One carrier-ghoul gently touches the Scala’s thin shoulder.

The old man’s cloudy eyes open a crack. “Ah, J-27.”

The ghoul bows. “It’s time to call the souls to Heaven, Great Scala.”

Walker taps my hand. “He just said–”

“I understood him.” My body freezes. Hey now, I just understood freaking Latin. “How in Hell do I understand Latin?”

Walker seems awfully interested in staring out at the Arena floor. “When he wants to, the Scala can make the crowd understand him.”

I smack my lips once. That sounds mega-fishy. I never heard the Scala had that power. I tilt my head to one side, trying to figure out if Walker’s telling the truth. “Are you lying to me?”

He turns to me, his face the picture of cool. “Why would I lie?”

Okay, he has a point. Back to watching the Scala.

On the Arena floor, the Scala feebly raises his right hand. A flurry of igni lightning bolts swirl about his palm. Two dozen ghosts appear on the stadium’s floor. I examine the one closest to me. Its shape quickly morphs between thousands of different faces and body types. Icons. Each one contains thousands of human souls.

I watch the icon bodies transform in a blinding flicker. It’s beautiful.

The Scala drops his shaking hand. The igni disappear. He gasps for air, his bony rib cage heaving up and down. The ghouls prop him upright. He catches his breath.

I shake my head. That is one really old dude. He looks like he could cork any second.

“In the quasi republic, the Scala moved hundreds of icons to Heaven at a time. Now it’s rare to see more than a few dozen.” Walker sighs. “Today, it’s the iconigrations to Hell that are packed to overflowing.”

I glance to Armageddon and Clementine. A soft scarlet glow shines from inside her briefcase. Strange red shadows crawl under her cheeks and snout. The buzzing sound grows louder.

J-27 touches the Scala’s shoulder again. “You must move them.”

The old man nods, his breath coming in rough gasps. He raises his wrinkled hand again; tiny lightning bolts whirl about his palm. The igni fly from his fingertips and whiz around the Arena floor. They settle around each icon, circling the morphing spirits in ever faster loops. The igni multiply, becoming pillars of white light.

I love to see those in action. Soul-columns. How the Scala moves spirits.

The Scala gasps; his eyes roll back into his head. The soul-columns become blindingly bright, then disappear, taking the icons with them.

The Scala drops his trembling hand. His breath comes faster and rougher than ever. Is he going to drop dead right here?

J-27 sets his fingers against the old man’s withered throat. The ghoul’s gray face turns pale as milk. “We must visit the healer right away.”