Table of Contents

Title page

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Acknowledgements

About the Author

toxic

part two

Addison Moore

http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/

Copyright © 2012 by Addison Moore

addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Addison-Moore/140192649382294

https://twitter.com/Addison_Moore

Cover by Addison Moore Publishing

Editors: Amy Eye, Sarah Oaklief

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

Books by Addison Moore

Ethereal

(Celestra Series Book 1)

Tremble

(Celestra Series Book 2)

Burn

(Celestra Series Book 3)

Wicked

(Celestra Series Book 4)

Vex

(Celestra Series Book 5)

Expel

(Celestra Series Book 6)

Toxic Part One

(Celestra Series Book 7)

Toxic Part Two

(Celestra Series Book 7.5)

Ephemeral

(The Countenance 1)

To my children,

thank you for doing the dishes.

Chapter 57

Caught in the Act

They say death comes for you once and no more, and then you dissolve to bones, disintegrate from the memory of the world and cease to exist forever. Yet, here in Elysian Fields—the great chasm, which divides the living and the dead—life feels every bit as natural and familiar as it once did on Earth. This place, this paradise, exposes death as the sham it really is. The stench and sting it wielded like a bully proved nothing but a fraud in the end.

Logan and I lie wrapped in one another’s arms under a vanilla sky in this strange world. Death has invited us over—asked us to stay, to inspect the surroundings, linger for all of eternity if we wanted.

Logan shook loose all of my mother’s bizarre intentions, laid them out in front of me like puzzle pieces that could never fit together, with too many pieces missing to understand the big picture. That’s my mother in a nutshell.

She pulled Logan out of the past and brought him front and center into my life, and I’m starting to think this has more to do with our genetic makeup colliding on a physical level than it does regarding love and all of its impractical concerns.

“I thought the past didn’t change.” I pull my eyes along Logan’s precious face. I wish this moment would stretch out forever, but I can feel it closing in on us, coming to an end like a rubber band ready to retract. “But it changed for you.”

“Your mother changed it,” he says, swallowing his excitement. “She said I made an impression on her and that she wouldn’t let me go to waste, that I wouldn’t have to worry about being lonely again.” Logan holds me with a heavy gaze. “She said her daughter needed me. That we were meant to be together right from the beginning but we were on different paths.”

“That’s me.” I breathe the words like a dream.

“She said our paths would converge, then disperse for a short time.” His expression dims. The light in his soul goes out completely before starting in on an incandescent flicker. “Then we would back. We would find our way together again.” He pants as his lips bloom into a smile. “She said our love would be strong, Skyla—that we had a spiritual covenant.”

I take in a breath and blink back fresh tears, this time they were all for Gage. A slow boiling anger stirs in me.

“She tell you why she shoved another perfectly good Oliver in my direction?” I want to strangle her for breaking my heart, for breaking Gage’s heart—for toying with us like we were kittens. It makes me want to claw her perfect, sparkling eyes out.

“It’s OK, Skyla.” Logan shakes his head. His brow creases as the world starts to wobble like a stiff piece of plastic, bending and flexing violently in the breeze. “Believe me—there is a time for us. And we will love deeply.”

The world snaps into darkness.

Logan and I appear back at the Falls of Virtue in a pool of illuminated water.

“Logan!” I pull him in and hold on tight. I have just as many questions as I do when we started out, only now I’m afraid to ask them. Every good feeling has washed away and the stale air of the planet infiltrates my marrow with a destitute misery.

“I love you, Skyla Messenger,” Logan whispers, brushing his lips against my ear like painting a picture. “It will all work out in the end. I promise.”

“I love you too,” I say and I wonder what he really means by “the end.”

***

Logan drives me home with little fanfare over the conversation that took place at the Falls of Virtue. He slides his truck along the bottom of the driveway and kills the ignition before looking up at the darkened windows.

“Maybe don’t tell Gage just yet about what your mom said.” He whispers it out like the secret it is.

“She wasn’t very clear.” I shake my head at the thought of trying to decipher exactly what was said. “That little girl”—I glance out the window at the dull fog lapping over his windshield in waves—“you think she belonged to us?” It seems so farfetched, so out of reach even in the supernatural order of things.

“God I hope so.” Logan reaches over and picks up my hand. He caresses my fingers over his lips so achingly slow and sweet, brushing them with his heated breath.

My stomach bottoms out at the thought of having a child with Logan one day. I’d much rather have a child with Logan than for him to become a permanent resident of the Elysian Fields.

“So the butterfly room, huh?” He darts a grim look in the direction of the attic. Logan is fully aware that Gage is meeting me up there later tonight.

“The butterfly room,” I whisper as guilt coats me from the inside like an oil slick.

He taps me on the knee, leans in and offers a chaste kiss to the top of my cheek.

“Nothing changes for us, Skyla.” He needles the point home with a strange intensity. “Whatever your mother decreed, it stands.” Logan always seems to know a little more than he lets on. I’m afraid of what the foundations of that decree might be, so I don’t push it.

Instead, I open the door and let the crisp night air embrace me with its damp tendrils as I slide out of the truck. “Hey, Logan?”

“Yeah?” His golden hair illuminates like a lamp. His chiseled features, his high-cut cheeks catch the moonbeams and make them annunciate all his glory. Logan Oliver redefines the word gorgeous in every way. He should be arrested for housing all that ungodly beauty in just one person.

“What do you think my mother meant by ‘our paths would converge, then disperse for a short time?’”

“I can only guess.” The muscles in his jaw pop as if he has an inkling, but doesn’t want to say. “You’re forgetting my favorite part.” His dimple inverts as he bears a smile. “She said we’d be back. We would find our way together again—that our love would be strong.”

“That we had a spiritual covenant.” I finish the rest of my mother’s sentiment for him. “I guess that’s the plan.”

“It sounds like a good one.”

I blow him a kiss as I make my way up the driveway. All of the possibilities run through my mind. Had Logan and I parted paths already? Is that what Gage was? Some quick detour? If so, I guess that means my days with Gage are numbered. But it doesn’t feel right. Something doesn’t settle well with me.

Logan waits until I’m safely in the house before he roars the truck back to life and takes off down the street. I watch until his taillights disappear and then the rosy glow of the fog after that.

Really there were no clear answers from my mother per usual. She seemed to be a ball of confusion in the atmosphere of our lives, sucking us in one by one, then spitting us out at random. I’m sure whoever gave her the job of high hostess and supreme decision maker—judge no less—is seriously reconsidering his options.

***

I head up to my bedroom, and slide the dresser over the door because I’m expecting company—Gage, my boyfriend. Gage, who I almost willingly flushed out of my life for Logan what with all that happy gas floating around up there. Gage, who may or may not have given Chloe Bishop a ride home tonight.

I pause, staring at my reflection in the mirror an inordinate amount of time. What have I become? I would have lied down for Logan and let him map out the landscape of my body with his mouth if he wanted.

A hot spasm sears me at the thought.

I touch my hand to my head to cool myself. What the hell is happening? This is about Gage and me, right? Logan said he was backing off until after the faction war. That’s why he broke up with me, so that Gage and I could test the waters—see if it went anywhere. Aren’t I going to marry Gage and have a million dark-haired babies with dimples deep as oil wells? And for darn sure not one of them will be sleeping in a casket.

That memory of him holding baby Beau on my bed imprints itself in my mind. Gage is amazing and my heart breaks because I believe Logan is right. It’ll be me and him in the end. I don’t get this and I certainly don’t get my mother.

The distinct sound of laughter emits from the butterfly room, so I sling my purse to the floor and head on over.

God, if that’s Mia or Melissa with their prepubescent boy toy, I’m going to seriously freak the hell out. I’m a bit pissy after realizing I’m still sickly in love with Logan. I can’t stand the dual-edged sword my heart has become. Being in love with two people is impractical and all-around agonizing.

My mother, who has appointed herself as the divining rod of my destiny, has no clue how love is supposed to work. In fact, the only clear thing about my mother is the fact she very much can’t stand me.

More female laughter—followed by a distinctly male voice, beckoning for her to keep it down.

I open the closet and walk near the back.

“Aren’t you afraid Skyla’s going to catch us?” he asks. He sounds older, far too old to have just finished the seventh grade.

“Afraid of Skyla?” A wild cackle breaks out. “I hope she finds us—serves her right,” she coos. “We should put on a show for her.”

Shit. That’s freaking Chloe. Who knows what plaything she’s hauled up there—wait… Isn’t Ethan her playmate of the hour? And doesn’t “said playmate” have his own space under this bawdy freaking roof?

I climb on a small tower of boxes I sometimes use when I don’t feel like hauling my desk chair in and crawl toward the transom.

“I care what Skyla thinks,” he says it resonate and familiar. The register of his voice is far too baritone to be Ethan.

Is that…Gage? That is Gage! Oh God.

I clap my hand over my mouth in horror.

“I owe her a lot,” his words rumble through the wall.

Shit.

“Who knew you had a heart?” Chloe laughs.

“I’m the one with the heart. You’re the one with the hot looks.” It thunders from him low.

My entire body freezes. That can’t be Gage. It only sounds like him. It’s probably a Fem—Demetri or something equally as hideous.

The sound of shuffling emits and I scramble out of the closet and into the bathroom.

I hear Chloe descend and the sound of my dresser sliding to the side. Hopefully, she’ll think I went straight to the bathroom. God knows I’m staying in here until she’s good and gone. The last thing I’m going to give her is the satisfaction of witnessing firsthand some bizarre verbal exchange between me and my soon to be ex-boyfriend.

I give her a full five minutes to exit. There is no way in hell I’d want to have that run in.

I head back into my bedroom, looking for subtle signs that could offer me a clue to whether that was really Gage. At this point anything can incriminate him—his jacket, a shoe. I try to detect the scent of his cologne, but nothing.

It takes me less than three seconds to secure the dresser back over the entry and jump in the closet. I crawl into the butterfly room and am horrified to find Gage sitting there like he’s been there all along, a grin on his face, happy to see me—or laughing at me, either or.

“What the hell just happened?” I land hard on my bottom, dizzy from seeing him at the scene of the crime. The strong scent of body odor lights up the room and the comforter is all rumpled and displaced like it was just heavily used, most likely soiled—by Chloe’s disgusting clothing-deficient body.

“What?” Gage looks genuinely perplexed as if he really didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.

A pair of lace panties lie to his left, and he stretches out his leg causally, covering them in the process. Gage never takes his eyes off me and suddenly it feels as if he’s trying to hide more than Chloe’s underwear.

My body closes in on itself. My limbs go numb and my insides loosen all at the same time. A train could run me over and I wouldn’t feel a thing.

“Get out,” I whisper as my chest palpitates wild with disbelief.

“Get out?” He leans forward to take my hand and I recoil.

“Yes,” I scream. “I said, get out!”

“What?” He squints, his brows hitching up on the sides. Gage has the power to express just about any emotion with those thick lines that hover over his jewel-toned eyes. I find everything about him alarming at the moment, right down to his disturbing good looks. “What’s going on? Did something happen with Logan?”

“Did something happen with Chloe?” I throw it in his face just as easily as he brings up Logan.

“What?” He leans forward and interlaces our fingers just as quickly as I retract them. “Talk to me, Skyla. What’s going on?”

“I heard you. You were in here with her.”

“Swear to God I just got here.” He holds his hands out in distress.

“What a coincidence. She just left,” I hiss.

“Is that why—?” He looks around at the mess and shakes his head. “Wasn’t me, I swear.”

“Then why did it sound like you? I heard him say that he cared about me.” I bump over his features with my gaze, anxious for answers. “Which one of her sex toys would say that?”

Gage doesn’t refute it anymore, just tightens his jaw like he’s ready to explode.

“I was with Logan,” I seethe. “And you know what? He still insists this is my time with you. Looks like you had us both snowed.” A sob heaves through my chest.

Gage holds my stare. He could cut through steel with his hostile aggression.

“I would never cheat on you,” he grits through his teeth.

“Are you throwing something in my face right now?” I can’t figure this out. It’s been a long night and now all I want is to go to bed. “I bet you’ll replay this entire conversation with her later. The two of you can laugh about how stupid Skyla is.” A bright blue wrapper catches my attention and I pick it up and examine it briefly before letting it fall to the ground like a flame. Condom.

“Did you get in a hard situation that you needed to protect Chloe from?” I want to die. I want the floor, the ground—the universe—to swallow me whole. I refuse to live on a planet where Gage Oliver does Chloe Bishop in my freaking butterfly room. I would rather die a thousand fiery deaths than even think it were possible, let alone inhale the rancid odor of their love making at this very moment.

“You’re being played.” He spits it out like rusty nails. “Collect yourself. Light drive back in time and find out exactly who the fuck she slept with because it sure as hell wasn’t me.” His voice rises to an octave I’m not used to hearing. Gage is pumped and looking for a fight. He’s pissed, and right about now, it looks as though his anger is one hundred percent focused on me.

“Maybe I will,” I say, lowering myself through the hole in my closet. I don’t say anything else, just crawl into bed and try to blink my way out of existence by way of sleep, but such a gift eludes me.

The dull night lingers like a song you can’t get out of your head—one you never want to hear again. It drones on forever, amplifying my pain as I bury my face in the pillow.

I try to light drive to earlier this evening, but keep bouncing back, a sure sign of a binding spirit. Figures. Of course he’d suggest I go back. He probably knew he was safe.

His effigy burns behind my eyelids, pleading his innocence.

It couldn’t have been Gage, could it? Gage loves me, not Chloe. Gage saved his kisses for me. He’s saving every part of himself for me. Chloe landed me right in the pit of the fire. Chloe was the hunter and I was the game, the prey. She shot me night after night. I was the fox burrowed in a tiny well of earth that could neither cover nor protect me from her wicked ways. Chloe always wins.

I’m going to lose the faction war, and Gage—and quite possibly Logan to “Paradise,” all because my mother just might be the biggest bitch in the universe.

Maybe I was switched at birth.

Maybe Chloe Bishop is really Skyla Messenger.

Now that would make a whole hell of a lot of sense.

***

Dreams come to me in the throes of my distress.

A scene opens. I twirl, taking in the all too familiar landscape, lavender skies and a low-hanging moon graced by the same hue of purple. An entire arsenal of weaponry is being unleashed at my feet.

A familiar boy with dark hair runs in my direction. He’s so alarmingly handsome, his face a close second to that of Gage, I want to bow in his presence. I recognize him from the Celestra tunnels. It’s the one who sucks the marrow right out of my bones, the one and only, Wesley.

