Angelbound (9 page)

“You’re back early.” She pats the empty spot beside her on the couch, but I’m in no mood for a mother-daughter bonding session.

I stop and pretend that it’s really important to smooth out the folds of my neon orange dress. “It was time to go.”

“Was everyone wearing hoop skirts?” Mom eyes the hem of my gown. “In five minutes, I can sew that hoop back in for you.”

“No one was wearing hoop skirts, Mom.”

She leans forward on the couch. “What happened, Myla-la?”

I launch into a rare sharing session with my mother. This thing with Lincoln was just too strange. I really need some advice. “Well, there was this thrax boy at the party who–”

“Thrax at the party?” All blood drains from Mom’s face. “There can’t be any
thrax at the party.” She races to a nearby table, picking up Zeke’s invitation. “It says right here; the event was for ghouls and demons. Even if they were invited, thrax wouldn’t be within a mile of that place.”

Great. I’ve set off her hair-trigger for worrying. Maybe I can give her some additional information and move onto my question. “I’m telling you, they were at the party. Angels were there too.”

“Angels were there too?!” Mom drops the invite, her hands visibly shaking.

This is not going well. “You
do
realize you’re repeating everything I say?”

“Angels and thrax.” Mom stumbles backwards until she half-falls onto the couch. “That can’t be right.”

“It’s all good. There’s some kind of alliance going on, I think. Thrax, angels, demons, and ghouls…Everybody’s one big happy family.” I give her a look that says ‘now, can we get on to my question?’

“Those four all in the same room.” Mom slowly shakes her head from side to side. “Did they fight? Did any of them touch you? Hurt you?”

“The thrax boy asked me to dance and–”

Whipping up from the couch, Mom races over. Her hands cup either side of my face. “Do you feel alright?” She stares into my eyes like my head will explode.

“Enough, Mom.” I step back, breaking contact with her. Anger and disappointment churn in my belly. I have so had it with her over-protectiveness about nothing. “Look, I get that I’m all you have. I get that you’re worried about me. But I’d appreciate some female advice on what happened with this boy and you’re not listening.”

“This boy?” Her chocolate eyes narrow. “Or, this thrax?”

Unholy moley.

“Forget it, Mom.” I take a few steps toward the front door, pause, and turn back. “You know, maybe I’d rather have latrine duty if it means I can be on my own. Because this–” I motion back and forth between us “–isn’t working.”

Mom’s eyes brim with tears. “Be safe, Myla. That’s all I ask.”

“I know, Mom. That’s the problem.” I storm outside, slamming the front door behind me. Tracking my orange gown through the mud, I pace around our backyard. Why does Mom always have to freak out about every little thing? Sighing, I slump against the back outer wall and stare up at the gray sky. For some reason, it really bothers me tonight that we never see the moon in Purgatory.

Voices echo in from the opened window above my head. It’s Walker and Mom.

“Camilla, we need to talk.” I crouch lower.

“Not if Myla’s here.” I hear rustling noises as she checks the house. “Okay, we’re fine. What’s going on?”

“You can’t hide her forever. Verus knows; she saw it in a vision ages ago. We need to figure out how to introduce Myla to her true heritage.”

I pop my hands over my mouth.
True heritage?
I may actually get some useful intel about who I am tonight. My heart kicks in my chest; excitement pours through me. Yes, yes, YES!

Mom’s voice quivers as she speaks. “It’s not the angels I’m worried about, it’s the ghouls. You know them. If they knew who her father really was, they’d try to
own her.”

Whoa, there.
The ghouls would own me because of my father.
My stomach turns sour. That must mean my dad’s a ghoul. A nasty, rule-loving, worm-eating loser of a ghoul. I grip my elbows. That’s not something I’d ever considered before.

“We can’t change how ghouls react to what they see as theirs,” says Walker. “But we
can
control how the truth comes out.”

Hold the phone. ‘We’ can control? As in Mom and Walker? I knew Mom was always holding out on me, but
Walker knows
? My jaw falls open, my fists plant onto my hips. Okay, he hinted around that he had
some
intel during my last match, but the bloodless bastard knows exactly who I am and he’s never given me a clue.

Mom sucks in a gasp of air. I listen so intently, my head hurts. “What do you mean? Do you think Verus will tell Myla on her own?”

“Yes, I do.”

