Armageddon (Angelbound) by Christina Bauer
Chapter One
In my dream, I’m enveloped in total darkness. Terrified weeping echoes in my ears. The voices are shrill, soul-numbing, and relentless. They’re also oddly familiar.
Could that be my igni?
My igni make me the Great Scala, the only being who can move souls to Heaven or Hell. They’re also my personal alarm system, chattering mostly-unintelligible advice in times of danger. That said, they only babble warnings when I’m wide awake, and they always answer me when I call to them.
Not in this nightmare, though.
Whenever I call to the voices here, no one answers me. It’s irritating and not a little bit freaky. Steeling my shoulders, I decide to try once more.
“Are you crying, my little ones?” My words echo strangely in the heavy dark.
I hold my breath, anxious for any reply. None comes. The weeping only grows louder, until the voices gain the sharp, panicky edge of screams.
That’s it. No one’s going to answer me, yet again. My eyes prickle with tears of frustration and grief. Why won’t these dreams stop? And if it’s my igni crying, then why don’t they speak to me?
At last, I wake with a gasp. Beads of cold sweat drip down the small of my back, making me shiver.
Man, that nightmare was rough.
My husband Lincoln leans over me, his body weight propped onto his right arm. “Is everything okay?” His mismatched eyes are wide with worry. “You were thrashing around in your sleep.”
I force my breathing to slow. Calm down, Myla. It’s early morning and you’re safe in bed at Arx Hall. Everything is fine.
“I had another bad dream, that’s all.”
Lincoln gently kisses my forehead. “That’s the third time this week. You’re working way too hard.”
“So are you, Your Highness.”
“You know what I mean. I’m King of the Thrax and father to the most rambunctious three-year old in the after-realms. That’s already a lot. But you’ve got all that and Soul Processing to manage.” He pins me with a worried look. “You don’t take care of yourself, Myla.”
Unfortunately, I know exactly where the ‘take care of yourself’ conversation goes. Doctors. Physicals. Needles. Not good.
I slap on what I hope is an über-healthy smile. “I’m part demon. I don’t have to take care of myself and I still look fabulous.”
A long pause follows in which Lincoln’s frown stays firmly in place. “If that was a joke, I didn’t find it humorous.”
“Hey, it was just another bad dream. No big deal.”
Total lie. These nightmares are driving me crazy, not that I’ll admit the truth to Lincoln. When I got pregnant with Maxon, I went through months of painful physicals that involved tons of needles, potions and prodding. At the end, the doctors decided they didn’t know dick about a pregnant Scala and all the hullabaloo was for nothing. I have avoided the entire medical community ever since. I intend to keep on doing so for the foreseeable future.
Lincoln glides his fingertips along my temple. “Did you have the same dream as last time?”
“All darkness and screaming, yeah.” A shiver rolls across my shoulders as I recall the terrified howls that overwhelmed my sleep. “I think it’s my igni.”
“Igni? But they never contact you in your dreams.”
“I know, right? At first, I thought they were so upset, they couldn’t wait for me to wake up or something. Like it’s easier to reach me asleep.”
Lincoln nods. “That makes sense. A good amount of magical communication—like dreamscaping—can only happen when you’re sleeping. I’d imagine your igni might find it easier to talk in dreams, especially if they’re overwrought.”
“That’s what I thought, too. Only, in my dreams, the voices don’t answer me when I call to them. And my igni always answer me, even if I can’t understand most of what they say.” I let out a frustrated huff of breath. “Maybe something else is going on.”
“Oh, like stress, perhaps?” The look in his eyes says ‘and you know what that means.’
Doctors. Part of me knows that he’s right. I can’t avoid physicians forever. But another part of me wants to keep ignoring the problem, and that part’s winning out in a big way. I decide to brainstorm other reasons for the dreams. It takes me a few minutes, but eventually I come up with something.
“Hey, it could be a spell, too. I’ve been joining demon patrols a lot these days. Maybe someone chucked an enchantment on me by mistake.”
“Only one way to know for certain,” says Lincoln slowly. “I know you don’t to hear this, but that means visiting a magical healer.”