Trickster (Angelbound Lincoln Book 3)

by Christina Bauer

  Today I’ll rock this Scala Bleugh like a goddess. Forget the Purgatory Path. There’s an undeadly somewhere at this event with a skull tattoo and a date with destiny. Because whoever this ghoul is, I will find them.

  And there’s nothing Peli can do to stop me.

  18

  Lincoln

  Peli cast another spell. Fortunately, this one isn’t of the sleeping variety.

  One moment, I wait in my reception area, surrounded by orange mist. The next thing I know, I stand inside a large wooden hall with arched ceilings. The walls are lined in a mosaic style, only instead of small tiles, the surface has been stacked with small carvings of monkey faces. I recognize them as the peaks to thousands of wizard staffs.

  Young Peli stands along the far wall of the room. That fact alone leaves no room for doubt.

  I’m visiting the Primeval again.

  And Peli’s history.

  A long wooden table fills the center of the space. At the head sits a tall monkey with long limbs, orange fur, and a fierce expression. His cheeks flare out with peaks of longer fluff. A wooden crown sits atop his head while a wizard’s staff is clasped in his hand. The bottom of the stick presses onto the floor, while the peak is decorated with a small carving of the monkey king’s likeness.

  Young Peli mentioned this fellow before. This must be Quilliam, the wizard King of the Simians.

  Four other humanoids flank either side of the table. I count fish, reptile, lion, and bird. Like the monkey king, all wear crowns and carry wizard staffs. Most wear simple robes.

  My interest perks. Back in Antrum, the Contagion announced himself as a wizard. For the first time, I sense myself actually closing in on useful information about the Primeval.

  The monkey king raps his knuckles against the tabletop. “I, the wizard Quilliam, King of the Simian Lands, do hereby officially call to order this gathering of the Assembly Primeval. Announce yourselves for quorum.”

  The fish humanoid speaks first.“Wizard Queen Dorsa from the Icythian lands is here.” She’s got bulbous eyes, pink scales and a halo of fins about her head. Her wizard staff is topped with shells that match her crown.

  “Wizard King Nuchal from the Reptilians is here.” He’s hairless with green textured skin and a wide, frog-style mouth. His staff is topped with a green glass orb. Smaller pieces of green glass decorate his iron crown. While the other regents wear simple wizard robes, King Nuchal sports a frilly shirt and velvet long coat.

  Next up comes a lioness with white fur whose staff is topped with a lion’s head. She wears a simple golden crown. “Wizard Queen Usawa of the Feline lands is here.”

  Last to speak is a slim man whose entire body is covered with small blue feathers. He has a small mouth and large blue eyes. The peak to his wizard’s staff is a large blue egg, while his crown is made from shards of blue shell. “Wizard King Calamus of the Avians is here.”

  “Excellent,” states Quilliam. His thick eyebrows and pointed teeth give his face a decidedly fierce look. I can’t help wondering what how he’d be in battle.

  The Icythian queen waves her hand toward Peli. The movement highlights the webbing between her fingers. “Why is that chimpanzee hanging about?”

  The Avian king bobs his head in a fast, bird-like rhythm. “Yes, I thought Peli was non-magical and useless.”

  “None of us could bring servants,” adds the Reptilian King. His forked tongue flickers over his lips.

  Quilliam throws his arms up, bringing them down onto the tabletop in a movement that would make an angry gorilla proud. “Do you wish to question who I invite into my own halls? Or would you like to set forward your requests for a boon made?”

  The Icythian queen goes first. “I suppose we can get to requests. Here is my first. The Icythian feeding waters have grown dirty. We need spells of refreshment.”

  “Why not clean the waters yourself?” asks Quilliam. “You’re the ones who dirty things.”

  “But your lands contain the Golden Arbor,” grumbles the Icythian queen. “You Simians live beside the fount of all magic in the primeval. Why should I waste my scarce powers when your lands hold the Golden Arbor? It isn’t fair.”

