REAPER GAMES

BOOK 11 OF THE ANGELBOUND OFFSPRING

CHRISTINA BAUER

COPYRIGHT

Newton, MA 02464

www.monsterhousebooks.com

ISBN 9781956114416

First Edition

Copyright © 2023 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.

DEDICATION

For All Those Who Kick Ass, Take Names

and Read Books

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

REAPER GAMES

1. Myla

2. Lincoln

3. Myla

4. Lincoln

5. Myla

6. Myla

7. Myla

8. Lincoln

9. Myla

10. Lincoln

11. Lincoln

12. Myla

13. Myla

14. Lincoln

15. Myla

16. Lincoln

17. Myla

18. Lincoln

19. Myla

20. Myla

21. Myla

22. Lincoln

23. Myla

24. Lincoln

25. Myla

26. Lincoln

27. Myla

28. Myla

29. Lincoln

30. Myla

31. Myla

32. Lincoln

33. Lincoln

34. Myla

35. Myla

36. Myla

37. Myla

38. Lincoln

39. Lincoln

40. Myla

41. Myla

42. Lincoln

43. Lincoln

44. Lincoln

45. Myla

46. Myla

47. Myla

48. Lincoln

49. Lincoln

50. Lincoln

51. Myla

52. Lincoln

53. Myla

Also By Christina Bauer

ANGRY GODS

LINCOLN

OFFSPRING

FAIRY TALES OF THE MAGICORUM

DIMENSION DRIFT

BEHOLDER

PIXIELAND DIARIES

LINCOLN - Sample Chapter

Appendix

If You Enjoyed This Book…

Collected Works

Acknowledgments

About Christina Bauer

Complimentary Book

Bonus Images

Cloud Carrier

Demon Delegate

Arx Hall

Zelene

Betsy

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Dear Reader,

Previous books in the Angelbound Origins series have been true stand-alone installments. However, when it comes to my writing, the unexpected is often routine. For instance, remember when I went back and added Myla’s wedding into Angelbound Origins? I fought that addition for a long time. But now, I can’t imagine doing anything else. If I’d just tacked a short chapter onto the first Angelbound book, many great stories would have been lost.

Which brings me to Reaper Games.

This book wanted to be something different. After battling against myself for a while, this novel is set to become part of the Angelbound Abyss Saga (Angelbound Abyss books 1-4). They’ll also be co-numbered as Angelbound Origins books 10-13, which are Lady Reaper, Reaper Games, Angry Gods and Phantom Corsair.

Here’s the deal with the Angelbound Abyss Saga. It tells the tale of Cissy’s wedding which, as it turns out, is way too big to shove into one book. Tons of questions arose during writing.

Why did Cissy and Zeke wait ten years to marry?

What really happened to all those ghosts in 1857?

Who’s lurking in the Abyss?

What’s the story with Cissy’s future family?

The tale dives into the Dark Lands in new ways that include Greek gods, lost orphans and undead soul pirates. I can’t wait to share it all with you.

Full disclosure: I’ll release the Angelbound Abyss Saga as a box set someday, so you may want to wait for that.

Now, let’s get to the good stuff. I hope you enjoy Reaper Games!

Best,

Christina

REAPER GAMES

1

MYLA

AGE TWENTY-NINE

I’m about to spend another six months in Purgatory.

Color me happy.

Sure, I like living part-time in Antrum (aka the underground home of the demon-fighting thrax.) Still, I miss Purgatory’s rain… All the ghosts… How the landscape combines the charm of a strip mall with the rusted gloom of an abandoned mine… And, of course, it’s home to my best friend, Cissy, as well as my parents.

What’s not to love?

Happily, I’ll be back there in short order. Which is why my husband, Lincoln, and I step along a fancypants passageway of Arx Hall, our castle in Antrum. Did I mention we’re king and queen down here? We are.

Lincoln’s a tall guy with broad shoulders and loose brown hair that always looks expertly tousled for some reason. We just left a ceremony marking our relocation to Purgatory, so Lincoln sports his formal best as king. In Antrum, that means leather pants, tall boots, chain mail and a velvet tunic.

