Angelbound Reading Order E-Book

Christina Bauer

• Herausgeber: Monster House Books
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 276

Beschreibung

***This is a FREE guide by the author that lists reading order options. It was created as a gift for readers--beware of inaccurate guides for $$ by copyright infringers!*** 

Get ready for action, romance, fantasy, sass, and a kick-ass chick who fights evil souls in Purgatory’s Arena. I’ve written more than two dozen books in this universe and have plenty more stories to tell.

As many of you know, I’m not a linear thinker. In other words, my books get published out of sequence. Now, for the first time, this guide outlines three different ways to enjoy the extended world of Angelbound, including sample chapters for all published titles!

Whether you're a new reader or looking to experience the story in a fresh way, this series reading order is for you!

-Christina Bauer, author

Leseprobe

ANGELBOUND READING ORDER

AS OF FALL 2022

CHRISTINA BAUER

COPYRIGHT

Newton, MA 02464

www.monsterhousebooks.com

ISBN 978-1-956114-39-3

First Edition

Copyright © 2022 by Monster House Books LLC

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

Welcome

Books By Series

Books By Timeline

Other Series

Angelbound Origins

ANGELBOUND - Description & Sample

SCALA - Description & Sample

ACCA - Description & Sample

THRAX - Description & Sample

THE DARK LANDS - Description & Sample

THE BRUTAL TIME - Description & Sample

ARMAGEDDON - Description & Sample

QUASI REDUX - Description & Sample

CLOCKWORK IGNI - Description & Sample

LADY REAPER - Description & Sample

ANGRY GODS - Information

Angelbound Lincoln

DUTY BOUND - Description & Sample

LINCOLN - Description & Sample

TRICKSTER - Description & Sample

BACULUM - Description & Sample

ANGELFIRE - Description & Sample

RIXA - Description

Angelbound Offspring

MAXON - Description & Sample

PORTIA - Description & Sample

ZINNIA - Description & Sample

RHODES - Description & Sample

KAPS - Description & Sample

MACK - Description & Sample

HUNTRESS - Description & Sample

GAGE - Description & Sample

ARCHENEMY - Book Description

DRAGON BOUND - Book Description

About Christina Bauer

Subscribe

WELCOME

Welcome to the Angelbound world!

Get ready for action, romance, fantasy, sass, and a kick-ass chick who fights evil souls in Purgatory’s Arena. I’ve written more than two dozen books in this universe and have plenty more stories to tell.

As many of you know, I’m not a linear thinker. In other words, my books get published out of sequence. Based on popular demand, this book outlines three ways to enjoy the Angelbound world:

One - By Interest. Pick up whatever books catch your eye! I write each installment so that the opening chapters introduce pertinent world-building.

Two - By Series. The suggestion here is as follows: Angelbound Origins, Angelbound Lincoln, Angelbound Offspring, Angelbound Xavier, and (coming soon) Dragonbound. Read on for a master list of books by series.

Three - By Timeline. Although my books aren’t published in chronological order, they do follow a specific timeline. Read on for that list as well.

As a bonus, I’ve also included sample chapters from each title as well as my favorite extra content.

Thanks as always for your support!

Christina Bauer, author

BOOKS BY SERIES

Angelbound Origins

About a quasi (part demon and part human) girl who loves kicking butt in Purgatory's Arena

1. Angelbound

2. Scala

3. Acca

4. Thrax

5. The Dark Lands

6. The Brutal Time

7. Armageddon

8. Quasi Redux

9. Clockwork Igni

10. Lady Reaper

11. Angry Gods

12. Phantom Corsair

Angelbound Lincoln

The Angelbound experience as told by Prince Lincoln

1. Duty Bound

2. Lincoln

3. Trickster

4. Baculum

5. Angelfire

6. Rixa

7. Mordred

Angelbound Offspring

The next generation takes on Heaven, Hell, and everything in between

1. Maxon

2. Portia

3. Zinnia

4. Rhodes

5. Kaps

6. Mack

7. Huntress

8. Gage

*This is a finished series.

