Angelbound Tales Volume One: Angelbound Tales, #1

By Christina Bauer

Love Myla Lewis? Don't miss Angelbound Tales Volume One, a collection of five bonus stories from Myla's world, including:
 

·  Walker's Love Connection, where Myla uncovers a secret about her honorary older brother.

·  Sharkie and Snickerdoodles, in which our heroine faces down an uber-evil ghoul in order to get her hands on (what else?) some damned fine cookies.

·  Wedding Bells, aka the story of a certain happy couple getting married. Havoc ensues in more ways than one!

·  Herbie and Baby Hotdogs, the tale of a quasi-demon whose 'mortal sin power' is gluttony. Consider yourself warned.

·  Saving Mrs. Pomplemousse, a mini-romance that explores the true meaning of 'soul mates.' Say it with me now: awwww!
 

Originally released in special editions, these many tales now unite in one master collection that spans print, ebook and audio formats! 42,000 words.

***Warning*** If you don't like quirky indie authors, then you'll hate the following disclaimer from my inner pirate: Shiver me tinders, if ye haven't read Angelbound books one through three, then these tales'll frustrate ye more'n a drunk goat on astroturf. Argh!

Now back to my regular pirate-free self:
I hope these stories provide a little escape from reality because, let's face it, we all need one these days :)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monster House Books
• Release date: Jan 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781956114645

Christina Bauer

Christina Bauer thinks that fantasy books are like bacon: they just make life better. All of which is why she writes romance novels that feature demons, dragons, wizards, witches, elves, elementals, and a bunch of random stuff that she brainstorms while riding the Boston T. Oh, and she includes lots of humor and kick-ass chicks, too. Christina lives in Newton, MA with her husband, son, and semi-insane golden retriever, Ruby. She loves to connect with her fans at BauersBooks.com.

Book preview

Angelbound Tales Volume One

ANGELBOUND TALES VOLUME ONE

BOOK ONE OF THE ANGELBOUND TALES SERIES

CHRISTINA BAUER

Monster House Books

COPYRIGHT

Monster House Books

Brighton, MA 02135

ISBN 9781956114645

First Edition

Copyright © 2024 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 Note

One. Walker’s Love Connection

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Two. Sharkie and Snickerdoodles

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Three. Wedding Bells

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Four. Herbie and Baby Hotdogs

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Five. Saving Mrs. Pomplemousse

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Also By Christina Bauer

ANGELBOUND

LINCOLN

OFFSPRING

FAIRY TALES OF THE MAGICORUM

DIMENSION DRIFT

BEHOLDER

PIXIELAND DIARIES

Appendix

Collected Works

If You Enjoyed This Book…

Acknowledgments

About Christina Bauer

Complimentary Book

AUTHOR NOTE

Note From the Author, Christina Bauer

Dear reader,

Welcome to Angelbound Tales Volume One, a collection of five bonus stories from the world of Myla Lewis, including:

One. Walker’s Love Connection

Two. Sharkie and Snickerdoodles

Three. Wedding Bells

Four. Herbie and Baby Hotdogs

Five. Saving Mrs. Pomplemousse

Originally released in special editions, these many tales now unite in one master collection that spans print, ebook and audio formats!

***Warning***

If you don’t like quirky indie authors, then you’ll hate the following disclaimer from my inner pirate: 

Shiver me tinders, if ye haven’t read Angelbound books one through three, then these tales’ll frustrate ye more’n a drunk goat on astroturf. Argh!

Now back to my regular pirate-free self:

I hope these stories provide a little escape from reality because, let’s face it, we all need one.

CB

ONE. WALKER’S LOVE CONNECTION

Introduction From the Author, Christina Bauer

Dear reader,

This tale takes place before the events of Angelbound book one. In it, Myla sneaks into Purgatory’s Arena where she discovers a romantic secret about her honorary older brother, Walker.

I hope you enjoy the story of Walker’s Love Connection!

