Armageddon (Angelbound) (4 page)

“Kiya never came to see you—” Nefer inhales a shaky breath. “He never came because I never sent him.”

Anubis’s dark eyes widen with disbelief. “That can’t be true. That was our signal. You send Kiya and I break you out of prison.”

“That was
your
signal, Anu, not mine. I was never certain.”

“Of what? That Kiya could find me? Hell is the burned-out shell of the Garden of Eden.” Behind Anubis, the vine-wall slithers, emphasizing his point. “Kiya can still travel through it at will without being seen.”

“That’s not the part I was worried about.”

My jaw tenses with frustration. This conversation’s taking way too long. “Thirty seconds, guys.”

Anubis actively ignores me while Nefer nervously shifts her weight from foot to foot. Good. At least, one of them wants to end the conversation as much as I do.

“What would it accomplish to send Kiya?” Nefer asks at length. “Your powers only cover the gateways to and from Hell. If you free me, that means taking me out of the netherworld, and Verus’s prophecy was most specific. I can’t leave Hell until I’m its Queen.”

What the what?
Words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Verus said you have to become the Queen of Hell? Really?”

“Yes. Otherwise, the netherworld could fall apart.”

“Nonsense.” Anubis’s large brown eyes harden into thin, angry slits. “How can you place Verus’s imaginings before us?”

“They aren’t imaginings.” Nefer’s voice comes out husky and low. “And I’ve made my decision. There’s nothing else for us to discuss.”

“Whatever you say.”

That’s all I needed to hear.
My pulse kicks harder, knowing I may get the answers I need.

“Let’s get back to business.” I gesture to Nefer. “So, you overheard something…”

“Yes,” says Nefer. “Armageddon has created an alliance with a new soul called Aldred. He’s one of your Earls, isn’t he? I thought the name was reserved for thrax nobility.”

“Oh, yeah.” I chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “I know
exactly
which soul you’re talking about.”

Aldred was the last Earl of Acca and a first-class asshole. Over the last two decades, he constantly tried to steal the thrax throne from Lincoln’s family. The guy raised a pack of crazies, too. His daughter Adair agreed to be possessed by the King of Hell, all for a chance to steal my Scala powers. The minute we took the crown, Lincoln and I executed the old bastard. He even went straight to Hell, did not pass Go, did not get a trial in Purgatory. I was so happy that I wouldn’t have his evil-ness polluting my Ghost Towers, I told everyone not to investigate. Go me.

I scratch my neck, confused. “Not sure how much damage a ghost can do, especially one in Hell. What could Aldred possibly have that Armageddon would want?”

“He has something of value, make no mistake,” replies Nefer. “That’s the acquisition I spoke of before. Aldred used it to make a trade with Armageddon: his prize in exchange for a comfortable eternity in Hell.”

“That sounds like Aldred, alright. No idea what he traded though, eh?”

“Not a clue.” Nefer snaps her fingers. “Although, they did say how Armageddon hopes to use it. Whatever Aldred gave him will become the centerpiece of a plan that smacks of Helen of Troy.”

Her words turn over in my mind. Helen was the famous royal ‘face that launched a thousand ships.’ When she was abducted by Paris, the Spartans invaded Troy to get her back.

That can only mean one thing.
Whatever Armageddon has, he thinks it will give him the power to abduct a royal…and then, to start a war.
That’s what happened with Helen of Troy, after all. Armageddon can’t leave Hell, so he’s scheming to bring all the armies of the after-realms to his doorstep, using an unsuspecting royal as bait. It’s exactly the kind of sick and twisted plan that made him King of Hell in the first place.

Which means it’s really happening.

My heart sinks. Again, my Mom-reflex kicks into high gear. Forget invasions, war and the rest of the after-realms. All I can think about is Maxon. He’d be the perfect royal for Armageddon to kidnap. My boy is beloved in Purgatory, Antrum and Furonium. Tears prickle in my eyes. My child could be abducted into Hell. That’s not possible. I won’t let it be possible.

“You’re worried,” says Nefer.

“I should be.”

“Certainly, you receive threats all the time?” she asks.

“Not like this.” I exhale a long breath. “I need more information.”

And when I say ‘need more information,’ I mean ‘contact Cissy.’

Over the years, my best friend has created one the premiere spy network in the after-realms, all under the guise of her role as Purgatory’s Senator of Diplomacy.