“Take this.” He sets a molded black gun in my hand. It’s heavy, ice cold to the touch. “Bastardized Ruger.” He smiles. “You can stop anyone you want, Skyla. It’s all up to you. The bullets never end.”

I fire a shot in his stomach without putting too much thought into it and he looks down with morbid surprise. His lips part as a tiny arrow presses into his shirt, a dark stain blooms like a necrotic rose from the point of incision.

“I have to go.” He staggers backward. “Laken needs me.” He runs off into the forest in his quest for love, and deep down inside I admire him for that.

A crowd emerges from over the hillside. Chloe—Nat with Pierce by her side. Ellis appears and takes Chloe by the hand, sees me aim in their direction and covers her body like a shield.

“Move!” I scream at him. My voice sizzles like an electrical current through this strange dreamscape.

“Don’t do it, Skyla,” he pleads—so I shoot him first.

I fire at Nat while Ellis falls to his knees. I shoot Chloe in the eye for sport. I’m a good shot because I hit her in the Noster eye that Marshall saw fit to gift her with. Her face pinches, her beautiful features writhe as she struggles to pluck it out.

I hit Holden in both kneecaps.

It feels good like this, powerful and dangerous. I wish I could bottle this feeling. I’d call it Killing Chloe for Kicks.

“Skyla!” A deep voice rumbles from the right. Gage trots up the hillside with his hands held out. “Don’t kill Chloe.” I find it strange that he has no regard for the others. He could give a rats ass that Ellis is vomiting in pain while trying to suck in his last lungful of air.

My hand shakes as I raise the svelte, black pistol and close one eye to improve my marksmanship. I squint into his beautiful face and shoot Gage straight through the heart. He bucks backward a good five feet, stagers but doesn’t fall. I shoot him over and over, filling his chest with the arrows of my discontent like an overdrawn bull’s-eye.

My arrows become drunk with his blood as the world around us claps into darkness.

I bolt up in bed with adrenaline racing through my veins, my heartbeat resonating in my ears. The blank of night envelops me. It shifts under the weight of that horrible dream.

The walls press in with an eerie silence. An anemic light streams in from the blinds. I’m still here, safe on Paragon, in my own bed.

The alarm on the nightstand reads three thirty-three.

I pull the covers up to my neck and try to shake the images of that nightmare out of my mind.

Gage.

Chloe was pitting me against him in every realm. She was filling me with disbelief, having me kill him in my dreams.

None of this was real.

Was it?

Chapter 58

The War and the Whore

The morning greets us with a slate-grey sky as rain falls like axes. It has the power to etch the glass with its hellish fury. I wish it would. A storm like this should have the knowledge to inscribe my destiny on my bedroom window, tell me what the future holds for Gage and me—let me in on why he’s so damn insistent on cutting out my heart and gifting it to Chloe. She is the witch who desires nothing more than to devour my existence. Gage is the hunter eager to please.

I gaze out into the murky world. How did I ever end up starring in such a demonic fairytale?

A dark stain appears and pecks at the glass. Nevermore. He’s tucked neatly under the eaves, the rain afflicting him with its psychotic sizzle. I open the window to let him in.

Nev shakes out his feathers like a dog after a bath and hops along the floor before landing beside me.

“Hello, you.” I’ve don’t ever recall Nev coming out in such inclement weather. “Everything OK?” I place my hand over his back. His moist plumes cool me—offer respite from my anger regarding Gage if only for a moment.

Everything OK? Nevermore mocks with a light croak. Dear child, rid yourself of the blinders. What’s become of the war?

“We’re losing. But that’s all going to change. A principality named Delphinius will be here any day and my father and mother are both coming to Paragon to help me train. Things are going to turn around for us, Nev.”

How are you fairing with the Counts? Rumor has it you’ve had the displeasure of meeting Ingram.

“Ingram? The guy that walks around with the glow in the dark clipboard? He’s nobody.”

I’ve been convinced of that for centuries.

“What do you mean for centuries? How do you know Ingram?”

That’s my bride’s story to tell, not mine. Be apprised he is an insolent sloth that has, as proven by time, never amounted to anything. Good breeding does not equate prosperity and success. He is a lowlife, a scoundrel that has amassed a just punishment even if he does bend the truth and insist he voluntarily took on the position. He’s nothing more than a coward.

“Well, now that I know how much you like him, yeah, I’ll tell him you said hi.”

Nev cries out and stretches his wings before shuddering. Do no such thing. No point in creating more misery for yourself. Speaking of misery, your mother is intent on augmenting our punishment should the new trial yield the same results. I’ve come to the conclusion death will most certainly come for me.

“Nev!” I gasp at the thought of my mother trying to off my favorite bird. I can’t even go there so I choose to dispense equal doses of humor and sarcasm to pull us out of the fresh dug grave my mother has us trapped in. “I see you’re on a positivity kick. You’re wrong, by the way—death will not come. If she punishes you and your knife twirling wife, she’ll have to carry out the same punishment for Logan and me—I won’t let that happen.”

Speaking of my knife twirling better half, she’s a bit twitchy at the moment. Turns out the agreement was to span the reserve of Master Logan’s existence and he’s already abandoned his sleeping duty.

“She can’t expect him to hang out in the Transfer all day and take a nap. He’s got school, and the bowling alley, and this little thing called reality to tend to.”

He can and he must. He entered into a binding agreement and there’s no turning back.

My heart beats erratic. Why would Logan give everything up like that? For me? To alleviate a few moments of my suffering?

A slow building rage starts to brew in my bones. I’ve done this to Logan. He’s bound himself to Ezrina because of me. I want to shake him for loving me to the point of losing his freedom. He’s going to get himself killed, or worse, bound and gagged as Ezrina’s personal honeymoon suite.

“Tell her the deal is off. It’s game over. I’m not going to let Logan lose his life just because she feels the need to ditch her hag wear for shag wear. She was lucky he did her the favor.”

That’s not how it works. You humans have no idea the demands a binding agreement puts on a soul.

“It’s not like she can make him do it.”

True enough, but if that’s the case, the consequences could be carried out rather swiftly.

“What consequences?”

You don’t know? Nev jets out his neck in a staccato rhythm doing his best impersonation of chicken, or a highly agitated raven who’s at wits end with doltish human half-breeds. I’d rather not say. Perhaps the one who committed to the sacrifice can explain it best. He hops toward the window and I crank it out for him. Nev lingers on the ledge outside as the world melts around him in shades of brown and grey like a pile of dull old coins.

Logan has disintegrated his world for me—laid everything out on the line to buy me a few minutes without pain.

He said he would rather die than watch me suffer.

Dear God, I pray that’s the last thing he’s committed to doing.

***

Downstairs, the air is thick with indistinguishable odors. Smells like spinach, old socks, and quite possibly a wet dog, stewing together in one nauseating rolling boil.

I meander into the kitchen to find Mom and Tad at the table. Mom cradles Beau in her arms as she feeds him a bottle while Tad looks haggard and worn, twenty years his senior.

“Morning,” I chime.

“She never came back for him,” Tad whimpers with fatigue.

Judging by the dark circles under his eyes and his hair sporting the light socket effect, I’m betting he means Brielle.

“I don’t think she will,” I say, pulling a mug from the cupboard.

I have a feeling this will be an emotionally challenging day that requires mega doses of caffeine in all of its beautiful incarnations, starting with coffee.

“What do you mean, you don’t think she will?” Tad stands in an early morning rage. “That’s child abandonment.”

Suddenly, he’s gunning for position of welfare official.

“She’s young.” Mom coos into the baby as if she were singing him a lullaby. “Besides, I’ll be happy to watch over this little angel for as long as she needs me to.”

“You will do no such thing. There’s no way in hell we’re staring down the barrel of an eighteen-year babysitting stint,” Tad gags. “I want the casket, the bag full of questionable paraphernalia, and the kid returned before noon.”

“You talk about him like he’s a library book,” I scoff. God knows the only safe place in the world for that child is right there in my mother’s arms. Hey? Maybe that’s why my own mother placed me under the parental supervision of Lizbeth Messenger Landon? Little did she know Demetri would slither back into her life. Bet she regrets it now.

“You’re right, Skyla.” Tad’s voice elevates in pitch. “And going along that ‘library’ line of thinking—we should invoke a late fee for keeping us up all night. Lizbeth, drop him off on their doorstep and make a run for it. I’ll print up a bill and have it notarized—make them think twice before they invoke another hostile takeover of a good night’s sleep.”

“It’s raining.” Mom says it more as a passive observation rather than a solid argument against Tad’s insane dingdong ditch ramblings. “And again, let me reiterate for those too close-minded to comprehend”—she so means Tad—“this child will remain in my custody until his mother decides otherwise.”

“Do you hear this?” Tad balks mostly to himself.

Mia and Melissa walk in with such severe cases of bed-head, I’m half-afraid they’ve once again resorted to their beauty school brand of revenge.

They pinch their noses in synchronized distress at the foul odor that’s descended among us.

“You forgot to put away your gross food last night,” Mia snaps at Melissa while lifting the lid off the red-enameled offender on the stove. A strong odor releases into the air. It makes the smell that preceded it seem like a floral bouquet picked fresh from Paradise. I throw the back door open so fast it creates a gale force wind straight through the dining room.

Melissa growls into my sister. “It’s not my fault. I got kicked out of the kitchen because that overgrown cheerleader showed up.”

I’m pretty sure she means Isis, Demetri’s so-called relative who is so obviously trying to take down Mom and Tad. Little does she know that a cherub-faced infant has usurped her in that arena in merely one restless night.

“Skyla?” Mia’s voice softens. “Can we get a ride to the mall?” Melissa appears by her side and they try to sway me with their most distressed puppy faces. Funny how accouterments can bring together the Hatfield and McCoy’s of the Landon brood with even the suggestion of a fashion-based romp.

“Yes, for the sake of unity. But you two have to promise no fighting.”

“No fighting.” Their voices meld together as one.

Perfect. Plus this will give me a chance to inject my own wardrobe with something special for Logan’s getaway birthday extravaganza at the Cape. Although, not even the prospect of new clothes can get my mind off Gage and the fornicating frenzy that most likely occurred last night in the butterfly room.

“Aha!” Tad flicks a finger at a piece of paper. “I just added up the expenses, and this little critter is going to run us an extra four hundred bucks a month—not to mention shots and exams. Get another dog, Lizbeth. Kids are an extravagance we cannot afford.”

“A dog?” Mom’s eyes lodge out of her skull. “You do not replace people with pets. There is no dollar amount in the world that would keep me from raising another child.”

“Replacing people with pets is all the rage,” Tad insists. “What do you think all these dog lovers are doing dressing up their pets in sweaters and shoes? They take them to daycare and on vacation. You can get as carried away as you like. It’s because times are tough, Lizbeth. People simply cannot afford pint-sized plebeians who gradually eat away your bank account and sanity, then go on to repopulate your household with yet more ingrates who wind up costing you a good night’s rest.”

Mom’s entire body buzzes with rage. I can tell she wants to yank the bottle out the baby’s mouth and beat Tad over the head with the rubber nipple.

Chloe walks in and zeros her hostility my way with a kind, courteous good morning.

“Good morning?” I seethe, following her to the fridge. “I bet it’s a good morning,” I hiss. “Heard you had them lined all the way up to my bedroom last night.”

“Just one,” she whispers with her lips dipped in a devious smile. “But he’s not the type to kiss and tell.”

“He didn’t have to. As soon as you slithered out, I went up and found him sitting there.”

Chloe cuts me a sharp look, examines me like I might be lying. “I guess we can’t pull anything over on you.”

“I guess you can’t.” She might as well have plunged a blade in my heart when she said the word we.

She tries to circle around me but I block her at the pass.

“I need to wash my hair, Skyla, or I’ll be late for work,” she says it low as not to clue Mom and Tad in on our awkward exchange.

“Let me help you with that.” In one swift move, I snatch her by the wrists and dunk her head in the smelly stew Melissa left fermenting overnight. Chloe bucks and writhes as I employ all of my Celestra strength to hold her under just another moment.

“Skyla!” Tad leaps out of his chair and jumps in front of me like an impotent ninja, afraid to come too close lest he be baptized as well.

The girls breakout in a choir of disgust.

Mom rises and shields the baby as if I might target him next.

Chloe knocks me back and gasps for air, retching and gagging in the process. It’s the exact same reaction Gage should have for ever laying a hand on her.

“Stay the hell away from the rest of my life.” I push her hard in the chest. “Or I’ll make sure it’s the end of yours.”

“Skyla,” Tad barks, “you are not welcome to treat a guest in my house that way.”

“She’s a guest?” It drills out of me. “And you’d like to trade your own grandchild in for a dog? If that’s how your house operates, it’s the last place I want to be.”

“Fine!” His face inflames like a cherry. “Pack up and see if you can get a better deal elsewhere.” He glances at the demon to his right. “Chloe, it looks like a bedroom just freed up.”

“You do not touch one of your things, Skyla.” Mom shelters Beau’s tiny head with the palm of her hand. “You are not going anywhere.”

“Oh, I’m going—and if you were smart, you’d hightail it out of here yourself.” I pivot and head for the stairs.

“Will you still take us to the mall?” Mia pleads. Her face is upturned and I can see a patina of hurt in her eyes. How can I leave my sisters with this brood of vipers?

“Be ready in fifteen.” I have no clue where I’m going to stay, but wherever it is, I’m sure Mom and Tad will drag me back before I can properly appreciate the metric distance that I’m about to put between us. I’ll have to look at it as a temporary vacay from the hotbed of insanity my mother has leashed us to.

In the meantime, I’ll have to come up with a solid plan for the future, one that includes ditching Landon manner once I get that hot little diploma in my hands next spring.

My future plans used to involve Gage, his body, a hotel room and an entire tribe of gorgeous children. I’m pretty sure that pipe dream, much like my mother’s marriage, is over for good.

Chapter 59

Playing House

The rain gives one sultry cry of aggression, falling slantways from the angry sky before stopping just long enough for me to toss three garbage bags full of my randomly collected belongings into the trunk of the Mustang.

The girls run down the porch with their ear-buds secured in position, ready to trek over to the Mecca of shopping nirvana.

Just as I’m about to sink into the driver’s seat, my mother appears with an overstuffed diaper bag, along with a bloated backpack, and she’s schlepping the baby in his bulky carrier down the rain-slicked stairs. Maybe she wants me to take Beau as a punishment for running away?

