“Attention!” Sharkie raises his arms, his ragged gray robes swaying in slow, ghostly motions. Beneath his huge hood, his eyes shine as two points of red light.

Sheila waves her eighteen-fingered hand in my direction. “Well, what’ll your service be? Port-a-Potty Squad? Greeter at Ghoul-Mart?”

Pointing to Sharkie, I make a ‘sh’ face to Sheila. It’s rude to talk once the ceremony starts, plus I hate answering the whole ‘what’ll your service be’ question. Sheila nods and oozes away. Bonus.

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. Sharkie thumps his staff four more times. “I bring you the Oligarchy!”

Four ghouls in scarlet robes appear along the top tier of the stadium, one at each point of the compass. Called the Oligarchy, they rule Purgatory as one collective mind, and a not-so-creative mind too, based on how they name ghouls.

In one motion, the Oligarchy close their eyes, bow their gray heads, and open a series of massive portals around the lip of the stadium. Angels and demons appear in the dark openings, and then stream down the uneven stone steps in one great wave.

The angels take their seats in an orderly line, their bodies coming in many shapes, sizes and colors. All have massive white wings, floor-length linen robes, little open-toed sandals, and eyes that glow with an unearthly blue light. They can hide their wings if they want to, but they keep them out for important occasions, like watching Arena fights.

In other words, angels are cool.

On the other side of the stadium, the demons move in a frenzied pack, roaring in a mad rush for the best seats. Large, furry creatures stomp along next to small and slimy monsters. Tiny, spiked demons zoom above their heads. Eye color is all they share in common: black stands for ‘neutral’ while red means ‘run for the hills.’

As I watch them scramble over each other, my head shakes from side to side. Demons are cool too, but only when I get to kill them.

The lively hum of stadium chatter collapses into anxious silence.

She is coming.

I scan the top level of the Arena. The four great portals stand empty and dark. Acting in unison, the Oligarchy ghouls lower their heads. A low hum fills the air. Pale yellow light glimmers in the eastern portal; all eyes turn in that direction. A figure in white appears in the darkened entryway. My breath catches.

This is Verus, Queen of the Angels.

She stands willowy and tall with long black hair, high cheekbones, and exotic, almond-shaped eyes. She’s timeless, beautiful, and more than a little bit frightening. Sometimes she watches me so carefully during matches, it gives me the creeps.

Beside her stands a short-ish ghoul with a handsome face, square jaw, and large black eyes.

I elbow Walker in the ribs. “That guy could be your brother.”

He looks up, smiles. “You don’t say.”