Lady Reaper
LADY REAPER
BOOK 11 OF THE ANGELBOUND ORIGINS
A PREQUEL NOVELLA TO THE REAPER GAMES
CHRISTINA BAUER
COPYRIGHT
Newton, MA 02464
www.monsterhousebooks.com
ISBN 9781956114065
First 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, Read Books & Understand That Writers Can Get COVID, Too.
CONTENTS
Publisher’s Note
LADY REAPER
Ghoul Minion Record
1. Myla
2. Myla
3. Myla
Thrax Annual Royal Status Report
4. Lincoln
5. Lincoln
6. Lincoln
7. Lincoln
8. Myla
9. Myla
10. Myla
11. Myla
12. Myla
13. Myla
14. Lincoln
15. Lincoln
16. Lincoln
17. Lincoln
18. Myla
19. Lincoln
20. Myla
Also By Christina Bauer
REAPER GAMES
ANGRY GODS
LINCOLN
OFFSPRING
FAIRY TALES OF THE MAGICORUM
DIMENSION DRIFT
BEHOLDER
PIXIELAND DIARIES
REAPER GAMES - Sample Chapters
Thrax Annual Royal Status Report
1. Myla
2. Lincoln
Appendix
If You Enjoyed This Book…
Collected Works
Acknowledgments
About Christina Bauer
Complimentary Book
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Originally, LADY REAPER was a full novel. However, the author fell ill with COVID and gave us this prequel novella instead. We have since locked Ms. Bauer into the basement with a charger cord, MacBook Pro and carton of Theraflu.
Therefore, the full and epic conclusion of this story will definitely be delivered in the next release, REAPER GAMES.
LADY REAPER
ABOUT THE BOOK
Young Myla and Lincoln Kick Ass and Take Names in This Prequel Novella for REAPER GAMES!
A part-demon girl fights Lady Reaper
Myla Lewis is a sixteen-year-old part-demon girl who fights evil souls in Purgatory's Arena... and she's always ready for a good battle against evil. Enter Lady Reaper, the famous ghoulette who wields both a scythe and nefarious intentions. Myla discovers Lady Reaper will soon visit the Demon Woods 'ride' at Purgatory's Annual Lust Festival. Time to visit the fest, kick ass and take names, right? Wrong. Lady Reaper has other plans for Myla as well as her best friend, Cissy...
A part-angel prince faces the Grim Reaper
Lincoln is a seventeen-year-old part-angel prince who protects humans from the denizens of Hell. On a routine trip to Earth, Lincoln uncovers clues that his best friend, Walker, might be allied to an evil ghoul named the Grim Reaper. Things go downhill from there...
Read on for the rest of the story!
GHOUL MINION RECORD
DOMINION - Purgatory
MINION - Myla Lewis, quasi-demon
AGE - Sixteen years old
OVERLORD SUPPORT LEVEL - Low. Ms Lewis does not appreciate ghoul rule. A classic statement: “Fuck you, you fucking fucks.”
LIFE FOCUS - Ms Lewis serves ghouls by battling in Purgatory’s Arena. Despite being given the worst demons and evil souls to fight, Ms Lewis keeps not-dying. She recently stated that she “hasn’t had a decent match in weeks.”
SUGGESTED COURSE OF ACTION - Someone should ask Ms Lewis to improve her attitude, but it won’t be me.
Updated by - Ghoul QI7-19
1
MYLA
AGE SIXTEEN
Curling onto our threadbare couch, I hug my bowl of popcorn and brace for the scariest show on Purgatory TV.
Casper the Friendly Ghost.
Mom and I never miss it.
Casper starts in a few minutes. To kill time, I play my demon game. This is like finding shapes in clouds, only I scan my living room for evil outlines. For instance, if I squint, all the mold stains on the walls resemble a horde of satanic jellies. And the zigzag frays in the carpet? Hell snakes.
Since my home realm comes loaded with inspirational decay, I can play this game a ton. I’m scanning smudges on a nearby windowpane when the TV announcer pipes up.
“It’s Great Scala time!”
That gets my attention.
Purgatory sorts souls into Heaven or Hell, either by trial by jury or trial by combat. If it’s the latter, then I’m one of the fighters who battles evil spirits in Purgatory’s Arena. Once the sorting part is done, the Great Scala’s the only being who can send those souls to their final destination. Life Bonus: every so often, the Great Scala hits the arena and moves ghosts before my eyes.
Long story short, I’ve seen the Great Scala.
A handsome man in a white suit appears on TV. The guy looks like he can bench-press a Mack truck without a spotter.
They can’t be serious.
The announcer speaks again. “See the Great Scala!”
They’re serious, all right. The TV is pretending that the Great Scala’s a bodybuilder. In reality, he’s an old dude on a stretcher.