I rush over and help before she twists an ankle and cracks someone’s skull open, namely Beau’s. God forbid I have to do a Celestra-based infusion right here on the front lawn for all the Counts in question to witness. If Tad knew how valuable my blood was, I’m sure he’d add another beverage to the moronic business venture he’s climbing into with the crazy Kraggers.

“What’s going on?” I pant as my mother makes her way over to the minivan.

“I’m going on a little vacation. I just need to get my head settled, that’s all,” she confesses while strapping Drake’s bundle of boy-joy into the van in a five-way harness.

“A vacation?”

“I’ll be staying at a friend’s,” she’s quick to accommodate.

“Does said friend happen to live in an overgrown house that eats small shanties like this one for breakfast?” Literally.

“Skyla…” She sighs. “Yes, I’ll be staying with Demetri. I’ll be back before the weekend and I suggest you come with me.”

Right.

“No thanks. I’ll be staying at a friend’s myself.”

“Brielle’s?” She ticks her head with a hint of concern.

“Not that one.” And only because I don’t want to deal with the baby drama, or the fact I might be pressed to leer out the window all night, wondering if Gage is making his nightly appearance in the butterfly room to entertain someone other than me.

“The Oliver’s.” She gives a knowing blink. “You are not allowed to share a room with Gage—with any boy for that matter. I’ll call Emma later and see if this is OK. If it’s not, I expect to see you at the estate by nine. I’m not playing games, Skyla. My life is a big enough mess as it is. I don’t need you adding to the clutter.”

“Right,” I say, artfully avoiding the fact the friend I have in mind is Marshall.

“Skyla…” She leans in. “I promise you, I’ll fix this chaos by summer’s end. There’s no way I’m going to let anything ruin your senior year.”

Chloe catches my eye. She’s texting someone from the front porch, most likely her accomplice in prophylactic crime—Gage.

“You won’t ruin my senior year,” I say.

Chloe beat you to it.

***

Rain pimples the windshield as I drive my sisters to the mall.

“I thought you girls were off at camp.” I say, eyeing Melissa in the back seat like a hawk. After that stunt where she hacked off my sister’s tresses, I’ve been monitoring her in the event she decides to rain down anymore of her homicidal tendencies on us Messengers. Not that she would. She looks rather benign sitting back there with her baseball cap, a smattering of freckles on her nose from the one day the sun decided to show this summer.

“It was stupid,” Mia is quick to report. “Mom signed us up for an overnight trip to the museum like we’re twelve.”

“You’re thirteen,” I point out the flaw in her argument.

“Exactly,” Melissa pipes up from the back. “So where you going to stay?” She twitches her cheek with indifference and looks decidedly like Drake.

“Mr. Dudley’s. He’s got a spare room—in the stable.” Shit. They are so going to think we’re getting it on.

“I knew you were getting it on with that teacher!” Mia chirps. She turns and hacks out a laugh with Melissa as they pretend to gag while making disgusting kissing noises.

“That’s ’cause he’s cute!” Melissa barks, attesting to the fact she’s in possession of some serious overactive hormones.

“I know, right? He’s like a freak!” Mia shrills.

No wonder they’re fighting over boys, Marshall has them worked up in a frenzy.

Well they can’t have him. He’s mine.

What did I just say?

I slide into the curb outside the ice skating rink at the distal end of the mall and they charge out of the Mustang like it were on fire. I listen as they go on and on about Marshall as they charge up the steps.

Perfect. They’re both fantastically disgusted and excited beyond reason at the prospect of me “getting it on with that teacher.” And they sure didn’t bother hiding the fact they think Marshall is “cute.” Marshall is a lot of things but cute isn’t one of them—more like smoldering, intoxicatingly good looking, a sexual god of alien descent.

The wind picks up as I maneuver down the road to Marshall’s palatial estate.

Just the thought of shacking up with Marshall is a bit unnerving. Although, if he wanted, he can practically gift me an entire wing. It’s not like we really need to see each other.

I pull into his driveway and park off to the side. I’d like to surprise him, make it sound like this was his idea in the event he decides to get sexually self-righteous—although, that’s sort of inevitable.

I cinch my backpack over my shoulder with my overnight things, as I give a quick brisk knock at the door.

It takes several minutes before Marshall appears, clean-shaven and vexingly hot.

“My betrothed.” He waves me in, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He’s still sporting his younger self which ever so slightly freaks me out. “You’ll be staying three days and eleven minutes before you so rudely leave.” A devilish smile rides low on his lips.

“And you know this because?” Figures, Marshall probably has a crystal ball hidden in his pants—a pair of them. That would explain the oversized bulge, which has distracted many a female student from finishing his mind-numbing exams.

“It’s true?” He straightens as though he had simply guessed the aforementioned details.

“No, I’ll be living here until graduation to be exact.” I slump my backpack onto the floor.

“Do pick it up, dear. I tend to dwell on the tidy side of hygienic living. I’ve a space for you in my chambers. An entire closet has been cleared.” He purrs out that last part as if it were the very nexus of spousal sacrifice.

“No thanks. I don’t want to sleep in your chambers. I’ll take another bedroom.”

His lips twitch as he tries to hide a naughty smile. “I’m afraid they’re all indisposed at the moment.” He no sooner gets the words out then a series of doors slam in quick succession.

“Let me guess, you’re bolting them shut as we speak.”

“Done.” His cheek slides up one side. “I’ve just come from an appointment with Delphinius. He’ll be at the local faction meeting. I assume you’ll be informed of the gathering sooner than later.”

“Great, because I have important questions to ask him, like where the hell was he in the last region?”

“Delphinius is a gift, Skyla. Perhaps you’ve lost the right to have him guide you and Jock Strap around like school children on a trip to the museum. It’s your war. You guide the troops. And by the way, it was Delphinius who suggested you might be a guest at my quarters for a time.”

“Back up, buddy. What do you mean he’s not going to help guide us? How the hell are we supposed to advance to the next region? What did I do to get cut off like this?” Ezrina bolts through my mind and I’m quick to change the subject. “Anyway, wasn’t he the one who said we were going to get hitched?”

Marshall gives a slight look of disgust. “Your phraseology leaves something to be desired, but yes, it was he. Delphinius is never wrong. He holds victory in visions down to the most minute detail.”

I nod, holding back a devious grin. All I have to do is either shorten or prolong my stay to knock mister soothsayer off his prognosticating pedestal. That should cure all matrimonial misinterpretations as far as Marshall is concerned.

“Three days, and eleven minutes, huh?” I dig in with a sly smile. I can’t wait to prove him wrong.

***

Marshall helps me unload my junk from the trunk and organizes it in his closet with meticulous order and symmetry.

I take in Marshall’s cavernous bedroom—the chocolate comforter with gold rope trim and the dark wood that encases the walls with an echo of midnight.

“So where are you going to sleep?” I already know the answer but I figure we should have our first lovers’ spat while I’m still bright eyed and bushy tailed and not wait until I’m so exhausted I don’t care whether or not his heavenly bod is snuggled up to mine, or whether or not he’s wearing any clothes while doing so.

“Where will I sleep?” He leers at me suggestively. “Beside you—on you if you prefer.” He nods at the oversized four-poster bed. It’s behemoth in nature. The post themselves are thick as tree trunks.

I dip my chin, feeling very much like Little Red Riding Hood at the moment. There’s definitely something erotic about Marshall as the big bad wolf.

A dirty smile blooms across his face as if he heard.

My phone goes off. It’s a text from Gage. Can we talk?

“Can we talk?” I hack the words out like a joke. “Come here.” I lean into Marshall. “Do something that will drive Gage totally insane,” I say as I snap a picture of the two of us in front of his forest-inspired bed that’s just begging for some S&M destruction.

I don’t hesitate in sending the picture to Gage along with the text, I’m about to get busy. It’s not until after I hit send do I notice that Marshall had somehow magically undressed me down to my bra for the shot. I grip my T-shirt—thankful it’s still on my person.

“How did you do that?” I ask horrified of his latest, not-so-greatest trick of the day.

Marshall opens his mouth to answer and Gage appears in the room.

I can see he’s using his teleportation capabilities for evil now, i.e. to stalk me.

“What the hell is going on?” He looks from me to Marshall in a fury. His dimples dig in and he looks as if he’s about to beat the living shit out of the Sector whose bedroom he so rudely crashed.

Where the hell are the binding spirits when you really need them?

“Skyla…” He strides over with a look in his eye that suggests Marshall’s inhuman beauty should watch its back. Gage is a dark knight in this den of forbidden pleasures. Maybe it’s Gage I should tie to the bedpost. “I did not sleep with Chloe last night in the butterfly room.”

I suck in a sharp breath. “Sounds like your indicting yourself to another occasion and venue.”

“Not true.” He speeds it out. “She was there with Pierce.”

“And you know this because?”

“I asked her.” His voice remains strong and caustic, alerting me to the fact that maybe Marshall isn’t the only one in the room he’s pissed at.

Pierce? Why would Chloe do me a solid and confess to Gage after I gave her a broth based hair treatment?

“Sorry,” Marshall growls, “I have a strict no-boys-allowed policy in my private chambers.” Marshall flicks his finger and Gage begins to dematerialize, slow and lingering like a vapor.

“Faction meeting tonight at six,” he says as he evaporates into a disorganized fray of molecules.

“Now,” Marshall says, straightening my shirt at the shoulders and patting my stomach as if ironing out a wrinkle, “how shall we pass the time?”

A loud click emits over the window, prompting Marshall and I to head over. Gage stands in the bed of his truck, flaring his arms up over his head, shouting my name with muted anguish.

Marshall widens the thick velvet curtains—the same crimson color as his eyes. He cranks out a large casement window the size of a refrigerator. There’s no screen, just a decorative wrought iron bar split down the middle. I peer below as the ground pulsates in and out in spasms of vertigo.

“It’s so far down,” I whisper.

“Focus on the task, love.” Marshall leans out. “Did you leave something behind?” he shouts to Gage. “Your phone perhaps? A condom? Your dignity?”

Gage glowers up at Marshall. His sky-born eyes defy the morose world and siren through the fog like headlamps.

Marshall grabs me by the waist and spins me so that my back is against the window. He rides his hands up and down my spine, soft and lithe. A pleasure-filled tingle rides over the waves of his requisite vibrations.

“Tell me how he hurt you.” Marshall leans his head against mine.

I so know what he’s doing. It must totally look like we’re making out from Gage’s vantage point, and rather passionately with Marshall slathering me with affection.

“He did hurt me.” I sigh. “I came home last night and found Chloe in the butterfly room getting it on with some guy and it totally sounded like—” I tilt my head down at Gage in the event he hears. The human brain is trained to pick up its own name at alarmingly low decibels. Similar to how Chloe is trained to pick up on the most innovative ways to smash my heart to pieces.

“And you caught them in the act?” Marshall ceases all movement as though this were a level-five breach of security and now the free world is in danger from Chloe’s vagina.

“No.” I look briefly over my shoulder to see Gage standing below with his arms folded across his chest like he was disappointed in the show. “She left, and I found him up there by himself.”

“And he was undressed?” Marshall cocks his head, awaiting confirmation of his theory.

“No, he was completely dressed,” I say, “and he claimed he had just arrived. He totally denied it.” I shake my head incredulous at the thought.

Marshall arches his head back, his neck peaks in ridges and I trace it out softly with my finger.

“So you’ve falsely accused him.” Marshall doesn’t look amused.

“Hello? I found a used condom wrapper just sitting there on the floor. And the bedding was all rumpled and it smelled like s-e-x,” I hiss.

“And how are you familiar with the scent of s-e-x?” His brows narrow. He’s holding back a smile. I can tell.

“Just…” I smack him across the chest. “Would you kiss me?”

“No,” he flat lines. A wisp of fog filters in and gyrates between the two us like a belly dancer. Her ghostlike curves linger over Marshall’s face as if she were trying to seduce him away from me. “I don’t involve myself in jealous games. It’s morally bankrupt to drive another person insane by making them desire what you have.”

My mouth hangs open. It’s like Marshall fell into the deep end of the righteous indignation pool, and I need to lure him out before he turns into a saint and loses all his charm.

“I think this falls more under the guise of ethical relativism,” I say. “Gage doesn’t have any problem driving you insane.” I pull him in by the shirt. “In fact, he openly parades your future wife around town like he owns her. Like he owns, you.”

Marshall clenches his jaw before breaking into a naughty smile. “This might be a good time to let you know I don’t mind infuriating those who take pleasure infuriating me.”

I jump up and sit on the windowsill, tossing my hair wild in the wind.

Marshall dives over me, and my back curves out dramatically. His lips fall over mine and I acquiesce to the pleasurable sensation that extends from the portal of his mouth. A loud thump knocks Marshall on the head and he pulls back, stunned, leaving me to plummet out the window. There’s nothing but sky and the black hole of Marshall’s bedroom gaping at me from above.

I land with a soft whoosh into a pair of strong arms that just so happen to be connected to the boy I’m still very much in love with.

“Are you all through breaking my heart?” He gives a half-smile, and his dimples explode in concert.

“Are you all through breaking mine?”

Chapter 60

Feels like Forever

Gage drives us down the main thoroughfare that splices the island. I watch from the passenger’s side mirror as the fog lifts her skirt in our wake. We haven’t exchanged two words after I agreed to get in the truck. I’m starting to wonder if we really are irreparably broken—the impossibility finally coming to pass under the duress of my worst nightmare. In addition to being taken by the Counts and losing every region so far in the faction war, Chloe has hijacked my boyfriend. It’s safe to say, everything has fallen spectacularly to shit.

Even my mother taking a break from Tad is depressing in its own right. If they do split up, I’ll lose Melissa, Drake and Ethan—not that Drake and Ethan were such prizes, but still. And what about baby Beau? Will I still be his aunt? I guess I could be through my friendship with Brielle. But everything that felt so secure only a few weeks ago feels like it’s teetering on the edge of oblivion. Chloe walked Gage and me to the brink and now we’re about to free-fall into a bottomless pit that leaves you with a broken spirit, your shattered heart in pieces.

Gage pulls off on a narrow dirt road that I’m all too familiar with—the Black Forest.

“Turn around.” I hate it here. Last fall Carly Foster and Carson Armistead stranded me in this very same location. Then Ezrina showed up and officiated it as the worst day ever by hacking off my arm.

“I want to show you something.”

God—isn’t that just what they said?

“Turn the car around. I wanna go home.” And by home, I mean Marshall’s, even if he did send me sailing out of a two-story window on my very first day as his live-in girlfriend. He’s going to make a lousy husband if he keeps launching me off tall structures. He knows full well I’m afraid of heights.