Xavier Trilogy

An archangel story in Myla’s world.

1. Archenemy

2. Archnemesis

3. Archangel

Angelbound Dragonbound

Stories from the dragon lands of Furonium, featuring the extended Angelbound family

1. Dragonbound

BOOKS BY TIMELINE

For every Angelbound Origins book, there will eventually be an Angelbound Lincoln book that follows next on the timeline. Please note that the Lincoln stories are their own adventure!

1. Origins - Angelbound (Book 1)

2. Lincoln - Duty Bound (Book 1)

3. Lincoln - Lincoln (Book 2)

4. Origins - Scala (Book 2)

5. Lincoln - Trickster (Book 3)

6. Origins - Acca (Book 3)

7. Lincoln - Baculum (Book 4)

8. Origins - Thrax – (Book 4)

9. Lincoln - Angelfire (Book 5)

10. Origins - The Dark Lands (Book 5)

11. Lincoln – Rixa (Book 6)

12. Origins - The Brutal Time (Book 6)

13. Lincoln – Mordred (Book 7)

14. Origins - Armageddon (Book 7)

15. Origins - Quasi Redux (Book 8)

16. Origins - Clockwork Igni (Book 9)

17. Origins - Lady Reaper (Book 10)

18. Origins - Angry Gods (Book 11)

19. Offspring - Maxon (Book 1)

20. Offspring - Portia (Book 2)

21. Offspring - Zinnia (Book 3)

22. Offspring - Rhodes (Book 4)

23. Offspring - Kaps (Book 5)

24. Offspring - Mack (Book 6)

25. Offspring - Huntress (Book 7)

26. Offspring - Gage (Book 8)

27. Xavier – Archenemy (Book 1)

28. Archnemesis (Book 2)

29. Archangel (Book 3)

30. Dragonbound (future)

OTHER SERIES

Beyond the Angelbound universe, I have so many series planned, I can’t wait to write them all!

Here are the ones I’ve put to paper so far…

Fairy Tales of the Magicorum

Modern fairy tales with sass, action, and romance

1. Wolves and Roses

2. Moonlight and Midtown

3. Shifters and Glyphs

4. Slippers and Thieves

5. Bandits and Ball Gowns

6. Fire and Cinder

7. Fairies and Frosting

8. Towers and Tithes

9. Mirrors and Mysteries

10. Rapunzels and Powers

Dimension Drift

Dystopian adventures with science, snark, and hot aliens

1. Scythe

2. Umbra

3. Alien Minds

4. ECHO Academy

* This is a finished series

Pixieland Diaries

1. Pixieland Diaries

2. Calla

3. Dare

4. Winter Prince

5. Ley Queen

*This is a finished series.

Beholder 

Where a medieval farm girl discovers necromancy and true love

1. Cursed

2. Concealed

3. Cherished

4. Crowned

5. Cradled

*This is a finished series.

ANGELBOUND ORIGINS

DESCRIPTIONS & SAMPLES

This section includes descriptions and sample chapters for all books in the Angelbound Origins series.

ANGELBOUND - DESCRIPTION & SAMPLE

BOOK 1 OF THE ANGELBOUND ORIGINS SERIES

Angelbound Description

Eighteen year old Myla Lewis is a girl who loves two things: kicking ass and kicking ass. She’s not your every day quasi-demon, half-demon and half-human, girl. For the past five years, Myla has lived for the days she gets to fight in Purgatory’s arena. When souls want a trial by combat for their right to enter heaven or hell, they go up against her, and she hasn’t lost a battle yet.

But as she starts her senior year at Purgatory High, the arena fights aren’t enough to keep her spirits up anymore. When the demons start to act weird, even for demons, and the King of the Demons, Armageddon, shows up at Myla’s school, she knows that things are changing and it’s not looking good for the quasi-demons. Myla starts to question everything, and doesn’t like the answers she finds.

What happened seventeen years ago that turned the quasi-demons into slave labor? Why was her mom always so sad? And why won’t anyone tell her who her father is?