On screen, the Fake Scala lifts his arms. Behind him, hundreds of white sheets—supposedly ghosts—are pulled up on ‘invisible’ strings. This counts for special effects in Purgatory. In real life, the Great Scala does raise his wrinkly upper limbs to move souls, but what he summons is a sky-high pillar that’s made from tiny lightning bolts. Igni. It’s way better than what’s on TV.
The announcer continues. “The Great Scala, Maxon Bane, loves his ghoul overlords. You should, too! Adore the undead today and Maxon Bane will give you a happy afterlife tomorrow!”
In other words, love your ghoul overlords or the Great Scala will send you to Hell. Subtle.
My tail pops up. Purgatory is home to quasi demons, meaning we’re mostly human with a little demonic DNA. Every quasi has a tail as well as a power across the seven deadly sins. In my case, my tail’s a long black number covered in dragonscales. My deadly sins are wrath and lust, aka the best of the bunch. Which is why my tail now jabs at the screen with gusto. It hates ghoul rule as much as I do.
I pat the arrowhead-shaped end. “Calm down, boy.” It pokes away a few more times before slumping to hang by my ankles.
I check our dusty wall clock. “Mom! Casper’s almost on.”
My mother’s in our kitchen, which is right off the living room. Based on the many rattling noises coming from that direction, she’s assembling our janky food processor in order to make a smoothie. That won’t end well.
“Be right in,” replies Mom. Mechanical grinding noises echo through the air.
“Almost time to celebrate your best ghoul friend of the day,” says the announcer. “Who will it be?”
Faces of different ghouls flicker across the screen while a drumroll plays. Total meh. Taking a break from my demon game, I test how much popcorn I can shove in my mouth before it’s no longer possible to close my lips.
My tail pops up to jab my shoulder. I speak through a very full mouth. “Wha?”
In reply, my tail gestures between itself and the screen. For a few long seconds, I don’t know where it’s going with this. By the time I’ve swallowed, I get what my tail means here.
/> “Ohhhh,” I say. “You think you’re my best ghoul friend.”
The arrowhead end of my tail wags up and down, which is its way of says, Hells, yeah.
“I appreciate the thought, but there are two reasons why you’re wrong.”
My tail arcs back, shocked.
“First, you’re part of me. So, that doesn’t really count as a friend. And second, you’re not a ghoul. It’s the best ghoul friend of the day.”
The arrowhead-end of my tail points to the ceiling in a gesture that’s the equivalent of someone lifting their chin and saying, how rude. My tail then bobs over to ‘sit’ on a stretch of couch beside me. The arrowhead-end twists so that I only see a thin line versus the full shape.
I’m getting the silent treatment.
“Time’s up!” says the announcer. “Your ghoul friend of the day is… Lady Regina Reaper!”
Before me, another ghoul appears onscreen. Lady Regina Reaper is an undeadly with pale skin, all-black eyes, a tiny top hat, and a fitted Victorian dress. She holds a slender scythe. The cutting blade arches over her head.
It may be a cool weapon, but that scythe is wasted on Lady Reaper. I’ve fought ghouls before. The undead have the muscle tone of wet noodles and an overwhelming instinct to flee.
The announcer keeps going. “Back in 1857, the Great Scala fell ill. No souls could move from Purgatory to Heaven or Hell. Together with her husband, Grim, Lady Regina Reaper saved the day.” The speaker adds a lot more blah blah blah about the Reapers; I don’t pay attention. Seeing a first-class weapon like that scythe in the hands of a ghoul is just too depressing.
The announcer finishes. “Be like Lady Reaper. Help those you love, who are, of course, ghouls.”
Um, no. Other than my honorary older brother Walker, I don’t give a crap about the undead.
And Lady Regina Reaper can kiss my quasi butt.
2
MYLA
At last, the show starts. A cartoon boy-ghost appears on screen. Since our TV is evil, all the color is off kilter. Casper looks green. Still, it’s my fave show and I’m glad it’s here. The familiar jingle begins. “Casper the friendly ghost…”
“It’s on, Mom!”
“Be right there.”
I jam another handful of popcorn into my head and watch the cartoon Casper march across some random human town. For whatever reason, the kid’s soul flies up to a bird’s nest.
“Hi, I’m Casper,” he says to a crow.
“Ghoooost!” screeches the bird, who—let’s face it—is probably an avionne demon in disguise. The little feathery creep flies away, leaving poor Casper totally dejected. It’s enough to make you cry or scream. Me being me, I’m in the latter category.
“Forget the bird, Casper!” I yell at the screen. “Haul ass to Purgatory! Kids get a free pass to the Pearly Gates.” Which is true. Purgatory is awesome that way.
Mom’s still in the kitchen. The grinding noises continue. “Has Casper flown off to Purgatory yet?”
“Nope, and you’re missing it.”
As a rule, new ghosts have an undeniable urge to find Purgatory. Yet, Casper is staying put. It’s the talk of the realm.