Gage presses his lips together in discontent as he parks and kills the engine.

“Are you really afraid of me, Skyla?” He reaches over and picks up my hand, rubs a small circle on the soft part of my palm, and I melt at his simple touch.

“Did you give Chloe a ride home from Emily’s party?” I ask point-blank. I’m not quite ready to graduate to the butterfly room-used-condom conversation—not sure I’ll ever be ready for that one.

“Chloe asked for a ride and I said no.”

“She never came back to the party.” I’m not one hundred percent sure but I’m betting.

“She mentioned something about a supervising spirit and walked into the woods.” He tilts his head, full with discontent at the accusation. “I wouldn’t give Chloe a ride home. She’s bent on ruining what we have.” His serious brows pitch in the form of a V. “We can’t let her do that. We’re too good together.” Gage interlaces our fingers and presses a smoldering kiss to the back of my hand as the world begins to disintegrate.

The scenery changes and we’re standing in the woods. I can see the truck blanketed in a thin layer of fog about fifty feet away.

“I don’t remember you teleporting so much,” I say out of breath, slightly more than impressed by the aerial feat.

“I’ve grown stronger. I can do things now that I never could before. I’ve acquired an amazing amount of endurance—I can last much longer. I’m a lot better at things I thought I had already mastered.” His face widens with an expressed innocence, but his eyes shield a secret—a naughty side—as though what he were implying was purely sexual in nature.

“Like banging Chloe in the butterfly room?” It flew from my lips before I could filter it, but a part of me wanted to say it.

His head cinches back a notch as he buries a smile high in his cheek. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Not anymore. She ran away this morning to Demetri’s.”

He’s seducing me with his eyes, pulling me in with his full lips. They call to me with a voice all their own and plead his innocence.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he whispers. Gage drops to his knees. “Skyla.” My name comes in the form of the softest whisper. His sweet eyes speak a language all their own. They love me with an intimacy we’ve yet been privy to. “I would never betray you. Not even in my dreams would I desire anyone over you. Forgive me if I’ve ever remotely implied it.” His lips twist a smile that blooms from his heart.

Chloe keeps laying our love over the gallows and taunting us with the rope. She tried to convince me she lassoed it and hung it from the highest tree, and I bought the lie. I keep buying the lie. Chloe weaves her fiction and I sit before her like a spellbound child.

I get down on my knees to meet him, take in the soft spice of his cologne and inhale. Gage could provide the richest high just off his heavenly scent alone. How could I ever blame Chloe for trying so hard when I would dig a grave for any woman he chose over me? Loving Gage is a maddening wine and Chloe had swallowed him down full strength. Now there was nothing left for her to do than reel around like a drunkard and threaten to break the neck of the one he loves the most.

“What’s the matter with me?” I whisper.

Gage shakes his head. “You’ve been hurt. Chloe has an arsenal of smoke and mirrors—makes it hard to know which way is up. She’s evil. Don’t let your guard down for a moment. I didn’t touch Chloe—not last night, not ever. You have to believe me. I would never lie to you.”

My cheeks flush with heat as he washes over me with his gaze. I push in just enough to feel his breath over mine. Gage presses in with a feather soft kiss that breaks the membrane of Chloe’s deception. A warm rush of affection fills in the empty space that Chloe carved out with malice as Gage and I reconnect with a kiss that can save the world, win a war, mend a thousand broken hearts.

Gage pulls me in with an entire ocean of charitable kisses.

Skyla, he groans from within.

A vision appears—Gage and me in a courthouse. A judge is there in his dark robe, his hair clear as floss. He smiles down at the two of us and says, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

My hair is wild and frizzy with tiny droplets of water sprinkled over me like precipitous glitter. Gage inhales as he hears the words. His face blooms with wonder and delight.

“I love you,” I whisper before diving into a kiss that replicates the one we share now.

A smile springs to his face. You’re my wife, Skyla. I love you forever, he whispers before spinning his fingers into the back of my hair and kissing me once again.

It wasn’t the courthouse from last winter with the sarcastic judge who banished me to slave labor at Demetri’s—this was altogether different. This was yet to happen and there was nothing Chloe or Logan could do about it, and my heart breaks as it amplifies the fact any love I have with Gage—any life I plan on building with him, is suicide for Logan and me.

But what about what Logan said? What about this spiritual covenant my mother shoved down his throat? He did mention he found Gage’s newfound visions-on-command technique a bit fishy.

I pull back and take Gage in with all his inordinate beauty. My heart races at the sight of him as I pant a vaporous storm around us.

“That was amazing.” How could I ever not believe him? This is Gage.

“I wanted you to see that.” He wraps his warm arms around my waist. I wasn’t even aware I was cold until he touched me. “I brought you here because I know you fear this place.” He doesn’t waver his stare. “I don’t want you to fear it. I don’t want you to fear anything. I want to take all of your fears and break them, make them bend until they please you.” He hops to his feet and brings me with him. “Come here.” He leads me through a thicket and stops abruptly. “Close your eyes. I have a surprise for you.”

I hesitate before securing my lids and let him lead me another few feet. It’s vulnerable like this—as if each step were the last before a sheer unknowable drop that only Gage could spare me from.

“Open,” he instructs.

I blink several times, adjusting to Gage and his tender smile, his ebony glory set off by that pale, snowy skin.

“I don’t get it.” I look around, maybe he’s transported us to some forest in France, or—then I see it. Behind him, carved lovingly in the trunk of an enormous Sugar Pine, are the words Gage + Skyla—the word Forever etched just below. It’s perfectly written, masterfully engraved. This was no chicken scratch chiseled in haste with the sharp end of a rock. This was indelible artistry at its finest—the craftsmanship from a lover’s soul.

“Gage,” I whisper, reaching forward and pressing my fingers into his handiwork. I feel the pulse and rhythm as the bark bumps under my fingers.

A giant heart enwreathes our names. It bursts to life against the corrugated backdrop like flames from a fire. Butterflies are delicately carved along the inside edge of the heart and I bounce my fingers over each one amazed at the artistry. “Thank you.” I take him in. Gage turned the ashes of fear into beauty, traded my mourning over the death of our relationship into the oil of gladness.

Gage pulls me into a sweet tender kiss that taste like the future—our future. I run my hand under his shirt and feel the rock hard flesh rippling over his stomach. It brings back memories of that dream I had in the tunnels with his body searing over mine.

A manic flap of wings, the scream of a bird in flight, tears through the sky overhead.

Nevermore lands on my shoulder and lets out series of irritated chirps.

“You’ve got lousy timing,” Gage says, reprimanding his old friend.

I reach up and scratch at the underbelly of Nev’s chest.

“What’s going on?” My heart lurches unnaturally. The adrenaline in me rises— already I think I know.

Master Logan is preparing to be bound.

Shit! I pant staring up at Gage, too stupefied to speak.

It’s best you travel alone or risk putting an additional soul in peril, Nev twitches from me to Gage.

“I have to go,” I say, turning to run.

Gage grabs me by the hand and reels me in.

“Let me help you.” His voice reverberates through the forest like a gunshot.

“I’ll see you at the faction meeting.” I snatch my wrist back and burst through the woods like a missile on fire.

I would have asked him to teleport me to Devil’s Peak, to come with me to help Logan if Nev hadn’t pointed out the obvious. Ezrina is out for blood—and any able body she can drag down into her misery will do. It just so happens that Logan is already there, and I’m about to join him.

I run until my legs ache, until Devil’s Peak races toward me like a blur. It’s replete with cars in every dull color of the rainbow. I see Nat and Em, Chloe and Michelle sitting on the hood of a familiar sedan. Michelle hops off, just as I pick up speed.

Ellis waves his arms to get my attention—he’s laughing until he realizes where I’m headed. The unnatural clip in which I’m moving leaves his jaw slack.

“Skyla!” His voice resonates wide as the island.

“It’s coming.” I breathe as the edge of the cliff advances.

The wind knifes through me. The mist baptizes me like a rite of passage as I leap with unbridled passion from the last bit of solid ground and begin to free-fall in a bed of withering fog—the rocky shore waits with its razor-like teeth below.

A choir of screams goes off overhead. The very distinct sound of Ellis shouting Fuck explodes from above.

The jagged rocks spin in turn with the ocean, blue and brown, ocean and sky. It all comes together in one tornado of color as the ground fast approaches.

I hope this works.

The rocks come in close, so close, and I let out a short-lived scream.

Chapter 61

Anything for You

The ground melts, slippery as oil. It vacuums me in, suctioning me through a dimensional chute as if it were hungry for me the entire time. It slithers over my body, wet and organic until it gives birth to me on the bottom of a sterile white floor.

It takes me three tries to stand, still dizzy and out of breath from the extreme form of punishment I inflicted upon myself to get here.

“Logan?” I shout, staggering down the hall. “Ezrina?” Really, it should be Marshall I should call out for, although his foray into reason might distract the effort to save Logan. He could care less if Logan loses his life to the underworld forever.

A series of doorways lay blank, affording nothing inside of value. I make a beeline for Ezrina’s chop shop. I’ve walked these halls, memorized their intricacies when I was holed up down here just before Christmas. The Transfer is where the Counts play God by resurrecting whomever they please, but apparently not whenever they want. Emerson is victim to a blood shortage, which doesn’t surprise me. The Counts are greedy as hell. Rationing is a foreign policy they don’t employ. They simply light drive into the future and take what they believe is rightfully theirs—namely me.

A double entry sits at the end of the long, desolate hall and I sprint over with only the sound of my heels slapping against the floor and my grunting to comfort me.

I burst into the room, sliding and skidding to find Ezrina staining the back of the lab like a blotch in this heavily bleached environment.

“Where is he?” I peck my eyes over every corner of the medicinal clutter. A set of long metal beds are laid out in the center of the room, ripe for the cadaver Ezrina might desire to pluck apart at her leisure. A row of glass vials hang from pegs along the wall, filled with filaments in reds and blues. Ezrina hovers near a stainless counter with smoke rising from a small hole that houses a cryogenics freezer just beneath.

“Here to save?” Ezrina leaves off the most important part of the sentence—the word, him.

“Just like you wanted Heathcliff, I want Logan.” No use pretending that Ezrina doesn’t have a heart anymore. I may as well go for the gold and needle her for mercy. “He needs to be out in the world, not locked up in some cage serving time so you can have the occasional outburst of lust. Please, Ezrina, do the right thing.” I stop short of adding, “for a change.” It’s not her fault she’s doing time down here, bound to the Counts every whim—it’s my mother’s.

Ezrina takes in a wheezing breath and examines me with her haggard features, a stark contrast to the clean, porcelain beauty she possessed in Logan’s dream, her once reality.

“You have a war I would have given everything to fight.” Her misshapen eyes bulge in my direction. “I slaughtered many to achieve what the Decision Council placed before you on a silver platter.” She takes a bold step toward me. Her putrid stench lights up my senses. “You have love that abides to death with not one—but three suitors.” She wags a crooked finger.

“And you have a trial at the end of the faction war. If my mother—”

“If your mother what? Deems she made an error?” Ezrina’s eyes pulsate in anger. “Your mother has created a farce by alluding to the fairness of another trial. My life and my husband’s life,” she hisses, “are much further doomed than before.”

“You wanted this trial!” I’m aghast at her sudden turnaround. I shake my head at the thought. This isn’t the time to point out what could very well be Ezrina’s own misstep. Instead, I go with it. “I’m going to be there for you during your trial. I promise.” That’s one covenant I’m not afraid to make. Ezrina and I share the same altruistic vision when it comes to Celestra—or at least she once did.

“Be gone, child,” she gravels before returning to her work.

“So, what? You’re just going to keep Logan hostage down here because your hormones happen to be on fire?”

“I keep nothing he hasn’t already given me—my time in the tunnels in exchange for a dreamscape.”

“Yeah, too bad my mother put the kibosh on that little exchange.” Although, it’s probably a good thing—Ezrina was more than a loose cannon down there. “I can see you’re still vying for some time with Heathcliff despite my mother’s warning.”

“It is my only reprieve, my best reality. Don’t you see? I have no other. And when Logan perishes—and he will—I’ll be alone again.”

“Until you can find someone else desperate enough to fool.”

“Covenant.” Her eyes bulge. “He tried to break it. He must be bound.”

He didn’t try to break it. My mother personally freed him. Although, something tells me, Ezrina isn’t in a reasoning state of mind.

My eyes swell with tears at the thought of living life, my senior year, college, the expanse of the unknowable future without Logan, all because he didn’t want me to feel an ounce of pain. Doesn’t he know I would walk through fire for him? “You can’t have Logan.” Think. Think. “Not yet, anyway—I need him to fight the war.” Then another, far more potent idea comes to mind. “The Counts are going to take me permanently if I don’t win this war—or sooner. They’re an impatient band of bastards.”

“You won’t win.” She busies herself with a vast array of beakers strewn out over the counter.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I bet her defeatist attitude was responsible for landing her here as much as it was my mother. “But when I do win—and I will—I’m sure there’s something you would like from me”—I come in for the kill—“something I could give you—something I could trade you to have Logan back.”

Ezrina enlivens, as if the thought of a Celestra victory made her blood run warm for the first time in centuries. But she doesn’t respond. Instead, she resumes the search for something in the overhead compartment.

“You can use his dreams at night when he sleeps.” I backpedal a moment. “You don’t need to keep him prisoner here.” Obviously, my mother doesn’t want him trapped in the Counts’ playground. That’s why she set him free. Doesn’t Ezrina know she’s acting in direct defiance to my mother when what she really needs is to be plotting to get on her good side?

“Logan is mine.” Ezrina rattles an empty bottle before tossing it in a bin.

“I’ll give you anything.” There. I’ve bargained away my life for Logan’s, the way he did for me, without hesitating.

Ezrina turns to face me fully.

“Anything?”

“In exchange for his return to Paragon.”

“Very well.” Ezrina takes a dramatic step forward. “I will take everything, but first, you must find something to appease the Counts so they won’t take you forever.” A slight smile interrupts her constant grimace.

“I’m ‘dating’ Ellis Harrison, and with your help, I’ll bring back Emerson Kragger.”

“Not enough.” She gags and averts her eyes as if I’ve missed the point entirely. “Not nearly enough.”

“I need Emerson or Arson will throw away the key.”

“No.” Her lips cut into a line. “I won’t help.”

“I’ll talk to Demetri and see what I can do,” I whisper—doubtful that I will. It feels like defeat. Like I’ve thrown in the towel before putting the full effort on the warfront. Although getting Logan home will be enough for now. “Is that good?”