  The other wizards agree. All put forward long lists for their lands. The Avians want new colored banners to decorate their villages. As for the Reptilians, the king demands fresh silks so they can properly dress for an upcoming feast. Next the Icythians request that their salmon be enchanted to taste sweeter. And the Felines want new golden beads to weave into their manes.

  That’s just the first five minutes.

  While these long lists are read out, Quilliam pulls out a small block of wood and whittles away. Once the other regents are finished, he carefully sets his creation aside.

  “We all know the Law Primeval,” states Quilliam. His nostril-holes flare in a movement that clearly says, I mean business. “A bounty must be paid for every boon made. To satisfy these lists, I must tap into the power of the Golden Arbor itself.”

  “No one’s ever done that,” says Queen Usawa.

  “I have the spell all figured out,” counters Quilliam. “Give me enough magic, and I’ll fulfill your every desire.”

  Queen Usawa rubs her talons over the top of her golden wizard’s staff. “And how do you plan to do that?”

  “Simple,” answers Quilliam with a grin. “All I need are the peaks from your wizard staffs.”

  The Reptilian king hisses. “But those peaks contain all the power we’ve accumulated over the millennia.”

  Quilliam brushes his fingers over the carving he’d been working on. It’s a miniature version of the Golden Arbor. “Your apprentices still have magic. You won’t be unprotected.”

  “No,” declares the Feline queen. “It is too much of a risk.”

  Quilliam kicks back in his chair. “Without those peaks, I don’t know when your lists will be completed.”

  No one move.

  Eventually, the Reptilian king removes the glass peak from his wizard’s staff and hands it over to Quilliam. The rest of the regents follow suit.

  I know this is a vision from the past, but it takes all my control not to shout for them to stop. Great power lures even honest souls along the path to corruption. Quilliam already acts with a manipulative air. I fear his journey into evil will be brief.

  Quilliam pulls out a leather satchel and places all his new treasures inside. When he’s finished, Quilliam turns around to face Peli.

  “You, too. Give me the peak to your wizard’s staff.”

  Young Peli narrows his eyes. For a moment, I wonder if he’ll fight a room full of wizards. Instead, Young Peli stretches his face into a silly grin. “Of course.”

  Lifting his hands, Young Peli summons a small sphere of orange haze. The mist congeals into the form of a round carving. This time, the creation isn’t one that shows four faces.

  Only one.

  No doubt exists in my mind. This isn’t the carving that the Golden Arbor consecrated. It’s a fake.

  Quilliam sets Young Peli’s offering into his leather sack. Raising his arms, the Simian wizard summons a fresh cloud of orange smoke. When the mist vanishes, everyone now stands about the Golden Arbor.

  The tree looks unchanged from the last time I visited Peli’s past. Trunk, branches, and leaves… every part of it glitters with gold. Magic rolls off the thing in waves, making my skin tingle.

  Quilliam rubs his hands together, stopping when his palms glow orange. The Simian king approaches the Golden Arbor. Setting his finger against the trunk of the tree, Quilliam draws a line downward. The arbor shivers; then it splits. I’ve seen my share of operations. This movement resembles skin being sliced open.

  I’m no native of the Primeval, but even I can tell this is a bad idea. The other regents gasp or step backward. None try to interfere, even Young Peli.

  One by one, Quilliam places the peak of each wizard’s staff inside the trunk of the Golden Arbor. As the magical items pass through, a flash of power and light f
lares within the deep wooden interior.

  Blue for Avians.

  Green for Reptilians.

  Pink for Icythians.

  White for Felines.

  And finally, a smaller flare of orange appears as Quilliam sets Young Peli’s creation inside the tree. Clever. Young Peli had the presence of mind to place some magic inside his carving, just not much of it.

  All the while, Quilliam keeps his own powers intact. The carving that sits atop his wizard’s staff goes nowhere near the Golden Arbor. Essentially, he’s asking everyone else to give up their abilities but keeping his own.

  This won’t end well.

  After that, Quilliam then does something I never expected.

  He steps inside the tree.

  The Simian wizard lifts his right leg and sets it inside the incision on the trunk. Bending over, Quilliam moves to enter the arbor’s interior.

