the truth, who will?

  I step to the side and take Lincoln’s hands in mine. That way, he has to face me when I say my next bit. “Please, all I ask is for you to consider the possibility that you’ve been raised to take on way too much. There’s something fishy about Ethan.”

  “He’s a great leader,” counters Lincoln. “No thrax settlement has ever lasted this long on the Earth’s surface.”

  And this is true. Sort of. After his family died, Ethan decided that Antrum wasn’t secure, and he built his own colony on Earth. In some ways, Earth life is easy for the thrax. Humans are totally oblivious to angelic and demonic stuff. Like when I join demon patrol, I don’t need to hide my tail or anything.

  But the hard part for thrax? That would be staying not-dead on Earth for any length of time.

  Thrax are part angel, and that angelic energy draws demons like a magnet. Plus, nothing makes a demon happier than killing a thrax demon hunter. Rogue thrax rarely last more than a week or two on Earth before a demon offs them. And yes, Ethan’s colony has lasted for years.

  That said, I’m still not buying the “Ethan is a great leader” line. I go into my classic retort. “If Ethan is so awesome, why don’t we hear more from his so-called followers? Who’s actually living in that colony, anyway?”

  “I’ve raised that same query to Ethan,” answers Lincoln. “He promised to bring some of his subjects to the summit tomorrow, as well as a sampling of the technology he’s developed. He claims it’s revolutionary.”

  “Huh. Like what kind of tech is he bringing, do you know?”

  Lincoln shakes his head. “I’m aware of some new Earth weapons, but too much happens for me to stay abreast of everything. How about you?”

  “If it was state-of-the-art twenty years ago, then the ghouls picked it out of a Dumpster and brought it to Purgatory. Other than that, we haven’t gotten much new tech, even after we kicked the ghouls out.”

  Lincoln’s mouth thins. That’s his worried face. “I wish I knew more about Earth devices.”

  I snap my fingers. “I know who’s an expert. Cissy.” She’s been my best friend since forever and now serves as diplomatic senator in Purgatory.

  “Really?”

  “Oh sure. Since she’s part envy demon, it’s in her DNA to shop. You can’t have the best of everything if you don’t know what’s best, right?”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “And Zeke is running the senatorial guard these days.” That’s Cissy’s boyfriend. “She stays up-to-date on weapons so she can help him be safe. She’s even become a wiz with computers. To her, it’s all just another category of shopping.”

  Lincoln picks up a blank parchment and scribbles out a note. “Done. I’ll have her invited to the summit.” He strides over to the main door, calls a guard from the outer hallway, and hands off the message.

  Once the parchment’s on its way, Lincoln closes the door and returns his focus to me. “How about we get back to our honeymoon?” His mouth is smiling, but his eyes stay filled with worry.

  “Ethan’s letter is still bugging you.” I press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I love the fact that you want to take the world on your shoulders. But now that I’m here, I’m going to make sure you don’t actually do that.” I shoot him a sly grin. “It’s really bad for your back.”

  Lincoln gives me a look of a pure adoration. “I love you, Myla. Never get serious and stuffy on me. Promise?”

  “I love you, too. And I’m not sure serious is possible for me anyway.”

  For a long moment, we do nothing but share smiles and feel awesome that we’re together. Unfortunately, after a few seconds, that look of concern returns to Lincoln’s eyes.

  I give his fingers a squeeze. “Why don’t you open the envelope?”

  A muscle feathers along Lincoln’s jawline. “I absolutely loathe the idea of my people up there, unprotected.” He eyes the sealed envelope from Ethan. “I’ll open it in the morning.”

  I stare at the message as well. “It says Code Orange on it. Doesn’t that mean you could have thrax at risk?” All of Ethan’s other messages have been marked Code Yellow.

  “It does.”

  “So, it’ll bug the crap out of you until you open it.”

  Lincoln nods. “True.”

  “Then open it up, see that it’s nothing, and write him another message to hold his horses until tomorrow. That way, you can enjoy the rest of our honeymoon.”

  Lincoln leans in until our foreheads touch. “When did you get so smart?”

  “It’s just my natural state of being.”

  “Quite.” Lincoln turns and swipes the envelope from the tabletop. “Here goes.” He tears open the message.

  A sheet of paper falls out. I scoop it up and scan the contents. “It’s more blah-blah send me troops blah-blah.”

  Lincoln tips the envelope over. A small arrowhead slides out onto his palm.

  Wait, what? Who sends an arrowhead to their king? I know I’m supposed to be Queen of these people, but sometimes I really don’t understand them at all. Meanwhile, the black metal gleams against Lincoln’s pale skin. The ghost of a smile rounds my guy’s mouth.