“Better,” she confirms. “Once your mother announces my punishment, and that of my lover, we’ll meet again. I will find you. You cannot hide. The world isn’t big enough. There is not a crevasse in the universe that can shelter you from my blade.” Ezrina bows into me. “That’s how I will repay you for the misery you’ve instated. I’ll comfort myself in your cries for mercy before I take my full revenge.”

Lovely.

“So you’ll let Logan go?” I nod.

“Immediately.”

“Tell me, Ezrina. Tell me in plain words what I’m agreeing to.”

Ezrina stiffens with a grimace. “I will live out my days as Skyla Laurel Messenger, and Heathcliff as Logan Oliver. Young love will prosper, and in a way,” she says, caressing the side of my cheek with her hand, coarse as sandpaper, “you will, too. Isn’t that wonderful, Skyla? You and Logan, your flesh will live out its days as one. It’s a beautiful thing, and in the end, a part of you will have great love.”

Gage and his beautiful face blink before me. Marshall and all of his warnings, his mile long list of why I should greatly consider before entering into a covenant, stretch before me, wide as the sea.

“Bring him to me,” I say it sharp with a newfound venom.

“Logan, now. Your body forever.” She echoes with unwarranted glee.

“I’ll win the war and my mother will revert your sentence.” My voice trembles as I try to convince myself that there’s a way out of this.

Logan materializes into the room from nowhere. He looks exhausted, disoriented.

“Skyla, no.” He comes to me, pulls me back by the waist. “Whatever you planned, don’t do it.”

“It is finished.” Ezrina turns and starts in on a slow-building cackle.

Logan backs me out of the room with his eyes glued to her vibrating frame, the future home of my soul, if we’re not careful—if my mother makes the wrong judgment.

Ezrina hurls a bottle in our direction and it explodes midair before ever reaching us.

“Get out!” She screams—her voice echoes and expands, destructive as a mushroom cloud. Vials explode one after the other like a symphony, the windows shatter, and the walls begin to crumble.

Logan takes me by the hand as the Transfer melts around us, detonating under the wrath of Ezrina’s self-imposed apocalypse.

***

Paragon blooms with a fog so thick it makes reality feel like a fairytale.

“What were you thinking?” Logan pulls me out of the line of fire from the thrashing waves at the base of Devil’s Peak. We employed our former knowledge of running and crashing into a wall of granite to land us back into reality. I’d like to smack the celestial being who dreamed that up as a logical porthole to the real world. Marshall blinks through my mind and I shake the thought away.

Paragon hums and whistles around us, denying all of the paranormal charges against it while wrapped in its evening splendor.

“What were you thinking?” I shake him by the shoulders.

He rounds his gaze over me heavy with concern and affection. “I was thinking of you and how much I love you—how I would rather die than watch you suffer.” He loses himself, staring out into the dark churning sea. “You should have left me alone, Skyla. I’m afraid to ask what you did to get me out of there.”

“I know what you did,” I whisper. “You agreed to let Nev have your body if they’re sentenced again.”

“And you?” He gives a stern look. “Does Ezrina get to play the part of Skyla if things don’t go as planned?”

I don’t say anything.

He shakes his head with a placid smile. “Looks like I’ve managed to fuck everything up again. You should run like hell the next time you see me coming. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”

The moon casts a glow over his perfectly formed features. The hint of a five o’clock shadow dusts his face and accentuates his godlike glory.

“We’re going to win the faction war.” I try to jostle him back to reality. “If my mother cares about me at all, about the injustice of the Counts, and what Ezrina tried to so heroically accomplish, she’ll revert their judgment. There is no way in hell my mother would have even considered a new trial if there wasn’t a chance she might issue another ruling.”

“Skyla.” He closes his eyes and pulls me in. His warm body presses against mine, and I fold into arms. “We’re living on less than a prayer.”

“We’re living on hope.” I run my hands up over his back to soothe him. Deep down inside, I realize we could win this war and still lose it all.

I need to find my mother.

It’s her I need to strike a deal with—but something in me already knows the odds are far from in my favor.

Chapter 62

Principality

Nicholas Haver’s house, sits at the distal end of the Paragon Estates. It’s sheltered behind an entire row of Italian cypress trees, each their own stalwart powerhouse of intimidation.

A tar-covered sky blankets the island with intermittent breaks in the clouds that illuminate a dull lavender glow from the other side. My breath plumes out in dense milky sprays as I hurry down the path to the barn-like structure. Logan offered to stick around and give me a ride home, but I told him I’d catch one with Gage. He’s beyond exhausted. Ironically, prancing around in the playground of his dreams is the equivalent of running back-to-back marathons—not that Logan is welcome at these meetings anymore, thanks to Holden’s killing spree.

The overgrown shed in the back of the Havar’s property is lit up with a warm peachy glow. A low rumble emits from inside, followed by periodic spurts of silence.

I’m late. I’ll be lucky if I haven’t missed the entire damn show.

I make my way to the entrance and peer in to see where Gage might be seated before creating a spectacle of myself.

A tall man with an otherworldly glow looks in my direction as if he didn’t need to see my person to know it was me lurking in the doorway. He’s seated next to Nicholas Haver himself and faces the sea of onlookers who traveled from near and far to hear his words of celestial-inspired wisdom.

“Glad you could fit this into your schedule,” he calls. His voice booms unnaturally across the cavernous room and barrels past me out the exit. I recognize him from the war, Delphinius, same clown who told Marshall we’d marry.

All eyes turn toward the door. They struggle to see me until I take a few shy steps into the facility and reveal myself as none other than Skyla-I-Love-Losing-the-War Messenger.

“Are you waiting for direction?” Nicholas Haver, a heavyset man with a triple chin and constant dribble of sweat running down his temples, fans me in with haste.

I take a seat up front next to Dr. Booth. I have no clue where Gage is and I’m too chicken shit to further scope out the establishment. Dr. Booth gives a paternal tap to my knee and straightens as if he weren’t at all ashamed to be associated with me.

“We have a principality gracing us with his presence, Skyla,” Nicholas says it extra slow, like I might need an interpreter to understand the basic semantics of the English language. “He’s going to give you direction and strategies on how to fight the remainder of the war. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” I pull my chin up, trying not to look like the frightened schoolgirl I really am.

Dr. Booth offers me an appreciative smile. He’s wearing his signature wire-rimmed glasses, a sweater with a dress shirt underneath and gold-notched tie. He bleeds a peaceful expression that suggests everything is going to be all right, and it makes me want to hug him until this entire nightmare dissolves to nothing because I happen to know the truth. Nothing will ever be all right again.

“Skyla.” Delphinius rattles the room with his ethereal vocals. “Five regions have been lost.” He tilts his elongated head to the side. His silver hair, his barely-there eyes refract the light like a prism. His skin looks a sickly pale grey, but he’s muscular and in every other way, fit and healthy. “Seven regions remain. Do you realize the importance of navigating the rest of this journey?”

“I do.” I answer loud and succinct for no other reason than the fact I don’t want to sound like a coward. Being a failure is bad enough. “I need direction. Why do you keep calling them regions if I end up in what appears to be the same place over and over? And, it’s too difficult to see the enemy. Why aren’t they blue? I think they should be blue.”

A hush falls over the room, then a gentle roll of laughter as though what I had just suggested was for comic relief rather than strategy. I look over my shoulder and spot Gage in the back, Dr. Oliver and Emma on either side like bookends. He nods over to me with a warm smile. I can practically feel him telling me to be strong.

“The weaponry is always hidden within reach of your person upon arrival,” Delphinius booms. “The delineation of Counts verses those who fight for Celestra is up to the Decision Council—as are all things.” He leers with the curve of a knowing smile. “Now, listen carefully. I’m going to tell you exactly what you need to do to conquer the next region.”

The room flexes and bends, the oxygen depletes before he can utter another word. An arid darkness invades the space and pulls me down through the chair, inhales me right into region six of the faction war.

***

A sodden field appears. I’m seated in a half foot of mud, caked and dirty. Rain falls from the sky, stabbing the smoky hillside with its fury.

“Why?” I scream it out until every cell in me trembles from the effort. Clearly, my mother does not understand the finer points of strategy. Clearly, she doesn’t care whether or not we prosper in this screwed-up endeavor because if she did, she would have waited another ten seconds and let the orator spill the coveted details on how to actually win a region for a fucking change.

“Skyla!” Gage runs up from behind.

“He said the weapons were hidden close to where we land,” I shout up over the storm. Sporadic areas of burnt brush litter the landscape—at least ten bushels within reach. “It could be anywhere.”

Trust only your heart, my mother’s strange words come back to me at this odd hour, and strangely enough, right about now, my heart is saying, “Don’t trust your mother.”

“Trust my heart,” I whisper, making my way to the bush straight ahead. “Look,” I shout with laughter. A waterproof backpack with a slick neoprene skin sits tucked in the middle. I reach in and excavate it—six oversized handguns sit inside along with an entire cache of cylinders filled with darts.

“What the hell is this?” Gage takes it from me and inspects the swollen belly of the bag as the rain lets up.

“I think I know.” I pull one out and turn the barrel for inspection. An explosive clap goes off, and a sharp breeze eclipses the hair just shy of my eyes.

“Geez!” Gage shoves the gun in a downward position. “Never, ever, look down the barrel of a gun.” He pulls me in and gives an aggressive kiss of relief over the top of my head. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” I say, cinching the backpack over my shoulders. “These things shoot some kind of poison darts.” Logan gave me one in region four and I knocked out a crowd to save Copper and Flynn. But these look far more menacing, and I’m hoping they’re a little more potent in nature. “It’s not permanent, though. It won’t kill them.”

“Never seen anything like it,” he says, holding it out and aiming at a pin of light coming from the forest.

“Bastardized Ruger.” I give a brief smile. “Wesley, the boy the Counts sicked on me, he came to me in a dream—told me about these.” I stop short of telling Gage I shot him up with one in my nocturnal wandering, that it felt good to do it.

A strange glow emits from the thicket to our left.

I pull Gage behind an overgrown shrub and we watch as a dull illumination emerges from the tree line. Three men with shoulders as wide as a house, trek out.

“They’re blue.” The words tumble from my lips with the beginnings of laughter. “She heard me.” I grab a hold of Gage and shake him with elation. My mother heard, and the enemy glows like an electrified blueberry. “Thank you.” I mouth the words up to the sky.

They look guarded as they make their way out into the clearing.

“If I saw ten in a foxhole, I’d kill them all,” says the one in the middle. He’s balding, wears a spare tire around his waist, and I fire into his chest without hesitating for suggesting such a slaughter.

Gage and I hit all three and watch as they buck and seize, dropping to the ground in an unexpected paralysis.

“Let’s go.” I pant, heading over and stripping them of their weaponry as they lay unconscious. Two bows, one sawed-off shotgun. And here I was thinking my mother hated guns.

The sky crackles and churns as lighting flares overhead, followed by a low growl of thunder that never quite ceases.

Gage and I take off into the thicket and set out in search of Delphinius.

“There he is.” Gage takes my hand and runs us toward the bottom of the hill, where the orator flags us down.

I keep an eye out for Cooper and Flynn—for Logan, who pretends to run with the enemy. The rain lets up, soft as feathers, then brews to something more sinister that assures me my mother is in charge of the faucet controls.

A dark-haired girl runs from the bushes with two glowing figures in tow and gets to him first. It’s Chloe.

“Shit.” Gage pulls me faster as we slip our way down the hillside.

Chloe, Nat and Pierce take off toward a ravine.

“What the hell?” Gage shouts into the orator as we hit the bottom of the incline.

Delphinius offers a disparaging look. Something tells me Chloe has yet again found a new way to screw us.

“There’s a gully in the valley.” His voice overcomes the thunder without trying. “You must cross to the adjacent hillside—”

Gage pulls me to a running start before Delphinius can complete the thought.

“On dry land,” the orator screams through the needling rain. “Dry land!”

How the hell are we going to find dry land in the middle of a downpour?

Gage intensifies our speed until I can’t keep up with him, until I lose my grip altogether.

“I don’t have my powers,” I shout as he barrels on ahead. Apparently, neither does he or we would’ve long since transported. I tumble to the ground and my arm enlivens with pain as I snag half my body against a bed of jagged rocks. A long line of crimson extends from my elbow to my wrist.

“Run, Gage,” I shout. “Win this damn thing.”

The rainfall stifles the sound of my voice as Gage continues past the ravine, past the two blue orbs bobbing next to Chloe and the world lights up, bright as the sun before washing out, blank as a virginal canvas.

***

I take in a sharp breath of air that holds the scent of strong coffee, fresh-baked cookies and cheap perfume. I’m right back in Nicholas Haver’s gargantuan garage, alive and well—and surprisingly dry.

Gage rushes over and kisses me right in front of the entire assembly as if it were a matrimonial proclamation.

“Did we win?” I can barely get the words out.

“Skyla, you’re cut.” Dr. Booth takes up my arm and examines it.

“It’s just a scratch.” A giant welt pillows over the length of my arm and blood drips to my fingertips.

The room bursts into a loud murmur until the blast of a gavel emits from the front.

“Silence!” Nicholas Haver’s face turns a brilliant shade of plum.

I pull Gage down into the seat next to me.

“Region six has been recorded in the annals of the book of war.” Mr. Haver’s voice swirls around the room like an angry tornado.

The orator nods in my general direction. “It has been determined that the victory lies with Countenance.”

A loud gasp circles the room before breaking out into a chaotic roar.

“It was impossible to get to dry ground,” I say to Gage. It’s not his fault the Counts are quicker and obviously better at securing every single region. Quicker and better and soon they’ll rule everything.

“I did get to dry ground.” He gives a causal shrug like he gave it his best but it was no big deal. “Could have sworn I crossed the ravine first.”

I hate this. Just the thought of losing another region ignites a revolting image of the Counts wielding the sword of the Master. God—that better not happen.

“Was anyone else there with you?” Dr. Booth interjects. “Maybe they were farther down and you couldn’t see them?”

“Ellis Harrison.” Gage pegs him with a sharp tone. “He must have taken the region for the Counts.”

I blink back surprise. I’m shocked Gage would be so quick to accuse Ellis of all people.

Dr. Booth leans in. “It was either Ellis—or you—who gave the Counts a win.” He gives a dry laugh at the thought. “I think we can use deductive logic and figure this one out.”

I swallow hard at the thought and slide down in my chair.

Can we?

My entire body explodes in a ball of heat.

“Looks like we’ve got a rogue Count on our hands,” Gage says, needling me with a strange intensity as the twinge of smile plays on his lips.

