“Guys, you really don’t have to do that.”
The Head Alchemist, Erik, has white blonde hair and wildly mismatched eyes of dark brown and ice blue. “But that’s a proper greeting for the Great Scala.”
“Well, honestly, it’s creeping me out. As the Great Scala, I hereby order you to call me Myla and not hop around when I enter the room.”
“As you command, Great Scala.”
I shoot him a dry look.
“I mean, that’s cool, Myla.”
“Thanks.”
Erik and the rest of the Alchemists retake their seats. Over the last two days, they’ve been working non-stop, trying to figure out what’s up with the warehouse. Walker’s certain the Orb is in there; the only question’s where.
Lincoln steps over and takes his hands in mine. Today, he’s wearing faded jeans and a black Elvis T-shirt, which I find hilarious. Everyone in Antrum knows who the real King is, even without the shirt. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” I reply. “No more igni concerts. And I’ve been doing some practicing, too. Remember when we were in the bunker, right before we fought Armageddon?”
“How could I forget?”
“Back then, the Old Scala did this thing where he cast igni ropes around us. I can’t make Soul Columns, so I’ve been practicing those, just to see if they’re listening to me.”
“And?”
“Working like a charm. How’re things in here?”
“The guys are having a blast.” He turns to the team. “Can you report out, Erik?”
“Sure, Linc.” I’m still adjusting to Lincoln having a nickname, but I guess these guys are buddies of his from when they were all ten years old. Erik turns towards Walker and Cissy. “I didn’t see you two come in.”
Walker shoots them a friendly wave. “You were busy playing with the last round of toys I brought you.” As a ghoul, Walker’s well over six feet tall with pale, colorless skin. As a cool guy, he has a brush-cut, sideburns, and fairly decent muscle tone.
Cissy rattles one of the boxes on the countertop. “We found even better stuff this time around.”
Erik rubs his palms together and scans the table, his mismatched eyes glittering with excitement. “Here’s what we’ve figured out so far.” He picks up a plate-looking thing made out of metal. “This is a torquetum from the 1400’s. It belongs in a museum, not a warehouse. It’s the first step in a magical path that leads to this.” He sets down the torquetum and picks of a pair of old-fashioned wire-rimmed glasses. “And then, the spectacles are connected to yet another enchanted thing.” He holds up a wound-up piece of plastic shaped like a figure eight. “This one’s from the Earth.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s a Thigh Master. I’ve seen commercials for them on the Human Channel.”
“Crazy, right?” Erik sets the item back onto the tabletop. “The connections go on and on and on. It’s like a long magical chain that links every item in the warehouse. The Orb is at the end of the line, but it could take months to find it end by hand. Maybe even years.”
I rub my neck with my right hand and frown. “So, any options?”
“Yes, we have an idea right here.” Erik picks up a little tin bird from the 1800’s. It’s blue with mechanical wings and a winding key in its side. “We think we can alter the spell on this toy so it will fly through the exact path the magical signal takes to reach the Orb. Should only take a matter of hours to find it.”
Cissy bobs up and down on her heels. “That’s awesome, guys!”
“Great work.” I do my golfer’s clap.
A silly-slash-pleading look crosses Erik’s face. “Great Scala, I mean, Myla. Since you’re so happy with my work, I was wondering if I might ask a favor.”
“Sure. What is it?”
Erik gestures across the table. “Some of these things you clearly won’t need, and I might have a use for them.”
Lincoln’s face warms with an indulgent smile. “More of your pranks, Erik?”
“You know me, Linc. Man’s got to have a hobby.”
“That’s for Myla to decide.” Lincoln turns to me. “What do you say?”
Have Erik clean out some of this magical garbage for me? That’s a big yes.
“Sure, have your fun.”
Erik pumps the air with his fist. “Yeah.”
“Back to the warehouse, though.” I pick up the tin bird from the tabletop. “When can we try out your idea?”
Erik glances up at the clock. “Not until tomorrow morning. We’re due back in Antrum in a few minutes.”
“Let me grab my stuff,” says Walker. “I’ll portal you.” He steps out of the room.
