Unholy Hell. What a disaster. This bunker was supposed to hide me away from Armageddon and the Oligarchy. Instead, both baddies are yards away and everyone I love is imprisoned, myself included. Unless something changes soon, I’m calling on the igni. Maybe there’s still a chance to open a portal and escape.

The Oligarchy quiver in their red robes. “Armageddon would destroy us all?”

Mom scowls. “Of course, he will.” She snaps her fingers. “Like that.”

The Scala’s eyes pop wide open. Clearly, he picked up enough English to understand when someone says ‘Armageddon will kill you.’

The old thrax sits upright, his crinkled face trembling in terror. “Armageddon is here!”

Seeing his chance, Lincoln calls to the awakened Scala in Latin. “Thrax! Brother!”

Excitement rushes through my bloodstream. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the thrax, it’s that they loooooove their traditions. And there’s no bigger thrax tradition than to do whatever royalty tells you.

Hearing his native tongue, the Scala turns to Lincoln. He says two words in a reverent tone: “My Prince.”

Ha! Knew it.

The electric bonds around Lincoln’s hands and feet disappear. The Scala collapses back onto his stretcher. “Come here, my Prince.”

The Oligarchy’s stare snaps onto the Scala. “Maxon! Imprison him!” They point to Lincoln.

The old man’s gaze flips back and forth between the Oligarchy and Lincoln. His lower lip twitches. Anxious silence fills the room. One thought runs through every mind: Will the Scala honor Lincoln or the ghouls?

The old man sighs. “I cannot harm my Prince.” He reaches out a withered hand to Lincoln. “Come sit beside me, brother.”

The Oligarchy bare their teeth. “How dare you?”

The Scala raises his hand. “You want imprisonment too?” A few igni swirl lazily about his palm. “I can oblige.” He lets out a low cough. “Your people care for me and keep me safe, so I’ve been willing to follow your orders. But when it comes to my Prince, there can be no negotiation.” His eyes narrow. “Don’t rely too much that I rely on you.”

The Oligarchy stare at the Scala, the gears of their collective mind churning through scenarios and Group Think, trying to brainstorm how to bend the Scala to their will. A long minute ticks by before the four ghouls slowly lower their heads. “As you wish, Great Scala.”

My mouth rounds with a satisfied smile. Other than hand the old guy over to the King of Hell, they’ve got no other options here…And they won’t do any handing-over until Armageddon guarantees their safety. Long story short, Lincoln bought us a little time. I roll my shoulders and stretch, feeling a sense of calm seep into my body, despite my bindings.

Lincoln kneels beside the Scala’s stretcher. “I am ​​Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus from the House of Rixa, High Prince of the Thrax. Release them all. Now.”