  “Ethan made this,” says Lincoln.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “There are tiny runes carved into the black metal. It’s his mark.”

  “Wow. I don’t think of Ethan as making anything but you crazy.”

  Lincoln chuckles. “When we were kids, Ethan washed out of thrax warrior training, so he started into the trades. He was always making little gadgets and models of weapons. It was a hobby we both shared.”

  “You made little models?” I can’t picture Lin
coln and handicrafts.

  “I didn’t say I was good at it.” Lincoln fiddles with the small black arrowhead. “Everything Ethan crafts has a little trick to it. When we were boys, he used to make things for me all the time.” Suddenly, the end of the arrowhead telescopes out, transforming it into a full arrow. “How clever. I wonder what kind of metal he used.”

  For a moment, a carefree and joyful look shines in Lincoln’s mismatched eyes. I can picture the child he once was, and how that little kid loved sharing models with his buddy. It was a nice move for Ethan to send this arrow. For a moment, I decide that I almost like Ethan.

  Emphasis on the word almost.

  Lincoln sets the arrow down. “I suppose I should get started on that reply. It’s a thoughtful gift, but we’re still not sending any troops.”

  At those words, our world falls apart.

  The arrow explodes into a column of black flame. A wall of heat and dark fire engulfs both me and Lincoln. Neither of us burns, however. Every cell in my body goes on alert. Black fire? No burning? That can only mean one thing.

  This is a spell, no question about it.

  And even worse, it’s black magic.

  Black magic is illegal in Antrum and for a good reason. To cast it, you need to drain someone’s soul, preferably someone strong and angelic. It’s really complex, not to mention disgusting. How would a lowly thrax like Ethan learn how to do something as tricky as drain souls? The flames lick around the room, but I can’t focus on them. Instead, a single question keeps rolling around in my mind.

  Why would Ethan send Lincoln a booby-trapped message?

  The answer comes quickly. The entire room shudders as one of the floor-length mirrors bursts outward. Shards of glass fly in our direction. I crouch into a defensive stance; Lincoln curls his body around mine.

  The room seems to flip. Instead of gravity pulling us toward the floor, everything’s now being drawn into the broken mirror. Books, tables, tapestries, and knickknacks…it all gets pulled into the blackened hole where the frame once held the mirror.

  Adrenaline surges through my veins. Acting on instinct, my tail jams into the floorboards, becoming an anchor to keep me in place. A vortex of wind whips about the room, extinguishing the magical fire and causing my robe to billow about my legs. Lincoln tumbles toward the open hole. His face and chest are scratched all over by broken glass. Reaching forward, I grab his hands in mine.

  I won’t let him go.

  The din of wind grows louder. I scream over the noise, “What’s happening?”

  Lincoln’s face twists with the effort of grasping my hands. “Summoning spell.”

  “Where?” I don’t know a lot about legal magic, let alone the black stuff.

  Lincoln keeps his voice carefully controlled, but I can see terror sparkling in his mismatched eyes. “Don’t know.”

  I’m now standing and grasping Lincoln as more stuff gets sucked into the blackened window-hole. Mirrors tumble off the walls, shattering as they fall into the darkened space. Books tear apart as they spiral away. All the while, my entire body strains with the effort to hold Lincoln’s hands. The arrowhead end of my tail stays spiked into the floor. Still, I’m not sure how much longer it can hold out.

  With every passing second, the pull into the broken mirror-hole grows stronger.

  All of a sudden, my tail loses its anchor-grip into the floorboards. Lincoln and I tumble forward a few yards before my tail punches through the floor again, holding us both in place once more. The movement makes me lose my two-handed grip with Lincoln.

  Damn. I only hold Lincoln by a single wrist now. My fingers ache from clutching him so tightly. The wind howls in my ears and whips through my hair. Bits of wood splinter as my tail cuts through the flooring.

  Lincoln’s gaze locks with mine. “You can’t hold me much longer.” His mismatched eyes now glint with determination. “Too much weight.”

  I know what he’s thinking. He wants to let go and get pulled off to Hell-knows-where. I won’t allow it.

  “No!” I cry. “Hold on!”

  All of a sudden, my igni appear out of nowhere. Both light and dark voices echo in my mind and materialize around my body. Instantly, they multiply into thousands of tiny lightning bolts of power, whipping around me like a school of fish. I’d know that shape anywhere. It’s a soul column. The igni create these to move a spirit to Heaven or Hell.

  And they are circling around me.

  I remember the name they spoke before. Mirror Man.

  The igni aren’t anywhere near Lincoln, only me. Is this their way of saying that I have to let him go?

  Well, screw my igni. Even if they are supernatural, I am not releasing Lincoln for anyone. He’s twenty. I’m nineteen. We’re expecting. This can’t be the end.