“I wish I could be of more assistance,” says Nefer. “But I’m afraid that’s all I heard.” Bit by bit, she shifts to face Anubis once again. This time, it’s her turn to look mighty thirsty. “If you’re through with me, you may end the dreamscape, Great Scala.”

“There are two ways I can do that,” I explain. “Everybody goes home, or I step out and leave you both alone. What do you want?”

Nefer worries her lower lip with her teeth. “I don’t know. Would you like to be alone, Anu?”

A muscle twitches along the Gatekeeper’s throat. “All these years, I tortured myself over the reasons why you didn’t send Kiya. Perhaps escape wasn’t yet safe. Or Kiya was gone. Or worst of all, you were hurt. But in all that time, I never thought—” Anubis shakes his head. “The truth is so much worse than anything I imagined.” He steps toward the wall. “You two do as you please. I’m leaving.”

Nefer’s voice cracks with grief. “I’m sorry, Anubis.”

“So am I,” he says.

The last thing I see is Anubis stepping into the vine-wall, his shoulders slumped with hurt. A knot of sadness tightens my throat.

Talk about an unhappy ending, for all of us.

Nefer and Anubis clearly aren’t riding off into the sunset any time soon. As for me, I’ve got the King of Hell targeting my family and no idea what he’s up to.

With a reluctant sigh, I close my eyes and end the dreamscape.

I fidget on the plush leather couch of my private audience chamber, my tail tapping a nervous rhythm on my kneecap. Beside me, Lincoln sifts through a pile of parchments. I’ve my own print-outs from Purgatory that I could read, as well—Ghost Tower statistics, that kind of thing—but I can’t get my head into it. The cries of my igni keep echoing through my brain, louder and louder with each passing minute. Nefer’s warning mixes in with their screams.

Armageddon. Aldred. Royal abduction. Maxon.

I hop to my feet and start walking the stretch of carpet in front of the couch. Movement always helps me relax.

Lincoln looks up from his latest scroll. “You’re pacing again.”

“Well, I’m worried again.”

“I get that, but we’ve all been threatened many times. Maxon included.”

“But my igni have never been so upset that they could only scream to me in my sleep.” I press my palms onto my ears, like I can block the memory of their cries. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

A knock sounds.

“That should be the new night nanny,” says Lincoln.

“I’ll go get it.”

A few seconds later, I whip the door open, expecting to see another plump grandmotherly type standing in the outer hall. Instead, I find a royal messenger in Rixa garb. She’s a spritely girl, all wiry body and big, mismatched eyes. She offers me a small notecard. “Message from Purgatory, Your Highness. Senator Frederickson.”

I take the envelope from her hand. “Thank you.” The messenger bows low and walks away.

“Something from Cissy?” asks Lincoln.

“Yeah.” I cross the room and retake my seat beside him. “I sent her a note first thing this morning, asking about my conversation with Nefer. Didn’t take her long to respond.”

Lincoln stretches his muscled arm over the back of the couch. “I’m not surprised. She’s more spymaster than Senator, these days.”

I tap the letter against my palm. “It’s her envy power. She doesn’t want anyone to know more about what’s going on in the after-realms than she does.”

“So…” Lincoln arches his right brow. “Aren’t you going to open that?”

I stare at the envelope in my hands, anxiety twisting its way across my shoulders. “I haven’t felt this kind of bad mojo over a piece of paper since I got that party invitation from Zeke back in Purgatory High.”

“As in, the party where you and I first met?”

“Yeah, and where we spent the whole night hating each other.”

“Ultimately, it all turned out pretty well, don’t you think? You may need to reclassify that particular brand of mojo.”

“True.” Forcing a smile, I rip the envelope open, revealing a small white notecard with Cissy’s Senatorial seal on the top. “She didn’t write much.” I read aloud. “Bad news. Armageddon plot confirmed. Definite royal abduction. Connor involved. Cissy.”

All the oxygen seems to get sucked out of the room. Connor is somehow involved with Armageddon’s abduction plot? That can’t be right.

“May I see that letter?” Lincoln asks slowly.

“Sure.”

Lincoln grips the notecard in his hand, his face radiating quiet rage. He’s never forgiven Connor for trying to push him into marrying Aldred’s daughter, Lady Adair. And then, when Adair’s plot to steal my powers became clear, Connor refused to investigate, even through half of Antrum and all of Purgatory were rioting over it. Eventually, Lincoln and I had to take the throne or who-knows-what would have happened.