Not one part of me believes that Ellis would do this, but something stirs in me on a primal level and nags at me to question Gage. I don’t like it. I want to reach in and rip that part right out, shove it in a blender and feed it to Chloe for breakfast.

Nicholas thumps his water bottle over the table and the room quiets to a dull roar.

“Attention,” Delphinius calls, “the next six regions determine everything.” He looks directly at me. “There seems to be a breach of trust.” He glances at Gage before reverting back to me. “Do be careful.”

Chapter 63

Who Are You

Gage and I drive back to the Oliver’s house through a curtain of heaven’s tears. We plan to hang out and watch a movie. Really, I want to watch Gage—study him under the microscope of my newfound distrust.

“So tell me again what happened at the ridge?” I ask, stirring the hot cocoa Emma served up for us in the kitchen.

Logan sits beside me, watching him with scrupulous attention.

Gage squints into the memory. He’s taking his time to align the words just right as if constructing an alibi.

I slip my hand under the table and tap on Logan’s knee until his warm fingers wrap around mine.

I think maybe he threw the region, I say, glancing in Logan’s direction.

“What?” Logan doesn’t bother hiding his disbelief.

Dr. Oliver and Emma look over from the counter with surprise.

“Sorry,” he says, “just trying to get Gage to hurry up and answer.” I doubt he threw the region. Gage has no reason to side with the Counts. And he told me what you thought happened between him and Chloe. That’s not only improbable—it’s impossible. He loves you, Skyla.

“When I hit the ravine, I saw Ellis.” Gage pushes in a dimple on one side and my stomach detonates with heat. Why does he have to be so freaking hot and potentially naughty all at the same time? “I’m one hundred percent positive it was Ellis who took the region.”

Logan wriggles free from my grip and gives a slight look of disgust. I snatch at his fingers before he has a chance to escape and give a sad smile in his direction.

For the record, I think you’re damn hot, and I totally trust you. By the way, are you going to tell your family about your debacle with the queen of mean?

No, Logan shakes his head ever so slightly. I’m not telling Gage, either.

“Looks like someone’s having a private conversation.” Gage grinds out the words with an authentic brand of jealousy.

“I was just thinking about what you said.” I carefully remove my hand from Logan’s lap. “So you think Ellis is trying to get on his dad’s good side? I would have sworn on my life we could trust him.”

“I wouldn’t be too surprised.” Dr. Oliver gives a curt nod. “You can never truly know anyone’s intentions.”

I glance up at Gage a moment before settling my gaze on the cup in front of me. It hurts to look at him. It takes all of my effort to hold my eyes up to his. I’m so afraid I’ll see something in him that confirms my worst nightmare.

A thought comes to me and I spike up in my seat. “I forgot to mention something at the faction meeting.”

“What’s that?” Gage rounds his cornflower blue eyes over me, soft, like the sweeping of a feather.

“Marshall said that the eighty-nine Celestra Logan—I mean—Holden killed early in the war weren’t dead. He thinks the Counts resurrected them.”

“To do what?” Emma grips her chest in horror.

“The tunnels,” Logan heaves the words out. “That’s what they’re doing to us—to Skyla.” Logan takes me in with a resolute sadness. “They’re killing our people in order to kidnap them. Every one of them is stuck in that living hell.”

“They’re killing them and bringing them back?” Gage looks skeptical about my theory, or perhaps he’s shedding just enough intrigue to balance out the scales of his deceit.

I study his nuances. He’s either a master in the field of pretend or he genuinely cares about the Celestra people, me included.

“Why on earth would they do that?” Emma closes in on the table, eager to understand the relevance.

“They’re turning Celestra into a bona fide juice bar.” I point to my neck when I say it.

“Oh!” She gasps, openly disgusted by the horror of it all.

“How long do you think they’ve been at this?” Gage lifts his cup and for a second it looks as if he’s saluting the Counts.

“Why does it matter?” Logan glares at him. “They’re doing it now.”

“It matters.” Barron looks good and pissed. “I for one would like to know how many empty plots I might have. All of those families believing their loved ones have passed on to Paradise only to find out they’ve been captured. It sickens me.”

“And,” Logan says, wild-eyed, “it would be nice to know how many crimes we could rack up against them and present to the Justice Alliance. I’m pretty sure killing and resurrecting for imprisonment purposes is a major offence.”

A breath gets caught in my throat.

“Maybe that’s how we can take down the Counts?” I marvel at his stroke of genius.

“A higher court?” Gage scoffs at the idea. “And one run by your mother, no less?”

Is it my imagination or is Gage vying for asshole of the year?

Logan nods as if agreeing with me. “We can always bring it up, see what she says. But when I talked to her about the tunnels, she mentioned it was earthly warfare, that it was up to us to revolve it.”

I give a hard sigh. “Marshall says they keep their mitts off resolving evil situations. I guess this is one of them.”

“Not if the dead are being brought back to life,” Emma rasps.

“You’re right,” I say. “They crossed the chasm. They should totally be subject to some form of unearthly justice.”

“I have a little girl I’d love to bring back,” Emma mutters under her breath while landing the dirty dishes in the sink with a hostile aggression.

I wish I could bring back Giselle. That would be a treat. Instead, I have to figure out a way to breathe life back into yet another cranky Kragger so I can secure myself a treble and get all of those Celestra souls out of hawk.

***

“Skyla, what’s really going on?” Gage and I stand in the Oliver’s driveway where I’ve tried three times to convince him that I’m way too exhausted to stick around and watch a movie. Actually, I want to go home to Marshall’s and run all of my insane inklings and theories by him, minus my agreement with Ezrina while they’re still fresh in my mind. Not to mention I sort of need to digest this whole Ellis throwing the region thing, when in my heart, I still can’t believe it.

“Look”—I say, casting a glance to the ground—“if you don’t want to teleport me over, I’ll just ask Logan for a ride.”

He pegs me with those neon surprises nestled in his head and wonders what the hell has gotten into me.

“You don’t trust me,” he whispers in defeat.

I open my mouth to challenge the idea, but the lie won’t come, because deep down inside he’s right.

“Are you coming out to the Cape tomorrow?” Gage hesitates when he asks, as if the slightest wrong inflection could launch us off the edge of the very steep cliff we’ve arrived at.

“Yes, of course. I can’t wait to spend the weekend at the Cape,” I whisper. All of our love, all of our hard-won public affection to get Chloe off our backs, and here we are, eyeing one another as if our relationship could go either way.

Gage leans in and wraps his arms around me warm and tight. The scenery fades then bursts back to life as we appear in Marshall’s driveway. The cold wind circles us with a crisp bite like it were already fall.

He drops a sweet tender kiss on the top of my head and pulls away.

“I love you so much, Skyla.” His eyes glitter under the supervision of the porch light. “When we hurdle this, and I know we will”—he swallows hard—“I’m going to shower you with my affection.” He cradles my cheek in his hand. The light blesses him in just the right way and pays homage to his cutting features. It’s a wonder every female on earth isn’t clawing her way into Gage Oliver’s bed. Gage could amass a harem by midnight, if he wanted. He could put all of Ellis’s best efforts to shame without even trying. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I swear it.” He presses a cool kiss against my lips and disappears.

I hope to God he’s telling the truth.

And if he’s not, I just might have to kill him.

Chapter 64

The Other Side of the Mirror

I give a few hard power knocks to Marshall’s oversized door, then a series of shorter, more aggressive blasts that threaten to burst my eardrums. I don’t really want to tear my way in. Truthfully, I’m half afraid if Marshall doesn’t answer soon I might just weaken and text Gage. My head is spinning at the idea he may have thrown the region. What am I saying? He would never do that. Right?

I stomp my fist against the door until it feels like I’ve tenderized my hand and the door swings open with Marshall looking far too gorgeous for me to ever be safe here.

“Finally,” I say, brushing past him as I make my way inside. The heavenly scent of something delicious lights up my senses.

“Come in,” he says with a note of sarcasm.

Marshall strides over and takes me in with my hair all frizzed out, my sweater torn in two places and I look like I’ve just indulged in a mud bath. A dirty smile slides up the side of his face and I can practically see the pornographic implications playing out in his mind.

“You’re absolutely filthy—and I most definitely approve.” His smile blooms into an all-out sexual leer as he comes in close. “I might be moved to bathe you.” He caresses his hand over the side of my cheek. I’m so damn tired I close my eyes and lean into his good vibrations. “Oh, how I’ll scrub,” he whispers.

Scrub? I perk to attention and take a full step back.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the blackened window over his shoulder and note my hair is in bird’s nest mode.

“You’re right. I am filthy.” I jam my fingers into my haystack and try to comb out the tangles but it’s impossible. “I’m disgusting. Don’t look at me. And, for sure, no scrubbing.”

“You, my love, are far from disgusting. Although, if you prefer, we can continue this conversation somewhere devoid of light—horizontally if you wish.”

This isn’t going to end well. Marshall is sexually vexing and my defenses are worn to nothing.

I eye him like a predator and wonder how the hell my virginity will escape intact if he keeps up with his fresh-scrubbed horizontal proposals.

“I’m moved to run a bath for you,” he purrs. “You could sit on my lap while I offer you a massage.” Marshall unleashes his pent-up frustration over my shoulders by way of an oh-so-needed back rub.

Damn, he knows just what I need and how to give it to me.

My head falls back and I let out an involuntary moan.

Marshall blows a kiss over my ear. “I’m sure we could both let out a little pent-up frustration in the process.”

“No need.” Crap. I haul ass a good two feet out of the trajectory from his frisky fingers. “I’ve got Logan for that.” I add that last part in the event he thinks we’ve advanced bases in our malformed teacher-student relationship. Wait, do I have a “relationship” with Marshall? And why does it suddenly feel like sexual baseball analogies are involved? Speaking of which, I feel bad for spontaneously cutting Gage out of the sexual equation.

“I was expecting you hours ago. This far from pleases me.” Marshall twists his lips with an unsatisfactory look. “I’ll be sure to let Logan in on my displeasure as well.” A sinister brand of anger boils in his eyes and I can tell he’s plotting Logan’s demise—most likely Gage’s future is in peril as well. “Let the record show, I disapprove of your nocturnal wanderings.”

Nocturnal wanderings? An avalanche of words gets caught in my throat. “Excuse me—I had a war to fight.”

“Which you lost.”

“Which my mother lost because she flipped the switch before your frat brother could give me the heads up on how to take the region.”

“She’s not one to make things easy.” His lips twitch the beginnings of a smile.

I suck in a breath at his audacity. He’s reveling in the fact my mother’s non-maternal instincts are heavily at play in my life.

“What are you laughing at?” I needle him with all the aggression I can muster.

“Dare I say, you.” He doesn’t bother to hide the fact my frustration arouses him on some level. Marshall’s body language is practically shouting get in my bed. “You, Skyla, certainly know how to bring the passion to the table with your virulent outbursts of both the emotional and physical variety—and how I look forward to more of the physical.”

I so knew it.

“We’ll see about that.” I ditch the sexed-up Sector and head over to the stove and lift the lid off the cast iron pot. A pleasing aroma fills me. I’m about to pass out at the thought of consuming something so exotically delicious. “Smells like heaven!” I don’t know whether to be thankful or mournful that Mom can’t cook up a storm like Marshall—if she did, both my jeans and arteries would soon need replacing. “What is it?”

“Squirrel—caught two in the yard.” Marshall expands the girth of his chest as if squirrel were suddenly classified as big game hunting. “A man with good aim is difficult to come by. And, I assure you, that skill is best employed in the bedroom. I’m more than willing to demonstrate—show, don’t tell, and all those good lascivious adages.”

“I’ll pass,” I say, replacing the lid and distancing myself from the fragrant culinary disaster. “And really? Squirrel? That’s freaking gross.” Looks as though my skinny jeans and arteries are safe for the time being.

“That’s not ‘freaking gross,’” he mocks in horror. “That, my love, is dinner.” He tosses the dishrag over his shoulder and looks decidedly hot while doing so, but I’ll never admit it. Everyone knows there’s nothing hotter than a man in the kitchen, with the exception of Tad.

He frowns into me. “And, where were you after the war? I was beside myself with worry.”

“With Logan and Gage, thank you very much.” I stagger over to the couch and kick off the ridiculous high heels I decided to wear today. Who knew a war would break out? I might have to invest in a pair of steel-toe combat boots. That way, I can literally and figuratively kick some Count ass. Not that any ass kicking has yet to take place. Actually, if the ass kicking in question is geared toward Celestra, then yes, it has totally already manifested in the physical sense.

“You, my dear kitten, are impossibly titillating.”

I glance over at Marshall, lacking the energy to properly roll my eyes. I think the expression “one-track mind” was literally derived from him.

“I don’t know what the hell you just said, but it sounds disastrous.” My eyelids sear themselves shut. Normally, I wouldn’t fight my body on the much-needed snooze-fest its trying to procure, but I feel rather exposed spread over the length of Marshall’s couch and he’s gearing up to pounce. I can feel it.

“Never you mind your pretty little head,” he says, making his way over. “What’s important is that you’re no longer with the twisted Olivers—you’re here. And, might I note, that you lose each time you’re in their presence. Accept the fact they’re cursed and move on. I suggest you find someone of noble character, someone who comes from victory—like me.”

My lids open just enough for me to view him hovering over me. I give him less than five seconds—he lands next to me in less than three.

“I want to hear all about your time in the ethereal plane. Tell me everything.”

“Really?” I sit up on my elbows and he’s quick to scoot over, so I use his legs as a pillow and nestle in. I start in on the night, sans my freshly penned and more-than-slightly unorthodox agreement with Ezrina. I rattle on about the faction meeting, the popup war that my mother’s wry sense of humor seems to spring on me with decidedly ill-timing, and how pissy Nicholas Haver acted because I lost yet another region.

Marshall gazes down at me with a content look on his face. I reach up and touch my hand to his cheek.

“You really are a good listener, you know that?”

He loses himself while grazing over my body with those sun-scorched eyes, so I place my hand over his to listen in on his private musings. Usually, he can throw them at me at a distance, which is his way of showing off his Sector prowess, but for now, he’s lost in lust, too far gone to throw anything coherent my way.

My mouth desires to trace out the landscape of her every curve. I crave to have her, right down to her tiny beautiful feet. How I yearn for the moment she graces my chambers night after luscious night with all of the affection we can afford. We’ll charge the air with our ferocity. I can almost feel her skin burning against mine, the singe of her thighs smoothing over me as I make her my wife with a pronounced finality.

