Armageddon (Angelbound) (8 page)

Damn, these two need a room.

I rub my palms together. “My work is done. When I leave, you two can hang out here as long as you want. Whenever you’re ready for the dreamscape to end, just wake up your real-selves.”

“Please don’t go yet,” says Nefer quickly.

Anubis looks like someone kicked him in the gut. Suddenly, I’d rather be anywhere else than here. “Actually, I need to vamoose.”

Nefer pins me with her big blue watery eyes. “Please, Great Scala. Don’t leave me alone.”

“He’s not going to hurt you.”

“He could.” She’s totally grasping at straws now. “People get injured in dreamscapes all the time.”

“True, but we all know that won’t happen.”

“Please.” Her teary face makes my pity-meter go into overload.
Damn, I’m such a sucker.

“Fine, I’ll stay. Two minutes, that’s what I promised Anubis.”

“Thank you,” says Nefer.

Anubis’s mouth trembles with disbelief. “Why don’t you want to be alone with me?”

Nefer shrugs. “There’s nothing new to say.”

“But there is a new way to say it.” He steps closer, invading Nefer’s personal space. “I haven’t touched a woman in two hundred years. Not since you.”

Nefer sets her hand on Anubis’s chest. I can see his heart rate skyrocket from here. “Anu, this is exactly why I wanted the Great Scala to stay.” She starts staring at his lips like it’s her job. “You know I can’t control myself around you.”

Anubis’s mouth winds into a sultry smile. He really is way too attractive to be stuck watching the doorway to Hell. “Is that such a bad thing? I don’t remember any complaints before.” He leans in closer.

I raise my hand. “And this is me leaving.”

Nefer rushes to my side. “Please, stay. I’m begging you.” She fixes me again with her big blue eyes, all watery and overwhelmed. “Keep your distance, Anu. Please.”

Anubis gives his kicked-in-the-balls face again, but he stays away from Nefer. The man had a plan, and the lust demon in me admires anyone who tries to use seduction to get what they want. But ultimately, his plan failed. Now, I need to get back to my family.

Nefer turns to Anubis. “What did you want to say to me?”

“I came with a question for you.”

Nefer nervously fiddles with the golden tie at her waist. “Ask away.”

“Did you ever love me, Nefer?”

Wow, way to dive right into the deep end, Anubis.
I look down, pretending that a particular clod of earth is super-interesting.

“You know the answer to that question, Anu. Verus had a prophecy. I am to be Queen of Hell. It’s my destiny to break into the Netherworld and try to kill its ruler. Two hundred years ago, that was Onyx. Today, it’s Armageddon. I can’t leave until my task it done. That has nothing to do with my feelings for you.”

A long pause follows. I decide to get while the getting is good. “Since we’re all talked out, I’ll take my leave.”

“One more minute,” says Anubis. “She won’t stay unless you’re here.”

And the sucker-a-thon continues.
“Sixty seconds.”

Anubis’s tone turns pleading. “Verus can’t predict anything with certainty. She sees multiple futures and tries to make the one she wants come to pass. You still have a choice, Nefer. You can escape today. Leave now. Be with me.”

“And if I escape, what would happen to all the after-realms? Verus says that if I am not Queen of Hell, they will all fall.”

“I don’t care about the after-realms,” retorts Anubis. “You’re all that matters. I’m an immortal with powerful magic. I could carve out some small corner and keep you safe. Keep us together.”

“At the expense of everyone else?” Nefer shakes her head sadly. “No, Anu.”

My heart goes out to Nefer. I know exactly how she feels. I didn’t ask to become the Great Scala either, but when my number got picked, I had to do my best. You can’t turn your back on your destiny, no matter how much that destiny sucks.

Anubis’s eyes glisten with pain. “It’s been so hard these last two hundred years. Knowing you’re so close and that I can’t see you, can’t touch you. Is there no way we can be together?”

“Yes, there is.”

“What? Name it.”

“Fight with me. Set me free and together, we’ll kill Armageddon.”

Anubis exhales a long sigh. “My powers don’t work that way, Nefer. I’m the Gatekeeper of Hell. He’s the King. Our powers balance each other. He can’t hurt me any more than I can hurt him. The only way he can fight me is by hurting someone like you.”

When she next speaks, Nefer’s voice cracks with emotion. “Then, we’ve nothing left to discuss.”

There’s an almost audible crack as Anubis’s heart breaks. His shoulders slump with disappointment. I turn around, pretending to be fascinated by the empty stands.