Things heat up when Myla meets Lincoln, the High Prince of the Thrax, a super sexy half-human and half-angel demon hunter. But what’s a quasi-demon girl to do when she falls for a demon hunter? It’s a good thing that Myla’s not afraid of breaking a few rules. With a love worth fighting for, Myla’s going to shake up Purgatory.

Angelbound Book Sample

Myla Lewis, Age Seventeen

It’s been one month, three days, and six hours since I last ‘got my gladiator on’ and battled in the Arena. Not that I’m obsessing or anything. Sure, I can sneak in and watch someone else fight, but that’s a snore.

I roll over on my dingy bed, scooch under the drab covers, and watch the gray drizzle outside my window. Mondays are the pits.

Mom’s voice echoes into my bedroom. “Time to get up! You don’t want to be late for school, do you, honey?”

I roll my eyes. Of course, I want to be late for school.

Raising my head, I open my mouth to say just that, and then decide against it. Instead, I bite my lower lip, yank the pillow over my head and groan. Loudly.

“Don’t make noises at me, young lady.” Mom rustles papers in the kitchen. “I’ve a letter right here. You’re on something called the Official Watch List for Unreasonable Tardiness.” Her footsteps echo down the hall and pause outside my room. “You’ll be suspended from high school at this rate. What do you think about that?”

I peep out from under my pillow. Mom looms in my doorway, her fist set on her hip. She’s a quasi-demon like me, so she resembles a lovely human with a curvy figure, amber skin, chocolate-brown eyes, and chestnut hair that falls in waves over her shoulders. All quasis have a tail; Mom and I both sport the long and pointed variety. The big differences between us are laugh lines, some grey hair and our opinion of what’s ‘dangerous’ for eighteen-year olds.

I fluff the pillow and slide it under my noggin. Being suspended means no school. Maybe even catching a few Arena matches on the sly. I wag my eyebrows. “And suspension would be bad because?”

“I’d make it that way.”

Ugh. She would, too.

Off go my covers. “This is me getting up.”

“Good.” Mom stomps away.

I shower, pull on some sweats, and sleepwalk into the kitchen, seeing the familiar lime-green appliances, mismatched furniture, and peeling linoleum tile. Everything looks peaceful, quiet, and empty. Another typical Monday morning before another average day at school. BO-ring. I’ll have to charm Walker into taking me to the Arena later. Until I’m called to fight again, it’s better than nothing.

A thick white envelope sits at the center of the kitchen table. I scoop up and read: “To the Quasi-Demon, Miss Myla Lewis, 666 Dante Row, Purgatory.” I lick my thumb and run it over the loopy calligraphy. Real ink. My long black tail flicks in a nervous rhythm.

Frowning, I tap the unopened letter against my palm. No one sends me fancy stuff like this. In a blur of motion, my tail darts across my torso, grips the envelope with its arrowhead-shaped end, and tries pulling it from my fingers.

“Hey now!” My tail’s always had a mind of its own. For some reason, it’s decided this letter is dangerous. I jerk the envelope out of reach, but not before one corner gets totally shredded. “Now, look what you did.” My tail slinks behind me to curl guiltily about my ankle.

I reread the outside of the letter. Nothing here to worry about. I am a quasi-demon (mostly human with a little demon DNA). I’ve spent all eighteen years of my life in Purgatory (where human souls get judged for Heaven or Hell, aka the most boring place in the history of ever). This letter’s like dozens of others that hit our doorstep each week. Why’s my tail on a mission to trash this thing?

I stare at the words again, feeling like they should read: “Open this to turn your life upside-down and your heart into mush.”

Clearly, I’m having an off-morning.

I slip the envelope-slash-time-bomb into my mangy backpack. I’ll read it later at school.

Mom steps into the kitchen. “How’s my sweet baby, Myla-la?” Yes, I’m eighteen years old and Mom still uses pet names from when I was three.

“I’m good.” I open a cabinet and pull down a box of Frankenberry cereal.

