The Dark Lands (Angelbound Origins Book 5)

by Christina Bauer

  My best friend looks fabulous in her purple Senatorial robes. She’s so camera ready, it isn’t funny. Every time I see a replay of myself on TV, I have a chunk of hair sticking out of my head like an antennae. But Cissy looks amazing with her blonde ringlets hanging perfectly to her shoulders. Her golden retriever tail wags happily behind her. Cissy loves TV as much as the cameras adore Cissy.

  “As Senator of Diplomacy, I have a unique view on Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Antrum, and the Dark Lands.”

  Becky leans forward. “Tell us about the Viper’s crimes in other parts of the after-realms.”

  Ugh. Becky is still riding the Viper train.

  “Well.” Cissy taps her cheek. “The Viper recently stole some ancient books from the Dark Lands. The Senatorial guard also reported some of their body armor went missing.”

  “We received that news months ago,” says Becky. “Those crimes were early on in the Viper’s career. The body armor was standard issue for the Senatorial guard. The books were far more interesting and rare. Show the covers, Fred.” The screen fills with images of different covers. There’s Magic And Canopic Jars, Lucifer’s Creations, Seraphim Secrets, Ghoul Portals, and Ancient Poisons.

  I’m so enthralled by the TV show, I completely miss our limo hitting the Starbucks drive-thru. But it did. Now Lincoln hands me a venti mocha.

  Ahh, sweet caffeine, chocolate, and sugar. How I love you.

  I return my focus to Cissy, Becky, and Good Morning Purgatory.

  “Look at these books titles,” says Becky. “Is it possible that ghouls have created an evil alliance with the angels?” If Becky’s eyeballs were shotgun laser beams, Cissy would have red dots on her forehead.

  Becky so thinks she has Cissy in her gun sights.

  Not gonna happen.

  “The purpose of shows like this one is to share hard information,” says Cissy smoothly. “Not speculate and scare viewers.”

  Becky opens and closes her mouth. No words come out. It’s awesome.

  Back in the limo, I raise my fist. “That’s it, Cissy!”

  “She has such a gift with the camera,” adds Lincoln.

  “As fate would have it,” continues Cissy, “I have something real to share with you about angels and ghouls.” My bestie smiles sweetly. “Can you run the video I brought?”

  “Of course,” says Becky.

  The television now plays video of a new statue being erected before a towering building made of glass. That structure is the Citadel where angels are trained in warfare. My father is the angel’s General, so the Citadel is one his favorite spots in Heaven. The white marble statue depicts a tall ghoul in angel’s robes. Under one arm, the ghoul carries a heavy book. His other hand is raised high, as if making a point to his audience.

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing. “That’s Walker’s brother!”

  Lincoln grins. “Yes, that’s Drayden for certain. I heard they were making a statue in his honor.”

  The television displays images of the towering statue, all from different angles. Cissy’s voice sounds over the pictures. “Drayden was the first ghoul ever accepted into the Citadel for angelic warriors. And why? He wrote the definitive work on angelic flight and field strategy. His theories were used in the Battle of the Gates, when the archangel Xavier defeated Armageddon.”

  The camera cuts back to a close-up of Cissy. “This is what we should think of when we consider angels and ghouls. Not focus on the worst about our neighbors, but on the best of what we can all achieve.”

  I swear, I can hear thousands of quasis across Purgatory letting out a sigh at the end of that speech.

  “Cissy is so going to be the next President of Purgatory,” I say.

  “Quite,” agrees Lincoln. “And we’ve arrived at Princeton Alley.”

  I chug the rest of my mocha and grab the door handle. Lincoln doesn’t move. “Are you still coming?”

  Lincoln shakes his head. “I’d like to send out some messages; see what I can discover about these rumors regarding Lucifer. Once I’m done, I’ll meet up with you and Walker as soon as possible. There’s a Pulpitum station not far from the farm that we’re touring.”

  “Great idea.” Leaning over, I brush a gentle kiss across his lips. “See you soon.”

  With that, I return my attention to Princeton Alley and the mountain of secrets that always seem to follow my honorary older brother Walker.

  One of these days, I’ll get him to blab all of them.

