Trickster (Angelbound Lincoln Book 3)

by Christina Bauer

  I am starting to like this little fellow very much indeed.

  Although I still don’t trust him.

  11

  Myla

  An hour later, I stand inside the Ryder mansion in Purgatory. The sign before me reads, Senator Cissy Frederickson. The muffled tones of my best friend’s voice echo through the closed door.

  Taking in a long breath, I organize my thoughts. Cissy and I had an agreement about BAEJS. It was secret, yet she blabbed. My inner wrath demon is not happy. And that’s the same power which takes down Class A monsters in seven seconds or less, so I need to chill out here.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Calm down, Myla.

  Only trouble is, this breathing-stuff isn’t working. My nervous system still zings with electric rage.

  Eh. Fuck it.

  I push open the door so hard, it slams against Cissy’s office wall.

  There, that felt good.

  Inside I find a large square room whose walls are covered with photos of Cissy. There’s my bestie with Camilla, AKA my mother, AKA the President of Purgatory. Cis also poses with a ghoul delegation. My friend even shows off a framed selfie with the angelic version of Elvis. Clutch.

  In each snapshot, Cissy looks lovely with her blonde curls and willowy form. As Purgatory’s Senator for Diplomacy, it makes sense that’s Cissy’s met so many well-known angels, demons, ghouls, thrax, and quasis.

  But there’s more to it than that.

  All quasi-demons have both a tail and a power across one of the seven deadly sins. Cissy’s power is envy, so her photo wall serves another purpose. In this case, Purgatory’s Senator for Trade (who happens to be our old classmate Paulette) also has a similar photo display in her reception chamber. Cissy won’t rest until her wall kicks Paulette’s in the dirt and calls it names.

  Go, Cissy.

  Since we have crap technology here in Purgatory, Cis now sits behind a rather funky steel desk while talking on an old-fashioned rotary phone. She balances the receiver against her shoulder while scribbling on a notepad.

  While standing on the threshold to her office, I point at Cissy’s nose. “You.”

  For her part, Cissy twiddles her fingers at me before gesturing to the receiver. The meaning is clear: She’s finishing up a call. I may be ticked off, but I won’t ruin her diplomacy stuff.

  “Yes, Ambassador PAX-92,” says Cissy smoothly. “Everything will run perfectly tomorrow. The Great Scala looks forward to welcoming your ghouls to Purgatory.”

  Normally, I’d be curious about what exactly the undeadlies are doing at my Scala Bleugh tomorrow. After all, I worked my ass off to get them kicked out of my homeland in the first place. Not an option. My inner wrath demon is still on a tear. She’s not letting go of her rage until we confront this major breach of trust.

  “Thank you.” After hanging up, Cis leans back in her chair. “What did I do now?”

  “Who says you did anything?”

  “You’re frowning and your eyes are glowing red. Spill, Myla.”

  “Fine. What’s the first rule of Girl Lust Club?”

  “What?”

  “You know what I mean. Our secret society where we talk about boy stuff.”

  Cis waves her hand in a motion that means, close the door already. “My interns are out there.”

  I kick the door shut behind me. “Well? I repeat, what’s the first rule of Girl Lust Club?”

  Cis rolls her eyes. “You don’t talk about Girl Lust club.”

  I stalk up to her desk. “So how does Lincoln know about the Body Armor Enhanced Junk Show?”

  “Ooooh.” Cis smiles. “I said she was our new friend named Bae Jess. He’ll never remember.”

  Leaning forward, I rest my fists on her desktop. “He remembered.”

  “Nah. How could he? I talk about Bae Jess in front of Zeke all the time. He doesn’t have a clue.”

  “Zeke is not Lincoln.”

  A red glint shines in Cissy’s eyes. Her envy power is kicking up. You don’t screw with another quasi’s deadly sin. Sure, Zeke now runs Purgatory’s senatorial guard, but that’s not the same as being a prince. When you’re an envy demon, that stuff matters. Plus, Zeke has other limitations, such as being a douchebag. Don’t get me wrong; Zeke’s great for Cissy. It’s just that, more often than not, he makes my skin crawl.

  My bestie’s eyes flare a brighter shade of crimson. “Are you saying Zeke is dumb?”

