I plaster my smile back on. “It sure is.” I take off at a run. “I’ll see you there!”

“Okay. Goodbye, Myla!”

I speed up the rocky incline, my heart thudding with anticipation. I summit the small hill and scope out the ground below. A flat patch of green field opens before me. Lincoln stands in its center, surrounded by four men in velvet tunics of bronze, yellow, purple, and blue. They all look in their late teens. The Queen waits on the sidelines, motionless and regal in her black velvet gown. The Great Ladies encircle her, still wearing their multi-colored dresses from the initiation. Adair has changed into a simple white robe.

In the center of the field, Lincoln flips a wooden practice sword in his hand. Raising his arm high, he demonstrates a slicing technique to the young Lords. Everyone’s attention is focused on the lesson. I picture what’ll happen once I introduce myself. My mouth winds into a semi-evil grin.

Now’s my chance.

I stride down the rocky hill and raise my arm high. “Hello, there! I have a message for the–”

The Acca Lord shakes his blonde head. “A demon! I shall protect you, my Prince!” He races toward me, arms outstretched.

I watch my opponent, shaking my head in disbelief. This is his total plan? Run up and grab me? That’s way too easy. I wait until he’s close, then leap up into the air and kick my heels forward. My boots connect with his chest. The Acca Lord tumbles onto his ass, gasping for breath. I somersault backwards, land on my feet and keep walking.

My grin stretches even wider. I love that move.

I keep a steady stride toward Lincoln, scanning the field as I go. The Queen and ladies stand immobile and stunned on the sidelines. The three remaining Lords bob on their heels, waiting for their turn to attack. Lincoln stares at me, his mismatched eyes filled with cool menace.

Good.

“Stop now, foul demon!” It’s the Horus Lord this time. His 250 pounds of solid muscle barrel straight for me.

I size up his approach. This one will be a little more interesting.

Once the Horus Lord is almost upon me, I bend over at the waist. My tail wraps around my attacker’s neck, spinning him 360 degrees. With a heavy thud, he lands back-first onto the field. A low groan fills the air.

I wince. Okay, that might be a concussion. Oops.

I resume my forward march. Lincoln’s only a few yards away now. Lord Kamal takes up the cry. At least he has the sense to grab a wooden sword.

Weapons. That mixes it up.

I stop, set my weight on my right leg and cross my arms over my chest. Kamal races up to me, his sword raised high above his head.

“Die, you demon sc–”