I motion to Lincoln. Since he’s seen this movie a ton, I gain his attention easily. My guy tilts his head in a silent question.
What’s up?
I pretend-walk my fingers toward the door. I’m leaving.
He mouths two words. Scala junk?
I nod. Yes.
“Want me to go?” Lincoln whispers.
“No, I’ve got it.”
Lincoln turns toward the front bay window. It provides a nice view of our front lawn. He gestures between his eyes and mine in a motion that means, I’ll be watching.
I shoot him a thumbs up and saunter out the front door, careful not to make too much noise in the process. Once I’m outside, I carefully inspect the scene. For the first time in a while, I really register what’s been dropped off here.
What a ton of crap.
11
Myla
I step closer to the junk pile. Surveying the area, I stifle a groan. Boxes and wooden bins are piled everywhere. Large and mysterious things hide under heavy tarps. Massive bags are tied up and stacked into mini-mountains. Everything is heaped so high, I can’t even see the far row of tall hedges that mark our property line.
Did I say before that security was key?
Maybe I should remove our trio of magical ward stones. That way, some nice criminals could come in and steal all this stuff off my lawn.
Not a real option, though.
Better get to work.
I sidle up to the closest bin. Inside, I find hundreds of Scala dolls. I hold one up and groan.
Ugh, not again. Why do they make my boobs and butt so huge?
No question what to do here.
Uncapping my handy marker, I mark the exterior of the bin with a big NK—for Not Keeping—and move on.
Next up is a bunch of mystery blobs that are covered in a tarp.
The stuff is bumpy and waist high. Scrunching up my face, I try to imagine what Hell awaits me here.
I got nothing.
Pulling back the covering, I find about thirty animated lawn ornaments. It’s like the human’s It’s A Small World ride, only with yours truly. In one statue, I ride a plastic unicorn.
I must admit, that’s pretty cool.
Taking out my marker, I write K for Keeper on the unicorn’s butt.
How awesome is this thing? I’ll find a home for it somewhere. The other ornaments show me blessing people while my arms automatically wave. Once more, these figures show me in my Scala robes. But this time, only my ass is ginormous for some reason. I take that as an insult to my boobs.
NK for the rest of this stuff. The only keeper in this section is the unicorn.
Next I move onto a box of super cool Myla action figures from my Arena days. If you stick your thumb in the middle of my plastic back, my tail whips out to skewer whatever’s in front of me.
Total keeper. But I don’t need four thousand of them. I pick out a set of figurines and place them beside the unicorn. Everything else gets a big NK.
At this point, I’m feeling pretty good about my bad self. Time to tackle whatever lurks under the biggest tarp of all.
This time, when I pull back the covering, it reveals a massive stone fountain. It’s a round structure with a statue of me in the middle. Once the tarp is gone, the thing springs to life. In the center, Statue Me spits water into the circular basin below.
Why, people? Why?
Now, I’m not getting any awards from Miss Manners, but I certainly don’t go around spitting.
Around the base of the fountain, words are carved in huge letters, announcing Magical Wishing Well Of The Great Scala Mother.
I take a moment to soak in this entire creation. Wow, do I ever hate this thing.
Without a doubt, I want this fountain out of my sight. My ass looks bigger than ever, my eyes way too goggly, and I definitely do not spit. They got the tail right, though. That said, it’s not like I trust someone to take this thing away and make decent use of it somewhere else. Some things just don’t belong in public.
From the corner of my vision, I catch a flash of light from behind a stack of plastic bags. We don’t have a gate here, mostly because the magical ward stones are so powerful, no one can get near us, anyway.
So how would anyone trespass onto our property?
A chill runs through my veins. Could Bedlam be back already?
The moment the thought hits my consciousness, my igni go berserk.
They screech so loudly, all thought vanishes from my mind. All I know is pain and eardrum-shattering noise.
On reflex, I curl into a fetal position and wrap my arms over my head. Not sure how long I stay that way, either. It could be a few seconds or many hours. At some point, I whisper eight words under my breath.
“Sometimes, I wish I weren’t the Great Scala.”
Blissful silence follows. Little by little, I unwind my arms from over my head and rise to stand once more.
A figure steps out from behind a mini-mountain-o-bags. Every nerve ending in my body goes on alert.
Bedlam.
“You wish you weren’t the Great Scala?” he asks. “What a coincidence. I want the same thing as well. And you spoke your words at a magical fountain; that gives me just the magical opening I need to move forward.”
“Just because I’m not the Great Scala, that doesn’t mean I’ll marry you.”
“Clearly. But don’t you know how it works with chaos? Quick spells and easy answers are no joy to me. I like to watch things slowly collapse in pain and anarchy.” His glowing eyes narrow.
“Your words allow me to change time. And I’ll throw in a little curse as well, just for fun of watching your spirit break, little by little.”
My heart sinks. Changing actual history is a massive spell; it does require my permission. But I’ve never heard of a caster twisting someone’s words this way.
Then again, he is called the Titan of Chaos. Bedlam somehow stole three signet rings of Eden. Who knows what he can do?
Indigo mist rolls out across the lawn. I try to run, only my feet stay rooted to the spot. Bedlam’s eyes glow more brightly than ever before.
No matter what I try to do, the dark mist crawls up around me, enveloping my body from head to toe. After that, I only sense myself falling through empty space.
The spell is cast.
12
Lincoln
Maxon leans into my side as the music begins.
Little town
It's a quiet village
Every day
Like the one before
He’s watched this film about a hundred times. I figure it’s a healthy obsession. When we’re in Antrum, Maxon gets fed a lot of anti-demonic talk. That makes sense; our people’s purpose is to make Earth safe from demon-kind.
But there are limits. We don’t attack demons who don’t strike at us first. And there are some demonic folks who are valuable allies. The Beast would definitely qualify in this category.
An image appears in my mind. I see the inscription on the stone covering to Bedlam’s lair.
Here rests Bedlam, Titan of Chaos, Lord of the Tumult, and Master of the Curse for Wadget and Ra.
In other words, Bedlam casts the same spell as the enchantress who cursed the Beast in this movie. It’s an interesting idea—and retrograde casting can certainly turn someone beast-like—but Bedlam hasn’t shown any signs of using this particular spell.
I run through the day’s adventures in my mind. So far, Bedlam conjured up a megalodon shark and the Tumult. Neither of those activities qualifies as a full Beauty and the Beast curse. Bedlam also make the Tumult, which combines the human and animal. But is