Sincerely,

CB

IMAGE - Walker’s Love Connection

1

My tail and I always get along.

Until we don’t.

Take now, for instance. I drive my ancient station wagon, Betsy, through the many strip malls and weedy lots that make up Purgatory. My ride is an un-pimped junker whose radio stays eternally stuck on a polka station. As ‘Roll out the Barrel’ blares from Betsy’s tinny speakers, my tail jabs my shoulder in time to the music. This is its way of saying, I’m not happy with our destination.

My tail loathes trips to the Ghoul-E-Mart.

Come on, I plead. I promised Mom that I’d pick up milk from the Ghoul-E. Technically, our overlords sell us something called white liquid product.

Saying that I’m only getting milk makes zero difference to my tail. Right now, it’s the star of its own little play called, Poke Myla’s Shoulder.

Jab, jab.

We aren’t going to the Ghoul-E right away, I explain. We’ll hit the arena first.

There’s only one arena in Purgatory—it’s where warriors like me fight evil souls and demons to the death. Is this an appropriate extra-curricular activity for a high school junior? Ah, no. But, that’s ghouls for you. Our overlords see their minions—meaning quasi demons like me—as the equivalent of pond scum.

My tail pauses for a moment as it considers a potential arena visit. Then, it acts in a way that says, what a load of B-S.

Jab, jab, jab.

Clearly, my tail has trust issues. It doesn’t believe we’re going anywhere near the arena. And there are two reasons why I shouldn’t approach the gladiator games right now. First, it’s not my day to fight. Second, even when I am scheduled to go, I should only show up with my honorary older brother, a ghoul named Walker.

But I have plans, people.

I turn onto a mostly-empty lot behind a tall ruin made of gray stone. Purgatory’s Arena. I steer my wagon into a parking spot that’s hidden by tall grass.

We’re here, I announce.

My tail gives me one last jab. Little by little, the arrowhead-shaped end turns to scan beyond my shoulder.

And it goes nuts.

For a full minute, my tail bobs up and down with such joy, it slams between the wagon’s roof and its pleather front seat. I can’t help but smile. While my tail hates Ghoul-E-Mart, the arena is another story. 

Suddenly, my tail freezes mid-happy dance. The arrowhead-shaped end points right at my nose. This is its way of saying, you can’t go in there!

We’re just watching a few matches. It’s exhibition day. This is when other quasi fighters hit the arena floor to show their skills against demons. I’m here to size up the competition.

My tail’s arrowhead end points at my watch before swaying from side-to-side in a no-no-no motion. In other words? This isn’t your day to fight.

Please, I comment. Who’ll pick me out from the crowd?

With a graceful whoosh of motion, my tail forms a straight line across my dashboard before tilting its arrowhead end up at a ninety-degree angle. It then shifts back and forth in its very best impression of a certain water-bound predator.

A shark.

Translation: The emcee for arena battles is none other than your nemesis, Sharkie the ghoul. He’ll notice you, Myla.

Even worse, if Sharkie catches me sneaking around, I could end up in a ghoul re-education camp, and that’s if I’m lucky. Fortunately, I have a plan.

I pull out a mangy paper sack from under the passenger seat. See this?

My tail bobs up and down. Yeah.

Opening the bag, I pull out some supplies for this mission, namely a blonde wig, floppy hat, and oversized sunglasses.

I slip on my new disguise and check the windshield mirror. A long blonde wig covers my red tresses. Heavy sunglasses conceal my brown eyes. A wide hat tops off the look. Sure, I still wear grey sweats and matching sneakers, but the ghouls make everyone wear that.

With this disguise? I am no longer Myla Lewis, demon killer. Now, I’m a blonde bombshell with excellent taste in both eyewear and headgear.

I focus on my tail. Be honest. Do you recognize me?

My tail makes a great show of scanning me from head to toe.

Well? I prompt.

