Angry Gods is here on June 25th! 


Preorders are live today aaaaaand check out the sample chapter below…

Chapter One

In my dream, I rest on a pancake-flat cloud high in the atmosphere. Chilly vapor caresses my back. Buttercup-yellow sunshine warms my face. No one’s around, unless you count the occasional demonic pigeon (two heads, glowing red eyes, eight legs, that kind of thing). A medley of showtunes fills the air, mostly Hello Dolly.

Hellooooo, Dolly! Well Helloooooo, Dolly…

As dreams go, this one’s all lighthearted fun. And me being me, I repeat a single wish, over and over.

Wake up already. 

At this moment, I’d happily jam my thumb in a light socket, so long as I left this Siesta del Boring. Sadly, my cloud isn’t wired for electricity. Clearly, a different approach is needed.

I spead out my arms and legs. Starfish pose, the only way to scheme. A new plan appears. 

I’ll summon my supernatural buddies. Igni.

Because did I mention that I’m a demigoddess? I am. 

As the Great Scala, I move souls to Heaven and Hell. Wrangling igni, aka my herd of tiny supernatural lightning bolts, is how I get the job done. My igni are bright, numerous and annoyingly loud. In other words, the perfect choice here.

Unfortunately, my wee electrical friends are mega unreliable. Summoning them is a hit or miss when I’m awake, let alone asleep. 

In my dream, the ambient tune segues from Hello, Dolly into This Was a Real Nice Clambake from Carousel, only it now includes the kind of scree-scree-scree violin accents common to horror movies everywhere. The lyrics blare into my skull:  

This was a real nice clambake

We’re mighty glad we came

The vittles we et

Were good, you bet

New questions appear above my head—all of them written in thin, loopy clouds.

What drilled this broadway tune into my mind?

Why am I being tortured with it now?

How fast can I get my igni here?

Keeping in starfish pose, I yell out at top volume. “Need help, guys!”

Aaaaaaand my igni actually appear on the first try. Whoa.

Hundreds of tiny lightning bolts materialize above my face before dancing into various basic shapes. Circle. Square. Star.It’s like I’m under a psychedelic baby mobile. 

These are the light igni, meaning they send souls to Heaven and do things like whirl about in circles. Next, they break out into their favorite activity, singing in childish voices. It’s hard to hear over the Clambake tune, but I do catch a few words. 

Wake up. Danger. 

I’m so shocked, I leave starfish pose behind and sit upright. Only in classic dream style, this move doesn’t go as planned. Sure, my ghostly self sits up, no problem. However, Physical Me remains reclining and very much asleep.

Ghost Me can’t help but notice how my physical counterpart looks the same as always—curvy body, white shift dress and dragonscale tail. There’s one exception. My skin gleams a rather unhealthy shade of blue. On the plus side, my long red hair looks fabulous against a cloud, so there’s that. 

All of which leads back to the same question: How do I wake myself up? A different idea appears. Ghost Me leans over to whisper in Physical Me’s ear.

“Cookies,” I murmur. “Fresh baked. Open your eyes and they’re all yours.”

Total lie. I’ve no idea when I fell asleep, let alone where. Therefore, the presence of baked goods is a fabrication. But honesty comes in second place to batte fun. 

Whereupon my igni decide to get weird. They add new lyrics. Again, these are barely audible, yet still clear.

Never become the night angel!

Sure, those words aren’t exactly packed with info. Who’s a night angel? I got nothing. Still, my igni rarely sing more than a word or two. Never become the night angel is a lyric of massive, nay Wagnerian, proportions. 

Excitement streams through me. The igni’s aforementioned danger must involve me and some kind of night angel power, whatever that is. 

A dark shape appears in the clouds: a black-winged warrior in a hoodie and robe. Hey there, night angel. A vague recollection surfaces. A night angel is something good, or at a mimum, not something on my ‘to kill’ list. Must be why I don’t regestier much about them.

Turning away from the night angel, I refocus on the good stuff: danger. 

Battle energy coils through both my soul and dream. Beneath me, the cloud heaves in roller-coaster style.  Overhead, the blue sky and white clouds transform into a mishmash of colors.

Yet Physical Me remains annoyingly asleep.

Time to call out the big guns.

Ghost Me leans in to whisper in Phsycial Me’s ear once more. Only this time, what comes out is less murmur and more scream. “I’m eating all your demon bars!”

Why make that particular threat, you ask? Cookies are one thing. Demon bars hold a special place of honor on my personal heirarchy of snack foods. 

That would be the top. 

Finally, Physical Me opens her eyes wide. Both of us smile our faces off. My body sits up. In doing so my physical self become reunited with my ghost. I’m one person again, bonus.

My dream world darkens. All igni vanish. Real sensations creep in around me. Humid air presses against my skin. One side of my body smushes against what’s possibly a brick wall. Tinny merry-go-round music blots out the last of the clambake song.

It’s the merry-go-round music that really stumps me. Clearly, I’m not at home. Yet, where am I, exactly? The moment the question hits me, I toss it aside. After all, who cares where I’m snoozing?

I’m about to wake up and kick ass. 

Talk about a dream come true.

–End of Sample–