Angelbound (39 page)

One thought keeps churning through my mind: at this moment, somewhere in Hell, Xavier’s being tortured. All because he saved my mother’s life; my life too. Even though I’m deep asleep, I know my face streams with tears.

I wake up to the electronic howl of my alarm clock. Bit by bit, I open my eyes and stretch. My pillow’s damp against my cheek. That was one hell of a dreamscape. How do I even
begin
to talk to Mom about this?

My backpack’s propped against my bedroom wall. I stare at it for a moment. This chat should wait until after school, for both our sakes. I take a deep breath, throw on some sweats and walk into the kitchen. Mom sits at the table, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. Her mouth is a thin line.

I forgot. I’m in deep trouble.

“Good morning.” I speed across the room and pretend to be super-interested in the cabinet on the opposite wall.

Mom’s fingernails tap her porcelain mug. “What happened to you last night? This had better be good.”

I remember Lincoln’s kisses and smile.
It was ‘wake up your lust demon’ good.

“Like I said last night, Cissy and I went to a party.” I move cereal boxes back
and forth on a shelf. “It was at the Ryder mansion. Things ran late. I didn’t want you to worry, so I didn’t tell you everything about it.” I cross my fingers and set them on my belly.
Please let her move on without asking the obvious question.

“And what
exactly
didn’t you mention?” My shoulders slump. She asked the obvious question.

I start organizing the cereal boxes in alphabetical order, careful to keep my back toward my mother. If she sees my super-guilty face, I’m done for. I steel my shoulders. “Cissy and Zeke were the only other quasis there.”

Mom gasps. “So, who
was
at the Ryder mansion?”

My face screws up into the mutha of all winces. “Thrax.” Here it comes.

A thunk sounds as Mom slams her coffee cup onto the table. “Not that thrax boy you met at Zeke’s some months back?” What a memory she has. She must keep a list of every angel and thrax I’ve ever laid eyes on. “Did he touch you?”

I can’t help but smile. “We kind of touched each other, Mom. And it was Prince Lincoln. He’s the same boy I met at Zeke’s party.”

“Noooo!”

Mom’s scream rattles my spine. I grip a box of cereal so hard, some of it spills onto the counter. I force myself to breathe slowly.
Remember what she’s been through, Myla.
My voice comes out calm and level. “Verus showed me why you worry, Mom. I know you’re scared someone will drag me off like Armageddon did to Xavier. But Lincoln would never do anything like that.”

Mom’s voice is raw and low. “Verus told you NOTHING.” She rushes over and grips my arm, spinning me about.

I inhale a sharp breath. “Calm down, Mom. You’re scaring me.”

“Please don’t let it be happening.” She grips my face between her palms, forcing me to stare directly into her eyes. Her face contorts with panic. “Sweet Satan, no!” She releases me and staggers back a few feet, her hand at her throat.

My shoulders knot with fear and frustration. I’ve never seen Mom act this way before. Maybe she’s having some kind of an episode, like a heart attack or stroke? I rush to her side. “What is it, Mom? Are you okay?”

Mom covers her mouth with her left hand, her right points to our bathroom. “Go see for yourself.”

My body numbs with shock. I have never, ever seen Mom this extreme before. The skin along my neck prickles. “Okay, Mom. I’ll look. It’ll be fine.” I guide her to the couch, and then walk into the bathroom.

As I step across the ratty living room carpet, the world seems to move in slow motion. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. Every breath feels forced and tight.
Don’t let Mom freak you out. This is another nothing she’s worrying about, just like all the rest.
I step into the bathroom and glance at my image in the mirror.

Now it’s my turn to start hyperventilating.

Shaking my head, I blink over and over, testing my senses. But the image in the glass does not change. I claw at the reflection, trying to scrape away what I see. It can’t be right:

My eyes have always been chocolate brown. This morning, they’re both turquoise blue.
Angel blue.

Unholy Hell.

I stagger back into the living room. “What’s going on, Mom?” My mind speeds through possibilities, each one worse than the last. Did Gianna cast a spell on me at the ball? Is my lust demon short-circuiting my eye sockets? Panic zings through my nervous system. Whatever this is, it is B-A-D.

Mom leaps to her feet. “Walker, where are you?” She paces the grimy carpet, screaming for Walker like she’ll bust her windpipe. My pulse quickens.