  Chapter 3

  I slip out of the limo and into the worst-smelling place ever. Honestly, it’s like a dumpster and a toilet got together and made an alley. The area is a thin break between two tall brick buildings. Any nearby windows are all boarded up. Graffiti covers almost every surface. The place looks deserted, but I know that’s not true.

  Walker steps out from the shadows.

  “Greetings, Myla.”

  My honorary older brother looks as he always does: tall and pale in his long black ghoul robes. His hair is styled in a perma brush-cut with sideburns. It’s the same look Walker had when his mortal form passed away in his mid-twenties.

  “Hi, Walker.” I step up and give him a peck on the cheek. “I saw the news about Drayden’s statue. That’s so great!” Growing up, Walker always talked about Drayden the smart, the strong, the noble. Most of Walker’s afterlife has been spent trying to do what Drayden would have if he’d lived.

  A pained look enters Walker’s all-black eyes. “About that.”

  “What?”

  Walker nervously twists a heavy ring on his finger. It’s one that Drayden gave him and holds the image of a book carved in silver. Normally, Walker only fiddles with that ring only when he’s really worried. Huh.

  “Did you see our interview today with Becky Tizzle?” I ask.

  Walker nods. “I didn’t release any intel about Lucifer or the Viper.” He twists the ring some more.

  “So what do you know?” Because I can tell you know something.

  “I share everything very soon,” offers Walker. A bead of black sweat rolls down his cheek. “But we can’t be late for this morning’s meeting.”

  Walker looks so upset, I can’t push him on this. Yet.

  “That’s fine,” I say. “I’ll wait.”

  A low hum fills the air. No mistaking that noise. It’s the unmistakable sound of a ghoul portal. A moment later, a door-like black opening appears behind Walker. This is the one perk of being a ghoul; you can create portals and move almost instantly between most parts of the after-realms.

  Walker takes my hand and we step into the darkness. A moment later, we exit the portal and enter a strange landscape. Once we’ve marched out, the portal behind us disappears.

  I scan my new surroundings. Gray clouds hang overhead. Neat rows of dirt stretch off in every direction, forming a countryside that reminds me of brown corduroy. The tangy scent of fresh earth fills the air.

  “Damn,” mumbles Walker. “I placed us too far from the farmhouse.”

  “You did?” My brows lift. Walker never makes mistakes with his ghoul portals.

  “I don’t trust my focus today,” adds Walker. “No more portals. Do you mind if we approach the farmhouse the old fashioned way?”

  “We can hoof it, no problem.”

  “Thank you.”

  Walker and I take off down a cobblestone path. We don’t get very far until a question appears in my mind. “What kind of farm is this, anyway?”

  “I was afraid you’d ask me that.”

  My insides twist with foreboding. Something tells me I’m to receive the first in a long line of bad news from Walker.

  Uh oh.

  Chapter 4

  Worms.

  Why does it have to be worms?

  Purgatory hosts farms for cows, puppies, chickens, and—my personal favorite—baby goats. So why am I trudging through Enmity Farms, my homeland’s biggest producer of worms at this very moment?

  Because my honorary older brother Walker asked me to
.

  Plus, Walker’s a ghoul and his kind love worms. Long story.

  It took me twenty minutes to get Walker to spill about the worm thing. And discovering our goal for the morning has been even harder. So far, here’s what I know. We visit a farmhouse, meet some quasi demons and then … something something something something.

  In other words, Walker’s being very sketchypants about the whole deal, to which I say: Meh. I do tons of official visits. No doubt, this will be pretty standard stuff.

  Shake hands.

  Force smiles.

  Pose for a group photo.

  No biggie.

  Then something unexpected happens. Walker lags behind me. The guy with mile-long legs and a constitution of iron actually limps along the cobblestone path.

  Huh.

  I pause.

  Stare.

  Do a double take.

  Stare some more.

  Nope, I’m not seeing things. Walker’s limping. Even worse, the sharp angles of his face pull tight with pain.

  A chill of dread crawls up my neck. Walker has the magical power to self-heal. As far as I know, only Walker and his forebear, the archangel Aquila, have this ability. So why is Walker limping and in pain? He recovers from almost any injury with lightning speed.

