Sample Chapter: Angelbound Clockwork Igni

I’m so excited to share chapter one of CLOCKWORK IGNI, the next release in my Angelbound origins series! The story begins with a brief trip back in time to when Myla was eleven years old. I hope you enjoy this preview!

Want to be sure you don’t miss CLOCKWORK IGNI? Be sure to preorder today on Amazon, Nook, Apple, Kobo & GooglePlay

MYLA, AGE ELEVEN

I’m about to play Barbie Doll Death Match. Yes! 

It’s all thanks to Miss Kits, a black cat with six tails and enough magic to make Barbie dolls fight, pro-wrestling style. Talk about awesome.

But there is a catch. 

Miss Kits will only enchant my Barbies after I set up a dolly tea for them in the backyard. Whatever. Cats are cats. It’s best to act as ordered and not ask too many questions. So I spend my morning digging out toys from my closet and setting up dolls on the lawn. 

And that’s where I am right now. The tea is totally in place. Once Miss Kits shows up, everything can start. I’m so excited, I could scream.

While I wait, I scope things out. Mom says we live in a part of Purgatory that’s best described as, crappy but private. My backyard is a small square of yellow grass. Our moldy ranch house takes up one side. Dead hedges surround the rest of the lawn. 

Speaking of Mom, she eyes me through the kitchen’s back window. There’s no missing the moment when she spies my dolls. Mom’s eyes widen as she waves toward the tiny table. I shoot her a thumbs up. 

Yup, I’m playing with Barbies. 

Mom smiles her face off. Not that I blame her for being glad about the doll situation. It’s summer and I’m an only child. To stay busy, I normally do stuff like shoot up our garage with homemade arrows… make punching bags out of old towels and duct tape… and toss sparkly darts at the lawn shed (which I’ve now renamed the disco porcupine house).

And that’s just the stuff Mom knows about. My honorary older brother is a ghoul named Walker. He’s both undead and sneaky. Walker’s been taking me on so-called field trips for ice cream, but we’ve actually been slipping into Purgatory’s Arena to watch fights. 

All this time, Mom’s been trying (as she puts it) to encourage non-violent play. She keeps buying me jewelry-making kits and baking supplies. I use them to create the glittery darts that now decorate the disco porcupine house. No wonder Mom’s so excited to see me with Barbies.

Slam!

The back door opens with such force, it hits the house itself. Two cracked shingles fall right off. Mom rushes over.

“Oh, Myla.” Mom beams. “Are your dollies having tea?” 

“For now, yeah.”

Like all natives of Purgatory, Mom and I are quasi-demons. That means we’re mostly human with a little demonic DNA. Mom’s tall and curvy with red hair. I look like a smaller version of her (no curves yet, though). Mom and I also sport tails, the same as other quasi-demons. Ours are long, black, and covered in dragon scales. Today we wear gray sweats, matching T-shirts, and mangy sneakers. It’s the approved outfit from our ghoul overlords. 

“Tea with your dollies.” Mom crouches beside the table to straighten the tea cups and tiny plates. “Have they eaten their cucumber sandwiches yet?”

“Not sure I get the question.”

“It’s a tea thing.”

Mom looks at me with such expectant joy, I simply have to answer. I don’t know much about tea, so I fake it. “Oh, the dolls have their tea stuff and… cucumber… they’re ll over it.” 

Part of me wants to tell the truth: there is no real tea planned—this is a Barbie Doll Death Match. Still, Mom looks too happy for reality.

“I have an idea!” Mom claps. “Let’s make little mud pies and pretend they’re canapés. Then we can make salmon tarts out of leaves. After that, you and I can share a pot of tea in the kitchen.” Mom mimes holding up a cup with her pinky out. “This’ll be so much fun!”

My heart sinks. It took me ages to convince Miss Kits to play Barbie Doll Death Match today. There’s no way this cat will wait around for me to finish up with Mom. Sadly, I may not get another chance for battle time.

I twist my fingers at my waistline. “That’s a great idea, only I planned this out with Miss Kits. The dolls aren’t supposed to have tea.”

Mom frowns. “Then why set up a table?”

“Good question. Miss Kits asked me to do it. That’s all I got.”

Mom narrows her eyes. She’s so on to me, it isn’t funny. “And what spell is Miss Kits casting today, exactly?”

“Oh, she’ll make the dolls come alive and do stuff.”

Mom’s voice goes scary-low. “What. Stuff.”

“Fine.” I exhale. “Miss Kits and I are playing Barbie Doll Death Match.”

Mom goes all pale. “Did you say…”

“Barbie Doll Death Match, yeah. How did Miss Kits put it again? She thinks, it’ll be educational for me to see fighting up-close and on a small scale.”