Looping around, my tail points to itself. The meaning is clear. You look okay. What about me?

Exactly. You need a disguise, too. Reaching into the bag once more, I pull out a pair of googly eyes and pop them onto my tail’s arrowhead end. Boom. Now you’re a googly snake.

Is that a real animal? No. Will anyone notice? Hey, if they buy my wig, hat, and sunglasses, then a googly snake will be an easy sell.

My tail rises to check its reflection in the driver’s-side mirror. It must like what it sees, considering how it points to the door. Time to go.

In some back corner of my brain, I realize this is one of my dumber schemes. In all honestly, I probably will get caught.

But before that? Oh, what joys await me.

I grasp the car door handle. Trouble, here I come.

2

Icross the parking lot, careful to flip my long golden locks over my shoulder as I go. I figure that move is very blonde-bombshell-y, so my disguise seems all the more believable.

The fighter’s entrance is around back. After a short walk through some tall weeds, I reach a crumbling stone archway. The guard on duty is a she-ghoul named SAS-3. I call her Sassy, because she really has a mouth on her. I respect that in any life form.

Sassy leans against the stretch of wall beside the entrance arch. Like all ghouls, she wears long black robes, only Sassy’s have a leather waistband with a holder for her cattle prod. Although her hood is drawn low, Sassy’s all-black eyes gleam as her gaze locks onto me.

Here’s what should happen next. Sassy will ask me a bunch of questions to verify my identity. I’ve a whole story ready, too: I’m a prospective fighter who’s here for today’s expo match. I even came up with a new name for myself, Jolie Warhammer. I open my mouth, ready to tell everything.

Sassy shrugs. Proceed.

Really?

Sure, Myla. Walker’s already arrived.

I’d worry about why my honorary older brother is here without me, but Walker’s sneaky like that.

You don’t want to ask anything else?

Nah, just go in, says Sassy. The sooner you’re out of my sight, the faster you’re Walker’s problem, not mine.

See what I mean? Total smart ass.

I shift my weight from foot to foot and consider my options. This situation is both good and bad. The nice part is that I’m getting past Sassy with such ease. The crap side is how my disguise clearly sucks. And if Walker’s in the arena already? That could complicate things.

Still, Sassy’s job is to recognize people as they walk into the fighter’s entrance. On this side of the building, there’s nothing else to do but watch weeds grow. If anything, it’s good luck that Sassy’s waving me through without trouble.

I march under the access archway and through a series of stone tunnels. The arena itself is a great oval. Concentric stone benches encircle the fighting floor. I take care to enter the stands at the oval’s short end, aka the opposite direction of where Sharkie always faces the crowd.

Heh heh heh. This is so awesome, I can’t stand myself.

After parking my butt on an obliging stone bench, I scan the arena itself. The fighting floor is empty. Small groups of ghouls sit on the benches opposite mine. All these undeadlies wear black robes with the letters QFG on their hoods. They’re the Quasi Fighting Guild. The QFG reports any quasi fatalities. For some reason, it takes five clusters of undeadlies to do this.

Ghouls. They love their bureaucracy.

Suddenly, a figure appears in one of the nearby archways that lead out onto the arena floor: an extra-tall ghoul with leathery skin, beady all-black eyes and teeth that have been filed to sharp points. My pulse speeds.

That’s Sharkie, all right.

The emcee strides onto the arena floor. This is what I consider to be the risky part of my plan. If Sharkie glances toward his left, he’ll spot me, easy peasy. I slump lower on my bench-seat and hope Sharkie will walk faster.

He doesn’t. Sharkie slowly lurches along. The emcee’s black robes are especially ragged, so they billow with every step. At last, Sharkie reaches the floor’s center. He slams his long staff onto the ground.

I have an announcement, calls Sharkie in his gravelly voice.

I sit up straight again. Even my tail gets into the act by pointing its new googly eyes toward the arena floor. Adrenaline