So, Verus knows too? Is there
anyone
in Purgatory who doesn’t know who I really am? I am so cornering her at my next match, right after I tackle Walker. I want me some answers.

Mom gasps. “I’ll reach out to Verus right away. In the meantime, please keep Myla close to her own people: quasis and ghouls.”

I slump so low against the house, my bum almost hits the mud. Ghouls are my people? Blech.

“Verus is at the Ryder party right now. Perhaps we can seek her out
together?”

“Yes, Walker. I’d like that very much only–”

“Myla can take care of herself for a bit. It won’t take long.”

Mom sighs. “Alright then.” I hear the hiss of a portal being opened, followed by silence.

Leaping to my feet, I pace the muddy backyard for a while, grumbling every expletive I can think of. It’s a good twenty minutes of letting off swear words and steam. Freaking Mom! Lying bastard Walker! Not to mention that sneaky Verus and my mystery deadbeat-ghoul-Dad. My hands curl into fists at my side. Wearing my Fozzie Bear dress, yelling at that pompous thrax, finding out my father’s a lousy ghoul and discovering how everyone around me are a bunch of lying liars…I so need to kill something right now.

That’s when I hear the voice.
Her
voice.

“Hello, Myla.”

Verus is standing behind me right now. Hells freaking bells. Bit by bit, I swing about to see her hovering above our muddy lawn, a soft glow surrounding her long linen robes and white wings.

I say the first thing that comes into my head. “Hey. I’m Myla.”

Her almond-shaped eyes flare blue. “I know who you are. I’ve wanted to talk to you for some time. Your mother and I just agreed that I would.”

She’s standing right there. Verus. Holding all the answers I seek. Every nerve ending in my body goes on alert.
This is it
. “You have to tell me.” My mouth opens, searching for the words.

She raises her arm. “No,
you
have to sleep.” She gently taps the center of my forehead with her pointer finger. Instantly, the word turns to darkness.

***

After that, I dream of white fire.

In my vision, I stand in the Gray Sea of Purgatory, a stretch of charcoal-colored desert that ends in a wall of black stone. Silvery sand dunes ripple and swell around me. Overhead, the sky rolls with storm clouds; silent cracks of yellow lightning strike the horizon. A bitter wind whips through my long brown hair, stinging my cheeks. The scent of sulphur sears my lungs.

Without knowing why, I fall onto my knees and set my palms against the gray sand. A line of white fire erupts on the grains between my hands and then spreads into a giant circle. I stand again, watching the flames crackle by my toes. There is warmth from the fire, but no pain.

Inside the circle of fire, one spot in the sand starts to bubble and churn. A figure rises from that point: a tall woman with great white wings arched behind her shoulders. Her eyes are an exotic almond shape; her hair falls straight and black past her shoulders. All the breath leaves my body.

It’s Verus.

She rises until she hovers above the sands. The wind whips her long white robes and straight black hair. Her blue eyes glow softly, two pale points of turquoise in a gray desert landscape. Her eyes glow brighter, turning into two sharp points of searing blue light. I wince, but can’t turn away. I want to run, but my body won’t budge.

Verus slowly raises her arms, her wings expanding with the movement. The sound of her voice sets the Gray Sea rumbling.

“It is time you knew the identity of your father. I will send you visions of the past.”

I want to say ‘yes’ or ‘thank you,’ but the words won’t come. I guess my agreement to this plan isn’t necessary.

Suddenly, the circle of flame swells, transforming into a wall of white fire that towers over my head. Waves of heat sear my cheeks; my body drips with sweat. I want to run, move, duck, but all I can do is stand perfectly still. The fire crackles brighter; the flames grow larger.

Within seconds, fire surrounds my entire body. That last thing I remember is being consumed by white flame as the world dissolves into darkness.

I open my eyes, waking up not in the backyard but in my own bed. It’s early morning. My orange gown is gone and I wear standard-issue sweats and a tee. I re-fluff my pillow under my head and stare out of my window, trying to process everything that happened. The sky is calm and gray, unlike the rolling thunderheads in my dream. Verus’s words echo through my brain: ‘It is time you knew the identity of your father. I will send you visions of the past.’

My tail grips the edge of my threadbare covers. My body burns with righteous wrath.
Enough is enough; I want me some answers now.
Whipping off the covers, I race into the kitchen.

I find Mom at the kitchen table, hand-sewing the hem of a robe. She doesn’t look up as I enter. “Good morning, my little Myla-la. How’d you sleep?”