“Let’s have one last talk,” says Anubis. “The Great Scala could leave us so we could catch up. I miss my friend.”

“No, Anu. Seeing you like this, it only makes things harder for both of us. It’s over.” Nefer turns to me, her mouth quivering on the verge of a sob. “Great Scala, I beg you to end this dreamscape.”

Anubis rounds on me. “Wait, please.” Bit by bit, he turns to Nefer. “Are you absolutely certain?”

A long pause follows before Nefer speaks again. “Yes, my choice is to end this. Now and forever.”

“In that case, I follow your wishes.”

I do as she asks, but as I break the dreamscape link, I remember how I felt about Lincoln when he and I first got together. I must have sworn to end things with him for good at least a hundred times. Nefer sounds like Myla part deux.

Forever, my ass.

I stand against the wall of the West Gymnasium, a chamber that’s a classic example of interior exercise design circa 1500. The room is long with plaster walls and a wooden floor. The arched ceiling is filled with a latticework of long wooden beams. Like everything else in Antrum, there are no electronics here. Instead of the workout machines that fill every gym in Purgatory, here I find exercise dummies, weights and wooden bins filled with weapons. Lots and lots of weapons.

In the center of the room, Maxon and his friends get ready to play a mock-battle under my father’s expert guidance. At this point, Dad’s training seems like one long game. It’s when you get to be my age that he’ll mercilessly kick your ass for hours in a row.

In today’s training, Dad makes Maxon play a general, which is what he’ll really be one day when he’s full-grown. My throat tightens with worry. There are so many years that have to pass until Maxon’s an adult. In the meantime, anything can happen. Like Armageddon.

Don’t show you’re upset, Myla.
Maxon picks that stuff up easily, and there’s no reason to ruin his play date. That’s also why Lincoln and I are waiting until the training games are over before talking to my father. Besides, watching Dad and Maxon together is nothing short of magical. There are some moments in life you don’t want to cut short.

Lincoln stands beside me, leaning against my same stretch of plaster wall. Across the room, Hildy waits in the far corner, her arms folded across her chest. Every so often, her heavily-lined eyes flicker in our direction before quickly re-locking on Maxon. All the while, her lips soundlessly whisper incantations. Hildy’s obviously already started on the spells to bind her and Maxon just in case he’s ever—

Don’t go there, Myla.

I force myself to focus on my father, who stands in the center of the room, wearing ninja-style loose pants and a grey T-shirt. Maxon and his friends are all dressed as mini-versions of Dad, complete with short-sleeved shirts and loose pants. In this outfit, it’s obvious that my boy’s left arm is covered in black dragon-scales. Our Furor heritage is strong in Maxon, and those black armscales mark him as Furor royalty. Emperor Tempest himself has taken an interest, offering Maxon dragon riding lessons.

Not sure how I feel about that.

Dad leans over Maxon’s shoulder. “Time to get started, don’t you think?” As he moves into a beam of light, I can see how the lines under Dad’s eyes have deepened. Mom says his nightmares are getting worse. Being imprisoned in hell for almost twenty years will do that to you.

“Right, Pop-Pops.” Maxon turns to his friends. “Troops, fall in!”

Three boys hustle to stand in a line before Maxon. They’re all about my son’s height and perfect examples of their respective houses. First in line is Nizam, a classic Horus boy, ebony-skinned and built like a line backer. Beside him stands Tiberius, Prince of Striga. A magical prodigy, Ty already has dreads to his shoulders that are decorated with beads of spell achievement. Next in line stands Raj, Prince of Kamal. He’s also ahead of the thrax learning curve, having already started to raise his traditional hunting animal, an enchanted hawk.

They’re a sweet bunch of boys. Loyal. Smart. Good fighters. A sense of warmth and pride fills my chest. Maxon so clearly leads this little group. He’ll make a great king for them one day.

Maxon’s gaze snaps to the last boy, Uther, who’s decided to sit against the wall beside Hildy. Maxon rolls his eyes. “Don’t be weird, Uther. I said to fall in line.”

“I don’t want to call you General Awesome. You’re already the High Prince. It isn’t fair.”

Uther’s a classic example of the new House of Acca. Nice kid. Decent fighter. A little off socially. Decades of living with psychopaths made the good members of Acca a little wacky.

“What do you want to call me?” asks Maxon.

Uther runs his right hand through his short, white-blonde hair. “Anything but General Awesome.”

“Fine, I’m General Awesomer. Now, fall in, soldier.”

