I point at his hands. “What’s that all about?”
“I’ve been gone for a while.” He gives me what’s supposed to be a sexy wink. “Thought you might want some alone-time with me.”
Of all the things I expected from Evil Lincoln, him waltzing through the door and looking for sex wasn’t on the list. At all. “Slow down there, bub. I do not want any alone-time with you. What I want is out of this freaking palace.”
He blinks innocently. “You do?”
And with that, the “New Queen Me” starts to fade under a barrage of Old Myla fury. “You just locked me up. Do you seriously think I want to fool around with you right now?”
Evil Lincoln shakes his head. “Your mouth is saying no.” He eyes me slowly from head to toe. My Scala robes are made of skin-tight white fabric. “But your body’s saying yes.”
That does it.
Whatever Queenly sanity I had? It vanishes into thin air. Using my mind, I command my Scala robes to change into heavy white body armor and kickass boots. This is a major perk of being the Great Scala, by the way. Instant battle readiness.
Once the change is complete, I lunge straight for Evil Lincoln. Sweeping his leg, I knock him onto the ground. Once Evil Lincoln is flat on his back, I take a seat right on his sternum. My tail arcs over my shoulder so its arrowhead-pointed end is aimed right for Evil Lincoln’s jugular.
He gasps. “What’s the problem, babe?”
“If you so much as flinch the wrong way, my tail will take you down. It hates you.” To emphasize the point, my tail does its scary snake-slither move, where it shimmies in a zigzag.
By the way, my tail normally has a thing for Lincoln. In fact, it’ll sometimes do stuff for my husband that it’d never do for me. So the fact that my backside has gone straight for the jugular? It’s even more proof that I’m dealing with an impostor.
“Call off your tail. I’m your husband. You don’t want to kill me.”
“You are not my husband and we both know it. Death is the least you deserve.”
Honestly, I wouldn’t really murder Evil Lincoln at this point. Even so, I don’t want him to know that. A frightened enemy is a blabby enemy. This impostor simply must tell me where my real husband is hidden. To emphasize the amount of danger, I force my irises to glow demon red. “Tell me where my real husband is being held, and I won’t kill you.”
Evil Lincoln’s eyes go even wider. “I don’t know, I swear.”
I press my tail more firmly against Evil Lincoln’s throat. It’s not enough to break the skin, but it does show that I mean business. “Talk.”
“No, no… Don’t hurt me.”
The tip of my tail slides farther down my fake husband’s jugular. The muscles in his neck twitch. I decide to use Evil Lincoln’s line right back at him. “Your mouth says no, but your body says yes.”
At that moment, the door swings open, and Lincoln’s parents step into the room. Both are in their thrax medieval best, so Connor is tall and barrel-chested in his velvet tunic. His white hair hangs gracefully to his chin. Octavia wears a long black gown with her silver hair curled into a neat bun. The two stare at Lincoln and me.
“What’s going on here?” asks Connor.
“Foreplay,” I say. At the same time, Evil Lincoln shouts: “She’s crazy!”
Connor and Octavia share a long look. The pair of them do this a lot. It’s like they have entire conversations without saying a word. After nodding to each other, they stare pointedly at my stomach.
“How are you feeling today?” asks Octavia.
I refuse to move from the throat-threatening situation I have going with the impostor. “This is not Lincoln.”
Connor takes a cautious step backward. Wise move on his part. I’m already not a fan of his.
Octavia gives me a calm and regal smile. “Of course it’s Lincoln. You’ve been rather unbalanced lately. Don’t you remember? The doctors say that you must live here in Antrum, even after the baby is born.”
My brows lift. “They did?” I look down at Evil Lincoln, who starts over-blinking. I’m guessing this is his default I’m so innocent face.
Not buying it.
“Don’t you remember, Myla?” asks Evil Lincoln. He twists his neck to get farther away from my tail, but the arrowhead end just follows his every move. “We asked the physicians over last night after your mother left. They told us how your pregnancy’s at risk due to your moods. They want you to stay here with Octavia and Connor. Forever.”
