It’s the confession of my lifetime, but I only half-hear her. My focus is still drawn to those little voices and the power behind them. I raise my hand before my face, flipping my palm front to back, over and over. My mouth seems to speak without my willing it. “I have the blood of an angel, demon, and human in me.” Memories flip through my mind: using the baculum with Lincoln…Understanding Latin during the Scala initiation…Lightning strikes when I felt strong emotions…And my eyes turning blue after kissing someone with angel blood.

The voices grow louder, wrapping my consciousness in their calming words and lovely music. Their desire to take physical form becomes almost overwhelming. Suddenly, it’s clear who they are: igni.

And who I am as well.

My voice comes out low and dreamy. “I’m the Scala Heir.” At those words, an igni materializes before my palm: a single small bolt of white light that shimmers with beauty and strength. Part of me knows I should be terrified at the sight. Instead, I’m calmed as more and more igni appear by my hand, and then swim around my palm like a school of fish.

Around me, the world fades into a dreamy haze as the igni multiply, soaring and diving around each other in their dance around my fingertips. Their many songs unify into one voice, taking on clear words and meaning. They sing of souls soaring to a Heavenly afterlife that’s beyond even the angels. They soothe me with calm words, helping me to accept their power and light. And they warn me: ‘now you must discover how and why your powers hidden for so long. Your next step will then be clear.’

After that, they all disappear.

I lower my hand, staggering backwards until I lean against the living room wall. My breathing is ragged and tight. I can’t seem to suck in enough air. My body turns numb with shock. Did that really happen? I force in slow breaths until my mind clears. The living room comes back into focus. Mom and Walker sit side by side on the couch, neither one moving.

Minutes pass until Walker bows his head, his voice solemn and low. “The Scala Heir.”

Mom grips her hands at her waist, her eyes wild with panic. “It’s not too late, Myla. Maxon Bane has lived almost a thousand years; he may live a thousand more. You always had the potential to become the Scala Heir, but you did not need to be awakened, let alone angelbound. Now that it’s happened, you can still hide. Go anywhere. Run. Now. No one will know that you’ve changed.”