“Look, I’m sure Cissy’s wrong this time. Helping Armageddon? That’s too terrible, even for Connor.”

Lincoln stares at the note. “Has Cissy’s spy network ever been inaccurate in the past?”

How I hate to say this.
“No.”

“He’s involved, Myla.”

The clock strikes eleven just as another knock sounds at our door. Lincoln hands me Cissy’s card. “My turn.”

Lincoln crosses the room and pulls on the door handle, revealing a tall thrax girl in hallway beyond. She’s in her early twenties with chin-length black-dyed hair. She wears a long white leather over-gown—more of a coat than a dress, really—and, beneath it, she’s in dark striped pants and combat boots. Most thrax girls look like they fell out of the Middle Ages, especially when they meet royalty. This one? Not so much.

I like her already.

“I’m Hildegard, but everyone calls me Hildy. I’m the new night nanny.”

Lincoln steps aside. “Come on in.”

I gesture to the club chair across from our couch. “Won’t you have a seat?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Hildy plunks down in the chair, leans forward, and proceeds to pick black polish off her nails. Awkwardness and tension roll from her in waves. Lincoln retakes his seat beside me and we share a long look.

Something about this whole situation if off. Way off.

Hildy finally breaks the silence. “I don’t have a house, but I suppose you guessed that already.” She fidgets with the buttons on her white coat, which is the thrax color for outsiders and guests. “Octavia said it wouldn’t matter.”

“Mother was right,” says Lincoln gently. “After all, Myla doesn’t have a house and she’s my Queen.”

“Thanks.” Hildy nervously glances around the room.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

Hildy drums her fingers on her kneecaps. “Look, I don’t like this chair. I mean, it’s a nice looking as chairs go and all, but it’s not against a wall. I like being against a wall or in a corner, do you know what I mean?” She rakes her right hand through her black hair. “I sound insane, don’t I?”

“No, you sound like a warrior,” says Lincoln carefully. “Trained to watch exits.”

Hildy smiles with relief. “That’s right. I always stand in the far corner. Best line of sight in the room.”

Lincoln leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Classic thrax battle training.”

“Exactly,” agrees Hildy.

“And I’d imagine that training included being completely honest with your commander.”

I fight the urge to smile.
Oh, I can see where Lincoln’s going with his.
Hildy’s holding something back and my guy’s going to play the king card and get her to talk. No wonder Octavia didn’t want Hildy to chat with Lincoln. She must have suspected he could easily crack Hildy’s shell of silence.

“Yes.” Hildy shifts her weight in the chair. “That’s how every thrax warrior is trained. Honor, honesty, and strength. The three great pillars of demon hunting.”

“Quite right,” presses Lincoln. “And no matter what Octavia told you, you’re thrax, first and foremost. That means your ultimate loyalty is to the crown.”

Hildy picks at her nails some more. “I know that.”

“So, tell us what’s really going on.”

“I’d rather show you.” Hildy slowly pulls up her sleeve, exposing an elaborate looping scar pattern on her lower arm. “You know what this is, right?”

I’m about to say ‘I’ve no idea’ when Lincoln leaps to his feet, his eyes wild with rage. “What in blazes? You’re a Grand Master monopsyche?”

Grand Master mono-what?
Whatever that is, I’ve never seen Lincoln so angry before.

“Yes,” says Hildy quietly.

“And did my father hire you?”

Hildy nods and looks away. “Yes, he did. I’m so very sorry.”

“This is the last straw!” Whirling on his heel, Lincoln grabs a porcelain vase from a nearby table. With a great swoop of his arm, he chucks it against the wall where it shatters with a crash. Lincoln grabs another vase, but I step into his path before he can smash it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I guide Lincoln to lower his hand. “Look at me.” I cup his face in my palms. “Calm down. Tell me what’s going on.”

A guard’s voice sounds at the door. “Is everything alright in there?”

“We’re fine,” I call in a loud voice. “You’re dismissed.” I add in the secret phrase that means we’re really safe. “The angels are at ease.”

“Excellent,” says the guard. “I’ll take my leave.”

I gently slip my hands into Lincoln’s. His palms vibrate with tension, which makes me more nervous than ever before. “Please, tell me.”

“That mark on Hildy’s arm,” says Lincoln in a low voice. “It’s the sign of a rare type of thrax warrior.”