Mom eyes my every movement, her forehead creasing with worry.

“Did you sleep well last night, Myla?”

Oh, no. Here it comes. I square my shoulders and mentally prepare my ‘I’m so very-very caaaaaaalm’ voice. “Absolutely.” Nailed it.

“Any bad dreams?”

“Nope.” The ‘calm voice’ isn’t working so well this time.

“Hmm.” She taps her cheek. “Met anyone lately? Made any new friends?”

I grit my teeth. All my mornings start off with maternal interrogations like this one. I find it’s best to give soothing, one-word answers. “Negative.”

“No friends at all?”

“Only the same one since first grade.” I raise my spoon for emphasis. “Cissy.”

“That’s good.” She offers me a shaky grin. “You’re safe.”

I shoot her a hearty thumbs-up. Today’s cross-examination ended relatively quickly; maybe Mom’s getting less overprotective. A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“More than safe.” I speed-chop the air, karate-style. “I’m a lean, mean, Arena-fighting machine.” Wincing, I freeze mid-chop. How could I be so dumb? Mom loses her freaking mind whenever I say the word ‘Arena.’

There’s a pause that lasts a million years while Mom stares at me, her face unreadable. Finally, she moves. But, instead of jumping around in hysterics, she flips about and rifles through cabinets in search of a coffee mug.

Wait a second.

This morning Mom cut her interrogation short and she didn’t panic when I said the word ‘Arena.’ I wind my lips into an even-wider grin. Sweeeet. Things could be changing, after all.

Leaning back in my chair, I watch Mom pour coffee. I know she goes overboard because it’s just me, her, and this nasty gray ranch house. I have no brothers, sisters, or straight answers about who my father is, except that he’s some kind of diplomat. Add it all up and Mom’s a wee bit clingy.

Or, at least, she used to be. I drum my fingers on the Formica. A less overprotective Mom opens up all sorts of possibilities. I could watch more matches. I could fight in more matches. I could develop interests in things other than the Arena.

Eh, maybe it’s a ‘no’ on that last thing.

Mom slides into the chair across from mine, her large brown eyes watching me through the wisps of steam curling from her mug. “Want a ride to school today? I don’t mind waiting outside the door.” A muscle twitches at the corner of her eye. “You know, in case anything happens.”

My heart sinks to my toes. Then again, maybe Mom’s worse than ever.

“Uhhhh.” My mouth falls so far open, some Frankenberry rolls off my tongue and onto the tabletop. Did she really offer to stand outside school all day long ‘in case anything happens?’ Cissy told me how parents get extra-twitchy during senior year. A shiver rattles my spine. My Mom plus ‘extra-twitchy’ equals a huge nightmare.

I force a few deep breaths. “Thanks for the offer.” It’s getting really hard to keep my ‘calm voice’ handy. “I’ll pass this time.”

Suddenly, the air crackles with energy. A black hole seven feet high and four feet wide appears in the center of the kitchen.

Out of the void steps a ghoul.

My fingers twiddle in his direction. “Hey, Walker.” Technically, he’s named WKR-7, but I’ve called him Walker for as long as I can remember.

“Good morning.” Walker nods his skull-like head. If he were a few inches taller, the movement would knock his cranium through ceiling, and he’s on the short side for a ghoul. It’s a mystery how Walker and the rest of the undeadlies handle an eternity of being so crazy-tall.

Walker pulls back his low-hanging hood, showing pale, almost colorless skin and a strong bone structure. He sports the same hairstyle from the day he died: a brush cut with sideburns and no beard. Great black eyes peep at me from deep sockets.

I grin. It’s nice to have Walker around. Most ghouls are obsessed with rules and act irritating as Hell. But Walker? He pushes boundaries like a pro, especially when it comes to sneaking me into the Arena. Having him around is like having a cute and somewhat sneaky older brother, only one without a pulse.

“Be careful, Myla.” Walker’s thin lips droop into a frown. “That’s no way to greet your overlords. I don’t mind, but other ghouls could send you to a re-education camp.”