Now, it’s true that my mother wants us to live in Purgatory, but she’s got nothing on Octavia. Lincoln’s mom is on a mission to have us in Antrum. And yes, forever is the timescale she’s pushing for.
I hate to admit it, but telling Octavia that we’ll always stay in Antrum? That’s a brilliant move from Evil Lincoln. Octavia has a gift for ignoring unpleasant realities when it concerns someone she loves. Just look at her marriage to Connor.
Octavia steps closer. If she’s shocked that I’m still restraining her son, the Queen Emeritus doesn’t show it. And since Evil Lincoln still isn’t talking anyway, I decide to stand up and release him. As Evil Lincoln sits there, dumbfounded, my tail gives the impostor a little smack across the kisser. Good tail.
Turning to Octavia, I greet her with a little wave. “Hello.”
“So good to see you, my dear.” Octavia air-kisses my cheeks.
Lincoln huffs as he slowly stands up. “She threatened me, Mother.”
At this point, I feel like Evil Lincoln and I are a brother and sister who’re fighting over “who punched who” in the back seat. Again, something the real Lincoln would never do.
“She’s a warrior,” counters Octavia. “Of course, she’ll become physical. While I was pregnant with you, I once broke three of your father’s ribs.” Octavia used to be a fighter herself, and a good one.
Connor guffaws. “Don’t surprise your pregnant warrior wife with tickles, my son. I learned that one the hard way.”
Octavia refocuses on me. “We’re so pleased about the news that you’re staying. I’ve already got the royal carpenters fixing up a baby’s room right next to our suite.”
Wow. This sounds way too similar to the conversation I had with my own mother. Don’t get me wrong—I’m happy everyone wants to spend time with the baby. It’s just they can do that and then leave.
“I know this must be overwhelming for you,” adds Connor. “Months ago, you were a senior at Purgatory High School. Now, you’re the Great Scala, Queen of the Thrax, a wife, and a mother. It’s a lot for anyone, even without your demonic heritage. And now, all these baby hormones? It’s amazing you’re acting sane at all.” He gestures around the room. “And Antrum is so safe! I love this idea of you staying here twenty-four-seven.” He turns to Evil Lincoln. “Great thinking, son.”
“Thank you, Father.”
There are so many things I want to say to Connor at this point, starting with a critique of the whole “demonic heritage” crap and ending with his “amazing you’re acting sane at all” line. But I have bigger fish to fry. Instead, I round on Evil Lincoln. “Clearly, you’ve had a busy morning, my little lamb chop. It seems you talked to your parents and got everything lined up, eh?”
“That’s right.” He looks so smug when he says that, I want to punch him in the throat.
“So what am I supposed to do next, according to your plans, oh my dearest?”
This ought to be good.
“Well, the summit with Ethan starts in a few minutes. However, I figured that man-stuff might go right over your head. Plus, you haven’t been in—how do I put this?—the most sane condition. We need to show Ethan our very best selves. He’s a critical ally.”
“Huh.” The way Evil Lincoln speaks the word “ally,” he might as well say “co-conspirator.” Makes sense, really. Evil Lincoln showed up right after Ethan’s black magic took my guy away. All of a sudden, I want in on this summit and how. Ethan and I need to talk.
“I am attending the summ
it, end of story.”
“But you must understand—” starts Evil Lincoln.
Octavia jumps right in. “The King and Queen rule jointly in Antrum. If Myla wishes to attend the summit, then she should go.”
I can’t help but smirk. Okay, maybe I could help it, but Octavia is giving Evil Lincoln a smackdown. That’s just too awesome.
Evil Lincoln frowns. “It’s going to be terribly boring, though.”
“I can always play rock, paper, scissors with my tail.” My tail arches over my shoulder while rounding its arrowhead end into a fist-shape, just to make things clear.
Octavia’s mismatched eyes narrow. “What’s really bothering you, my son?”
For the first time since they walked in the room, I’m very glad that Lincoln’s parents are here. Or at least, that Octavia showed up. The fact that she’s seeing through Evil Lincoln in this moment is beyond sweet.
“It’s just…” Evil Lincoln sighs. “What if Myla attacks me again?”