I pull Lincoln aside. “Should we really have Walker portal these guys? I don’t want his backdoors to get discovered. Don’t you have some old transfer stations in Purgatory? Maybe Octavia could turn them back on for us. It’s less obvious than using the official ones.”
Lincoln shakes his head. “I don’t want anyone knowing what we’re up to. Adair is bad news and she has too many allies in Antrum. I’m already under a lot of scrutiny, but my parents have it much worse. We can’t be too careful.”
I rub my forehead, considering. “If you feel strongly about it.”
“I do. And don’t forget, Walker knows how to be stealthy.”
“Good point, although he’s not as stealthy as you are.” Ever since I was nine, Walker’s been trying to sneak up on me, but he never can manage it.
Lincoln’s mouth rounds into a toe-curling smile. “Well, that goes without saying.” He gently pulls my back against his chest, wrapping his long arms around my waist. It’s a comforting position. I survey the kitchen, feeling some worry melt away. The Alchemists made huge progress today. Now, we have an actual plan to figure out how to find the Orb and restart Soul Processing.
Things are looking up.
The old rotary phone rings on my kitchen wall. Mom’s working to upgrade technology in Purgatory, but we still don’t have cellular service yet.
“I’ll get it.” I set the receiver to my ear. “Myla Lewis speaking.”
The other end of the line is a cacophony of screams and crashing. “Great Scala, you’re needed right away.” It’s Ramone, the Lead Warden for Ghost Tower One. “We’ve got a code-red failure.”
“Be right there.” I hang up the phone and frown.
Things may not be looking that up, after all.
Chapter Seven
Lincoln and I rush over to Ghost Tower One. After a great day with the Alchemists, we launch into a not-so-great all-nighter. It takes ages to pinpoint what’s wrong with the Tower. At last, we figure out that the electricity levels in the containment fields were off kilter, zapping all the ghosts awake and angry. One spirit even broke out of the Carrier, but the Tower went on lock-down before he got too far.
Still, the whole thing was close. Too close.
It’s late morning by the time Lincoln and I head over to the warehouse. The place is a huge long box made of corrugated metal and lined with shelves from floor-to-ceiling. The many aisles twist around in a way that reminds me of the hedgerow maze back at the Ryder mansion. Large wooden crates are stacked everywhere, all of them stuffed with magical junk. Like compasses that always point to Hell. Enchanted pens that’ll only write praises about the ghouls. And my personal favorite, a box of old Scala robes that either belonged to Maxon Bane or were doused in ‘eau de old guy’.
We find Cissy, Walker, and the Alchemists in a nearby aisle. Erik’s the first guy I run into, which is cool since he’s the head honcho of this mission. We say our hellos and chitchat for a minute before I realize there’s something off about his face. His skin looks as white as Walker’s.
“Erik, are you sick or something?”
“No, I’m not. Guess what’s different.” A mischievous gleam appears in his eyes.
Lincoln warned me about this. Erik and his pranks.
“Come on. What’s the joke?”
Erik pulls on his ears, re
moving what ends up being a magical stone bust of himself. “Is this awesome or what? You wear it once, and then you have a living, talking statue of yourself forever. You can wear it as a mask, too. That’s what I was doing. Cool, huh?”
The statue-Erik winks at the original. “Quite cool,” it says. And dang, it even sounds like Erik.
“Put that thing away, now. We need to find the Orb.”
“Fine, fine.” Erik sets the bust onto the floor and then rests his hand atop the statue’s head. “Sleep, friend.” The fake-Erik closes its eyes and starts to snore. I’m beginning to understand why Lincoln stopped hanging out with these guys after age ten.
Lincoln approaches us, spies the statue on the floor, and half-rolls his eyes. “Let’s get started.”
“We were only waiting for you two,” explains Erik. “We can start any time.” He pulls the small tin bluebird from the pocket of his white lab coat. “Who’s got the rest of the stuff we need?”
Three other Alchemists step forward, each holding one item: the torquetum, the old-fashioned spectacles, and the Thigh Master. Lincoln and I share a sly look. The Thigh Master guy looks really embarrassed-slash-confused. Those things don’t seem to be standard parts of the medieval lifestyle in Antrum.