In case you’re wondering, there are certain advantages to ruling a people who remain stuck in the middle ages. Leather pants on my husband—that’s one of the biggies.

For my part, I wear fitted white robes with a black, medieval-style over-gown. The colors highlight my amber skin, long auburn hair and black dragonscale tail.

All of a sudden, my husband adds a new accessory to his ensemble: a frown. Not that most people can tell this, mind you. My guy is a vault when it comes to emotions. But after a decade together, I know what it means when his lips thin ever-so-slightly.

I whisper from the right side of my mouth. “What’s wrong?”

Quick aside. At this point, you may wonder if it’s totally appropriate for a queen to go around whispering in odd ways to her husband. Here’s my take. Queen or not, I never give a flying fart what other people think. Plus, my husband enjoys my sass. Which is why he answers right away.

“Your tail is at it again.”

Eep.

Lincoln’s a thrax, meaning a part-angel demon hunter. I’m a quasi-demon from Purgatory, so I’m mostly human with a little demonic DNA. Being a quasi gets me powers across the seven deadly sins (mine are lust and wrath, the two bestest.) Most of all, my quasi-ness results in a tail that’s long, black and covered in dragon scales.

And that tail has a mind of its own.

I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, my tail’s causing trouble. In this case, it’s alternating between frantically waving at the guards and using its arrowhead-shaped end to point to at the back of my head. Taken as a whole, the movements say, help her, please!

I crook my finger in its direction. “Up here, buddy.”

My tail slinks around so the arrowhead-shaped end points at my face. Yeah?

“Stop scaring the guards,” I state.

My tail dramatically scans from left to right. A pair of warriors in armor stand at every closed door, which means they’re spaced about twenty feet apart. Although most guards have the visor of their helms pulled down, there’s no missing the low rattling noises—they’re literally shaking in their metal coverings.

“Am I right or am I right?” I ask.

In reply, my tail points toward Lincoln. Its question is obvious. Do you think I should stop?

“I agree with Myla. You’re worrying our people.”

My tail gestures to my face before fake-jabbing at my heart.

“Let me guess… you think I’m still at risk?”

My tail bobs up and down its version of, Hells, yes.

This isn’t the first time my tail has gone around my back—literally—to try and convince the guards that I’m in trouble. The last few days, this activity has become its favorite pastime.

I roll my eyes. “You know, I got the whole ‘arrgh you’re gonna die’ concept the first four hundred times you warned me. But honestly, there’s nothing to worry about.”

My tail loops around my ear in a gesture that says, you, Myla Lewis, are bat crap crazy and about to face mortality. And it won’t stop until I confirm that indeed, I face imminent death.

But I won’t.

Because I’m not.

What I am is the warrior queen of the demon-fighting thrax. Kicking ass and taking names? That’s my bag. Besides, in Purgatory I’m also the Great Scala, meaning the only being who can move souls to Heaven or Hell. I sum it all up to my tail.

“Trouble should worry about me, not the other way around.”

“Huzzah,” agrees Lincoln.

Still, the arrowhead end keeps circling my ear. It’s not giving up.

I roll my eyes. “You’re such a drama tail.”

Lincoln and I round a corner which leads to yet another gilded hallway. All the while, my tail keeps circling my ear, only now it moves at triple speed. It’ll get a kink at this rate.

“Fine,” I state. “I may face some minor level of effed-up-edness.”

At last, my tail slinks down to hang by my ankle. Success!

Lincoln and I make the last turn in our journey. Before us, there’s a—surprise, surprise!—long gilded hallway, along with more guards. The big difference? This passage ends with a round portico. On the floor of this alcove, there sits a circular metal disc. Once Lincoln and I stand on that spot, we’ll get transported to Purgatory.

All of this is to be expected.

It’s who stands before the metal platform that’s a surprise: our son, Maxon, and Lincoln’s mother, Octavia.

The four of us just left the same ceremony… and at the same time. So how did Maxon and Octavia get here so quickly? There are hidden passages throughout Arx Hall, but some routes swap stealth—meaning no one knows where you’re going—with the amount of time it takes to reach your destination. Long story longer, these two should not have gotten here first.

