Angelfire: Angelbound Lincoln, #5

ANGELFIRE

BOOK FIVE OF THE ANGELBOUND LINCOLN SERIES

CHRISTINA BAUER

COPYRIGHT

Monster House Books

Brighton, MA 02135

ISBN 9781946677648

Second 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.

DEDICATION

For All Those Who Kick Ass, Take Names,

and Read Books

CONTENTS

Author Preface

ANGELFIRE

1. Lincoln

2. Lincoln

3. Lincoln

4. Lincoln

5. Myla

6. Myla

7. Lincoln

8. Myla

9. Lincoln

10. Myla

11. Lincoln

12. Myla

13. Lincoln

14. Myla

15. Lincoln

16. Myla

17. Lincoln

18. Myla

19. Lincoln

20. Myla

21. Lincoln

22. Myla

23. Lincoln

24. Myla

25. Lincoln

26. Myla

27. Lincoln

28. Myla

29. Lincoln

30. Myla

31. Lincoln

32. Myla

33. Lincoln

34. Myla

35. Lincoln

36. Myla

37. Lincoln

38. Lincoln

39. Myla

40. Lincoln

41. Myla

42. Lincoln

43. Myla

44. Lincoln

45. Myla

46. Lincoln

47. Lincoln

48. Myla

Description - RIXA

Also By Christina Bauer

RIXA

ARCHENEMY

ANGELBOUND

FAIRY TALES OF THE MAGICORUM

PIXIELAND DIARIES

DIMENSION DRIFT

BEHOLDER

Appendix

If You Enjoyed This Book…

Collected Works

Acknowledgments

About Christina Bauer

Complimentary Book

Author’s Note

AUTHOR PREFACE

Dear Readers,

Get ready to meet Lincoln’s secret brother! ANGELFIRE has been a blast to write and I’m super-excited to share it with you. Here are some key things to consider before you get started.

Point One. There’s A Dual Point of View

Myla and Lincoln's voices are back in this novel! Myla is seriously pregnant here… and we get her play-by-play. Ye be warned!

Point Two. Slow Burn

Normally, Myla and Lincoln have adventures that move from one battle to the next. That’s just not compatible with Myla’s mega-pregnant state. As a result, this story is more of a plot-driven slow-burn mystery. Ye be warned again!

Point Three. This Takes Place After Thrax

Please note that this book also takes place at the tippy end of the events of Thrax (Angelbound Origins Book #4).

Point Four. What Is My Problem?

At this point you may wonder: why do I write things out of sequence? Wasn’t Thrax published a while ago?

Here’s my honest answer: I have no idea.

This is just how my gift works. I know it’s different from everyone else, and sometimes Business-Me wants to take Author-Me out and kick my own ass, if that makes sense. But then I drink coffee and get back to writing. Self-distraction is a very useful skill.

Enough of my preamble, let’s get to the Angelbound fun. I hope you enjoy ANGELFIRE!

CB

ANGELFIRE

The events of ANGELFIRE take place at the end of Thrax, Book 4 in the Angelbound Origins series.

1

LINCOLN

AGE SEVENTEEN

Bam! Bam!

Frantic knocks sound on my bedroom door. I awaken with a gasp. A reedy male voice echoes in from the hallway beyond.

Lincoln, I know you’re in there!

Opening my eyes, I check my cuckoo clock.

4:16 a.m.

My sleepy brain tries to wrap around what’s happening. It isn’t easy. I just finished a marathon demon hunt through the Amazon. My rest began only a few hours ago. Rolling over, I scan the shadows of my bedroom, half expecting to see vines instead of plaster. After a few seconds, I adjust to reality.

This is no jungle. I’m back in the Arx Hall palace.

Which leads to my next question. Who’s at my door, exactly? As prince, my suite of rooms are patrolled twenty-four-seven. No one gets past my guards. When visitors knock, it’s always at the main entrance, not my bedroom.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Little by little, more of the sleepy haze vanishes from my mind. A memory appears. One person always sneaks past my guards. And it happens on the same day, every year. I sit up and smile.

Today must be the Festival of Achilles.

With all the excitement from demon patrol, I forgot all about it. And that means I can expect someone who’s notorious for showing up hours before anyone else even thinks about arriving.

