Angelbound (19 page)

Mom raises her hand. “Please. We both know that angelic influence is nothing like dreamscaping. You connect to non-angels and inspire them into your so-called good deeds.” She slaps her hands onto the desktop. “I’m not a fool. Most of my angelic requests have one goal only: to prevent fully evil souls from
entering Heaven through trial by combat. And why’s that? Angelic influence doesn’t work on the truly evil, so you could never control them.”

Mom’s spot-on with this one. In my Arena matches, I fight their worst souls for that very reason: pure evil would be uncontrollable in Heaven.

Xavier frowns. “Nonsense.”

I roll my eyes. He’s so full of it.

“I knew that would be your position. That’s why I’ve been spending the past months gathering evidence to the contrary. In our first meeting, I’d like to lay out the facts, clear and simple. After that, we’ll have an honest discussion about how our offices will interact going forward.” She rises to her feet and steps in front of Xavier’s chair. “Are you ready for an honest discussion today, Mister Cross?” Her eyes flash red.

I grin. That was the verbal equivalent of a gut punch. I never pictured wrath as having a place anywhere outside the Arena, but Mom brings it to a whole new level. Go, Mom, go!

Xavier rises to his feet. “Senator Lewis, if it means we can actually get to work, then I’ll promise anything.”

Mom grips her elbows. “Anything?”

His eyes flare blue. “That’s what I said.”

“Then repeat after me. I will not use angelic influence.”

A muscle twitches along his jaw. “I will not use angelic influence.”

“Promise noted, Ambassador Cross.” She steps back to her desk and retakes her seat. “I’ll see you in a month.”

Xavier eyes her closely. “No, you’ll see me Monday.” Turning on his heel, he stomps out the door, slamming it behind him.

Spinning her chair around, Mom kicks the wall. “Exasperating!”

I sigh.
I feel your pain, Mom.
Nothing’s worse than a handsome guy with a snarky mouth and superiority complex.

Tim slowly opens the door and steps into the room.

“Is everything alright Senator? I heard noises.”

“Where’ve you been the past few minutes, Tim?”

“At my desk.” His forehead creases. “Filing, I think.”

“You didn’t see anyone walk past you?”

“No.”

Mom speaks in a low voice. “He used angelic influence. Hopefully for the last time.”

I rub my chin. It makes sense that angelic influence would work on anyone with a smidgeon of goodness in them, so long as the angel was powerful enough.

Tim frowns. “What did you say, Senator?”

“Nothing. I’m fine, Tim. Thank you for checking.” Mom watches her assistant step back toward the door. “Oh, Tim?”

“Yes, Senator?”

“There’s a cocktail event in the ballroom downstairs after work. Would you like to go and have a drink with me?”

Tim smiles. “Yes, Senator Lewis. I would.”

Ugh. That might answer the whole ‘which ghoul is my Dad’ question.

They continue to speak, but their bodies become sand again and slip back into the earth. For the rest of the night, I dream that I keep trying to cook the perfect worm soufflé. It’s freaking nasty.

When I open my eyes, one thought flashes through my mind: my dad may be a ghoul named Tim-29. It lines up with everything I learned from Mom and my dreamscapes. It’s just really depressing.

I step into the kitchen, ready for this morning’s Maternal Inquisition. Mom sits at our scratched Formica table, sipping her coffee. She eyes me carefully. “Did you have another dream?” The Inquisition beginneth.

“Yes, I did.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I almost say no. This whole ‘journey of discovery’ has been a bit of a bust. Taking a deep breath, I slide into the chair across from her. “I think I saw my father in a dreamscape last night.” I nervously drum my fingers on the tabletop. “Is he a ghoul named Tim-29?”

Her face is a cool mask. “Yes, that’s him.”

I cross my fingers. “You’re lying.”

“Never. Tim-29 is your father.”

Mom’s words hit me like a punch to the gut. It’s one thing to suspect your
dad’s a ghoul, it’s another, much nastier thing for your Mom to confirm it. I shake my head from side to side. “That can’t be right.”

She purses her lips. “It was a one-night thing. A woman has needs.”

Okay, that’s downright disgusting
. “Way too much information, Mom!”

“You seemed to be having a hard time understanding. I wanted to give you a little context.”

I drum my fingers on the tabletop. Something about this doesn’t add up. “I don’t know.”