I whisper from the side of my mouth once more. “Is there a quick secret passage from BARF to this pulpitum?”

True fact: BARF—short for Bi-Annual Realm Farewell—is the name of the last ceremony we just left, not anything that has splattered on the floor.

“Ah, no,” replies Lincoln.

“Then how did Maxon and Octavia arrive first?”

Lincoln replies with two words. “Thumb ring.”

Here’s what that means. The after-realms have five parts: Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Antrum and the Dark Lands, which are the home to ghoul kind. Of all these realms and peoples, only ghouls can set up portals. A black thumb ring means my honorary older ghoul brother, Walker, set up a permanent transport between two spots inside this palace, enabling Octavia to speed around like a sneakypants.

How very Octavia of Octavia.

And truly Walker of Walker.

Maxon steps closer to his grandmother. He’s ten years old with brown hair and a cherub-like face. His formal tunic hangs loose on his lanky frame. For her part, Octavia looks pristine and lethal in a black gown. She rests her hand on Maxon’s shoulder. As Lincoln and I step closer, we share a long look. There’s no need to speak. We’re already thinking the same thing.

Clearly, there’s a secret scheme between Octavia and Maxon.

Is this plan why my tail’s so worried?

I’ll find out soon enough.

2

LINCOLN

AGE THIRTY

Seeing Mother and Maxon is unexpected, yet not surprising.

Octavia is forever playing multiple games of interpersonal chess at once. Showing up at unforeseen places is one of her more classic moves. On an added note, I’ve long suspected that my friend Walker regularly creates fresh shortcuts for Mother inside the palace. Something to ask him about later.

In classic Octavia style, my plan is guessed at before it can be enacted. “Please, son. Don’t bother Walker regarding my new portals.” The edges of her mouth quirk up in a slight smile. “Allow your mother to have a few secrets.” She looks to Maxon. “Shall I begin or would you like to do so?”

“I got it.” Maxon taps his chest. “G and I talked after you left. We both have gifts for you. We were going to wait and everything, but we changed our minds.”

Octavia gently squeezes Maxon’s shoulder. “Don’t you have something else to say first?”

“Oh, about my gift.” Maxon stares at the floor. “I know I shouldn’t have been sneaking around without permission.”

“No,” corrects Octavia. “The other thing.”

“Oh, right. Thanks for letting me hang with G.”

“You’re most welcome,” I state.

Maxon is staying behind in Antrum so Octavia can train Maxon and his friends for an upcoming battle test.

Myla narrows her eyes. “Let’s circle back to the sneaking around thing, hun.”

“Right.” Maxon huffs out a breath. “I know I promised not to go on adventures behind your backs, but in this case, I couldn’t help it. That Austin guy told me about a hidden book. The idea got stuck in my mind. I just had to find it.” He looks between me and Myla as if our heads will explode at this news.

Myla and I share a long look and a short nod. There’s no need for us to chat. After so many years, we can read each other’s expressions. And in this case, our faces are silently saying the same thing.

We trust Octavia completely.

I refocus on Maxon. “Your mother and I weren’t happy when you broke into the magical pyramids without permission. However, it appears you enlisted your grandmother’s help while searching for this book.”

“He did.” Octavia smiles indulgently at our son. “Why don’t you show them what you found?”

Maxon reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small leather volume. Some words are stamped on the cover: Trash Category XJ-94. Burn immediately.

“Categorizing trash?” asks Myla. “Only ghouls would have ninety-four ways to classify junk. That must be from the Dark Lands.”

On reflex, I pat the note that’s hidden in my pocket. Back at the ceremony, Austin handed me a rather cryptic message. I picture the words.

For King Lincoln: what the Oligarchy see as trash will become your treasure. Give the second part to your queen.

For Queen Myla: Zelene, Zelene, Zelene.

Austin gave me this message only minutes ago. Now, Maxon volunteers a related book. That can’t be a coincidence.

I hold out my hand. “Thank you, Maxon. I’m certain the book will be useful.”

Maxon sets the tiny volume on my palm. “I found it in a forbidden cave deep under Striga territory.”