I roll my eyes. Purgatory is one massive bureaucracy with the charm of suburbia and the fun of a minimum-security prison. All the work’s done by unpaid quasis like me (we’re not allowed to call ourselves ‘prisoners’). Ghouls keep us in line and make sure we’re–cough, cough–super happy in our service.

I’m ready to complain about all this to Walker for the millionth time when Mom pipes into the conversation.

“Greetings, my beloved overlord.” She’s laying it on thick to make up for my sloppy hello. “Want some decaf?” She bows.

Walker nods; ghouls love java.

Mom picks up one of Walker’s loopy sleeves, rubbing the fabric between her fingertips. “This is a little threadbare. Are you here for a new one?” All quasis must perform a service; Mom sews and mends robes. It could be worse. My friend Cissy’s mom is a ghoul proctologist.

“No, thank you.” Walker eyes the coffee pot greedily.

Mom hands him a full mug marked ‘Afterlife’s Greatest Ghoul.’ Her chocolate eyes nervously scan his face. “What service do you require then?”

Walker frowns. “Myla must battle in the Arena today.”

A huge grin spreads across my face. When human souls reach Purgatory, they’re given a choice: trial by jury, or trial by combat. Based on the result, they end up either happily floating around Heaven or having their souls consumed in Hell. If the human selects a trial by jury, then it’s someone else’s problem. But if they choose combat–and the combatant in question is totally evil–then someone like Walker ends up in the kitchen of someone like me. I’m one of a few dozen quasis who kick butt. Literally.

I jump to my feet and clear off my bowl. “Now, this is what I call a Happy Monday.”

Mom steps back. “You’re sending Myla off to fight today? You can’t.” She leans against the countertop for support. “Every time she goes, she risks her life.” A muscle twitches by her mouth. “Those battles are to the death.”

I stifle a moan. Mom always focuses on the whole ‘to the death’ thing like it’s the first time she’s learned how matches work. Hell, I’ve battled in the Arena since I was twelve and have yet to get a scratch. You’d think the drama would tone down over the years.

Panting, Mom points to a tattered calendar by the door. “My little one fought a month ago. She serves once every three months, right?”

I raise my hand. “It’s not a problem. I’m up for this. Totally.”

Mom flashes me a desperate look. “I know that.” She grips the countertop like she’ll pull it out of the wall. “Please, Walker, tell me it’s a mistake.”

Walker’s black eyes fill with understanding. “Myla must serve today. There’s a spike in Arena matches; all fighters have extra battles.”

Mom stares at Walker, her jaw grinding out silent rebuttals. After a few moments, she presses her palms to her face, a low sigh escaping her lips. I frown. She’s hitting a new level of drama this morning.

Walker shoots me the barest wink. I fight the urge to smile, knowing it means one thing: there’s no across-the-boards spike in Arena matches. Purgatory must have an uber-evil soul on their hands, the worst of the absolute worst, and they need their best fighter on it.

That would be me.

Mom shakes her head from side to side. “All those demons and angels. Promise me, you’ll keep her away from ‘danger.’” She puts special emphasis on the word ‘danger.’

“I always do, Camilla.”

Mom releases her death-grip from the counter. “Of course.”

My back teeth lock. Mom’s always going on about protecting me from angels and demons. The demons I understand, but angels? Come on.

I zip up my gray hoodie. “Time to trash some evildoers.” Stepping to Walker’s side, I wait for transport to the Arena.

Mom’s hand lightly touches her throat. “Be safe!”

“I’ll be super-safe, don’t you worry.”

“And don’t be late for school.”

I slap on a smile. “On it, Mom.”

Walker bows his head. “Stand back, I’ll summon a portal.” A new black hole appears in the center of the kitchen. I glance into the darkness, feeling the Frankenberry in my belly come up for a repeat performance. Using a portal feels like tumbling through empty space with a killer case of the stomach flu. Helpful safety tip: hold a ghoul’s hand or you’ll fall forever.