Inch by inch, Mom moves to stand. Some days, my mother’s a worry monster. But other times? She reminds me more of a warlord. Like now. 

“Why don’t you invite over that nice friend of yours, Cissy? I bet she’ll play with dolls.”

“Cissy is on vacation in Heaven with her parents, remember?” 

Actually, Cis invited me to go with her, but Mom lost her mind at the idea of combining me and Heaven. For some reason, Mom is convinced that angels are dangerous. What can I say? Strange ideas are the norm when Mom goes into worry monster mode.

“Then clean up your toys and go inside,” announces Mom. 

Suddenly, Miss Kits saunters out from the line of tall hedges. I’m so happy to see her, I cheer.

“Yay! Miss Kits!”

“Greetings, everyone.” Miss Kits is larger than regular cats and wears a large pink bow around her neck. She also has silky black fur, bright green eyes, and the six tails that mark her as a feline kitsune, aka a magical cat who selects a single person to watch over. In my case, Miss Kits chose me. Talk about good luck.

“Ah, you’ve set up the tea table as requested,” says Miss Kits sweetly. “Now it’s time for the fight.” Miss Kits focuses on Mom. “And look, the display attracted your mother. Just the person I’ve been meaning to speak with. You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you, Camilla?”

All of a sudden, the request to set up tea makes perfect sense.  Both Miss Kits and Walker think I need more battle training. Mom disagrees. Walker handles the situation by sneaking me around. Miss wants to confront things head-on. Which is why Mom has been avoiding her.

Damn. I should have known the tea set would lure Mom out for a fight.

Mom folds her arms over her chest. “I refuse to have this conversation over and over. Myla’s my child. I make decisions about how she spends her time.”

That what Mom thinks. 

Miss Kits tilts her head in a very predatory way. Not sure how cats can say ‘game on’ by just moving their noggin slightly, but they do. “You don’t approve of our game for the day?”

“No Barbie Doll Death Match,” declares Mom.

My heart sinks. This could be bad.

Miss Kits slowly licks her front paw. “I’m a feline kitsune. We protect one person. For me, that’s Myla. She’s a warrior. Play-fighting is healthy for her.”

This is Miss Kits’ common complaint. I appreciate her bringing it up—I crave fighting skills the way a baby bird wants flight—but at this rate? I’ll end up grounded. 

“Myla may have some battle aptitude,” counters Mom. “But she doesn’t have to indulge that side of her personality all the time. My daughter has already spent plenty of her summer on violence.” Mom gestures toward the disco porcupine house as evidence. It really is a mess.

I raise my hand. “Hey, I do more than just destroy stuff all summer. I’ve all been watching the Human Channel on P-TV.” As in, Purgatory TV. Which gets three channels. The human one is the best since it shows reruns of Happy Days.

Mom and Miss Kits don’t even look at me, let alone comment on what I just said. Instead, the pair become locked in a staring contest. Eek.

As she speaks, Miss Kits makes all six tails sway behind her in perfect sync. “Our girl must learn to protect herself.” 

The way Miss Kits says the words, protect herself, it’s like she and Mom are having a secret conversation without me. That’s grown-ups for you.

“Myla has time to learn,” states Mom. “Myla’s eighteenth birthday is many years away.”

Huh. Eighteen is when I become a legal adult in Purgatory. Somehow, I think Mom and Miss Kits are talking about something else than just my birthday. 

“What do you mean, I must learn stuff before I’m eighteen?”

Mom finally focuses in my direction. “All I’m saying is that you’ve plenty of time before you encounter adult threats and responsibilities, if ever.”

“Is that so?” Miss Kits’ stare turns so intense, even her tails stop moving. “The ghouls run Purgatory, Camilla. They are not kind.”

Which is true with a capital T. Walker’s not like the rest of the undead. Most ghouls are asshats who see the quasis as little more than insects. You can get executed just for forgetting to address them as your overlord.

Mom presses her palms to her eyes. I exhale. This is a good sign for the Barbie Doll Death Match. Eye pressing means Mom is considering Miss Kits’ point of view. A full minute passes super slowly.

“All right,” announces Mom at last. “I trust you.” The words come out as a question. Still, I’ll take it.

I wrap Mom in a big hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” Mom steps back. “Remember, I’ll be right in the house if you need anything. Just shout for me.” 

I smile so hard, my face hurts. “You got it.”

Mom trudges back into the house. Once the back door closes, Miss Kits turns to me. 

“Are you ready?” asks Miss Kits. 

“Absolutely.” 

Miss Kits purrs. “Let the Barbie Doll Death Match begin!”

–You’ve reached the end of this sample.
Be sure to preorder CLOCKWORK IGNI today on Amazon, Nook, Apple, Kobo & GooglePlay—

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