That would be my grandfather, Raedwulf the Early, ex-King of the Thrax and eternal sneak extraordinaire.

Equal parts of adrenaline and joy pump through my veins. Raedwulf is here! I slip out of bed and grab the door handle. Before I pull anything open, Raedwulf’s voice carries through the closed wood once more.

Are you dressed, Lincoln?

Oops. Good question.

Not yet. I quickly pull on flannel PJ bottoms and a loose T-shirt. At last, I open the door.

Grandfather stands in the outer hallway. He’s a rickety figure who looks painfully thin in his medieval chainmail, velvet tunic, and leather pants. Three hundred years ago, Raedwulf was the burliest warrior in Antrum. He even wrestled a leonid demon, bare-handed. Now, Raedwulf’s shock of red hair is pure white. His huge frame is downright skeletal. Which is to be expected. After all, the man’s almost four hundred.

Raedwulf scans me from head to toe with his milky, mismatched eyes. You’re taller.

It’s been a year since you last saw me. I’m a teenager. That’s what we do. Grow.

He slowly steps around me. I’m broad-shouldered with short brown hair and mismatched irises. Right now, my eyes are red-rimmed. Plus, my skin has a greenish hue that says, get this guy some sleep.

Raedwulf sniffs. You look awful.

I just finished eighty hours of demon patrol. I yawn. We hunted down a centislime.

Those are Class A. Good kill. Wish I still had such adventures.

No adventures? If that’s true, then how’d you sneak up to my bedroom door?

Raedwulf smiles. He’s got one of those old-guy mouths where his lips curl into his face. Connor thought he had me all locked up this year. I fooled him.

This happens before every Achilles Festival. The reason why is simple: it’s the only ceremony where Raedwulf comes out of seclusion. My father, Connor, tries to control Raedwulf’s appearance before our subjects. The night before each festival, Connor sets up Raedwulf into a different ‘preparation room.’ A prison. The thought is that Raedwulf won’t escape.

Grandfather always gets loose.

My own son put me in the North Tower, if you can believe that. Raedwulf smacks his thin lips. Can you guess how I got here?

Arx Hall is riddled with secret passages that only Raedwulf knows. Over the years, grandfather has taught me the location of every hidden door and tunnel.

I purse my lips and consider this challenge. If I were trapped in the North Tower, how would I escape?

Here’s my guess, I begin. "The North Tower has a tunnel under the floorboards. You used that passage to reach the sub-basement. From there, you could take the spider’s way." That’s my name for the secret corridors of the palace’s East Wing. In my defense, I was eight years old at the time—and those tunnels are still lousy with cobwebs.

Ah ha! Raedwulf leans in. "Indeed, I took the floorboard tunnel. Only I went to the stinky pass. From there, I made a hairpin turn onto the creaky ceiling crawlspace."

Like the spider’s way, the stinky pass and creaky ceiling crawlspace are also named by my eight-year-old self. Which doesn’t change that Raedwulf’s overall route is far shorter than mine.

That path… I snap my fingers and point at his nose. …Is brilliant.

Invest your time in being a crafty old bastard, and you can never go wrong. Raedwulf grasps my right hand. Grandfather’s fingers feel papery and cold. Come, we must talk.

This also happens every year. "Is this another version of your I’m dying speech?"

Raedwulf tugs me into my reception room. "I am dying. He guides us toward a leather couch. First things first, he announces. These modern leather seats have to go. He gestures toward a nearby painting. That, too."

I can’t help but grin. "So, no I’m dying speech?"

Oh, I’ll get there. Listen up, lad. Thrax came to Antrum to hide out from demons. And since we entered this realm in the early middle ages, we’ve stayed there. He taps his temples. Mentally. Most times, you’re good about holding with tradition.

Thank you.

But you must consider the nobility. He stretches his arms wide. What will they think of this room? There are rumors that the entire court will be forced to visit another realm soon… and now, their prince decorates his personal quarters in a human fashion?

I appreciate the advice, Grandfather. This is a little trick I like to call, acknowledging stuff without committing to changing anything.

Glad you understand. Now, for the next order of business. Raedwulf sits down on the couch. "I am dying. Today marks the last time I’ll attend the Achilles Festival. He looks at me from his left eye. Do you believe me?"

I take the spot beside him. It’s what you say every year.