Taking a deep breath, I grab Walker’s chilly fingers so tightly, I’d cut off his blood flow, if he had any. Together, we step into the portal, topple through nothingness, and walk out again onto the sandy earth of the Arena floor. I try my best to look ready-for-battle instead of ready-to-puke.

Walker offers me a sympathetic glance. “Shall we find a place to sit?”

“Nah, I’m fine, thanks.” I scan the open-air stadium around me. The Arena’s a nasty old ruin, all chipped gray rock and busted sandstone columns. How the place stays upright is a total mystery. The fighting floor is one huge uneven clod of dirt, the bleachers are basically rubble, and the entire top level looks ready to collapse.

I freaking love it here.

The stands lie open and empty, except for a few quasis. They’re all fighters like me, trying to catch someone else’s match. Mom used to attend too, but all the moaning and gasping got so out of hand, she was banned ages ago. I can’t say I was bummed. Nothing like having your Mom yell ‘Baby, don’t diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie’ when you’re twelve and fighting a demon for the first time.

A gravelly voice echoes through the air. “Greetings, slave.” The word ‘slave’ is said with particular venom.

Every muscle in my body goes on alert. I’d know that voice anywhere, and I absolutely loathe its owner. I scrape lint from under my fingernails and pretend not to notice the seven-foot tall ghoul looming behind me.

Walker steps between us. “Greetings, SKE-12.”

My mouth winds into a mischievous grin. “Hey, Sharkie.’” SKE-12 hates his nickname, so I work it into every encounter.

Sharkie frowns. “My name is SKE-12, slave.”

Walker sets his hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me so I stand face-to-navel with Sharkie, master of Arena ceremonies and all-around dickhead. He hasn’t changed a bit since my last match, not that ghouls often do. He’s gray-skinned with large coal-black eyes, a skull-like hole for a nose, and teeth that have been filed to tiny points. His long silver robes hang in tatters; a tall black staff is gripped in his bony hand.

Walker gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Myla was just about to greet her ghoul overlord properly, weren’t you, Myla?” Standing next to Sharkie, even Walker looks vertically challenged.

“My bad.” I bow extra-low. “Greetings, SKE-12.”

His buggy black eyes narrow into slits. Sharkie always knows when I’m making fun of him, and it drives him crazy. “I’ll have no mischief from you today.”

I bow again, even lower this time. “Yes, I’m fresh out.”

Sharkie turns to Walker, his black eyes flaring bright red. “Control her.” His gaze swings back to me. “We’ve an especially evil human soul fighting today. I hope to watch you die at last.”

I pick something off my molar with my pinky. “I’m sure you do.”

Sharkie steps closer, his pointy teeth click-clacking as he speaks. “The soul you fight today is so evil, the angels have begged the Great Scala to stand by, ready to transport him to Hell the moment he’s defeated. Which will never happen.” He leans in closer. “You. Are. Doomed.”

My brows pop up. Normally, the Scala migrates tons of souls at once in what’s called an iconigration. For this guy to get solo treatment, he must be a SUPER nasty. Fun. “Bring it on, Shar–.”

Walker grabs my elbow. “Look, Myla! Your friends are here!” He points across the stadium floor. “We must depart.” He bows once more to Sharkie. “Excuse us.” As we speed-walk away, Walker whispers in my ear. “If I weren’t already dead, I’d have had a heart attack just now.”

“Eh, Sharkie’s harmless.”

“Because I placate him for you.” He shoots me a sly look. “Why must you always taunt him?”

“Not sure.” I shrug. “It’s a hobby.” A few yards ahead stands a ghoul named XP-22, and a hovering green blob that’s Sheila, the Limus demon.

I shoot Sheila a friendly wave. “Hey Shiel, how are the kids?” Sheila’s nice, so long as you don’t stand close enough for her to swallow you whole. XP-22, on the other hand, is a total drip. I don’t even glance in his direction.