Mom looks directly into my eyes, her gaze steely and firm. “Have I ever lied to you, Myla?”

I swallow past the knot in my throat. “No.”

“Tim is your father. I realize it’s unconventional. That’s why I kept it from you for so long.”

I twist my lips into a yuck-face. “I still can’t believe you got busy with a ghoul.”

“Attraction comes in many forms. Take Walker, for instance. His grandmother was an archangel.”

I groan. More disgustingness. “You do realize I haven’t eaten.”

“Come on, now. Be open-minded. This kind of thing happens all the time. It’s nothing to get mopey about.”

I frown. “I’m not mopey.” I just want to eat ice cream and cry like it’s my job, that’s all.

Mom raises her eyebrows.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little bit mopey.” I lean back in my chair, letting the news
wash over me. “How come I don’t look like, you know?” I pull the skin back on my face.

“You won’t look like a ghoul until you die as a mortal.”

“So, instead of dying, I’ll become a gray-skinned zombie someday. I guess that’s kind-of a bonus.” My head’s officially spinning. “Anything else you want to share?”

“I think that’s enough for one morning, don’t you?”

“Yes, totally.” I hitch my thumb toward the door. “I’m going to play depressing music and get ready for school.”

“I’ll get out the Frankenberry.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I slink back to my room, blast Taylor Swift, and change into the rattiest sweats and t-shirt I can find. Ghouls are some of the grouchiest, most overbearing pains in this astral plane. And they are my people. A gloomy weight settles over me.

I walk back to the kitchen. Every step’s an effort, like my limbs are loaded down with rocks. My mind’s sluggish too. I barely notice breakfast, the long drive to school, or walking through the front doors to Purgatory High. I meander through the sea of students.

It’s official. I’m in the midst of an epic self-pity-fest.

From down the crowded hallway, Cissy spies me and waves. “Hey, Myla!”

I step up to her locker, my brain still a blur. “Morning.” I’m pretty sure Cissy gabs on about some change to gym class. I can’t process her words, so I do my best to smile and look interested. Then, I hear something that sounds like blah-
blah-blah
Ryder library
blah-blah-blah.

I blink and shake my head. “What did you say, Cis?”

“You’re going to the Ryder library after school today, right?”

“Yup.” Maybe I can read up on being a half-ghoul. Yay.

“Great. See you later!” She steps into the crowd. I start the long slog over to History class. Looking up, I half-expect a little black storm-cloud to hover over my head.

I reach my classroom and settle into a chair in the last row. Zeke slides into the seat across the aisle from mine. Blech.

“Hey, Myla.”

“Hi.”

A genuine grin warms his chiseled features. “Did I tell you what Cissy did the other day?”

“No.” I’m pretty sure he starts talking about Cissy, but I’m having issues with my attention span today. I can’t understand a word. Instead, I focus on his cheery face and animated hand gestures. It’s like watching a kitten chase a ball of string. He’s so happy; I can’t help but smile. After a while, his words become clear.

“My parents really like her.” Zeke tosses his mop of golden hair. “They’re showing her the ropes of diplomacy; she’s a natural. Like at this political dinner, she smiled and made small talk with some of the most boring losers ever. It was great.”

Miss Thing claps her hands. “Your attention, class!” She strides across the front of the room, her long robes swaying with each step. Unfortunately, she’s
decided to wear her hood down today, and the combination of her bright red lips and bald gray head is downright spooky.

“I’ve a very important lesson for you today.” Miss Thing stalks back and forth before her desk, her red heels click-clacking with each step. “You may have heard terrible rumors about demons.” She laces her long red fingernails under her chin. “I won’t mince words. Some say the demons may one day attack
us
, their beloved ghoul allies.”

I lean back in my chair, my brows rising.
Anti-demon rumors? That’s new.
Normally it’s all demon-love, all the time.

Miss Thing sighs. “Demons are poor, misunderstood creatures that are true friends to ghouls. Maybe not so much to quasis.” She taps her chin with her long gray finger. “But since you’re our minions, that means they’re really
your
friends too!” She glances about the classroom expectantly.

I scan the faces as well. Everyone looks at our teacher with open, accepting stares. My chest tightens with frustration as the word ‘minion’ rattles around my brain. We used to rule ourselves, sistah, and did a damn good job of it too.