Erik steps over to the torquetum. “This is the first link in the magical chain that leads to the Orb. We’ll start off the bird here, and then it should follow the path of magic through all the warehouse until it reaches the Orb at the end.” He twists the key in the bird’s side and sets it free. The tiny tin creature hops onto the torquetum and pecks around its flat, circular surface. After that, it jumps onto the spectacles and flaps it wings. Finally, it paces along the Thigh Master before taking off in flight.
Erik bobs on the balls of his feet. “It worked!” He and Walker exchange a high-five.
“Looking good,” I say. “How long before it finds the Orb?”
Walker purses his lips. “By my calculations, tomorrow morning at 6:17AM.”
“Really?” My eyebrows rise with surprise. “How can you be so certain?”
Walker scratches his neck with his right hand. “Do you want a lesson on stuff like energy signatures and the laws of probability, or do you want to take my word for it?”
Walker can be such a smart-ass sometimes. “Your word is fine.”
“How likely is it that you’ll really find this thing tomorrow?” asks Lincoln. “Give me a percent chance.”
Walker makes a great show of rubbing his sideburns as if he’s lost in thought. “Oh, one hundred percent.”
“Yeah, Walker!” My tail does a happy-dance over my shoulder. If Walker says one hundred percent, you can take that to the bank. The mood in the warehouse turns downright giddy.
“We should make this an diplomatic event,” says Cissy cheerfully. “An inter-realm gala, even. Invite the press to the warehouse. The people will love it.” She opens her arms like she’s picturing a new sign above the warehouse door. “Lucifer’s Orb, the Grand Unveiling.”
I hate to burst her bubble, but that’s so not-going-to-happen. “I like the way you think, Cis, but it’s too risky. Let’s just find the Orb and get that shizz out of here.” Once we find it, Dad’s agreed to transfer it personally to some super-safe vault in Heaven. “Sorry to ruin your fun.”
“No worries, quasi girl. Once this is all over, I’ll think of another Diplomatic-something to celebrate our victory.”
Our group launches into excited chatter about finding the Orb, restarting Soul processing, and my first iconigration as the Great Scala. We’re so loud, it’s hard to hear someone pounding on the warehouse’s back door. Erik and I don’t miss it, though.
“I’ll get it. We’re expecting a delivery.” Erik jogs away.
I watch him rush up to a door at the end of the aisle, open it, and stare out into space. The skin on my arms prickles into gooseflesh. Something’s wrong here.
Who opens a door and stands there like a statue?
I move closer to Erik. He looms in the doorway, blocking my view of the alley beyond. I can’t see his face, but there’s a crimson glow around his cheeks, almost like his eyes are glowing red. Erik’s voice comes out in a strange monotone. “Please come in. I’ll show you around.”
I step closer. “Stop right there, buddy.”
Erik flips around to face me. “Stop what?”
I do a double-take. Erik’s eyes are the typical thrax mismatch of brown and blue. No sign of demonic red. Any trace of a monotone is gone from his speech, too. I shake my head. This morning has been a lot of excitement after an intense all-nighter. My mind must be playing tricks on me.
“Look, Erik. You were about to invite someone in and give a tour of the warehouse. Not acceptable. This place stays on lock-down until we find the Orb.”
Erik looks at me like I’m nuts. “I wasn’t talking to anyone. Look for yourself.”
I pop my head through the opened doorway and into the alley beyond. It’s empty. Huh.
“See?” asks Erik. “No one’s there. The knocks were probably a prank from some kids.”
I scan the alleyway again. Still empty.
“A prank, eh? One of yours, Erik?”
“Not this time.”
I’m so sure.
Still, the situation with the mystery knock-and-run brings up a good question. This is a huge warehouse, and we definitely need to keep it secure between now and tomorrow at 6:17AM. As Minister of Infrastructure, Walker’s in charge of providing guards for all government buildings. I seek him out and pull him aside.
“Hey, do you have enough security folks for this place?”
Walker tilts his head to one side, thinking. “Enough to cover through tomorrow, sure.”