Finally, Mom plunks onto the other side of the couch. “I’m here.”
I look a lot like my mother, what with my auburn hair, brown eyes, and dragonscale tail. Both Mom and I wear the standard ghoul-mandated uniform of gray sweats. Mom’s more curvy, but I’m close to matching her in that department.
Mom frowns. “Why is Casper green?”
“You got me. The TV started doing this an hour ago. I gave up trying to fix it.”
“Are you telling me I spent a month’s wages to get us a new color TV… and Casper the Friendly Ghost is green?”
Which opens up an old line of argument between us. I pointedly bite my lips together so I won’t say anything out loud. “Mmm-hmm.”
Mom rolls her eyes. “I see you over there, not-saying anything. Fine. Next time, I’ll skip the ghoul co-op and buy our TV from Mister F, just like everyone else.” Mister F is Mister Frederickson, a quasi who runs the black market between Purgatory and Earth. His daughter, Cissy, is my best friend.
Back on screen, Casper keeps floating around town, trying to make a friend. Adults scream and run at the sight of him. More animals haul ass, too.
“He’s not flying away,” says Mom. “This is terrible.”
“Have I told you my theory? Casper’s a demon in disguise.”
“Many times,” says Mom dryly. “And that’s the end of our demonic chat for today. You know I’m not a fan.”
Mom hates that my arena battles are to the death. I always point out that any dying is done by demons and evildoers. For some reason, that doesn’t make a difference.
Back on the show, a random kitten decides to chill with Casper. The child ghost is so happy, it’s pathetic. The show ends.
“I don’t get it.” Mom sighs. “Hopefully, Casper will go to Purgatory next week.”
“On Earth, humans binge-watch TV shows on the internet. We need that in Purgatory.”
“There are many things I need from our ghoul overlords. For instance, I’d like an actual education for my daughter that doesn’t include ghoul massage lessons. Internet, though? Not on my list.”
I bob my head, trying to picture a reality where internet access comes before skipping my ghoul wellness classes.
I got nothing. Mom’s right.
My mother lifts her drink. Up close, I see chunky veggies hovering in green water. I can’t help but notice that she hasn’t actually set the beverage to her mouth yet.
“That smoothie is something.” My tail pats me on the back for being so diplomatic.
“I don’t think our food processor works. This doesn’t look like the recipe.” Mom sniffs at the glass. “Ugh. This is disgusting.”
“If you need a snack, I stashed Demon Bars under the sink.” Some people think Demon Bars are candy, but that’s false. They definitely toss a little granola in there.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Mom’s into green and leafy vegetables. Only in Purgatory, they’re more brown and limp.
Mom slogs off to the kitchen. The sounds of clinking plastic and gurgling water follow. No doubt, Mom’s cleaning the food processor. That’ll take a while, considering how it has twenty different parts.
Suddenly, I’m aware of something poking my butt. Shifting to one side, I find a leather satchel jammed under the couch cushion. I recognize it right away. This bag belongs to Walker, my honorary older brother. He’s also a warrior, hella cool, and the type who forgets zero. The fact that Walker left his bag? He must be super-distracted with some emergency.
Color me interested.
3
MYLA
I call to Mom. “Walker forgot his satchel!”
Fresh clanks sound from the kitchen as Mom replies: “Set the bag aside, Myla. Walker can grab it later.”
“Sure thing.” I haul out the satchel. Along the way, I spy a sheet of paper poking from the bag. One word is scrawled across the top: Danger!
Setting the satchel aside, I resolve to leave Walker’s private things alone.
Ten seconds pass.
An idea occurs.
The paper says, danger, and it’s written in Walker’s bold script. What if my honorary older brother is in peril? If he ever got hurt, I’d never forgive myself.
In fact, the more I think about this, it’s clearly my responsibility to look through Walker’s stuff. The TV repeats a line about today’s ghoul friend.
“Be like Lady Reaper,” says the announcer. “Help those you love, who are, of course, ghouls.”
Will do.
As instructed by my undead overlords, I decide to help my favorite ghoul and pull the sheet from the satchel. Under the word danger, Walker’s written more notes.
Regina and Grim reaper ‘saved’ millions of souls in 1857. Only, there’s no sign of ghosts from that year moving to Heaven or Hell. Plus, those spirits nev
er passed through a ghost tower.
Everyone in Purgatory knows how we process ghosts. Millions of souls died in 1857. For so many to disappear, someone must’ve routed them out of our ghost towers and into a homemade storage system. Which happens. Some humans hoard cats, other quasis do the same with souls. Not cool, but that’s why we have police. I read on.
I suspect the Reapers are behind all this.
To highlight his point, Walker underlines the entire sentence.
In red.
Three times.
Wow.
I make my classic shock face: brows up, chin down, and my mouth stretching to the max length possible while keeping my lips closed. I turn that sentence over in my mind.
I suspect the Reapers are behind all this.