  “No.” Which is true. My issue is more how Zeke acts smarmy and repulsive. Again, not that Cissy needs to know that. “Lincoln was raised to read a hundred meanings into everything. That’s why he honed in on Bae Jess.”

  “Zeke is trained, too. Back at Purgatory High, Zeke took Advanced Ghoul Servitude, remember? He could tell within two seconds if a ghoul teacher wanted a worm soufflé or a cough syrup cocktail, just by the look on their undead faces. Now that’s smart.”

  Let the record show that there is a ton wrong in that little speech. First of all, we quasis were raised to be what the ghouls called unpaid multigenerational workers. Essentially, slaves. Reading ghoul desires isn’t exactly an achievement most of my people want to remember. Second, Cissy’s irises now blaze with red light while her golden retriever tail stops wagging.

  Total warning signs.

  If I push things, Cissy will devolve into all-out demon mode. Not a lot of logical thinking goes on when Cissy has an envy fit, and I need some answers about the Trials of Acca. I’ll just table the Girl Lust Club convo for later.

  “I have an idea.” I plunk down onto my favorite egg-shaped chair. Cissy has great taste in funky office furniture. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “We’re not talking about Zeke anymore?”

  “Nope. What have you heard about the Trials of Acca?”

  All the red in Cissy’s eyes melts away. My stomach sinks. I’ve never seen Cissy’s envy mode disappear this quickly. Which means she must be experiencing the ultimate envy-killer.

  Pity.

  And since I’m the object of this emotion, that makes me nervous. Even my tail lurches in an odd rhythm.

  “You know what?” asks Cissy. “We can talk about Girl Lust Club if you want. Sorry if I screwed up and tattled. I honestly didn’t think Lincoln would figure it out.”

  My skin prickles over. “You’re scaring me.”

  Cissy shakes her head, a movement that sends her golden curls bouncing. After dragging open a desk drawer, Cis pulls out a stack of newspapers. She drums her fingers atop the pile.

  “You see, there’s been a lot of buzz about your trials over the last twenty four hours. Didn’t you hear?”

  “I was in Antrum for the last few days. You know how they are about news and technology. Nothing gets through unless it’s by royal messenger. Besides, Aldred only announced the trials a few hours ago. How can everyone here already have a clue?”

  “Oh, they know all right.” Cis sighs. “Aldred announced the trials on last night on Purgatory Live.”

  “Damn.” Everyone watches that show. Purgatory doesn’t have cable, so it’s one of the few decent programs around. “How did it land?” It’s not like Aldred’s photogenic. Maybe he got on TV and bombed.

  “The response has been…” Cissy glances around her office as if she’ll find the words plastered to the ceiling. “Oh crap. I’ll just show you the morning papers.” She flips a newspaper and reads the headline aloud. “Great Scala Risks Early Death With New Demon Hunting Obsession.”

  “It doesn’t say that.” I swipe the newspaper from her desk top.

  It says that.

  “What the ever loving Hell?” I make a lewd finger gesture at the headline. “I fought evil souls in Purgatory’s Arena for years. How can this even be a question?”

  “Well, the quasi population doesn’t connect Myla Lewis with being the Great Scala. They see this demon fighting stuff as a fresh risk to moving souls.”

  “All righ
t. That makes sense. I don’t like it, but it makes sense. What else do you have?”

  Cis moves on to the next item in the stack. “Here’s a good one. The Great Scala And Fighting Demons: Never Or Never Ever?”

  “Bah. The demon fighting stuff is the only nice part about ruling the thrax. Apart from the Lincoln benefits, obviously.”

  “Right.” Cissy stares at the last newspaper in the pile.

  “Okay, none of that stuff is too shocking. What’s the pity party about?”

  Cissy’s eyes go extra-wide. “Who says I’m pitying you?”

  “It’s me here, Cis. I’ve known you since you scored your first Burberry bag in second grade. Whatever’s on that last newspaper, you know I can handle it.”

  “Fine.” Cissy flips up the last newspaper. “In Honor Of Purgatory, Earl Adds Igni Test To Trials Of Acca.”