A portal opens by the front door. Walker steps through, his long black robes swaying. “This is highly irregular, Camilla. What do you require?”

Mom points at me, her arm trembling. “Look at her, Walker.”

Lowering his dark cowl, Walker steps to my side. His black button eyes stare directly into mine for a moment, the ghost of a smile winding his mouth. “We knew it would happen sometime, Camilla.”

I exhale a long breath. Whatever weirdness this is, it doesn’t scare Walker. I scan his face, seeing a combination of excitement, concern, and pride. If this isn’t a totally bad thing, what is it?

Mom rounds on him, her eyes flaring red. “No, Walker. We did
not
know this would happen. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve lived
my life
to avoid this day.”

Hmm. Mom’s in fury mode while Walker is concerned but pleased. This mystery morning is getting downright annoying. I set my fists on my hips. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Walker turns to Mom. He speaks in his own version of the ‘I’m so very very caaaaaaalm’ voice. “Camilla, I’m unable to break my vow of silence without your permission. May I have it so I can explain things to Myla?”

“Absolutely not!” A muscle twitches by Mom’s mouth. “Don’t say a word, Walker. Just portal her out of here.” Mom’s words remind me of something she said in my dreamscape last night.
Don’t do it, Xavier. Just get out of here.

I freeze.

Memories whirl through my brain. The casual way Mom invited Tim for drinks. The calm words she used to describe their falling-out. The lack of kisses, goo-goo eyes, and any flirty energy between them, period.

So not like Xavier. A shiver rattles my shoulders. Suddenly, it’s obvious why my eyes are angel blue.
Xavier is my father and Mom lied to me in a big way.
My blood boils with anger. I turn to my mother, my voice low and creepy-calm.

“Tim is not my father. You two never even kissed, did you?”

Mom’s voice catches in her throat. “That’s not true.” She half-collapses onto the couch. “TIM-29 is your father, Myla.”

Rage whirls up my spine.
Enough already.
“I know you’re lying to me, Mom. Xavier
is
my father.”

She chokes out one word. “No.”

My blue eyes narrow. “Let’s see, then. All quasis have brown eyes that flare red. Angel eyes glow blue.” I give my chin a few dramatic taps. “My eyes turn red when I’m in wrath-mode. If my father’s an angel, then they’ll glow blue when I feel love.”

Mom clutches the couch’s frayed armrests. “Myla, don’t do anything silly.”

That settles it. Closing my eyes, I picture Lincoln standing at the Ryder fountain, describing how I burst out of the lake, killing Doxy demons and laughing.
From that day on, I’ve thought of you.
I remember how his mismatched eyes glistened, how delicious his mouth felt on mine. A pleasant chill settles onto my skin. Odd electric sensations zing about my fingertips. I open my eyes once again.

“Myla, stop!” Mom gasps. “No one can see you like this.”

Mom lectures on and on about hiding my glowing blue eyes, but I barely hear her. Instead, my attention’s locked on the now-pleasant feeling of power that lingers around my fingers. The electric sensation expands and changes until it’s a thousand tiny voices calling to me, some singing, others laughing, all of them aching to be brought to life. It’s hypnotic. I glance around the room; Mom and Walker are lost in conversation. Only I can hear the little voices.

I’m dimly aware that Walker sits down beside Mom. Some of his words break through the haze in my brain. “Camilla, there’s no point pretending any more. Her eyes are glowing bright blue.”

Mom lets out a ragged breath. “Yes, Myla. Your father is Xavier. You were right about Tim. We never even held hands.”

It’s the confession of my lifetime, but I only half-hear her. My focus is still drawn to those little voices and the power behind them. I raise my hand before my face, flipping my palm front to back, over and over. My mouth seems to speak without my willing it. “I have the blood of an angel, demon, and human in me.” Memories flip through my mind: using the baculum with Lincoln…Understanding Latin during the Scala initiation…Lightning strikes when I felt strong emotions…And my eyes turning blue after kissing someone with angel blood.

The voices grow louder, wrapping my consciousness in their calming words and lovely music. Their desire to take physical form becomes almost overwhelming. Suddenly, it’s clear who they are: igni.

And who I am as well.