  My mind blanks with surprise. I’ve never seen magic like this before.

  Once the Simian wizard is fully inside, the wood seals up. This time, I’m reminded of a wound closing. Seconds later, the outer bark returns to being a lovely and unbroken sheath of gold. For a moment, it seems as if nothing about the arbor will change.

  Then it does.

  The Golden Arbor shivers and creaks. Branches snap. Leaves vanish. Great clouds of smoke surround the entire arbor. A moment later, the tree is gone.

  Quilliam is all that’s left.

  The Simian wizard now appears to be made of gold himself. The only sign of the arbor are the wooden-style swirls on his skin where fur once lay.

  “Bow down to me,” states Quilliam. “And call me by my new name. The Contagion.”

  The other regents do as they are told. “Contagion,” they all say in unison.

  Great branches curl out from the Contagion’s back, long and powerful as arms. Four golden limbs reach forward, one for each regent. The branches pause before each wizard; sunlight gleams off their pointed tips.

  “Now!” cries the Contagion.

  Moving as one, the branches stab all the wizard rulers through their chests. The four regents fall over, dead.

  “That was my boon made,” says the Contagion. His voice carries the deep creak of tall trees on a windy day. “I gift you death. Your endless requests are now over. All that remains is the destruction of your paltry apprentices.”

  Young Peli steps forward. “But what if you need more magic in the future? You can’t kill the apprentices.”

  The Contagion tilts his head. The movement sets off a new chorus of creaks. “True.” He raises his arms. A swirl of golden magic appears in the air. The haze solidifies into a great circle. I’ve seen this before.

  A gateway.

  Once again, the center of the gateway serves as a giant window. A group of Icythians appear within it. All wear the long pink robes that mark them as wizard apprentices. Each carries a small staff in their hands.

  The Contagion doesn’t say a word. Golden light flashes from behind his back. A fresh knot of branches lurch forward. The long arm-like appendages tear through the gateway, one for each Icythian apprentice. Once more, the ends of those branches stab the apprentices in the shoulder. Golden light flares around the victims.

  One second, they are alive and moving.

  The next, all the apprentices are frozen into wooden statues of their former selves, complete with the staffs gripped in their hands.

  “There,” says the Contagion. “Not dead but stored.”

  “Wisely done,” says Young Peli.

  “Oh, I’m far from finished.”

  The Contagion repeats the cycle. The view in the gateway changes. More apprentices appear. Each time, the Contagion transforms them into wood. All lands are wiped out of any wizard kind.

  Icythian.

  Reptilian.

  Avian.

  Feline.

  Even Simian.

  All the while, Young Peli steals closer to the orange jungle.

  The freezing continues for what feels like hours. I force myself to watch, but the sight still makes me ill. So many innocents being struck down, perhaps never to be alive again.

  Finally, the Contagion lowers his arms. The gateway vanishes. The evil wizard slowly turns about.

  “Peli? Where are you?”

  No reply.

  The Contagion stomps off into the jungle while chanting in a sing-song voice. “Come out, some out, wherever you are!”

  I watch Contagion grow smaller in the distance. Worry tightens up my neck and shoulders. After this visit to the past, my biggest question is answered. The Contagion is most definitely a major threat.

  Trouble is, everyone in Antrum thinks I’m losing my mind. Stating my invisible orange monkey gave me magical info on Aldred’s demon tree won’t work here.

  Good thing I have other ideas. This isn’t over yet.

  19

  Myla

  I ride along in the limo, pondering ways to discover Peli’s ghoul. Then it happens.

  Boing.

  Boing.

  Boing.

  The stretch of leather seat beside me starts to shimmy. It’s not a constant thing, more of a pulse. Tilting my head, I inspect the limo. It’s not like there’s a big sign here saying, new boingy butt warmers installed. Still, the strange sensation continues.

  Boing.

  Boing.

  Boing.

  An orange haze appears on the seat beside me. Peli materializes. And the little bugger is jumping. Okay, that explains a lot.

  “Hello, Peli. Give me back my binder.” I glare in a way that says, this is me, not kidding around.