“Striga,” repeats Myla. And the way she says that one word? Her voice is packed with meaning. The House of Striga is made up of powerful witches and wizards. “It’s not safe to go around picking up random stuff there.”

“Maxon and his friends went there on my suggestion,” clarifies Octavia. “Therefore, it was relatively safe.”

“So…” Maxon winces. “Am I in trouble?”

Myla and share another look. This time, my wife is the one to reply.

“No,” she says. “We trust your grandmother.”

Maxon sighs. “Good.”

I shoot Octavia a sideways glance. “It seems as if you’ve begun Maxon’s training in more ways than one. If I’m right—and when it comes to you, I often am—then this little trip to a forbidden cave was all part of your master plan for our boy.”

“Of course,” confirms Octavia. “There’s no point in stifling my grandson’s curious nature… only in directing it.” She clears her throat. “Moving on. Since Maxon had something to give you, I wanted to share a present of my own.” Octavia pulls a small letter from her pocket and hands it to Myla.

“This is addressed to Cissy,” says Myla. “What’s it for?”

“For when the time comes,” answers Octavia in her classic cryptic style.

I enjoy a good puzzle. My thoughts whirl through possibilities as to what ‘time’ Mother means. One option quickly rises to the top. “Could this concern a wedding, perhaps? After all, Cissy and Zeke have been dating for years.”

“Impossible,” counters Myla. “Cissy would have told me.” She rounds on Octavia. “It’s something about Cissy’s gig as Senator of Diplomacy, isn’t it?”

Mother’s face stays unreadable. “As I said, you’ll both know when the time comes.”

Myla sets the envelope into the inner pocket on her over-gown and pats the spot. “For that moment.”

Maxon rushes up to give us both hugs. “I’ll miss you guys.”

This is a big admission, so Myla and I work hard to play it cool. “We’ll miss you as well,” I state.

“Love you, baby,” whispers Myla.

“And we look forward to seeing you both in two weeks,” says Octavia. “That’s the test date.” Maxon’s going through official testing as to his battle prowess.

“You both are coming back for that, yeah?” asks our boy.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” confirms Myla.

Octavia lifts her chin. “Now, give me a swift goodbye.” I step up and kiss Mother’s cheek.

And inhale the scent of cedar and honey.

Much as I try to remain calm, I can’t help but frown. “Do I smell cologne?”

Mother retreats at double-speed. “Must be the Earl of Striga. We held a planning session this morning. The man reeks of lemon.”

“Actually, Lucas always wears patchouli oil,” I report. “And that scent is something entirely different… it’s cedar and honey, if I’m not mistaken.”

Octavia waves her hand airily. “I really wouldn’t know.”

There’s no missing the sly gleam in Mother’s eyes. Protective energy rises inside me. Mother is a lonely widow. Is some enterprising earl taking advantage of her?

While I glower, Mother embraces Myla before standing beside Maxon once more. Her ‘goodbye smile’ is gone. Now, Octavia wears a steely look that says one thing: stay out of my personal business.

And perhaps she’s right.

Time to go.

3

MYLA

Lincoln and I step onto the round metal disc set into the floor. A smooth female voice sounds from hidden speakers. “Hello, your Highnesses. We have you scheduled for transport to Purgatory. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Wilhelmina,” confirms Lincoln.

At this point, it may appear that my husband’s focused on transfer central. I have my doubts. If my bet’s right, then the great cologne mystery still overwhelms my husband’s mind. In other words, Lincoln’s worried about Octavia.

“On your mark,” says Wilhelmina.

There’s no reply from Lincoln—just a lot of glowering.

Better step in.

I rest my palms on my husband’s shoulders and call out the countdown. “Three, two, one.”

Above us, the ceiling dissolves into darkness as the platform lurches upward. The metal disc rocks from side to side as we hurtle through the ground.

“Lincoln?” I ask.

He keeps staring off into space. “Hmm?”

“Safety first.” The platform rocks to the right, highlighting why it’s best to hang on to someone while traveling by pulpitum.

“Of course.” My husband rests his hands on my waist.

“Liiiiiincoln.”

This time, I get some actual eye contact. “By chance, do I seem a tad distracted?”

“Ding, ding, ding.”