And there’s that.

“I can hear you,” I say.

A smile rides up his cheek. “Though the deep drink of our love tarry—wait for it.”

“As I was saying…” I carry on about my night at record speed. It feels so good to have someone listen for a change. Even if Marshall isn’t picking up on a word I say, it feels rather therapeutic lying on a couch, giving an expository of my most unusual day. “And, that’s how it ended.” I blow out a sigh. “You know…” I readjust my neck over his lap. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m all alone.”

“You have me.” His serious eyes penetrate mine. “For the rest of your days, I will be here for you—someone to trust, to lean on—to have and to hold from this day on.”

Marshall is a thing of beauty both inside and out. I reach up and touch my fingers to his lips. Somebody is going to be very lucky to love him fully one day.

“Those sounded an awful lot like wedding vows,” I whisper.

“You will be everything to me, Skyla. A lover…” He kisses a finger. “A friend…” He kisses the tip of another. “A spouse…” He pushes my finger into his hot mouth and I pluck it out. “Where shall we spend our honeymoon?” He goes right there without provocation.

“No honeymoon—but, well…” I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m sort of not really seeing Gage, since I can’t trust him. Logan wants to wait until the end of the faction war before we see where our feelings lie, so I suppose I’m open.”

“Open?” His head twitches to the side just so.

“You know, for wooing—no kissing though. You’ll have to woo without lingual contact.”

“No kissing.” His chest broadens under the guise of this new turn of events. “Fantastic.” He says it sharp as if this were a war and he just gained ground on the enemy. “What shall we do to commemorate our first day of coupledom?”

That haunted speculum, gifted by none other than my least favorite Fem, catches my attention. Its long oval frame sits on the base of a gilded ostrich leg.

“Let’s hop in that mirror of Demetri’s and see what’s cooking on the other side.” I nudge him in the hip. “You’re a Sector. You can get us out of any number of messes. Come on.” I jostle him. “I’ll be fun.”

“Absolutely not.” He grinds his jaw. “There’s an off chance it might have diminishing effects on my powers. I can’t risk getting caught with my proverbial pants down. I won’t have it. I should give you a good tongue lashing for entertaining the idea.” A lewd smile begs to glide across his face. “Shall I start now?”

“No.” I crimp a smile and pluck my hand free from his. “And, I seriously doubt you’d have anything to be ashamed of with your pants leveraged to the ground.” Did I just go there? “In fact, I’m betting you’d draw an awful lot of attention.” Again with the innuendo? I’m so freaking exhausted I should probably just go straight to bed.

I lick my lips and make a half-hearted effort to readjust myself. I bet Marshall would have the masses bowing to him if he did manage to lose his pants. “Something tells me you’re a real crowd pleaser,” I add without thinking. Come to think of it, Marshall is always trying to please me. “You’re a giver, aren’t you, Marshall?” It comes out more of a statement than an epiphany. “And I can tell you have a lot to give.” So true.

Marshall’s eyes round out with horrific delight and it occurs to me I’ve just played to his ego in the entirely wrong way.

He plucks a twig from my sweater. “Shall we run upstairs and get you into something a little more comfortable?”

“Let’s see—” Oddly I want to say yes, but I’m thinking sweats, and I bet he’s thinking something more along the lines of sweating. “I bet your bed falls under the category of something more comfortable.” I flat line.

“If you insist.”

A knock erupts at the door before I take total leave of my senses and pull off his jeans to discover for myself what exactly he’s equip to “please the crowd with.”

“Give me a second—I’ll get rid of them.” He springs to his feet and nearly lands me on the floor.

“It’s probably Gage,” I say, rolling off and heading over. A part of me sings at the thought of seeing him again tonight, until I remember what has me so ticked in the first place and my stomach sours.

“Like I said, give me a second—I’ll remove them from the planet.”

Marshall flings open the door and I find myself staring in the face of a pissed off, rather dazed and confused, Michelle Miller.

“Expecting company?” I look over at Marshall.

“What’s going on?” She demands.

Michelle plucks at a long, dark curl over and over as if its code for some sexual promise. She’s dressed to seduce with a skintight sweater, no bra and a pair of bright red FMs that look suspiciously like a pair Brielle lent me once.

“Just hanging out,” I say before a thought comes to me. “You wanna come in? We were just about to play a game.”

“Sure,” she says, crossing the threshold, her gaze never leaving Marshall’s blessed-by-God face.

“Shelly, you can’t stay.” Marshall gently pushes her back out. “Skyla and I are calling it a night. We’ve a game to play in private.” He’s quick to let the sexual implications fly.

“You are sleeping with him!” She slices her nails across my face so quick I don’t have time to duck and cover. I touch my fingers to my cheek and affirm the fresh glow of crimson.

“On second thought,” Marshall says, plucking her in by the elbow, “there’s always room for one more in our late night shenanigans.” He’s good and pissed, but Michelle is too doped up on her lust for him to see it.

“Kinky.” She laughs. Her features reduce to cinders at his magical soothing touch and she snatches up his hand and plunges his finger into her mouth.

Is that a trend or something? Maybe he’s done it to her before? Or, eww—is that what he does to all the girls?

“Knock that off,” I sing playfully, swatting his hand free from her upper orifice. “I’d hate for my future husband to be defiled.”

Marshall and I walk Michelle over to the mirror of terror sitting innocently by the piano. It’s just lying in wait for some poor, unsuspecting face-scratching human to hop right in.

“Take a good look at yourself before we start in on our feast of flesh,” Marshall instructs, nodding toward the mysterious Fem artifact.

Michelle licks her dewy lips. She looks over at me, inhales while inventorying the offerings, and sighs with disappointment before turning to Marshall. For him she quakes. Her mouth opens and nothing but a stream of choking sounds emit. She glances at her reflection in the mirror before turning to Marshall again. I can see the lust in her eyes, the fire in her belly to have him. It turns my stomach to see her so openly eager—throbbing for the Sector that the orator himself pegged as my future husband.

“What should I do first?” She touches her hand to the glass while sinking her pornographic intentions into him. “Tie Skyla up? We can use her as firewood. I do like a nice crackling fire in the background, and Skyla has enough fat to fuel us into next week.”

I take a deep breath and give her a solid shove in the back.

Glass shatters as Michelle falls into the mirror. It discharges long, jagged spears through the air like shrapnel. A thousand slivered guillotines fall like rain as Michelle sails off into the dark abyss on the other side.

“Nobody disfigures my future bride.” Marshall pulls me in by the waist. “Would you be moved to offer a supple token of your affection—by way of your lips perhaps?”

“I may.” I lean up and press a soft kiss into him, so brief and chaste, a pet could garner more action from me if the situation warranted.

A harrowing scream emits from the world inside the haunted speculum.

I jump back and Marshall shields me with his body as a violent gush of wind pushes out of it at hurricane force.

An entire coven of bats fly from the dark, arid hole and dart toward the ceiling before clapping to dust. A crow, a raccoon, a thousand furry black spiders trickle over the metal frame, and I jump into the safety of Marshall’s arms.

Another series of screams erupt as Michelle pleads for mercy until her voice grows bare.

She cries in terror from the other side, as the glass collects itself from the four corners of the room.

The mirror restores itself to its former glory right before our eyes and the screaming stops—silent as the sun.

I have a feeling we may never see Michelle Miller again. And I’m damn sure if she ever does get out, she’ll do a hell of a lot more than scratch me.

Chapter 65

Birthday Blowup

In the morning, God spears Paragon with javelins of fire as He knives lightning bolts into Marshall’s yard. The forest and the hillside in the distance light up in a spectacular show of electrocution. I watch as they form a ring of fire in the sky—a familiar demonic nest of lavender currents.

An electrical storm has hit the island, a peculiar phenomenon, which has all of the telltale signs of a classic downpour, minus the actual aquatic properties required for such occasion. I’m betting this weather-based anomaly has something to do with the fact Marshall is having the stalls and corral professionally cleaned today. He’s deemed them a steaming pit of fecal matter waiting to cast a pox of boils on anyone who happens to step three feet in their vicinity. God, how I’d love to lock Demetri in a stall until boils erupt all over his body—Chloe, too.

I glance over at the mirror and a horrific guilty feeling lines me like lead. God only knows what I’ve done to Michelle.

Marshall catches my attention from across the breakfast table. “How are your eggs?” He asks with all of the sultry velvet his voice can afford. I know he’s referring to my breakfast and yet somehow I suspect my ovaries are the topic at hand.

He’s showered and shaved and looks every bit the demigod he is. He’s wearing a sweatshirt from West, with Cerberus’s effigy on the front, and sadly, this makes me long for Gage—the one I knew and loved.

“They’re great.” I shrug. Marshall has prepared a feast. Honestly, ten people couldn’t wolf down all the food he’s lovingly prepared. “So I gather you’ll do the cooking once the eternal covenant of our love commences.” I bite down a smile. The thought of Marshall committing to a life of remedial chores somehow pleases me.

“For you, I’d slice and dice the universe, reduce it to liquid and let you drink down the concoction.” His eyes light up with seduction. “I’ll lay the world at your feet, every God-breathed minute. But you already know that.” He bears into me with an intense desire and I can’t find the strength to look away. He’s seeing me, without my clothes, without my inhibitions, imagining us together. I don’t know how I know this, I just do.

I look into his eyes and watch as a scene unravels like a movie. There we are, together in one tangle of flesh, my face lost in delirium—and this causes my cheeks to burn with an intensity I’ve never felt before.

An abrasive knock explodes over the door, interrupting the fantasy-based fervor.

“The dolts have arrived.” He gives a brief blink of annoyance before heading toward the entry and I dutifully follow. Truthfully, I haven’t left Marshall’s side since what shall from now on be referred to as the incident. I’m not quite sure how to classify what happened to Michelle.

Marshall swings open the door, just as a loud crackle of thunder detonates from above.

“Logan!” I dart past Marshall and give him a hug. To my surprise, I see both Ethan and Drake coming up the driveway.

“Dudley,” Drake calls out.

“Around the back,” Marshall barks out the order. “Shovels and disposal units are at the ready.”

Ethan gives a brief wave as they file through the side gate.

“That’s who you’re relying on to clean the crap out of your yard? They don’t even flush the toilet half the time. Sanitation is not a high priority, just saying.”

“The dollar is an amazing lure.” He turns to Logan and his features darken. “What bids the visit?” Marshall doesn’t care for the Oliver standing before us—either one to be exact.

I twirl my fingers against Logan’s bare neck and marvel at the way he glows in the early morning light. I suggest Marshall gets used to seeing Logan’s gorgeous face. It’s obvious to me he’ll be my husband one day, my only husband.

Logan opens his mouth then retracts. Instead, he graces us with a sly smile, so hot, it has the power to inspire every woman on the planet to spontaneously disrobe in his presence.

Logan taps the side of my arm before rubbing me lovingly.

I don’t feel so bad that you’re staying with Dudley now that I know you’re planning our wedding.

Shit. He totally heard that husband comment, so I go with it.

“Morning, honey.” I dot his cheek with a kiss.

The vertical dimple I gave him in a fit of rage depresses. I love him like this, resplendent and beautiful with a genuine affection for me pouring from his existence.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“Nothing,” I assure him. “Absolutely nothing.”

Marshall pulls me back as though I were about to fall from a ledge—funny how he didn’t employ that maneuver yesterday when I actually did fall from a ledge.

“We’ve just indulged in a wild orgy of a breakfast.” Marshall steps into Logan. “Skyla was in need of nourishment after a long night tucked safe in my arms. Isn’t that right, love?” Marshall ticks his chin up and smiles because, well—he might be telling the truth.

“Skyla?” Logan doesn’t hide his disapproval.

“What?” I gag. “I was scared. You would have totally done the same thing if you knew the freaky shit that went down in this house last night.” Of course, if Logan were here, I might have been far more willing to listen to that whole “human life raft” line Marshall tried feeding me by the bulldozer—although it didn’t stop me from clinging to him like one, wrapping my legs around him while trying to stay afloat in the madness.

Life raft? Logan pulls me in. Clinging to him with your legs? He cuts a death threat to the Sector in our midst before reverting back to me. “You wanna hang out?” He tightens his grip around my waist as if it’s the only way to keep me safe. “I took the day off.”

“I sort of have to pack for the Cape.” I thump my fingers over my lips. “Wait, we’re leaving today… It’s the twenty-first! Happy birthday!” I jump up and down and warm a kiss, square over his lips.

“In that case,” Marshall says, widening the door, “do come in. I have a gift.”

Logan secures himself to my side as we make our way in.

Marshall slams the door behind us with the finality of a gunshot and glares.

“How old are you this fine day?” He seethes into Logan.

“Eighteen.” Logan is unmoved by Marshall’s terroristic show of bravado.

“Do you wish to end your days at this tender age?” It comes out more a fact than question.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I smack Marshall in the arm. “Logan and I are going to live very long lives. It’s been prophesied.” Albeit from a questionable source.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Marshall towers over Logan.

I swear, Marshall just grew three feet in his fit of anger, plus he invoked a quasi-expletive, which leads me to believe he is extravagantly pissed at the birthday boy.

Logan sears Marshall with his hatred. They seem to be traveling in a linear direction with the topic and I’m clueless as to what it might be.

“Shelf it—I’m not interested in getting into this with you right now.” Logan steps out in a defiant stance.

“Let’s go for a drive,” I say in an attempt to usher him out of range from Marshall’s fist. “I was thinking about running over to Demetri’s to log a couple hours, not to mention spy on my mother. Did I forget to tell you that she’s shacking up with him now? Oh, and she’s sort of kidnapped Brielle’s baby.”

Neither of them flinch from their venomous stares. There’s not one note of interest in my mother or baby Beau’s wellbeing.

Marshall takes one final step into Logan. “I’ll have you castrated if you ever pull a stunt like that again. I’ll hang you naked in the middle of the schoolyard for all to inspect the damage.” He fumes. “Though you lie in temporal bliss, wait for me. I will cut you down—there is not a bone in your body I will not break with glee.” Marshall cuts his hand through the air and points hard at the door as it flies open in obedience to his invisible command.

“Come on,” I whisper, dragging Logan through the threshold. “I’ll catch up with you later,” I cut Marshall a hard look for his seemingly unwarranted scolding.

Logan and I jump in the truck and he starts up the engine with an aggressive assault.

“What the hell was that about?” I ask as we peel out of the driveway, leaving indelible tire marks in our wake. “Let me guess—Ezrina?”

“No.” He blows a hard sigh through his cheeks as we head onto the highway.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I ask accusingly.

