Angelfire

1. Lincoln

1

LINCOLN

AGE SEVENTEEN

Bam! Bam!

Frantic knocks sound on my bedroom door. I awaken with a gasp. A reedy male voice echoes in from the hallway beyond.

“Lincoln, I know you’re in there!”

Opening my eyes, I check my cuckoo clock.

4:16 a.m.

My sleepy brain tries to wrap around what’s happening. It isn’t easy. I just finished a marathon demon hunt through the sss. My rest began only a few hours ago. Rolling over, I scan the shadows of my bedroom, half expecting to see vines instead of plaster. After a few seconds, I adjust to reality.

This is no jungle. I’m back in the Arx Hall palace.

Which leads to my next question. Who’s at my door, exactly? As prince, my suite of rooms are patrolled twenty-four-seven. No one gets past my guards. When visitors knock, it’s always at the main entrance, not my bedroom.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Little by little, more of the sleepy haze vanishes from my mind. A memory appears. One person always sneaks past my guards. And it happens on the same day, every year. I sit up and smile.

Today must be the Festival of Achilles.

With all the excitement from demon patrol, I forgot all about it. And that means I can expect someone who’s notorious for showing up hours before anyone else even thinks about arriving.

That would be my grandfather, Raedwulf the Early, ex-King of the Thrax and eternal sneak extraordinaire.

Equal parts of adrenaline and joy pump through my veins. Raedwulf is here! I slip out of bed and grab the door handle. Before I pull anything open, Raedwulf’s voice carries through the closed wood once more.

“Are you dressed, Lincoln?”

Oops. Good question.

“Not yet.” I quickly pull on flannel PJ bottoms and a loose T-shirt. At last, I open the door.

Grandfather stands in the outer hallway. He’s a rickety figure who looks painfully thin in his medieval chainmail, velvet tunic, and leather pants. Three hundred years ago, Raedwulf was the burliest warrior in Antrum. He even wrestled a leonid demon, bare-handed. Now, Raedwulf’s shock of red hair is pure white. His huge frame is downright skeletal. Which is to be expected. After all, the man’s almost four hundred.

Raedwulf scans me from head to toe with his milky, mismatched eyes. “You’re taller.”

“It’s been a year since you last saw me. I’m a teenager. That’s what we do. Grow.”

He slowly steps around me. I’m broad-shouldered with short brown hair and mismatched irises. Right now, my eyes are red-rimmed. Plus, my skin has a greenish hue that says, get this guy some sleep.

Raedwulf sniffs. “You look awful.”

“I just finished eighty hours of demon patrol.” I yawn. “We hunted down a centislime.”

“Those are Class A. Good kill. Wish I still had such adventures.”

“No adventures? If that’s true, then how’d you sneak up to my bedroom door?”

Raedwulf smiles. He’s got one of those old-guy mouths where his lips curl into his face. “Connor thought he had me all locked up this year. I fooled him.”

This happens before every Achilles Festival. The reason why is simple: it’s the only ceremony where Raedwulf comes out of seclusion. My father, Connor, tries to control Raedwulf’s appearance before our subjects. The night before each festival, Connor sets up Raedwulf into a different ‘preparation room.’ A prison. The thought is that Raedwulf won’t escape.

Grandfather always gets loose.

“My own son put me in the North Tower, if you can believe that.” Raedwulf smacks his thin lips. “Can you guess how I got here?”

Arx Hall is riddled with secret passages that only Raedwulf knows. Over the years, grandfather has taught me the location of every hidden door and tunnel.

I purse my lips and consider this challenge. If I were trapped in the North Tower, how would I escape?

“Here’s my guess,” I begin. “The North Tower has a tunnel under the floorboards. You used that passage to reach the sub-basement. From there, you could take the spider’s way.” That’s my name for the secret corridors of the palace’s East Wing. In my defense, I’m eight years old at the time—and those tunnels are still lousy with cobwebs.

“Ah ha!” Raedwulf leans in. “Indeed, I took the floorboard tunnel. Only I went to the stinky pass. From there, I made a hairpin turn onto the creaky ceiling crawlspace.”

Like the spider’s way, the stinky pass and creaky ceiling crawlspace are also named by my eight-year-old self. Which doesn’t change that Raedwulf’s overall route is far shorter than mine.

“That path…” I snap my fingers and point at his nose. “…Is brilliant.”

“Invest your time in being a crafty old bastard, and you can never go wrong.” Raedwulf grasps my right hand. Grandfather’s fingers feel papery and cold. “Come, we must talk.”

This also happens every year. “Is this another version of your I’m dying speech?”

Raedwulf tugs me into my reception room. “I am dying.” He guides us toward a leather couch. “First things first,” he announces. “These modern leather seats have to go.” He gestures toward a nearby painting. “That, too.”

I can’t help but grin. “So, no I’m dying speech?”