His mouth leans into a lopsided smile. “I’m concerned about the prospect of Mother dating again.”

“Understood. But guess what? For the first time in years, you and I are heading to Purgatory with no kid… and no obvious disaster hanging over our heads. We can do all sorts of stuff.”

Lincoln pulls me a little closer. “Such as?”

“Oh, hang out naked and eat demon bars.”

Lincoln’s grin widens. “I vote no on the second part of that concept.”

My husband hates demon bars, saying they are only candy… and not the granola meal as written on the label. For my part, I refuse to waste the gift of a demonic metabolism by stuffing myself with carrots.

“And the first?” I ask.

“Nakedness is a brilliant concept.”

I go on tiptoe and brush a kiss across his mouth. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Lincoln nips my lower lip in his teeth. His scent—pine trees and musk—fills my lungs. A spike of desire moves through my core. Suddenly, I ache to feel his bare skin against mine.

Lincoln grips my waist more tightly, pulling my body against his. I sense every place where the firm planes of his chest and thighs press onto my soft curves. Our kiss deepens.

Slam!

With a jolt, the platform comes to a halt. Humidity presses in around me, along with the scent of fresh rain. A deep male voice sounds. “Welcome to Purgatory. Please step off the transfer pulpitum.”

Lincoln presses a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I whisper.

“Myla!” A familiar voice echoes across the room. Stepping away from Lincoln, I scan the familiar interior of Purgatory’s official pulpitum—it’s a round chamber made from dark stone. A single archway marks the only way in or out. About a half dozen guards stand nearby. All of them wear the traditional purple armor for my home realm.

Cissy rushes toward me. She’s tall and lithe with blonde hair that hangs in ringlets to her shoulders. Today, my friend sports her violet senatorial robes and a huge smile. Her golden retriever’s tail wags behind her as she approaches.

“Hi, Myla!”

“Hey, Cis. What has you so blissed out? A new treaty?”

In reply, my bestie hold up her left hand, showing off her engagement ring. The dainty platinum band holds a ginormous diamond. In turn, that stone is encircled by a family of little baby emeralds. Very Cissy.

A jolt of happiness moves through me. “You’re engaged?”

Cissy’s boyfriend—correction, her fiancee—steps away from the cluster of guards to stand right behind her. Zeke is a slim guy with slicked-back blond hair and a monkey’s tail. His guard uniform includes the platinum emblem that signifies the rank of Captain. Stepping behind Cissy, Zeke rests his hands on her shoulders and beams. “She finally said yes.”

“Sheesh.” Cissy mock-frowns. “I didn’t take that long.”

Zeke kisses the back of Cissy’s head. “You’re worth any wait.”

All through school, Cissy pined away for Zeke from afar. Once they started dating and got a-near, Cis was in no rush to walk down the aisle. Tunrs out, Zeke is a patient man.

Cissy throws her arms wide. We share a big hug. The moment seems to freeze in time. Part of me is thrilled for Cissy and Zeke.

But there’s more to this.

Clearly, I missed the actual asking to get engaged part of the process. Years ago, something as big as an engagement would’ve involved lots of discussion between us. Now, my best friend is wearing an engagement ring… And I missed it.

Sure, I was buried under miles of dirt in an underground castle, but Cissy and I used to send messages between realms all the time. Questions echo through my mind.

When did that stop?

How did I miss this engagement was coming?

Why do I sense danger?

At this point, I realize that Cissy has stopped hugging me back and things are getting awkward. I set my questions aside and release Cissy from what was quickly becoming a death grab.

A long moment of silence passes. Then another. Both Cissy and I know something is off here. Neither one of us knows what to do about it.

Thankfully, Lincoln steps into the conversation. “Don’t you have something for Cissy?”

“Right, the envelope.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the letter. “Octavia gave me this for you.” I hand to Cissy.

My friend opens the envelope and reads the message aloud.

My dearest friend,

I hear congratulations are in order. My sources told me about your recent engagement. I’ll ensure Maxon and I are there for the big day, whenever it is. You’ve been such a great ally to Antrum; I wouldn’t miss your nuptials for anything.

