Angelbound

Chapter 7-3-1

I race up to the front door of the Ryder mansion and slam on the bronze knocker. I am so freaking late meeting Cissy and Zeke, it isn’t even funny.

The pristine white door whips open, revealing a blissful Cissy. “Welcome to the Ryder mansion.” The way she works the entrance, you’d think she and Zeke had dated for years instead of weeks.

“Hey, Cissy.” I step into the reception hall. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Betsy broke down again.” Over the years, carburetors, wadget screws, and manifolds have all become my personal bitches. Normally, I appreciate the extra smoke, drama, and grease, but today it was a big hassle. I loathe being late.

“No worries.” Cissy makes goo-goo eyes at Zeke. “We were just chatting.”

I scan the reception room. It’s two stories tall and filled with ornate golden furniture and matching nick-knacks. Normally, it contains Zeke’s parents, too. “Where are the Ryders?” To say Zeke’s parents took an instant liking to Cissy is the understatement of the millennium. For the last two weeks, Zeke’s Dad has been hovering beside the pair of them, glaring at his boy with a look that says ‘don’t screw this up, literally.’ Today’s the first day I can actually play chaperone.

“They’re playing tennis.” Cissy wraps her arm around Zeke’s. “Do you want to join us in the West Wing?”

Ah, no. I see enough of the ‘Cissy and Zeke Love Show’ at school. My goal here is plain and simple: get some intel on my dad. “Thanks, but I thought I’d check out the East Wing today.”

Cissy leans her head against Zeke’s shoulder. “Are you sure? We’d love to hang with you.”

Ah, sure you would. I appreciate Cissy trying to be nice, but I couldn’t be more of a third wheel if I were a tricycle. “Thanks, but I’m good. I honestly want to check out the East Wing.”

Cissy tilts her head to one side and frowns. “What aren’t you telling me, sweetie?” She elbows Zeke in the ribs. “I told you, she’s hiding things from me lately.”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” Cissy’s mouth curls into her ‘thinking frown.’ That means she’s debating about making it a group field trip to the library. Searching my ghoul heritage is nasty enough on its own; I’d rather not have an audience.

“Really-really.” I shoo them toward the opposite hallway. “You kids run off and have a good time.”

Cissy stands frozen, her forehead creased with worry. Zeke sets his hand on her shoulder, guiding her about to face him. Once they’re eye-to-eye, he shoots her a come-hither smile. “I’d love to show you our stables today.”

Cissy blushes. Oh, yeah. She’s coming hither. “That would be great.”

I wave good-bye as the pair turn toward the West Wing. They step away, their footsteps clacking down the marble hallway in perfect sync. As they stroll along, Cissy stays snuggled into Zeke’s side, his arm wrapped firmly about her shoulders. Something in the movement makes my throat tighten. Will I ever feel that way about someone? At this rate, probably not, unfortunately.

A shiver rattles my shoulders. Maybe my ghoul heritage means I can’t love any guy who still has a pulse. Yuck, that’s a depressing thought.

Shake it off, Myla. You’ve work to do.

Turning about on my heel, I face the long hallway to the East Wing. It’s all gleaming marble floors, tall gilded mirrors, and anxiety-inducing mysteries. Mom said it held a ballroom, offices, and library. My mouth twists as I consider the options. Nodding to myself, I decide to start my search in the fourth-floor library. From what Cissy’s said, that’s always open and usually deserted.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten my spine and march up to the fourth floor. The library’s a labyrinth of tall wooden bookshelves. The scent of dust and old parchment fills the air. I scan for other visitors, but the place is empty. Good.

I find a section marked ‘history’ and haul out a particularly large, leather-bound volume. Bay windows with cushioned seats line the library’s far wall. I slide into the nearest window seat, open the book in my lap, and gaze through the glass to the mansion’s grounds outside. Far below me, figures mill about the hedgerow maze. My tail flips to the title page:

Quasi Diplomacy: A History

A rustling sound echoes from the other side of the library.

“Cissy, is that you?”

Silence.

Shrugging, I return my attention to the book:

Introduction by Sanctus Lewis

I stare at the words again. Sanctus Lewis. I have Mom’s last name, and Sanctus Lewis was her mother. Could be a coincidence. I read on:

As every quasi citizen knows, the Lewis family has been instrumental in the development of afterlife diplomacy, which is why I’m pleased to write this preface to the tenth edition of…

“We’re here!” A strange female voice rings in my ears, but I’m too engrossed to call out to its owner. I pull the pages closer to my nose. The book has a ton of blah-blah-blah about giving people a second chance at a good afterlife, then the author writes:

I’m proud that my dear daughter Camilla has been elected to the traditional Lewis family seat as Senator of Diplomacy, an honor that…

My first real clue! Mom’s name is Camilla, so Grandma definitely wrote this before she died in the Wars. I grip the edges of the book tighter. And Mom was a Senator? My insanely over-protective and weepy mother? I shake my head and turn the page.

“Lincoln, don’t!” A shrill giggle fills the air. “You’ll muss my dress.”

I freeze.

Did she just say Lincoln? Can’t be the same guy.

“Apologies. It’s such a lovely dress too.” It is the same guy. Ugh.

I try to focus on my reading, but I can’t help but overhear them. Okay, maybe I could help, but I’m curious what Prince Pompous is up to.

Lincoln speaks again. “The minister said the Libra Scala would be over here.”

“Oh, I think I see it.” She makes little grunting noises. “Oh my, the shelf’s soooo high. Could you please pull the book down for me?”

