“Excellent,” says Rhiannon. “Next, we’ll take a look at Armageddon.”

The Old Timer squeaks. “Armageddon is our friend.”

Rhiannon smiles. “Of course, he is.”

I grit my teeth and kick at the muddy turf. Of course, he isn’t. I can’t believe someone like Rhiannon has to give lip service to the Old Timer’s stupidity. He invaded Purgatory once. Why wouldn’t he do it again?

Rhiannon moves beside the burning Manus demon, raises her palm and blows across her open hand. More magical water appears, white flame licking across the surface of her skin. Rhiannon tips her hand, the water pours into the shape of the King of Hell. He stands seven feet tall with smooth skin and a gangly body. A blade-like nose divides his long face.

I swallow. Yup, that’s him alright.

Levi walks around the model of Armageddon. “Take a close look, everyone. Armageddon is a greater demon. They’re heartless, rare, and incredibly powerful. Each develops a preferred method of attack. For Armageddon, it’s touch. If he can get his fingers on your bare skin, he’ll pull out your soul.”

I remember the dreamscape where Armageddon turned Senator Adams into a pile of ash. I shiver.

Levi’s jaw sets into a firm line. “Armageddon’s body is invulnerable. Only another greater demon can fight him. Simply put, your best defense is to run. If you can’t escape, cover up any exposed skin.”

The angels pour more demons from their palms. Other students start asking questions and stop acting terrified. Even Tank and the Old Timer join in. The lawn fills with monsters made of clear water and white flame.

So. Freaking. Cool.

I almost pinch myself. This can’t be real: I’m at school, talking about how demons fight, and no one’s glaring at me like I’m a nut-job. Awesome.

Rhiannon and Levi end the lecture. I watch them leave and check my watch: 3:45 PM.

Unholy moley. Class ran over and I’m late for my mystery encounter with Lincoln. I wave goodbye to Cissy and Zeke, race over to Betsy, and drive off to Upper Purgatory.

18

It takes at least a million years to putter over to the Ryder mansion. I park the wagon, jog up to the front door, and test the handle. It swings open.

I step inside the reception hall.

“Hello? Anybody here?” I check my watch. Almost 5 o’clock. They must have left. “Hells bells.” Frustration bolts through my arms and legs. My gaze rests on the dainty porcelain statues lining the reception hall’s gilded tables. Damn, I’d love to smash a few of those against the wall. My hands ball into fists.

Voices echo in from the East Wing ballroom.

My fists loosen. Maybe I’m not too late.

With halting steps, I follow the sounds down the hallway. At the end of the corridor, the arched gateway to the ballroom lies open. I peer inside.