  I adjust my pace so Walker and I step in sync once more. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

  Walker’s shoulders tighten ever so slightly. He’s bracing himself for something. That sets off my internal danger alarms because nothing worries Walker. In fact, I’ve seen my honorary older brother face down the dreaded Mordere, a demon that combines the worst of a humanoid vampire bat with the best in poisonous porcupine quill action. At a minimum, fighting a Mordere should cause a nervous twitch or two. But Walker? The guy didn’t flinch. Then Mister Cool took that Mordere down in two minutes flat.

  All of which adds up to one conclusion. Whatever’s bothering Walker today, it’s serious business.

  “What happened to my leg indeed?” intones Walker at last. As always, his voice is deep and resonant. “That’s not easy to answer.”

  My mind quickly sorts through recent Walker-related news. One item stands out in huge neon letters. “Mom says you had some trouble in downtown Purgatory. Is that when you got injured?”

  For the record, I hate that Walker trucks around Purgatory without guards. Sure, the Viper is running around, but that’s not all there is to worry about. My people hate ghouls. Walker’s a great warrior—he even invented a new style of fighting called Ghoul Chi—but he’s just one guy.

  “When did your mother say such a thing?” asks Walker.

  “This morning when I dropped off Maxon. Mom’s super worried that you got targeted by the Viper.”

  Walker doesn’t say anything for a long minute. He’s definitely debating whether to finally open up. The question is, what will Walker choose? Will he blab or keep acting sketchy?

  “How is your sweet baby boy?” asks Walker.

  And I have my answer. That would be keep acting sketchy.

  “Maxon is giggly. Adorable. Perfect.” I wag my finger at him. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

  Walker shakes his head. “Your mother shouldn’t worry about what happened. Many people have been targeted by the Viper.”

  “What? The Viper targeted you? How many times have you been hit?”

  “Four or five. The Viper just likes to knock me out and move on. Doesn’t steal any valuables. It’s more an annoyance than anything.”

  I stop. “Walker, it’s Myla here. Can you tell me what’s happening? I know you want to.”

  Stepping in front of me, Walker grips my shoulders. His large, soulful, and all-black eyes lock onto my gaze. “I’ve been trying to tell you for a week,” he says, his voice rasping with grief. “This is so hard.”

  Before a little chill had been working its way up my neck. Now that sensation transforms into a full-on body freeze of fear. “You’re scaring me.”

  “It’s been my privilege to help raise you,” says Walker, his tone still rough. “I want you to know that.”

  I frown. “Still scaring me.”

  “I was born part archangel,” continues Walker. He speaks with the careful rhythm of someone who’s practiced this speech many times. “When I became a ghoul after death, it should’ve limited my afterlife. Ghouls don’t attend Heaven’s Citadel for warrior training. My older brother Drayden was the first ghoul ever accepted.”

  “Drayden was brilliant.” This is my standard statement whenever Walker mentions his older brother. Which is a lot.

  Walker’s all-black eyes turn dreamy. “As a descendant of Aquila, Drayden received the gift of a magically enhanced intellect. He focused that gift on battle planning. My power is self healing.” Walker rubs his injured leg. “And that’s been failing lately.”

  “Becky talked about that on Good Morning Purgatory,” I offer. “It’s a side affect of being attacked by the Viper.”

  That dreamy look remains in Walker’s eyes. Not sure he heard me there.

  “After Drayden died, your father brought me to the Citadel council.” Walker lifts his voice into a dead-on Dad impersonation. “‘I’m the General of the Angelic Army,’ your father said. ‘This man is Drayden’s brother. He gets trained.’”

  “That sure sounds like Dad.” When my father makes up his mind on something, you have two choices: get out of his way … or get out of his way, fast.

  “Without your father’s help, I’d never have become an angelic warrior. To this day, I live by the sacred values of his Angelic Army: honor, service, and sacrifice.”

  I can only repeat that last word. “Sacrifice?”

  This time, Walker heard me clearly. He meets my gaze straight on. “Yes.”

  Oh, no.