I smile. My kid got a double dose of bossy in his DNA, alright.

Uther slogs to his place in line, grumbling loudly with every step. With Uther settled in, Maxon walks up and down the row of princes. Dad follows a step behind, whispering what to look out for in an inspection. Weapons, physical readiness, and mental acumen. After a few minutes, Dad stops his lecture to ruffle Maxon’s black hair.

“Good job on the inspection, little man.”

“Thanks, Pop-Pops.”

“Time to start the exercise proper, don’t you think?”

“Yup.” Maxon sets his little fists on his hips. “Okay, guys.” He points to a stuffed mannequin at the far wall of the gym next to Hildy. It’s a tall lumpy thing with a silver helmet perched atop its head. “That’s the King of Hell,” declares Maxon. “I’m going to kill him. You’re all demons in my way.”

“Yes, Sir,” say the boys in unison.

Maxon sneaks a shy look at Dad. “Now, what do I do?”

“Tell them to fall out.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right. Fall out, everybody!”

Maxon and Dad move to the gym’s entrance, right beside Lincoln and me. The boys stand in a make-shift line between Maxon and the dummy Armageddon. I think of the real King of Hell and shudder. Armageddon is seven feet tall and gangly with black skin that’s shiny and smooth, like polished stone. He has a long face, blade-like nose and wide mouth filled with pointed teeth. I’m glad Dad’s not using one of our more life-like mannequins; the kids would have nightmares for weeks.

Maxon launches into combat, his little wooden sword clutched tightly in his fist. His first battle is with Uther, who should be practicing his swordplay but keeps throwing imaginary grenades instead. Dad watches their fight and coaches, giving out pointers. Maxon bests Uther with ease. Within seconds, the boy cries ‘I submit’ and Maxon moves on.

Next in line is Ty, who casts a few minor fireball spells. Dad coaches Ty on how to attack and Maxon on how to defend. Raj and Nizam both use traditional wooden swords, and Maxon legitimately bests them all with little advice or coaching. I’m so proud.

His pretend demons downed, Maxon now races to the far wall. With a flourish, he knocks the helmet off the dummy’s head. “I got the helm, yay!” He turns to Dad. “Look Pop-Pops, I killed Armageddon for you!”

My father’s angel-blue eyes flare bright as he swipes the helm from Maxon’s hands. “He’s mine to kill,” Dad snarls. Almost as quickly as the words leave my father’s mouth, he realizes his mistake.

Maxon pulls on his ear, his classic move when he’s confused. “What did you say, Pop-Pops?”

“I said, that’s a
fine
kill, Maxon.”

Lincoln and I exchange a quick glance that’s the equivalent of a long conversation. The more time Dad spends away from his imprisonment, the harder his time there seems to wear on him. At least, Maxon didn’t notice anything wrong.

“Thanks, Pop-Pops.”

Dad returns the helm to Maxon. “Now, you must pick someone else to be King of Hell.”

Maxon tosses the helmet into a nearby bin. “Nah, I don’t want a new King of Hell.”

Dad raises his arm, signifying this is a learning moment. All the kids turn to watch. “Remember, children. Ruling Hell is a noble job, if done nobly. Hell is the cleansing ground for evil souls.” He turns to Maxon. “You need to pick a new King or Queen, my grandson.”

“Okay, Uther can be King of Hell.”

Uther grabs the huge helmet out of the bin and pulls it over his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” He stumbles toward Dad. “I want to hold the archangel baculum, too!”

My father pulls two simple silver rods from his waistband. “I only have these, I’m afraid.”

Uther stares at them, his face scrunching up with disappointment. “I thought all archangels had special baculum.” He lunges with an imaginary sword. “Can cut through anything.”

“Mine are still in Hell. Armageddon has them.” A pained look crosses Dad’s eyes. “He kept them close to me, but always out of reach.”

Uther sets his fists on his hips. “Well, I’m the King of Hell now, so shouldn’t I have them?”

Dad’s voice comes out low and menacing. “No one should have them but me. One day, I’ll get them back, mark my words.”

A charged silence fills the room as everyone stares wide-eyed at Dad. Uther drops his helmet to the ground with a loud clunk. “Uh, okay. I don’t need them.” His bottom lip quivers.

Lincoln steps forward to deftly break up the awkwardness. “Nice work, son.” He winks at Uther, who smiles from ear to ear. “You too, Uther.”

Maxon beams with pride. “Thanks, Father.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Dad snaps out of his angry funk. “All of you did a superlative job.”