“You’re a trained fighter.” Octavia sniffs. “That’s a ridiculous concern.”
I want to pump my fist in the air, but I’m trying to be more Queenly. Instead, I lift my chin in what I consider to be a most regal pose. “I’m Queen of the Thrax. I don’t shirk my duties. Let’s go speak with Ethan.”
Octavia grins. “Well said, my dear.”
Evil Lincoln steps closer. “If you’re sure.” His voice has a soft yet menacing tone.
Meaning: if you join me at this summit, you will regret it.
“Oh, I’m positive,” I reply.
Translation: bring it on.
I return my attention to Octavia. “Where are the negotiations taking place?”
“The Chamber of Reflection,” she replies.
That’s in Arx Hall, our main palace. I know where the room’s located, even though I’ve never been inside it before. And now that I have Octavia to back me up, I can get a carriage there, easy-peasy.
“Got it.” I whip open the door and call to the guards. “Send a runner to the stables. I want a fresh carriage outside in two minutes.”
Williamson steps forward. “Absolutely, Your Majesty.”
I return to the receiving room, make my goodbyes, and then march off for the main gate. Evil Lincoln run-walks to stay close. “Wait up, Myla. It’s unseemly for us to be apart.”
I don’t bother answering him. The most seemly thing in the world will be when I’m as far away from this creep as possible. I want my real husband back, and to do that, I need information.
In other words, it’s time to confront Ethan.
Chapter Six
An hour later, I’m marching down the southwest passageway in Arx Hall. The place is an ornate corridor made of gilded walls and marble floors.
Next stop: Ethan and the Chamber of Reflection.
“Not so fast, my sweetling.” That would be Evil Lincoln, who is currently huffing and puffing his way behind me. Whoever this loser really is, the dude is not in shape. My Lincoln would be disgusted.
I consider replying to His Evilness, but then pick up the pace instead. There’s no point interacting with my fake husband. I’ve interrogated my share of criminals. When my tail was against Evil Lincoln’s neck, the creep looked frightened enough to wet himself. In that moment, if Evil Lincoln had known anything about my real husband’s whereabouts, it would have come a-tumbling from his lips.
But Evil Lincoln said nothing. Zero. Zip. Nada.
And that means my best option for information is to visit the Chamber of Reflection, which is at the end of this very passageway. In there, I’ll find the annual summit and Ethan the Supreme Creepster.
AKA the dude who sent the magical arrow that kidnapped my husband.
AKA the dead man.
As an extra bonus, Cissy should be joining us. Sure, Lincoln and I invited her to this summit because my bestie knows a lot about Earth technology. But now, her presence will be extra awesome. Cis is Purgatory’s Senator for Diplomacy. As such, she has contacts all over the after-realms. In other words, no matter where they’re holding my Lincoln, Cissy can probably help me rescue him.
My fake husband pipes up again from behind me. “Dear heart, please slow down.”
“Humph.” For the record, there’s only one reason why Evil Lincoln gets any kind of reply from me: his last statement marked the first time he used his “big-boy manners” and actually asked “please” before demanding that I slow down. You have to reinforce good habits with the selfishly minded.
After a few more strides, I reach a set of gilded doors. The words “Chamber of Reflection” are inlaid with glittering stones. Evil Lincoln rushes to stand beside me. Am I happy that’s he’s red faced, panting, and covered in sweat?
Why yes, yes I am.
“Now, my love.” Evil Lincoln pants a few more times. “It’s best if you stay quiet while I run the summit.”
Say what? I didn’t think I could hate this guy more, but it seems that Evil Lincoln is always full of surprises. Did he really ask me to shut up while he runs the summit? I purse my lips and glare at him. “Come again?”
“You’re here to learn statecraft. You know, take notes from the master.” He gestures across his torso, in case I didn’t understand how he was the “master” in this scenario.
There’s a moment that lasts a million years where I contemplate having a round two of pinning Evil Lincoln to the floor and threatening his jugular. However, I’m working on being more patient and mature, so I don’t attack.
For now.