  “Hold on!” I call again.

  “We both know the igni don’t want that!” yells Lincoln.

  “You can see them?” They rarely show themselves to anyone but me.

  More bits of glass and debris fly past us. I’m protected by my igni, but Lincoln’s beautiful face becomes crisscrossed with fresh cuts. “You and the baby must be safe.”

  “No!” I try to keep my grip solid, but the pull from the mirror-hole is too strong. My grasp on Lincoln slips from his wrist to his fingers. All the while, my tail is losing its battle with the floorboards. The pull from the mirror-hole has us steadily slicing through more and more wood. Some small part of me knows this is an impossible situation. A dozen thoughts fly through my mind at once. There are so many things I want to tell Lincoln. How much I care about him. The many ways he’s changed my life for the better. Why our child needs him. I only get out a single cry. “Please!”

  “I love you, Myla.”

  With that, Lincoln lets go of my hand.

  I can only watch in horror as the love of my life tumbles through the broken mirror-hole and into the darkness beyond. All the while, he keeps his gaze locked with mine. The igni grow brighter as I scream my head off.

  Then the igni’s white light turns incredibly strong, blocking out my vision. My mind quickly fades into nothingness as well. The last thing I’m aware of as I lose consciousness is a single fact.

  I do not stop screaming.

  Chapter Four

  When I become aware again, I’m still yelling my lungs out. It takes me a moment to realize I’ve returned to my honeymoon bedroom. Lincoln’s beside me. I’m lying on my back. While resting his weight on his left elbow, Lincoln gently shakes my shoulder with his right hand.

  “Myla, wake up,” he says softly.

  I pant in a few rough breaths, but I do stop screaming. “What happened?” I ask.

  “You’re having another bad dream.”

  I sit upright and check my clothes. Yup, I’m still in my robe from last night. I scan Lincoln carefully. All the bloody scratches are gone, and he’s wearing blue silk pajamas. I cup his face in my hands. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course, I’m fine. The bigger question is…are you feeling okay? You’ve been nothing but trouble these past few weeks.” He winks. “Not that I’m complaining. You are carrying my kid and all.”

  I freeze. This is so screwed up it isn’t even funny. Lincoln never acts like my pregnancy is a burden. And he certainly doesn’t ever refer to me as a Myla-shaped vessel that exists solely to carry his child. I drop my hands from Lincoln’s face. “What happened last night?”

  “Don’t you remember?” He chuckles. “More pregnancy hormones.”

  “Answer the question, please.”

  “Your mom stopped by to help with your latest baby freak-out. I went to the study. When I came back, you were snoozing.” He eyes me hungrily. “Come here and give me a good morning kiss.”

  That’s not happening. At least, not until I get some answers.

  Instead of moving in closer, I scooch farther away. “Why are you wearing pajamas?” Lincoln’s mother Octavia constantly buys him nighttime wear, but that’s only for show. Lincoln always sleeps nud
e. Yet another reason why this is so screwy.

  “This is what people wear when they sleep, Myla.”

  “You don’t.”

  Lincoln shakes his head. “What? You’re an expert on me after a three-week honeymoon?”

  “You do realize that everything you’re saying is an insult, right?” I tick off the comments on my fingers. “I’m crazy with pregnancy. I’m nothing but a baby carrier for you. I’m overestimating how well I know you. This isn’t the normal Lincoln here.”

  He sighs. “I’m sorry if I’m acting a little crazy, Myla. It’s just that hearing you scream threw me off this morning. Whatever I’m saying, it’s only because I’m worried about you and our child. I’m truly sorry if it came off as rude or whatever.”

  “You’ve never acted this way before.”

  “I’ve never almost been a father before.” He slides closer to me on the mattress. “Why, did something else happen last night? I mean, you’ve been having wild nightmares ever since you got knocked up. Did you see stuff in your dreams? Anything bad?”

  Normally, I’d never lie to Lincoln. But this whole situation is beyond strange. My inner warrior sense says, Danger, and I always listen to that part of my soul. After all, it’s what’s kept me alive since I first stepped out onto the Arena floor at the tender age of twelve. I force my face into a carefully neutral look. “No, it’s just as you said. My mother stopped by and I went to sleep. I don’t remember anything specific that happened in my nightmares.”

  “Good. If that changes, let me know.” He gives me a sweet smile. “You and the baby. That’s my world, Myla. You know that, don’t you?”

  His mismatched eyes are so sincere. And that voice? It’s the deep tone I’ve come to love. “I do, Lincoln.”

  “Why don’t you get cleaned up, and I’ll order us some food. Does that sound like a plan?”