  The little monkey jumps a few more times before replying. “No.”

  “What do you want for it?”

  “There is nothing you can offer that will change my mind. A special ghoul is here today and I will keep that creature’s identity a secret.”

  “Your friend with the mark on their shoulder. Oh, I’ll find them all right.”

  Peli stops jumping. “Doubtful.”

  The limo rolls to a stop. Thus begins a familiar routine. People cheer outside the tinted windows. Purgatory police form a human barricade so I enter wherever this is. Once inside, I’ll give a quick speech. Maybe I’ll even lure a few igni to fly around, assuming my little magical friends are in the mood. The crowd loves that stuff. Once I’m done, I’ll rush back to the limo.

  It would be more fun with Betsy, but whatever.

  Turning away from Peli, I scan the world outside my window. What I see shocks me speechless.

  A few yards away sits a big sign that reads, The Great Scala Memorial Institute for Learning.

  And it’s on the same spot as my old high school.

  I tap the window. “What the Hell is this?”

  Balancing on the arm rest, Peli plasters his little monkey hands against the glass. “Looks like your old high school.”

  “How do you know this stuff?”

  “It’s like I told you. I’m incredibly magical.”

  I narrow my eyes. “So you cast an illusion spell?”

  “If I made a fake building, it wouldn’t be that ugly.”

  “You’ve got me there.”

  The new school is a dark wooden structure accented by skinny windows and long shutters. U-G-L-Y. I screw up my mouth to one side of my face. This reminds me of something, but I can’t place just what.

  “It looks like four haunted houses got mushed together. A kind of structural goth mosh pit.”

  “With a nice satellite dish out front,” adds Peli.

  That’s when it hits me. This place reminds me of my parents’ mansion. Gothic nightmare meets NASA.

  Meaning the ghouls rebuilt my high school. Ick.

  A gross taste seeps into my mouth. Ghouls are rarely allowed back in Purgatory. The undeadlies must have bought some goodwill by shelling out money for this rebuild.

  For a long moment, I can only stare at the sign. “Great Scala Memorial.”

  “You’re not even
dead,” chirps Peli. “Yet.”

  “Thanks.” I should hate the little bugger, but I can’t somehow.

  A massive figure steps before my window, blocking my view. The limo door gets yanked open. A wave of cheers fills the air, along with the heavy humidity that says Welcome to Purgatory. The figure before me has grey skin, all-black eyes, and pointed teeth. His face looks scrunched-up, like someone grabbed his features and smushed them toward his nose.

  “You remind me of someone,” I say slowly.

  “You recently met my favorite aunt.”

  “Huh. I haven’t met a new ghoul in ages.”

  “She’s not a ghoul. Not now, anyway.” He keeps staring at me, waiting for me to catch on. Most times it’s pure-blood humans who turn into ghouls, but someone with mixed heritage can also go undeadly when they pass away. For a while, I even thought I was going ghoul after I kicked it.

  “So who’s this relative of yours?” I ask.

  “Lady Bentford of Antrum.”

  “Ooooooh. Her. Yeah.” Talk about awkward. “And you are?”

  “RUL-3. You may call me Rule.” All ghouls have letters and numbers for names. It all goes with their love of mindless checklists. “I am Captain of the Thought Police.”

  My mouth scrunches down to a little ‘o’ shape. Back when the ghouls ran Purgatory, the Thought Police dictated public opinion. Quasis who complained or protested were made to disappear.

  Rule offers me his extremely long-fingered hand. One look and one facts become clear: Someone doesn’t believe in nail clippers. Or sub-cuticle maintenance. In fact, a mushroom might be growing under his thumbnail.

  No way am I toughing that.

  Instead, I self-guide out of the limo. “I’m the Great Scala. You may call me…” I wait dramatically. “The Great Scala.”

  “Disrespectful,” snaps Rule.

  I mock-sniffle and tap beneath my eyes. “Oh, the memories. How I love irritating ghouls.”

  Peli hops out behind me. “This will be fun.” He scans the crowd. “My most important ghoul is close, I can tell.”