Miss Thing gazes at one of the many Oligarchy glamour shots she’s taped to her wall. “Besides, our brave and handsome leaders tell us demons will be our allies forever. And we know the Oligarchy could never lie or make a mistake.” Her eyes flutter as she exhales. “So, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Huh. That was a lot of explaining for something not to worry about.

Miss Thing walks up to the board. Using super-screechy chalk, she starts listing examples of how demons have been trustworthy through the ages. Twenty
minutes go by and she’s reached one and a half items.

Zeke shifts his weight; his chair lets out a soft squeak. I turn to him and realize he’s been whispering to me about Cissy this whole time. I smile and pretend I’ve been listening all along.

“It’s been so awesome having Cissy around,” says Zeke. “My parents don’t get a lot of support from the ghouls. Basically, they let us keep our house and that’s it. We have to pay for all the diplomatic events. It adds up.”

“That’s too bad, Zeke. I had no idea.”

“My parents are pretty picky, too. They worry about every little thing. Cissy’s really good about the details, though. Like at dinner, she figured out how to get floral centerpieces that were periwinkle instead of cerulean. Mom was pumped.”

Wow. I have no idea what he just said.

“That’s totally cool, Zeke. I’m happy for you.”

“Anyway, she’s a great girl.” He smiles. “And you’ve done an awesome job adjusting to our relationship. I know it must be hard, seeing us together all the time.” He arches his eyebrow and winks.

Just when you think it’s safe to have a conversation with Zeke Ryder, he turns back into the Lust Monster. My voice drips with a healthy dose of venom. “I’ve adjusted, Zeke. You should too.”

The rest of the day zips by and before I know it, I’m driving my green station wagon over to the Ryder mansion.

Betsy putters up the long curve of the mansion’s driveway. Cissy and Zeke stand outside the front door, their bodies stiff with rage. Both their mouths are set
into thin lines. I wave through the closed window. They glare in reply.

Ick. The thrax must have whined to Zeke’s parents. Not good.

I park Betsy and step up to the mansion, all innocence and smiles. “Hey, guys! What’s going on?”

Zeke taps his foot. “What in blazes did you do at the thrax compound the other day?”

I unzip my hoodie and try to look casual. “Oh, they mentioned me?”

Zeke’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “Mentioned you? They howled about you. It’s a diplomatic nightmare.”

I roll my eyes. “It is not.”

Cissy frowns. “Is too. You flattened three of their Lords.”

I did, didn’t I? Sweet Satan, that was fun.

Cissy points at my mouth. “I see that self-satisfied smirk. You’re getting in deeper by the second.”

I force my face into neutral-mode.

Zeke rubs his temples. “When you were said you knew the thrax Prince, we thought you were kidding.”

“Hmmm. Let’s take a step into the way-back machine here. I told you both that the Prince and I fought; you refused to believe me because you thought…what was it you thought again?” I give my chin a dramatic tap. “Oh, yeah. You thought that I had a huge crush on Zeke. Well, for the record, I don’t give a crap about Zeke.”

“Fine, we believe you now.” Cissy half-frowns. “But that’s not the point, Myla.
The
point
is that you fought back against the Prince in a mean and sneaky way.”

I keep my face carefully neutral. Mostly. “
I
fought back? How’s everyone so sure it was me?”

“Hmm.” Now it’s Zeke’s turn to tap his chin. “How many Arena-quality fighters are there out there who got honorary swords from Prince Lincoln? It’s a short list. You.”

“Hey, I did what you asked and delivered the note. Case closed.”

Zeke frowns. “Not by a long shot. The thrax want you to make things right. My parents say if you agree to whatever they ask, we’re all good. You can even keep using the library.” His brows raise. “
If
you agree, that is.”

The chill of shock envelops me. No library means no way to find out more about my father. I hadn’t thought about that. Cissy sniffles miserably, her bottom lip trembling. I hadn’t thought about how I could hurt her, either. My cold shock solidifies into icy guilt.

“So, what do the thrax want me to do?”

Zeke screws up his mouth. “Uh, we don’t know yet.”

“So, can I go to the library today anyway? I can’t really agree until I know
what
they want.” I shift my weight from foot to foot. “Plus, I really want to research–” I stop myself before saying ‘my ghoul heritage.’ “Uh, things.”

“I don’t know.” Zeke slaps on his Mr. Smarmy grin. “We really shouldn’t let you go until everything’s worked out.”