  I shrug. “Aldred can add whatever he wants. There’s some treaty between Acca and Rixa, blah blah blah. So, the old windbag wants to test my igni in honor of Purgatory. How will that work, exactly?”

  “With an…” Cissy inhales a long breath. “Igni Validation.”

  “Wow. I have no idea what that is.”

  “I used my spy network to get a copy.” She opens another drawer and pulls out a tiny container.

  “That’s it?” I frown. “A little black box?”

  “You got it. The test takes place as part of the Trials of Acca on Friday. Aldred promised to personally report the results that same night on Purgatory Live. I wouldn’t be surprised if he also rented a plane to write Myla failed in front of the Pearly Gates, too. That guy really hates your guts.”

  “It’s mutual. The only difference is, I’ll win in the end.” I lean in closer to the box. “What’s inside?”

  “Nothing. For the Purgatory test, the box is asked if you can be involved in demon fighting in any way, shape, or form.”

  “Like a Magic 8 Ball?”

  Cissy snaps her fingers. “Exactly. If red igni show up in the box, then you are approved for combat. If not, then you must disavow battle-related stuff forever.”

  “What total crap.” I roll my eyes. “You know there’s no such thing as red igni, right?”

  “I get that, believe me.” Cis pulls more sheets out of her desk. “Still, perception is reality. That’s why I did a quick public opinion survey. Sadly, the quasi people got really upset about Aldred’s claims about the risk to the Great Scala while fighting demons. 87% of all Purgatory like the Igni Validation test.”

  “87% can pound salt. That test—” I point to the box “—is never happening.”

  “I thought you might say that, so I went ahead and asked more questions. There’s great news. Aldred also mentioned the Rixa Way on TV. It went over super well. The quasi population want you to adopt what they’re calling the Purgatory Path. If you do, then they won’t worry about the Igni Validation test.”

  “The Rixa Way is a nightmare. What’s this Purgatory Path?”

  “They want you to change how you act and be…” Cissy takes in another dramatic breath. “More goddess like.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Minor stuff.” She scans the survey. “You need to hug everyone who asks.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “No touchie.”

  “Build a bunch of temples to yourself.”

  “Creepy.”

  “Oh, here’s a good one. Buy a flashy wardrobe. The quasis demand you wear colored scarves, beaded veils, and crystal ball earrings.”

  “Let me think about that.” I tap my chin. “No, no, a thousand times, no.”

  Cis steps out from behind her desk to kneel beside me. “I know this is hard. But whether it’s the Rixa Way or the Purgatory Path… there’s a reason this kind of request keeps coming up. People need you to change.”

  “Come on. You know that won’t happen.”

  “Remember that ghoul saying? The coffin nail that sticks up gets hammered down. No one holds out forever. Even you, Myla.”

  A chill rolls up my back. Cissy’s words rattle around my consciousness. No one holds out forever.

  Sadly, Cis may have a point. Things were different when my world was Mom, Cissy, and the Arena. Now I have whole realms of people telling me to change. First Rixa, now Purgatory, who’s next? Over the years, will I really get hammered down?

  I shake off the thought. Bullshit. This is exactly what everyone wants: me worrying about their Rixa Way or Purgatory Path. All of which is why I’ll think about something else.

  Namely, going home and hiding out.

  A knock sounds at the door. Cissy leaps from her chair and opens it. Zeke stands outside. Like always, his caramel eyes, chiseled features, and messy blonde hair are perfectly matched with a monkey tail.

  “Hey, Babykins.” Zeke leans to kiss Cissy with his mouth open and tongue a-wagging. I’m part lust demon, and even I think that’s over the line. I decide that now is a great time to stare at the ceiling.

  Lots of cobwebs. Wow.

  Once the sloppy kiss hello part is over, Zeke saunters over in my direction. “Myla. Sweetie.”

  “It’s Great Scala Sweetie to you.”

  Zeke chuckles. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you still had a crush on me.”

  I stare at the nonexistent watch on my wrist. “Oh, damn. Look at the time. I better get home.”

  Cissy and Zeke now stare at each other in a way that can only be described as intense. As a lust demon, I get where this is going.

