Angelbound

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.

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