Warmest regards,

Octavia

Cissy frowns. “What does that mean?”

“I believe,” injects Lincoln. “That is my mother conveying the concept that you couldn’t keep her away from your nuptials.”

“Oh, sure!” Cissy beams. “I’ll be thrilled to have Octavia there, assuming she can make it on such short notice.”

The slightest chill creeps up my spine. Something about this feels off.

“Short notice?” I ask.

Again, the silence hangs heavily around us. Lincoln turns to Zeke. “How about we chat with your guard friends?”

“Uhhh.” Zeke shifts his weight from foot to foot. Poor guy. His mortal sin power is lust, not detecting interpersonal tension. “But you met them already.”

“I assume they’re all groomsmen?” asks Lincoln. “Perhaps we can discuss their plans for the wedding. It will give Cissy and Myla a chance to speak alone.” My husband accents this last sentence with a pointed look.

“Ooooooh, sure,” says Zeke. “Let’s go talk up the guys.”

As Zeke and Lincoln walk away, a little thought bubble appears over my head that reads, short notice, short notice, short notice. I force a smile. “So when’s the big day?”

“A month from Saturday.”

Suddenly, it’s a chore to maintain my forced smile. “So, this isn’t a ‘finally, we’re getting around to this’ kind of thing. It’s got a sense of urgency.”

Cissy rolls her eyes. “I’m not pregnant.”

“I wasn’t even thinking that. I just figured that if things were moving more quickly, then I’d… you know…”

“Myla, we haven’t talked in months.”

“Because I’ve been saving the world from at least three apocalypses.”

“Which I totally appreciate.”

“So, let’s talk now. What’s the reason behind getting married so quickly? I know you. That’s not your style.”

“Oh, that’s…” Cissy shifts her weight from foot to foot.

“It’s okay.” I step closer. “You can tell me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. This isn’t just about me and Zeke, you know. We need to take other people into consideration.”

I try to process this bit of information. Total fail.

“Is this about your mother?”

Mrs. Frederickson is a rather high-maintenance mom. She almost lost her mind when Cissy started living with Zeke in downtown Purgatory.

Cissy winces. “Not really.”

“So who’s behind this? Because I know it’s someone.”

“This is all Regina-na’s idea.” Her eyes widen. “I mean, Lady Reaper.”

In reality, I know Cissy just stands before me. In my mind, a red light flashes over my bestie’s head, along with a male monotone voice.

Warning… Warning… Warning…

“Hold on,” I state. “Are you talking about Lady Reaper, as in the she-ghoul heroine—” I make little finger quotes as I say heroine “—who supposedly saved the last Great Scala in 1857?”

“Myla, it’s only that…”

Cissy’s mouth keeps moving, but I don’t hear any more words. Which is why I keep talking. “Millions of ghosts disappeared that year, Cis. I still haven’t found out what happened to them.”

“Myla!”

I raise my pointer finger. “And back then, there were hundreds of Reapers and Weavers who built ghost wells for any number of scalas. When the first ghost towers were built in Purgatory, then the Reapers and Weavers went out of business. There’s no reason Lady Reaper should be a big deal. Well, except that our old ghoul overlords shoved her down our throats.”

“MYLA!”

I pause. Cissy’s face is flushed. The room is back to being super quiet. Clearly, my speech about Lady Regina Reaper is not helping.

“You know what? I take it all back. Tell me more about Regina… Na.” That last na cost me a lot to say. My parents still call me Myla-la sometimes. Years ago, Cissy refused to use the name anymore, saying Myla-la is baby talk. Now, she’s calling this random ghoul Regina-na? What the actual Hell?

I realize Cissy has been talking for a while again without any real attention being paid by yours truly. I refocus on the conversation.

“…And Lady Reaper has been my ally in the Dark Lands for years,” says Cissy. “She’s kindly offered to hold a traditional ghoul carnival for our wedding. There will be pavilions and all sorts of cool stuff. It’s a big deal in terms of mending relations with the Dark Lands. The Oligarchy have been reaching out to me directly with requests for the big day. The Oligarchy, Myla. They rule every last ghoul.”

I bite my lips together.

Don’t say it.