So, I’m doing something right, eh?

I chuckle. Absolutely.

Raedwulf and I have an understanding. I don’t ask him where he hides out when he’s not at the Achilles Festival. In return, Raedwulf spends one day with me every year. It’s a good system.

Grandfather’s shoulders slump. Sad energy rolls off him. I’ve kept both you and your father away from certain parts of my life. He sighs. It’s because our nobility don’t believe in Ghost World.

In reality, no sane person believes there are powerful conjurers and invisible spirits making up a so-called Ghost World. It’s all a fairy tale told by the quasi demons who run Purgatory. They want to believe there’s more to ghosts than the semi-transparent strangers they sort into Heaven and Hell.

Raedwulf taps me in the center of my chest. You’re different.

How so?

Why, you can see Ghost World, of course.

Poor Raedwulf. The man clearly is having a bad day.

I force a smile. If you say so.

Ghost World is visible to me as well, adds Raedwulf. That’s how I met your grandmother, Juno. And she agrees with me. You have Ghost Sight, too.

Ah, how interesting. I’m running out of non-committal ways to answer the man.

The Ghost Sight stuff is also ridiculous. From the little I know about Juno, my grandmother was an obscura—that’s a Thrax who’s raised by humans. You’re always saying that Juno is dead. She passed away after giving birth to Connor.

Raedwulf lifts his chin. That’s not exactly true.

My grandfather is a little wacky. Okay, a lot wacky. That said, this marks the first time he’s talked nonsense about Juno.

You chat with Juno’s spirit? I ask.

No, my boy. Raedwulf shoots me a sneaky smile. Juno’s still alive.

Well… I let out a long breath. I don’t know what to say.

Raedwulf plays the old fool, but in reality, he’s sharp as a blade. Yet, saying my dead grandmother is still breathing? Time’s catching up with the guy. Maybe this is more than just a bad day.

"What’s really happening?" I ask.

Grandfather’s shoulders tremble with fear. "He is returning. Soon."

Who?

Hades.

I do double-take. As in, the ghost conjurer Hades… the one Achilles kills in today’s festival?

Raedwulf hangs his head. Yes.

But the festival is all in fun, right? There’s no such thing as conjurers or Ghost World.

I’ve failed. Ghost World exists, but the nobility don’t believe what they can’t see. So, I created the festival. I thought with enough time, humor, and luck, the court would accept Ghost World. And it might have worked… If only your father had been born with Ghost Sight.

Only one place exists for ghosts, I declare. Purgatory. And perhaps I bite off the word Purgatory in the same tone I might use for toxic sludge zone.

Nothing is ever one hundred percent of anything. There are angels in Purgatory, and ghosts here in Antrum.

Sure, there are. It’s impossible.

Grandfather’s speech is leading to something. I wish he’d get to that mystery topic already. You still haven’t told me why you’re sharing all this.

One day, someone must deal with Hades, states Raedwulf. That monster’s been locked up for a thousand years. The clock is running out. Once Hades gets loose, Juno can provide a magical weapon called the Beryl Xyston. You or Connor must use it and imprison Hades again.

Grandfather and I have chatted over military plans before. Typically, he’s all smiles. In this case, Raedwulf talks about Hades and the Beryl Xyston as if he’s planning his own execution.

What aren’t you telling me?

Using the weapon will lock up me and Juno forever. He sighs. If your father refuses to do this, promise me you’ll be the one to take care of Hades.

I’ll always do what’s best for the Thrax.

Good. In that case, Hades doesn’t stand a chance. Raedwulf pats my shoulder. And in the meantime, we have a festival to run. Grandfather hauls himself upright. Now, walk me to the Eminence cavern. Let’s make sure everything’s ready for today.

A weight of worry seeps off my shoulders. Before, Raedwulf was acting more than a wee bit odd. As in, perhaps I should call the royal physicians strange. Now, we’re back on solid ground. Accompanying grandfather to the Eminence cavern is familiar territory.

And more than a little fun.

2

LINCOLN

Raedwulf and I slowly march through the ornate corridors of Arx Hall. We’re taking the scenic route to the Eminence cavern. The people adore Raedwulf. I love giving them extra time with him.