  “Look,” I begin. “I’ve watched my share of movies on the Human Channel. No question what you’re up to here. This is a hero speech. It happens right before the good guy does something like…” I wave my hands, trying to find the words. “I’ve got it.” I snap my fingers. “Like fly his fighter jet slap-bang into an enemy battle cruiser. BOOM!” My pulse speeds. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  A sad smile rounds Walker’s mouth. “This is indeed a variety of hero speech.”

  Panic shoots down my spine. My mouth starts moving on its own. “No way. Nuh-uh. You’re not flying your figurative fighter jet into someone else’s battleship. That whole concept stops right now. Share what’s up and spare no details. We’ll figure something out.” I point to the earth. “Your aircraft is grounded, buddy.”

  “Not this time.” Walker’s mouth thins to a determined line. “I require your assistance on something. After that, I must leave you.” Then he adds a word that shatters my word.

  “Forever.”

  Chapter 5

  Walker and I stand on a cobblestone path leading toward the Enmity brothers’ worm farm. That should be strange enough, but the day just moved from slightly weird to I’ll definitely need therapy after this territory.

  Because Walker, my only “family” member outside my parents, just told me that he’s leaving. Forever.

  Around me, the world takes on an unreal gleam. The gray sky, corduroy landscape, even Walker in his black ghoul robes … it all holds the wobbly look of a dream. Or in this case, a nightmare. It’s an effort to force out my next words.

  “Tell me what you need. If I can help you, I will.”

  Walker gives me a shaky grin. “You mentioned my brother Drayden.”

  “Yes, Cissy just did a segment on him during Good Morning Purgatory.”

  “Here’s the thing.” Walker straightens his shoulders. “Drayden’s not dead.”

  “What? They showed his new memorial and everything.”

  “My brother is alive. All this time, he’s been guarding Lucifer’s prison in secret.”

  A sinking feeling creeps into my bones. “Becky said that one of Lucifer’s guards had been poisoned.”

  “That was Drayden.” W
alker’s deep voice cracks with grief. “He has less than a day left to live.”

  I pop my hands over my mouth. “Oh, Walker! That’s terrible.”

  “Drayden has unique skills that enable him to guard Lucifer. My brother must be saved or Lucifer will break free. Only I can cure him. Today, I will depart to do just that. Once I go, there is no return.”

  “Whoa.” I take a half-step backward. “That’s a whole lot of confusing. What do you mean by cure, exactly? And why do you have to leave and never return? And who gave you this intel?”

  “I can’t answer all your questions. What I can share is this: The person who gave me the information about Drayden is another, ah, jailer for Lucifer.”

  Another, ah, jailer? Walker only stutters that way when he’s holding back. I add research sketchy Lucifer jailer to my list of things to uncover later, right alongside get definition of cure.

  “Also,” adds Walker. “This fellow jailer believes that whoever broke in and hurt Drayden, they did so because they found a new item of Lucifer’s.”

  “I knew it.” I snap my fingers and point right at Walker’s nose. “Back in the limo, I told Lincoln that this Lucifer situation included an archangel gadgets. What got loose now?”

  “I don’t know.” Walker’s gaze locks on the far-off farmhouse. “But I’ve heard the brothers who run this place are rather connected.”

  “They sure are; Cissy told me all about it. For months, her agents have tried getting info out of the Enmity brothers. But those dudes do not talk. If they won’t open up to a fellow quasi, what makes you think they’ll confide in a ghou…” I stop mid-word as the realization hits me. “They’ll never talk to a ghoul. It’s me who’ll get them to blab.”

  Walker nods. “Word is, the Enmity brothers are very religious. They love their Scala Mother.”

  “Ick. I am not a religion. And I’m only mother to Maxon.”

  Walker’s all black eyes fill with sympathy. “You know what I mean.”

  A sick taste fills my mouth. I know what Walker means, all right. Plenty of quasis worship me as their Scala Mother. It’s more than a little disturbing. Some camp out at Pulpitum transfer stations, trying to glimpse me as I travel about. It’s gotten so bad, we had to install extra guards—plus a 24-7 waiting limo—so I could move around without getting mobbed.