“The kids are good, Myla, getting bigger every day…Just like you.” Sheila’s entire body shivers, which is a little scary since she’s six feet tall, three feet wide, and has fourteen red eyes the size of tennis balls. “It seems like yesterday you were twelve and about to fight your first demon.” Her huge gaping mouth twists into a grin. “How old are you now, honey?”

“Eighteen.”

A blob-like arm stretches out from Sheila’s side, lengthening into a gooey hand with eighteen long fingers. “Almost grown up! Have you been assigned your service yet?” ‘Assigning your service’ is ghoul-speak for locking a quasi into a life-long job after high school. We’re not allowed to call it ‘prison labor.’ I shiver. There are some mighty foul careers out there too, like the infamous anal probe development lab.

Before I can reply to Sheila’s question, Sharkie thumps his staff against the ground.

Here we go.

* * *

End of sample

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SCALA - DESCRIPTION & SAMPLE

BOOK 2 OF THE ANGELBOUND ORIGINS SERIES

Scala Description

Nineteen-year-old Myla Lewis has transformed into Great Scala, the only being with the power to move souls out of Purgatory and into Heaven or Hell. Trouble is, a magical object called Lucifer’s Orb is limiting Myla’s abilities. If she tries to move a soul, the Orb’s forcing her to send that spirit straight to Hell.

So, what’s a girl to do? Send innocents to the fiery down-under?

No way. Myla’s gone on a supernatural strike. No souls go anywhere until the Orb’s history. It’s the right thing to do, but Purgatory’s Soul Storage buildings are turning into time bombs. No spirits are moving out, while millions keep coming in. Myla’s determined to find the Orb and send the innocent to Heaven, but she’s running out of time. Soon, the containment fields will burst, releasing a mob of homicidal ghosts.

With Soul Storage ready to explode, Myla’s got enough on her plate without her old enemy, Lady Adair, causing problems. Adair is launching an ingenious campaign to take away everything that Myla holds dear, including Myla’s Angelbound love, Prince Lincoln.

Between their clever ideas and toe-curling kisses, Myla and Lincoln are fighting back. But will they beat the clock or lose everything to Adair’s devious schemes?

Scala Book Sample

Myla Lewis

Ring, ring, ring. Five o’clock in the morning and my kitchen phone won’t shut the Hell up.

A dull ache of worry pulses through my drowsy brain. Someone calling at this hour? Most likely, it’s bad news.

I sleep-shuffle into the kitchen. Yawning, I pick up the receiver and set it to my ear. “Myla Lewis speaking.”

“Is this the Great Scala?” The voice is young, female, and borderline hysterical.

My anxiety level kicks up a notch. Based on that tone? Definitely bad news.

“Yup. That’s me.” I only gained my Scala powers a few months ago, but already, my old Myla Lewis self is fading into the background. People only want to talk to the Great Scala, the sole being who can move souls to Heaven or Hell. Most assume that Myla’s my nineteen-year-old secretary or something. It’s really weird.

I stifle another yawn. “What’s going on?”

“I’m calling about the eighteen million souls in Ghost Tower Six.”

“No, you’re not. There are 3,325,932 souls in Ghost Tower Six. 18,873,264 in all of Purgatory.” Give or take a few. Since it’s my job to move them all to Heaven or Hell, I like to keep tabs on these things. “Still, that didn’t answer my question. What’s the problem?”

“Code-red failure, Great Scala. Ghost Tower Six is ready to blow.”

Now, I’m wide-the-fuck-awake. Ghost Towers keep angry, confused and homicidal spirits off the streets while we sort them into Heaven or Hell. There hasn’t been a code-red failure in ten years. Electric jolts of panic course along every nerve ending I’ve got. I grip the receiver so tightly, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap in two.

“When did this start?”

“Thirty minutes ago. Your phone rang and rang.”

My mouth falls open with a mixture of rage and shock. “A half-hour ago? Why didn’t you send a runner to my house? I live two blocks from your Tower.”