Both Raedwulf and I wear our royal best, meaning a formal tunic, chain mail and leathers. Everywhere we go, Thrax fill the hallways. If I’d decided to march around with a zombie version of Elvis, I don’t think our subjects could be more interested. In fact, they’re so excited, they break tradition and just call out to Raedwulf.

I have Ghost Sight!

Hades is real!

We want to join the festival, too!

This happens every year, but I never gave it much notice before. Now, I can’t help but notice how Raedwulf nods and waves, but he doesn’t say anything back.

When I next speak, I take to use a low voice that only Raedwulf will hear. Why don’t you tell them they’re right? Ghost World does exist.

Not that I believe such things, but Raedwulf does.

"Our everyday subjects are powerless, replies Raedwulf. Having them speak about Ghost World to their nobles will only make things worse."

"Have you ever spoken to what you call an everyday subject?"

Bah. Raedwulf sniffs. Have you?

All the time.

Enough to discuss their personal views on Ghost World?

Ah, no.

Nor will you. That’s why we have nobles and court. It’s how the world works, my lad.

We continue to our stroll. With every step forward, my thoughts churn over the fact that Raedwulf is right. I don’t really speak with my subjects. Royals deal with nobles… the head of each house runs their different group of subjects… and that’s the way it’s always been. Sure, things are different on Earth. But Thrax are part-angel, not human.

Eventually, the corridors narrow and the crowds give up. I also drop my thoughts of how Antrum’s government.

After navigating a series of stone passages, Raedwulf and I reach the Eminence cavern. It’s a long and rectangular space that’s formed from exposed rock, except for a stage that sits at the far end of the cave. This raised platform is a simple wooden affair that holds a stone wall as well as a trio of skulls.

Yes, skulls.

One set of bones is huge and human. The other two are small and animal. The human option is supposed to be a magical creature that got trapped in Antrum from a parallel dimension. The Doyen. Supposedly, this skull has the power to hold magical tournaments between ghost conjurers.

I scan the skulls and shake my head. Talk about ridiculous. Who really thinks these relics are from another dimension? Everyone agrees this ceremony is just some goofy fun. Every year, Raedwulf and I act out the whole thing on stage. Together, we bring Vaudeville into the middle ages.

Raedwulf and I cross the empty cavern to hang out behind the scenes. At the Eminence, the backstage area is an open stretch of rocky ground directly behind the stage’s stone wall. Everything starts off normally. Grandfather and I are here hours early, so we stand around and catch up on what’s happened over the last year.

Then, it happens.

Grandfather sees something over my right shoulder. His already-gray face turns white. I step closer.

Raedwulf, are you all right?

He whispers one word. Hades.

I follow Raedwulf’s stare to check behind me. For a moment, I spy a massive humanoid lurking in the shadowy depths of the cave. I inhale a shocked breath.

Calm down, Lincoln. You haven’t had a decent rest in days.

After blinking a few times, I scan the place once more. Nothing’s there.

Raedwulf never looks too steady. But after seeing this so-called Hades, Grandfather seems ready to fall over.

I’ll get you a chair, I offer.

Please.

It takes some running around, but I find a few wooden folding chairs. When I return backstage, Raedwulf leans against a patch of stone wall, heaving in deep breaths. I open the chair and guide Raedwulf to sit upon it.

Is that better? I ask.

Raedwulf stares off into the spot over my right shoulder. Did you see him? That’s Hades, I tell you.

I checked. There’s nothing.

A knowing glint shines in Raedwulf’s eyes. Not even for a second?

I open my own folding chair and sit down. I saw something for a moment, but that’s just my mind playing tricks on me. I’m seriously sleep-deprived.

Grandfather eyes me carefully once more. The last time Raedwulf inspected me, his face held a proud look of the my, how you’ve grown variety. Now, his eyes glisten with fear.

Someone may need to use the Beryl Xyston far sooner than I thought… and, you know… He doesn’t say it. Even so, I know what Grandfather is thinking: And imprison me and Juno forever.

A tense silence falls between us. For his part, Grandfather takes to staring at the floor silently. With every passing moment, his skin turns more papery and gray.

I’m not sure how long we sit in silence. At some point, my parents join us backstage.

Mother is a petite figure in her traditional black Rixa gown. Her elegant features are highlighted by pulling her gray hair into a neat chignon. Father is a barrel-chested