After forcing myself to take in a few breaths, I once again address my fake husband. “Let’s be honest with each other, okay? I’ll make it really simple for you.”
“Yes, my dearest heart. I’d adore that.”
In the spirit of making things clear, I decide to talk Tarzan style. “Me Myla.” I tap my chest. “Great Scala. Queen. Know what doing.” My tail arches to point straight at Evil Lincoln’s nose. “You impostor. Loser. Nobody. You shut up. Me run show. Got it?”
All the blood seems to drain from Evil Lincoln’s face. “Is that all?”
I bob my head from side to side, thinking. “Only that I’m probably going to kill you before this is all over.”
He staggers a step backward, which is good to see. “But I was sure you thought… Don’t you find me attractive?”
My eyes almost pop out of my head. “And this is where your mind goes? Do I find you attractive?” I flash him my palms. “Please, it’s best if you don’t talk to me for awhile. I have business with Ethan.”
Evil Lincoln’s eyes widen, and that’s when I notice it: some of the skin under his right eye is droopy. I point at the orb in question. “Hey, what’s up with your face?”
Moving more quickly than I thought possible, Evil Lincoln presses his palm over his right eye. “It’s nothing.” The way he says those two words, it’s definitely something. “You’re acting crazy again.”
“There you go with the crazy talk.” Although, as much as I hate to admit this, the “let’s focus on nutty Myla” program has worked pretty well for Evil Lincoln. At least, so far. My fake husband has infiltrated the guards and even the royal family. For the record, Williamson’s the only one who thinks anything is off with the new Lincoln. But having Lincoln’s face melt off his face? That may be unavoidable evidence.
I tap my chin. “Eye drooping isn’t a human condition. Well, not one that I’ve ever heard of. Could it be something magical?”
“Just give me a second.”
I can’t help but notice that Evil Lincoln didn’t answer my question. My mind whirs through everything I know about magic. “You’re not under an enchantment. I had that confirmed.” I rub my neck, thinking. Even if Ethan is the one I want to interrogate, it wouldn’t hurt to know more about Evil Lincoln. My thoughts flip through every magical ailment I know about. “Besides, enchantments don’t cause skin to melt like that.”
“Do you mind? I’ve been checked out by the royal mages. I�
�m not under any spells.” Evil Lincoln lowers his hand, and his eye looks normal once more. “All better now, see?”
I tilt my head, my mind still stuck on the mystery of Evil Lincoln. “If you’re not enchanted, what are you, exactly?” I’d started to discuss this with Williamson back in the sitting room, but we got interrupted.
“I’m late, unless we get inside this chamber. We need to speak with Ethan as soon as possible.”
Wow, I may actually agree with him on that point.
Whatever may be the mystery of Evil Lincoln, he’s not the big magilla here. My main job is getting info out of Ethan. I turn to face the golden door. “Time to do this.”
Evil Lincoln starts to creep up behind me. “Allow me to—”
“Back off, buddy.” I throw open the golden doors and step into the Chamber of Reflection. Inside, I find about a dozen Earls sitting around a long mahogany table. Cissy’s not here yet, which is a bummer. That said, it’s not surprising. She’s a busy lady and we only invited her last night. But if I know my bestie, she’ll show up soon enough.
Back to the summit.
At the head of the table sits a youngish guy with a round face, upturned nose, and small button eyes. A smattering of freckles covers his cheeks. His straight sandy-blond hair looks like someone slapped a yellow chimney sweep brush on top of his head. When I step into the room, he flashes me a grin, showing square teeth with wide spaces between them. It’s like someone ripped out his regular choppers and replaced them with Chiclets or something.
“Greetings, Myla.” The guy rises, which reveals he’s wearing one of those blue jumpsuits normally used by gas station attendants, only his has an embroidered—and overly loopy—H-E on his chest. That’s the logo for Hunter Enterprises. “I’m Ethan von Essen, Supreme Leader of the Thrax. You can also call me Ethan the Great or the Supreme Legal Ruler on Earth. Just don’t call me one of the Supremes.” He gives me an exaggerated wink. “My singing voice is terrible.”
Angelbound THRAX Page 5
