2
A few minutes later, Lincoln and I stand before another closed door. This time, it leads to a chamber in the diplomatic wing of the Ryder mansion. I knock gently.
“Who is it?” The voice is young, male and decidedly shaky. Must be Herbie.
“It’s Myla Lewis.”
“Who?!” A crash sounds through the door as Herbie knocks something over.
Yipes. I keep forgetting how no one connects my real identity with my deity alter-ego. “I mean, it’s the Great Scala.”
“Oh,” says Herbie. “Come in, please.”
I push open the door to witness one of the most unexpected sights ever. A scrawny teenager sits at a massive oak table surrounded by empty chairs. Herbie. The kid’s got a long nose, spikey brown hair, huge brown eyes and a T-shirt that reads ‘I heart the Human Channel.’ But that’s not the surprising par