Don’t say it.

Don’t say it.

Crap, I have to say it.

“Oh, you mean the same Oligarchy that wanted to chuck me out as a blood sacrifice to the King of Hell? That Oligarchy?”

“You’re carrying a grudge,” warns Cissy. “That battle happened ten years ago. People change.”

“Sure, people change. Ghouls? Not so much.”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you anything. There’s a new generation of quasis in Purgatory who don’t remember ghoul rule. Most of our people are excited to have a ghoul carnival. We’ll even have reaper games as part of it. I’m Purgatory’s Senator of Diplomacy. This is a big deal for me. You’re happy, right?”

Cissy looks so hopeful, I can’t burst her reaper games bubble. “I’m working on it.”

“Remember those festivals we had growing up? Ghoul carnivals are like those, only on steroids. It will be so much fun!”

As I hear the word festival, an old memory knocks around my head. It’s a recollection of me and Cissy at a high school lust festival. Something important happened there with Lady Reaper, only I can’t tell what it is.

A moment later, I can’t even recall what I was trying to remember. Must be that dreaded disease: mom brain. I actively ignore the deeper feeling that something else may be at work. Like magic.

Cissy taps my shoulder. “Are you paying attention?”

“No, you lost me.”

And because Cissy’s awesome like that, she just catches me up.

“I said,” repeats Cissy. “The festivals back in high school were fun, correct?”

“Sure, they were.”

“And my wedding will be like those old festivals, but with reaper games added in. Plus, it will be totally safe. You know how the ghouls are. There are tons of rules about when, where and how the carnival takes place.”

“Hey, isn’t a month from Saturday your birthday, too?”

“Total coincidence. This will be my big achievement as a senator of diplomacy. I need your support, Myla.”

“You know I’ll be there.” I lower my voice. “I just can’t shake this sense of danger.” My tail arches over my shoulder to start speed-nodding. “See? I’m not the only one who’s concerned.”

“I get it. You need the whole story.” Cissy lowers her voice as well. “Only, it’s not something we should talk about here. Maybe you can stop by soon? I’ll explain it all then.”

“Sounds great,” I declare. “You’re still living with Zeke, right?”

“No, I’m back with Mother.”

Now, Lincoln addresses Octavia as ‘Mother’ all the time. And the way my husband speaks that word, there’s a cool and regal vibe. But when Cissy says Mother, it’s one Christina short of a Mommy Dearest situation.

“Come over and talk,” says Cissy. “We’ll have tea. It’ll be fun.”

I do a double-take. “Tea?” Cissy’s always been a coffee girl like me. Something tells me that tea is yet another Lady Reaper thing. Which means I should refuse on principle. Buuuuuuut, as I understand it, tea always includes snacks…

Cissy winks. “Yes, there will be cookies.”

And like that, Cissy makes everything normal. It’s her superpower.

We share a quick hug goodbye. Cis walks over to Zeke, who’s still chatting away with his guards and Lincoln. My bestie works the crowd like a pro before sauntering out the main archway.

And she’s engaged.

I should be happy.

Then why can’t I shake the feeling that something terrible is coming?

4

LINCOLN

While Cissy and Myla chat, I spend time with Zeke and his buddy-guards—meaning that his fellow warriors are old friends from high school. All of them sport chiseled looks, lust powers and monkey tails. Myla addresses the group as Brad-Chad-Tad-Other Tad, since that fully covers their names. Over the years, I’ve adopted this shorthand as well, if only in my mind.

My conversation with Brad-Chad-Tad-Other Tad involves a lot of discussions on how to celebrate between now and the nuptials. As it turns out, Cissy is getting married a month from Saturday… and with none other than Lady Reaper organizing the event.

In a word, this news is strange. Myla’s best friend isn’t one for rash decisions, as a rule. For instance, Cissy spent a full year debating over whether to change her senatorial robes from purple to lavender. She’s not the type to get married with less than two years to plan.

While the guys push foe specific party plans, Zeke responds with a series of sketchy answers. One thing becomes clear, at least to me.

Zeke is doing something between now and his wedding day, but it’s not partying with his buddies. The way Zeke talks about Lady Reaper, perhaps his time will be spent in the Dark Lands.