Scrunching up my features, I mime the words ‘the shelf’s soooo high’ and stick out my tongue.

“Of course, Lady Adair.” A soft scraping sounds as the book slides down.

“Thank you, your Highness.” She giggles again.

My back teeth lock while my tail slices something nearby. Glancing about, I spy a sunny yellow pillow, now lying in two neat halves on the window seat. Anger and shock zing through my body. I just skewered a pillow without knowing it. I don’t do stuff like that, even during a Maternal Inquisition. Why does this random guy get my demon up in such a raw way?

A smile sounds in Lincoln’s voice. “You’re welcome.”

Lady Adair lets out a loud sigh. “While we have a moment, I want to say something. I was so honored that you invited me to join Verus at the Arena match.”

“My pleasure. I thought you’d enjoy the battle.”

“The fighting was fine, I suppose. But I really enjoyed seeing you act so graciously afterwards.”

There’s a long pause, then Lincoln speaks again. “You mean when I gave the demon an award?”

The demon? I’m a quasi with a name. Creep.

“Yes. That demon girl was so lucky you didn’t kill her.”

“Well, I–”

“Demons don’t stand a chance against real thrax warriors.” Her voice sounds extra-syrupy when she says ‘real thrax warriors.’ I’m pretty sure my tail just sliced another pillow into shreds. My hands ball into fists.

Lincoln chuckles. “It’s not really fair to compare a thrax and a demon girl, Lady Adair.”

“I don’t know if you’d think me too forward, but–” I can almost hear her eyelashes frantically batting from here.

“But what?”

“May I feel the muscle of your arm?”

I make a puke-face.

“I’m not sure, Adair.”

“Just for one second? Please.” A long pause follows. “Oooh! So strong.” I picture his arms and, yeah, he’s pretty ripped. But I kinda hate myself for knowing that.

She sighs. “How could any girl ask you to ‘name the time and place’ to fight?”

Lincoln’s tone turns cold. “We need to return to the others now, Milady.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean…That is, I didn’t think…” Footsteps sound toward the door. “Wait for me, your Highness!”

I listen to their voices and footsteps fade, rage boiling up my spine. It’s official. Prince Lincoln, I hate you more than anyone else in the universe. Someday I’ll show you what a ‘real warrior’ can do.

Pacing around the squeaky wooden floor, I imagine how awesome it would have been to trip them both down the stairwell. Hitching the book under my arm, I march straight out of the library, down the stairs, and into the first floor ballroom. As I stomp through across the dance floor, my eyes catch movement through the tall windows around me. Thrax mill about the hedgerow maze outside, all dressed up for some kind of formal shindig.

Grr.

I leave Cissy a goodbye note in the reception hall (including a not-too-believable story of how the two pillows got destroyed) and stomp off to my station wagon. I almost get in six accidents on the drive home, mostly because I’m practicing ‘you’re a jerk’ speeches instead of paying attention to the road. Once in my own driveway, I’m barely aware of parking the car, marching into the house, and slamming the door behind me. I make a beeline for my room.

I’m half-way there when Mom pops her head in from the kitchen. “Hi, Myla. I got us some frozen dinners. Yours is chicken, I think.” She shoots me a long stare. My eyes still flash red with rage.

Mom frowns. “Is everything alright?”

No, it’s not alright. I hate this thrax Prince guy so much I can’t stand it. I take a deep breath. “Everything’s fine, Mom. I just have a lot of homework to do.”

“Do you want to eat in your room?”

“That would be awesome.”

I march into my room and settle onto my bed. Pulling a textbook out of my backpack, I toss it open to a random page.

Mom steps up to my bedside. “Here you go.” She sets a tray of greenish-orange goop onto my nightstand. I glance at the ‘food’ and wince. Even for our house, this is disgusting stuff. Note to self: learn how to cook.

I force a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Don’t stay up too late doing homework.” She gives me a peck on the cheek and walks out the door.

I shovel some frozen dinner into my head and stare at the same random chapter in my textbook. An hour ticks by. None of the words on the page sink into my brain. My eyes flutter shut while the book’s still open on my lap.

The moment my lids close, I dream of the Gray Sea. Once again, I stand barefoot on the dark sand, a wall of black stone looming nearby. Dark thunderclouds roll overhead. The stench of sulphur makes me wince. I crouch, setting my hands onto the charcoal-colored earth. A circle of white fire erupts before me. In the center, the sand rises into a familiar form.

My mother.

All breath leaves my body. Verus said she would send me visions of Mom’s past. Is it finally starting?

The figure before me takes on more definition. Even though her body is still made of sand, I can tell Mom’s wearing toga-style robes, the same kind of garment she held when crying in her room. I suck in a shaky breath. Those must be Senate robes.

My skin prickles with the chilly touch of unexpected understanding. That’s why Mom got upset: she found her old Senate robes while looking for sewing stuff. How awful. One day you’re a toga-wearing Senator, the next you’re sewing dark robes for a bunch of ghouls. A weight settles into my bones. When she asked me, I didn’t even know what the robes were. Her own daughter. That gives the whole interaction a new level of suck.

I return my attention to the desert floor. More sand rises inside the circle of flame. This time the granules form different shapes around Mom. I squint, seeing the sand transform into the Ryder mansion’s East Wing staircase.

Okay, that makes sense. I figured Mom worked on the mansion’s diplomatic floor. Why else would she have maps hidden away?