I freeze in place. Chilly realization washes over me, cooling my wrath. These random, annoying morning interrogations may not be so random and annoying. “That question.” I set my hands against my rib cage, feeling the cool prickle of gooseflesh under my fingertips. “Is that your way of asking me if an angel has visited me in my dreams?”

Mom looks up from her sewing, her brown eyes glistening with tears. “Yes.” Her voice cracks. “Did one visit you last night?” Desperation hangs about her like a dark cloud. “Please, say yes.”

At her words, all my frustration and anger melts away.
This may be as hard for her as it is for me.
“Yeah.” I plunk down into the chair across from her.

Mom pulls her thread taut. “Was it Verus?”

“Yes.”

“I spoke to her last night. We knew each other before the war.”

“When you were doing what exactly?” Forcing a smile, I motion my hand in small circles, encouraging her to finish the thought.

Mom sighs. “I know you’re frustrated that I don’t discuss my past.” She stares at the fabric in her hands for a time, then sets it onto her lap. “After we argued last night, I went to speak with Verus. She’s seen you in the Arena and wants to help. She has a gift for seeing both the past and future. We agreed that she’ll send you dreams of what happened to me.”

I lean back in my chair. “The way she described it in my dreams, the whole thing seemed a little more dramatic than that.”

“It’s called dreamscaping. A handful of angels and demons have the power to
show you visions of the past or future while you sleep. Other times they can talk to you, communicate with you while you dream. The morning after a dreamscape from Verus, you can come and ask me questions.” She lets out a ragged breath. “That’s the best I can do.”

I work hard to keep my voice low and calm. I’m so close to the answers I need, why all the drama? “Please, Mom. Why not just tell me?”

“Perhaps after Verus shows you some things, you’ll discover the answer to that question on your own.” Her lower jaw quivers.

I liked it better when she fought me on this. A guilty weight settles onto my shoulders. Whatever happened to Mom during the war, it must have been pretty awful. I force another smile. “Look, the dream thing is fine. Thanks for reaching out to Verus.” I reach across the table, wrap her hand in mine. “When will she send me the dreamscapes?”

“I don’t know. Just promise you’ll find me right after they happen.”

“Sure, I will.”

The phone starts to ring. And ring. And ring. Purgatory only gets washed up, ancient technology. In this case, our phone is a heavy brick of a base adorned with a rotary dial and topped by a handset so large, you could use it as a weapon. I watch the contraption vibrate with each deafening ring and grimace. Cissy must have woken up.

Mom dries her eyes with her fingertips. “Are you going to answer that?”

My upper lip curls. “I’d rather not. I have a pretty good idea who it is.” The answering machine kicks on. This thing is a contraption as large as shoebox that
records our missed calls. I’m not sure humans even use crap like this anymore. I never see answering machines on the Human Channel unless I’m catching reruns of
Golden Girls
or
Murder, She Wrote
.

Beep.
The answering machine turns on with a loud click. “Hey Myla, it’s Cissy. I want to talk about the party! Wasn’t it just so magical? Did you see Zeke and me dancing? Call me. We so have to talk.”
Beep.

The edge of Mom’s mouth curls with a grin. “Zeke took an interest at last, eh?”

“Oooooh yeah.” I set my chin on my palm. “I didn’t realize you knew Cissy had a thing for Zeke.”

“Honey, everybody knows Cissy has a thing for Zeke.”

The phone rings again.

Beep.
“Myla, it’s Cissy. Sorry to call again so soon. I know this is my third message–”

Mom picks up her sewing, her smile growing a bit larger. “Actually, Myla, it’s her fifth. She left three last night while you were sleeping.”

I roll my eyes. Great.

Cissy’s voice keeps blaring through the answering machine. “I really-really-really need to talk to you about the party. I have so many questions for you. Love you, sweetie!”
Beep.

I drum my fingers on the tabletop. “Cissy’s a little boy crazy and I can’t handle her right now. Mind if I unplug the machine for the rest of the weekend?”

Mom full-on grins. “Nope.”

***

The weekend decays into a blur of bad reruns from human television, good sugar cereals, and dreading seeing Cissy at school. Monday morning arrives way too soon. Before I know it, I’m slogging through the front doors at Purgatory High. I barely set foot inside the main hallway when Cissy skip-walks toward me, a huge smile on her face.