Eventually, Cissy steps up to say her farewells to Zeke and his friends. Afterward, I return to Myla. One glance at my wife’s face and I know something is off.

“What is it?” I whisper.

“Cissy’s getting married in a month and Lady Reaper’s planning everything.”

“Zeke just mentioned that as well. I find it unusual on two levels. First, Cissy seemed dedicated to delaying mariage.”

“I know, right? Cissy’s always been on the slow boat to wedding town. And now… a month from Saturday? How did I not know this?”

“Do you want an answer or sympathy?”

“Answer,” says Myla. “This is freaky.”

“It’s been ten years since we started splitting time between Antrum and Purgatory. When we first made this change, you and Cissy kept up a regular stream of correspondence.”

“I know, right? Remember when Cissy sent that emergency letter because she thought her cat, Tiny, was dying? I rushed to Purgatory and everything.”

“And then, Tiny coughed up a fur ball.”

Myla kicks at the stone floor. “Yeah, Cis and I used to talk constantly. Now, we don’t. It’s depressing.” She shoots me a sideways glance. “You said there were two things. What’s the other one?”

“My second concern is how Lady Reaper is organizing this event. She’s married to the Grim Reaper. I never liked that fellow. Grim and Walker used to work together at a laboratory in the Dark Lands founded by none other than Eli, the greatest ghoul engineer of all time. And the way Walker always avoids discussiog Mister Reaper? Something happened there.”

“You once told me that you almost-not-quite-remembered how Walker took you somewhere in the Dark Lands to meet Grim.”

I blink. “Right. I’d forgotten about that.” Another memory appears. “Do you recall meeting Lady Reaper with Cissy at a Lust Festival? You told me about it last week.”

“Huh. Now that you say it, Cissy and I did hit that festival in high school. Something big went down there, only I can’t call up the specifics.” Myla purses her lips. “It’s not like us to forget stuff. Do you think it’s a magical memory block?”

In reply, Myla’s tail pops up, points to her nose, and bobs up and down. Hells, yes.

Myla focuses on her tail. “Is this what you’ve been worried about? Grim and Regina Reaper?”

Even wilder nods are the reply.

I look to Myla. “Perhaps your tail remembers things that you don’t.”

Yet more energetic nodding.

Myla pats the arrowhead end. “Slow down, buddy. You’re still attached to my ass, you know.” Her tail calms. Myla rounds on me. “That settles it. We have magical memory blocks on us. I didn’t realize anyone could do that.”

“It would require a unique kind of supernatural power. Something our current magical scans cannot detect.” I look to Myla’s tail. “Am I correct again?”

The nodding resumes, only with less vigor, which I’m pleased to see. I am rather a fan of Myla’s ass.

“What else can you tell us?” asks Myla.

Her tail goes from side to side. Nothing.

“So, if we look into the Reapers, we’ve got it,” recaps Myla. “No need to extract hidden memories?”

Her tail nods once more.

Across the Pulpitum, a new set of figures appear under the entrance archway. It’s Myla’s parents, Camilla and Xavier. My heart lightens. The President and First Gentleman of Purgatory are always a welcome sight.

Myla’s mother comes over. Camilla an older version of Myla, from her auburn hair to her dragonscale tail. “Hello!” She scans the Pulpitum. “Oh, I missed Cissy giving you the big news.”

Xavier steps up as well. In reality, Xavier’s an archangel who’s been alive since the dawn of time. In appearance, he’s a middle-aged man with cocoa skin and a warrior’s build. While Camilla dons a purple skirt and matching jacket, Xavier wears a gray suit.

“Sorry we’re late,” says Xavier.

It’s not like them to miss such an important moment in Cissy’s life. Over the years, Myla’s parents have come to see Cissy as their daughter. Their late arrival could only be caused by one circumstance… and Myla knows it, the same as I do.

“What’s the emergency?” asks Myla. “What kept you away?”

A better question I couldn’t have asked myself.

“Nothing at all,” says Camilla brightly.

“You’re a crap liar, Mom.” Myla swings her gaze toward her father. “Dad? Anything?”