“The rules say to call you on a code-red. Please don’t be angry with me. Please don’t—”

“Send you to Hell? No, I won’t.” Though, I’m sorely tempted. “I’ll be right over.”

“Thank you, Great Scala, thank you, thank you. May I say how honored I am to have been able to—”

Thus begins the usual kiss-assery that comes with being a demi-goddess. For the first few weeks it was fun, now it’s a major time suck. And I have a Ghost Tower about to explode and release three million homicidal spirits all over Purgatory. I hang up without saying goodbye and high-tail over to the Tower.

The building is almost in my backyard, but even if it wasn’t, Ghost Tower Six would still be easy to find. The place is massive, rectangular, windowless and made of concrete. I rush towards the only door, a round metal portal. A stocky guard in ninja-style body armor stands nearby. Like all natives of Purgatory, the guard and I are quasis, a mix of human and demon.

I shoot him a quick wave. “Hey, Harold.”

“Great Scala, thank Heavens you’ve come.” Harold sets his bare palm onto an input pad by the door. A series of clicks sound as the locks release. “It’s a code-red failure.”

“I know, buddy. I’m on it.”

A muscle twitches by Harold’s eye. “The Cloud Carriers are close to rupture. Maybe we should follow the ghoul-rules and—”

“If you say move the souls to Hell, I’ll kick you in the kneecaps.” Since I grew up fighting demons gladiator-style in Purgatory’s Arena, those kicks would hurt, too.

Harold’s face takes on a terrified look that I can only describe as ‘please don’t send me to Hell’. “I meant no disrespect, Great Scala.” He keeps standing there, cowering and not opening the door.

“You. Open. Portal. Now.”

“Yes, Great Scala. Right away, Great Scala.”

Sure, I could scold Harold for even suggesting Hell, but it wouldn’t do any good. Twenty years ago, the King of Hell invaded our lands, toppled the Quasi Republic, killed off anyone with a brain or spine, and set up ghouls as a puppet government. For the next two decades, the ghouls brainwashed quasis like Harold into mindless, submissive, rule-worshiping slaves. I kicked the ghouls out, but their brainwashing has stayed.

At last, the round portal swings open. I hurry inside.

The interior of the Ghost Tower is a concrete shell, noisy as Hell and empty of anything solid. There’s a Control Room about halfway up the wall. Wardens stand at each corner, all of them in simple white uniforms. It’s what fills this empty space that always takes my breath away. From floor to ceiling, the open air holds a shifting array of what look like clouds. They’re actually huge vessels that enclose souls in a misty containment field. We call them Cloud Carriers.

The Lead Warden, Celia, steps to my side, her lion’s tail twitching anxiously behind her. All quasis have an animal tail along with a power across the seven deadly sins. Celia’s is wrath. I have two deadly-sin powers—lust and wrath—as well as a long, thin dragon-scale tail. Totes badass.

Celia yells to me over the din of our power generators. “So sorry to drag you in here again.”

I shout back my reply. “No worries.”

Total Lie. In truth, there’s a ton to worry about. The Towers have had nine code-orange failures in the last week alone.

“The Carriers are unstable again,” explains Celia quickly. “It’s never been this bad.”

“How do the reports look?”

“Fine.” Celia pulls an electronic tablet from her pocket. “Perfect, even.” Her features turn wide-eyed and pleading. “Are you sure you won’t follow the ghoul-rules? Our old Masters were often very wise. Maybe the ghouls left the Orb here for a reason.”

At the very mention of Lucifer’s Orb, my hands ball into angry fists. I kick the ghouls out of Purgatory and what do they do? Hide the ultimate source of demonic magic in my homeland so I can only send souls to Hell. Screw them.

“We’ve been through this before,” I reply. Celia opens her mouth, but I shut off her standard speech before she starts. “I know what you’re about to say. A million new souls enter Purgatory each month. We’re running out of places to put them, and that’s why the Towers are ready to burst. But once I send a soul somewhere, even I can’t take it back.” I fold my arms over my chest. “I won’t send innocents to Hell.”

* * *

End of sample

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