My voice comes out low and dreamy. “I’m the Scala Heir.” At those words, an igni materializes before my palm: a single small bolt of white light that shimmers with beauty and strength. Part of me knows I should be terrified at the sight. Instead, I’m calmed as more and more igni appear by my hand, and then swim around my palm like a school of fish.

Around me, the world fades into a dreamy haze as the igni multiply, soaring and diving around each other in their dance around my fingertips. Their many songs unify into one voice, taking on clear words and meaning. They sing of souls soaring to a Heavenly afterlife that’s beyond even the angels. They soothe me with calm words, helping me to accept their power and light. And they warn me: ‘now you must discover how and why your powers hidden for so long. Your next step will then be clear.’

After that, they all disappear.

I lower my hand, staggering backwards until I lean against the living room wall. My breathing is ragged and tight. I can’t seem to suck in enough air. My body turns numb with shock. Did that really happen? I force in slow breaths until my mind clears. The living room comes back into focus. Mom and Walker sit side by side on the couch, neither one moving.

Minutes pass until Walker bows his head, his voice solemn and low. “The
Scala Heir.”

Mom grips her hands at her waist, her eyes wild with panic. “It’s not too late, Myla. Maxon Bane has lived almost a thousand years; he may live a thousand more. You always had the potential to become the Scala Heir, but you did
not
need to be awakened, let alone angelbound. Now that it’s happened, you can still hide. Go anywhere. Run. Now. No one will know that you’ve changed.”

I stare into her red-rimmed eyes, emotions battling inside me. There’s frustration that she’s still treating me like a child. Anger at having been lied to for a lifetime. Pity for everything she went through with the war and Xavier. Fear at what will happen now that I’ve changed into the Scala Heir. Tension crawls up my body. One thing is for certain: no matter what path the future takes, I’m in for a long fight.

At that realization, my mouth rounds with the smallest of smiles. A fight like that? Sounds like a challenge. And I’m always up for a challenge.

Mom leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Did you hear me Myla? You have to hide. Anywhere.”

Stepping away from the wall, I move to stand before Mom and Walker. My voice comes out low and strong. “That’s not your decision anymore, Mom. From now on,
I
make the choices about my future. And to do that, I need some answers.” I remember what the igni told me: I must understand why and how all this happened.

Mom slumps further into the couch; her eyes lock on the floor.

I kneel before her, taking her hand in mine. “How long have you known I was
the Scala Heir?”

Mom looks away, biting her bottom lip. My eyes narrow. I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer this time.

I give her hand a squeeze. “I understand what happened with Xavier and Armageddon. Verus showed me in a dreamscape last night. I know you’re frightened about losing me the way you lost my father. But I need you to be strong now, like you were as a Senator. I need you to answer my questions. How long have you known I was the Scala Heir?”

Mom’s lower lip trembles. “After Armageddon took Xavier, I never saw your father again. Three months later you were born.”

“Three months?” I wince. “That can’t be right.”

Mom inhales a shaky breath. “The Scala Heir develops faster than other children until age three. It’s the earliest they can transfer souls. I knew you were the Heir before you were born.” I imagine Mom in a post-war world, pregnant and alone. I let out a long sigh. At least she had Walker. I turn to him.

“Did you also know I was the Scala Heir?”

“Yes. Your mother told me.” He sets a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’d sworn to your father to protect her and follow her orders in all things.”

I nod softly. Walker probably took some kind of sacred angelic oath. Those are unbreakable. I swing my attention back to Mom. “And that’s when you decided to hide me?” She must have been terrified that my true identity would be revealed. No end to the list of nasties that would want to control me. Or in Armageddon’s case, kill me.

“I tried to conceal you.” She smiles. “But from the time you were little, it was clear you had your father’s nature. Battle-ready. Fearless. Drawn to demon fighting like steel to a magnet. You were always sneaking into Arena matches, keeping notes on different types of demons and how best to kill them.” Her brown eyes brighten with pride. “Your father cast the last demons from Heaven, you know.”

I smile. “Yes, I learned that in a dreamscape.”

Crouching back on my heels, I try letting the truth soak in: my father’s an archangel. That’s a mind blower. I would’ve been thrilled to
meet
an archangel in my lifetime, let alone be related to one. And now I’m the only child that Xavier has fathered in all of eternity. Whoa. Mom starts to speak, interrupting my thoughts.