  “I’ll just show myself out,” I say. I’m four steps away when a memory appears. The Scala Bleugh. I pause. “About tomorrow,” I begin. “Did your interns do a prep binder for me again?”

  “Yup,” replies Cissy. “It’s at your parents’ place.”

  Not a lot of guys do a dip-kiss. I’m talking where you swoop your girl into your arms until her hair cascades to the floor, then you lay on a big whopper of a smack. This happens a lot in old black and white movies with humans. And it’s the move Zeke does right as I grasp the door handle.

  Before I can see or hear too much, I pull the door shut and take off at a jog.

  12

  Lincoln

  Leaning back in my leather chair, I take in the familiar comfort of my surroundings. My cozy personal library is lined with shelves of leather-bound volumes. A healthy fire blazes in the hearth. For my part, I sit at a round wooden table that’s piled high with volumes from the Wictus Archives. Above me, Peli swings from a ceiling sconce.

  And no, that is no exaggeration.

  Peli’s fixture of choice is a bowl-like affair that hangs via chains. Usually, the thing burns with angelfire. Today I extinguished the blaze for safety reasons, so it makes a nice pseudo swing for my new orange friend.

  Speaking of Peli, the monkey lounges on his back. Stretching, he leans his head over the edge of the bowl-like swing. For a long moment, he eyes me from his upside-down position.

  “How goes it with the books?”

  “Slowly,” I reply. “These are rather dense. And I’m no master of ancient Greek. Latin is more my thing.”

  “Keep going. What you seek lies on those pages.” Peli leans upside-down even further. Now his shoulders are off his little bowl-swing, a position that allows him to stare at the books at a better angle. He’s been doing that more and more the last few minutes.

  I push my book away. “What?”

  “What do you mean, what?”

  “Is there a particular volume I should read first?”

  “Maybe.” Peli smiles. Turns out, Peli has a wide collection of happy faces for various occasions. This one reminds me of the overly-large grin popular on metal monkey toys—the kind you wind up in order to slam cymbals.

  In other words, it’s unnerving as Hell.

  “A boon made for a bounty paid,” says Peli. “That’s the Law Primeval.”

  Kicking back, I consider this turn of events. Last time, my so-called bounty paid was addressing Peli in front of other thrax who couldn’t s
ee him. At the same time, I acknowledged his true—and possibly noble—intentions. Both actions involved an award of recognition on my part.

  An idea occurs. “How would you like a title?”

  Peli sits upright. The movement makes the entire bowl-sconce swing at an alarming rate. “Like what kind of title?”

  “How about…” I purse my lips. “His Royal Emperor of Awesome Orangitude?”

  Peli narrows his eyes to slits. “Don’t you need to give that that out formally?”

  “Quite right.” I rise. “Hear ye! Hear ye! I, Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus, the High Prince of the Thrax and future King of all Antrum, do hereby award Ukapeli the title of His Royal Emperor of Awesome Orangitude.” I fold my arms over my chest. “It is done.”

  “Perfect. Now there shall be a boon made for a bounty paid.”

  A moment later, every thread of fur on Peli’s body lights up with an orange glow. Fresh magic. Over on my table, a volume slips out from the bottom of my book pile. The leather tome flips through the air before landing on its spine and opening to a certain page.

  Once again, Peli speaks from his upside down position. “Oh, look. Something for you to read.”

  “For an emperor, you’re quite the sneaky fellow. Not sure I like it.”

  “Apologies. If you have any alternative sources for information, please go after them. Today is Wednesday. The Trials of Acca are Friday. Better hop to it.” He lets out a staccato giggle that reminds me of a snake hissing.

  Little bugger thinks I have no alternatives for Primeval info. Which I don’t. So I scan the opened page. “This is a spell. And it’s in Latin, no less.” I glare at Peli. “Who knew there were Latin books in the mix?”

  More snake-hiss laughter follows. Peli really is having a ball. “Never trust a trickster. In fact, you shouldn’t read that spell aloud. It’s very dangerous.”

  “You’ve already warned me that reading books and even entering my library were dangerous.” Essentially, it’s Peli’s trickster way of saying that something is safe.

  Bracing my arms on the tabletop, I speak the spell aloud.

  Reveal the past