“Cool. And however many you’d normally put on a high-risk building, can you double it?”
“That won’t be as easy, but I think I can manage it.”
“Thanks.” I watch the little tin bird flap around the warehouse, landing from box to box. “This is way too important to leave anything to chance.”
“Agreed.” Walker’s mouth thins to a worried line. “I’ll take care of all the plans personally.”
Chapter Eight
Lincoln and I stand in the warehouse, alone. The Alchemists and Cissy are gone, having done an awesome day’s work. Walker’s waiting outside for us. Lincoln and I take a quick stroll around the warehouse interior, double-checking that all the new guards are in place. Tomorrow’s a huge day, and we want everything to be secure.
As we make our rounds, some of the tightness and anxiety fades from my body. The warehouse looks good. Really good. Walker gave us some top-notch guards. I’d even like to fight a few in the Arena, just to see how they’d do.
After one last check, Lincoln and I step out the back. It’s not even six o’clock yet, but since the alley’s bordered by tall buildings, it gets pitch dark out here pretty quickly. A bare light bulb hangs above the warehouse door, casting a dim glow onto the cracked asphalt. I scan the darkened alley.
No guards are here, only Walker. That’s odd. The building’s exterior should be secured by now.
Walker leans against the opposite wall, his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans. A strange gleam dances in his eyes. “Are we all ready to go?”
I tilt my head to one side. “Mmmmmmmmaybe.”
I’ve known Walker my whole life, so I can tell when he’s up to something. And the way he looks now? It’s the exact face he’d give me before sneaking my teenage tuchus into the Arena. He knew Mom hated the thought of me spending time watching demon battles, so he always played it cool. Even so, he could never hide the odd glimmer in his eyes from me.
Something is so up. “Where are all the guards, Walker?”
“I’ve asked them to hold off for a while.” He rocks a bit on his heels. “Are you two ready or what?”
I glance over to Lincoln. He’s got his Señor Sneaky face on, which means he’s caught on to whatever’s up with Walker, too.
&nbs
p; “Almost, one last thing.” Lincoln wraps me into a deep hug and whispers in my ear. “Adair’s here. Walker held off his guard so we could do a little recon, find out what she’s up to. Care you join us?”
“Oh, yes.” One of the many advantages of being in a serious relationship with a demon hunter is that you never get surprised in a deserted alley.
“Excellent.” Lincoln steps back from our embrace and faces the darkest part of the alley. “Lady Adair, as your High Prince, I command you to halt and speak with me.”
Three figures scramble in the darkness: Lady Adair and two huge ghouls, one of whom is taller and has a limp. I’d know that tall guy anywhere; he’s the Ghoul Diplomat to Purgatory. What a creep. A low hum sounds, the unmistakable mark of a ghoul portal opening and closing.
After that, silence.
“They’re gone.” I say with a sigh. “We missed them.”
“Not at all.” Lincoln turns to me, his eyebrows bobbing up and down. “I’m sure that Adair thinks she’s given us the slip, but few ghouls are so talented at reconstructing portals as Walker. How about we continue our recon mission? I for one, am still curious as to what she does in her spare time.”
“Are you kidding? I’d love to find out where she goes when she’s not stalking me. Sign me up.”
Lincoln jogs towards the end of the alley; Walker and I are close behind. Within a few seconds, we’ve reached the spot where Adair and her ghouls were hiding.
“Need you, buddy,” says Lincoln. “Where’d they go?”
Kneeling down, Walker touches the ground where the portal once stood. “Ghost Tower Four. Not the ideal place for a portal. What do you say, Myla?”
Walker’s right to be cautious. Our Ghost Towers are jittery enough without people portalling in and out. Still, as long as we’re careful, we should be fine. Besides, I really-really-really want to find out what Adair’s up to.
“We’ll be alright.” I tap the baculum holster on Lincoln’s thigh. “Don’t spark this baby up by the Carrier wall. It can break the containment field.” I take Walker’s hand in my left and Lincoln’s in my right. When travelling by portal, you have to hold onto your ghoul or you’ll fall through darkness forever. “Let’s hit it.”
Scala Page 5