“Oh, I’ll get there. Listen up, lad. Thrax came to Antrum to hide out from demons. And since we entered this realm in the early middle ages, we’ve stayed there.” He taps his temples. “Mentally. Most times, you’re good about holding with tradition.”

“Thank you.”

“But you must consider the nobility.” He stretches his arms wide. “What will they think of this room? There are rumors that the entire court will be forced to visit another realm soon… and now, their prince decorates his personal quarters in a human fashion?”

“I appreciate the advice, Grandfather.” This is a little trick I like to call, acknowledging stuff without committing to changing anything.

“Glad you understand. Now, for the next order of business.” Raedwulf sits down on the couch. “I am dying. Today marks the last time I’ll attend the Achilles Festival.” He looks at me from his left eye. “Do you believe me?”

I take the spot beside him. “It’s what you say every year.”

“So, I’m doing something right, eh?”

I chuckle. “Absolutely.”

Raedwulf and I have an understanding. I don’t ask him where he hides out when he’s not at the Achilles Festival. In return, Raedwulf spends one day with me every year. It’s a good system.

Grandfather’s shoulders slump. Sad energy rolls off him. “I’ve kept both you and your father away from certain parts of my life.” He sighs. “It’s because our nobility don’t believe in Ghost World.”

In reality, no sane person believes there are powerful conjurers and invisible spirits making up a so-called Ghost World. It’s all a fairy tale told by the quasi demons who run Purgatory. They want to believe there’s more to ghosts than the semi-transparent strangers they sort into Heaven and Hell.

Raedwulf taps me in the center of my chest. “You’re different.”

“How so?”

“Why, you can see Ghost World, of course.”

Poor Raedwulf. The man clearly is having a bad day.

I force a smile. “If you say so.”

“Ghost World is visible to me as well,” adds Raedwulf. “That’s how I met your grandmother, Juno. And she agrees with me. You have Ghost Sight, too.”

“Ah, how interesting.” I’m running out of non-committal ways to answer the man.

The Ghost Sight stuff is also ridiculous. From the little I know about Juno, my grandmother was an obscura—that’s a thrax who’s raised by humans. “You’re always saying that Juno is dead. She passed away after giving birth to Connor.”

Raedwulf lifts his chin. “That’s not exactly true.”

My grandfather is a little wacky. Okay, a lot wacky. That said, this marks the first time he’s talked nonsense about Juno.

“You chat with Juno’s spirit?” I ask.

“No, my boy.” Raedwulf shoots me a sneaky smile. “Juno’s still alive.”

“Well…” I let out a long breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

Raedwulf plays the old fool, but in reality, he’s sharp as a blade. Yet, saying my dead grandmother is still breathing? Time’s catching up with the guy. Maybe this is more than just a bad day.

“What’s really happening?” I ask.

Grandfather’s shoulders tremble with fear. “He is returning. Soon.”

“Who?”

“Hades.”

I do double-take. “As in, the ghost conjurer Hades… the one Achilles kills in today’s festival?”

Raedwulf hangs his head. “Yes.”

“But the festival is all in fun, right? There’s no such thing as conjurers or Ghost World.”

“I’ve failed. Ghost World exists, but the nobility don’t believe what they can’t see. So, I created the festival. I thought with enough time, humor, and luck, the court would accept Ghost World. And it might have worked… If only your father had been born with Ghost Sight.”

“Only one place exists for ghosts,” I declare. “Purgatory.” And perhaps I bite off the word Purgatory in the same tone I might use for toxic sludge zone.

“Nothing is ever one hundred percent of anything. There are angels in Purgatory, and ghosts here in Antrum.”

“Sure, there are.” It’s impossible.

Grandfather’s speech is leading to something. I wish he’d get to that mystery topic already. “You still haven’t told me why you’re sharing all this.”

“One day, someone must deal with Hades,” states Raedwulf. “That monster’s been locked up for a thousand years. The clock is running out. Once Hades gets loose, Juno can provide a magical weapon called the Beryl Xyston. You or Connor must use it and imprison Hades again.”

Grandfather and I have chatted over military plans before. Typically, he’s all smiles. In this case, Raedwulf talks about Hades and the Beryl Xyston as if he’s planning his own execution.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Using the weapon will dungeon up me and Juno forever.” He sighs. “If your father refuses to do this, promise me you’ll be the one to take care of Hades.”

“I’ll always do what’s best for the thrax.”

“Good. In that case, Hades doesn’t stand a chance.” Raedwulf pats my shoulder. “And in the meantime, we have a festival to run.” Grandfather hauls himself upright. “Now, walk me to the Eminence cavern. Let’s make sure everything’s ready for today.”

A weight of worry seeps off my shoulders. Before, Raedwulf was acting more than a wee bit odd. As in, perhaps I should call the royal physicians strange. Now, we’re back on solid ground. Accompanying grandfather to the Eminence cavern is familiar territory.

And more than a little fun.