“No, Skyla,” he depresses my name out in less than a whisper. “I’m not.”

Chapter 66

Happy Birthday

The dark sky lights up in a fracture of lavender tendrils. Lightning dances through the heavens every few seconds, mimicking the glimmer of sunlight on a dappled L.A. morning. Logan rolls down his window and lets in the dry static charge—lets it cool the fuming anger that Marshall ignited in him like a fuse.

We head downtown and bypass the bowling alley like it never existed, as if it didn’t belong to him.

Logan turns toward the beach in the direction of the most untouchable real estate Paragon has to offer. He pulls onto a piece of land that sits next to overpriced lots bejeweled with fancy homes that stretch along the beach all the way down to Devil’s Peak.

“It’s so pretty here,” I whisper.

It’s where the greenbelt meets the waterline with a tumultuous kiss. The waves pull in and out all day, working themselves in a pent-up fury without ceasing. I could never tire of the Paragon shoreline. It holds a majesty all its own. I could stare for hours at the bright turquoise water as it seizes and unfurls. God’s handiwork at its finest.

I decided I wouldn’t push the issue regarding the argument he just had with the sexually pent-up Sector. If he didn’t want to talk about what inspired the scuffle, then I would simply draw the well from Marshall’s side. I’m pretty sure Marshall would decode every mystery that ever lingered if I bared a little cleavage.

“Last empty lot on the strip. I always thought I’d build a house on it someday—walk to work,” he says, glancing at the bowling alley from his rear view mirror.

“It’s beyond beautiful—perfect place to build a house,” I say. “You could take a walk on the beach every morning—surf if you wanted.” Most likely the fog would play hide and seek with the beach, but it’d still be there calling out to you, reassuring you of its presence with its briny whispers.

Logan inhales deeply while looking right at me as if I were oxygen. That lone breath wipes all of the perennial sadness from his eyes and replaces it with a seed of hope.

“Is this where you’d like to live, Skyla?” He bows into me with a boyish tenderness. Something about his hesitancy is equally endearing and heartbreaking.

“Are you kidding? This is the only place to live.” I tick my head toward shore as I hop out of the truck. Logan comes around and takes up my hand. The ocean roars into our ears, trembles through our bones as it settles over the shore.

“I’ll build you a house here.” Logan knocks his shoulder gently into mine.

“You’d do that?”

“Watch me.”

“You really wouldn’t be building it for me.” I pull him in and trace out his eyebrow with my finger. Logan is the royalty of Paragon, sublime in every way. “I believe it would be us you would be building it for.”

His smile fades, depletes to a barely there line. “Is there an us, Skyla?”

“I don’t know, Logan.” I cross my wrists behind his neck. “You tell me.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.” He touches his forehead to mine a moment before filling his lungs with the fresh sea air. “You let Gage convince you he was going to marry you—and now Dudley’s done the same.”

A breath gets locked in my throat as he makes his brutal point.

“And you’ve never done that.” I let my gaze drop to my feet. Why do I suddenly feel like a brainwashed idiot?

“I want you to decide.” He places his finger under my chin and gently lifts me to look at him. “I don’t want to tell you. I want you to know.”

“I had that vision of us. So did you. Isn’t that strange? In a way, we participated in our own prophecy.” It was the one of me walking down the aisle—with Logan revealing himself as the groom. I saw it on multiple occasions, and once, I shared it with Gage of all people during a kiss.

“I know.” His lips twitch into a covert smile. “Your ability to have visions is getting stronger.”

I look into Logan’s honeyed eyes an insurmountable length of time. A world builds, as a scene comes to mind. The little blond girl from the time we were in Paradise appears. She’s the same little girl from the vision I had when we first landed in the tunnels.

“How are you doing this?” he asks with wonder.

“I don’t know. It happened earlier with Marshall, I could read his thoughts. Is that what’s happening? Am I reading your thoughts?”

“You are.” He holds back a laugh while riding his hands up over my back.

“Who is she?”

“Someone from the future,” he whispers it in secret. “Someone who might find a home in that house of ours one day.”

“Logan.” I take in a sharp breath at the revelation. “It’s going to be me and you in the end.” A swell of relief fills me. I was a dry well waiting for the sky to open and Logan brought the rain. He presses a kiss against my cheek and the world and everything in it rushes around us like a kaleidoscope of sound and color—everything in creation points like an arrow to the first boy I ever loved.

He pulls back gently and cast a heavy look of apprehension. “Not necessarily.” He glances down, and the despondency returns to his face. “I know a little bit more...” He lets his words dangle without hope, like a corpse from a tree. “We need to fight the war, stay focused. Then—once we win, all of my focus belongs to you.”

He pulls me in and holds me as if a herculean wind were about to blow through the coastline. “But something happens,” he whispers. “Something you or I can’t understand and may never fully grasp while on this earth. Your mother filled me in on just enough to confuse me—enough to bulldoze all my dreams.”

Logan locks me in this death grip for what feels like hours.

As usual, Logan knows just enough to keep ahead of the game. Something about his words haunt me—tear at me like barbed wire spinning through my digestive track. For once I’m glad he’s saving some piece of the future as a surprise. In fact, if the future for us is as bleak as he paints it, I may never want to fill in the blanks.

Chapter 67

The Unbirthday Party

Logan is generous enough to spend his birthday with me, agreeing to visit Demetri’s demented estate while I spy on my mother. He drives us down the black narrow road that leads to the Fem preserve. Logan takes up my hand intermittently, and whispers poetry with his heart regarding my eyes—the fullness of my lips.

The woods that line the main road behind Paragon Estates look wild, unkempt on this boiling grey day. God put a lid over this skillet of a rock and set the island to simmer. Summer blooms like an invisible fire around us, but the storm clouds, the fog, they want us to believe in the subarctic lies they propagate. Paragon wears the mask of winter, staying true to its morose roots. It numbs our affections, disables our ability to believe in the sun and all of the glory it brings.

We make a quick run over to Demetri’s to check on my mother and the child she holds questionably in her custody. If shacking up with my father’s killer is her big plan B in life, I might be moved to petition the state for custody of both her and the baby—then again, she doesn’t know Demetri is the one who murdered my father. That’s exactly why I believe it’s time to apprise her of a few things.

“Thanks for coming with me.” I give Logan’s hand a squeeze.

“I want to do everything with you, Skyla,” he says, rounding out the driveway.

It may have sounded like a proclamation but the veiled threat to Gage was layered just beneath. The patience he once held for the two of us has waned. All that altruistic reasoning that secured the underpinnings of my relationship with Gage is casually being pulled from underneath. After we take down the Counts, he’s very much planning on taking down the one who’s like a brother to him—Gage.

We park and run up the steps, ringing the bell several times. It chimes in a sweet rhythm that drones on in an annoying manner. Before I tire of its melody, I give a few good power knocks over the lead glass, leaving the surrounding ironwork to tremble under my aggression.

The thick scent of barbeque lingers in the air and I try to ignore the fact my stomach is growling again. I knew I should have gone to town this morning and dived into Marshall’s culinary buffet, but that whole Miller-in-the-mirror thing sort of depleted my appetite.

“Smells good.” Logan nods toward the house like this should mean something. All I smell is the heavenly aroma from some neighbor’s grill wafting over. Then it hits me. Demetri doesn’t have a neighbor for miles. Hell, he’s probably roasting the nearest neighbor on a spit—or at least their pet. He’s just that wicked.

Logan and I circle around the back and lo and freaking behold find Demetri and Mom flocking around the barbeque—Mom with the baby dangling on her hip. It’s a real Norman fucking Rockwell American tragedy unfolding.

Demetri leans in and says something that inspires my mother to burst into a fit of titters. Probably talking about how he’s tormenting her daughter in his spare time. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he leaks the truth to her in small doses, just enough for it to sound incredibly ridiculous. Of course she’s laughing. It’s unbelievable.

Mom pauses from her torrent of giggles long enough to sip a bright red frozen concoction with a frost of salt lacing the rim of the oversized glass—Celestra slushies no doubt. She’s wearing a large, brimmed hat and a bathing suit with an unflattering bandeau top that squishes her topside and accentuates her problem areas—namely those amply supplied birthing hips she wishes to put to good use. Her swimwear is totally working against her, although I have my suspicions that Demetri could care less if she were wrapped like a mummy. His obsession with her knows no bounds.

A shadow moves overhead. The clouds rearrange themselves, dark and angry like a swarm of agitated bees. If the sky gets any darker, it’s going to have to apologize to the parched earth for not delivering on its promise.

“Skyla?” Mom’s mouth hangs open at the sight of me and it’s so not the oh my gosh, look who’s here? We’re so fucking glad to see you! kind of a greeting, either. It’s more like…

“What the heck are you doing here?” She whips it out in a heated whisper.

That.

“Nice to see you, too.”

Mom tries to place Beau in a miniature playpen with an umbrella blooming from the side, but Demetri intercepts and coos into the baby Count as if he were gunning for daddy of the year. What I wouldn’t pay to see the kid puke in Demetri’s mouth. I know for a fact it’s possible because that’s the kind of stuff that YouTube is made of.

“I just talked to your sisters. They’re doing great.” Mom pats a hand in the air as if she were on vacay with the new hubs and is glad to see her offspring can fend for themselves.

“I’ve got steak, if you kids are hungry.” Demetri pulls the meat off the grill while cradling Beau with the other hand. And gah! Right next to an open flame! If that baby had any Celestra in him whatsoever, I’d swear he were taunting me, but he doesn’t. Demetri is just in dumbass territory—in other words, his natural habitat.

“Thanks but—” I start.

“Sure.” Logan pipes up before I can properly shut down the offer.

“So how long is this little farce of yours going to last?” I hiss over to Mom, not bothering to hide my dismay from any of the parties present.

“How long is your little farce going to last?” She snaps back. “Mr. Dudley called—said he had no choice but to take you in after you all but accused us of physical abuse.”

“What?” I did no such thing.

“He said you were tired of being treated so unfairly by your stepfather. And really, Skyla? That’s embarrassing for me to hear. I happen to like Mr. Dudley. The last thing I want is for him to think you and Tad are on the outs.”

My mouth hangs open and I just stand there gaping at her.

“Lunch is served.” Demetri fans his hand over the table and its bloodied carnivorous offerings.

“Come on.” Her affect brightens as she ushers me along. “It’s filet mingon,” she whispers as if it were marinated in gold.

“Whatever happened to the wonder diet that was going to have you ovulating into oblivion?” I can’t believe I’m even invoking the state of her uterus, but desperate times call for reminders of desperate stepfathers. “I thought you were cutting out bovine until the immaculate-conception took place?” God, I hope it’s immaculate. The thought of my mother getting her groove on with Tad, Demetri or any other male on the planet sends my appetite in retrograde. Those steaks might as well have been soaking in formaldehyde.

“Who can resists a good cut shipped straight from the cattle farm?” She leans in with a glimmer of lust in her eyes as if “cattle farm” were code for Demetri’s package. “He has the meat flown in on dry ice, fresh from a friend’s ranch in Texas.” She takes the baby from him.

Demetri has no friends, and suddenly, I’m wondering if the charred flesh in question is beef at all.

Mom and I take a seat at the table with Demetri and Logan.

“Shall we say a blessing?” Demetri reaches over and takes up my mother’s hand. He reaches for mine, but I refuse the offer. “Dear heavenly Father,” he begins with his eyes shut and head bowed as if he means it, “we implore you to shine your countenance upon this table”—there it is—“and anoint the food with which you saw fit to bless the occasion. Shower us with your goodness as we richly praise your holy name—amen.”

I look over at him half expecting him to burst into flames or laugh out loud, but Demetri remains solemn as a statue.

“It’s Logan’s birthday,” I say. I stop shy of espousing the fact I’m heading out for an overnight adventure with half the kids on the island, unsupervised no less.

“Happy birthday!” Mom sucks in a breath as if he just won the lottery—and in some small way he did, the lottery of life. “You know…” She tilts her head, readying herself to gift him with a pearl of wisdom. “Last year, I thought you might have been the one for Skyla. There was just something about you.” She shakes her head. “But all’s well that ends well, right?”

Boy—she’s a lousy cheerleader.

“Right.” Logan compresses a bleak smile.

“I bet you’ll be the best man at their wedding.” Demetri digs the knife in just a little bit deeper. “Lizbeth can’t stop talking about what a spectacular day it will be when your cousin and Skyla finally unite in holy matrimony. There’s nothing more intimate than becoming man and wife. It’s a sacred ritual made most beautiful when entered into with the one your heart desires.”

Logan looks from him to my mother as if wondering which one he should assault first.

“I’m sure it will be a great day.” Logan knocks back a glass of water, trying to wash down the memory of the conversation and all the imagery it’s evoked.

“When you do find a girl,” Demetri starts, “one that you truly love”—he gives a sideways glance at my mother—“make sure you do everything in your power not to let her slip away. Giving someone else a foothold can be the difference between a lifetime of happiness and one drawn out existence, bathed in misery.” He loses himself for a moment in my mother’s eyes. “Choose wisely, then love tenaciously.” Demetri lifts his glass as if it were a toast at their wedding. “Wise men would give away entire kingdoms in exchange for the love of a lifetime.”

Logan lifts his glass and locks eyes with mine. “And some would give far more than kingdoms.”

***

After the conversation catastrophe that just took place, I thank the two of them for the bloody heifer and take Logan down to the basement to help me “log some hours,” when really, I’m going to amuse the hell out of him with Demetri’s Paragon voodoo collectables. Obviously, it was imperative I move quickly. Who knew that Mom and Demetri would tag team Logan and bash his heart in on his birthday?

“What was up with that demonic pep talk he gave at the end?” I ask as we head down the dim corridor toward Demetri’s underworld. “I mean, clearly it was geared toward my mother—some passive-aggressive attempt to let her know he screwed everything up by letting her slip into my father’s arms. Well, technically Tad’s, too. And trust me, I am forever grateful for both transgressions.”

“I don’t know.” Logan’s chest expands and deflates in a sigh. “But he had a point.”

“What? He’s the enemy. He never has a point. His only point is to make my life miserable—that and world domination.”

Logan stops shy of the double doors at the end of the hall.

“He was right, Skyla.” He sweeps over me with his sad eyes. “I gave someone else a foothold in our relationship and now I might never get you back. If I do, your heart will forever be linked to Gage in some way. I have to accept that. I pushed you in front of him not realizing he was going to barrel through you and now your heart is fractured. You’ll never be wholly mine again.”

Everything in me freezes. Logan is right. I’m fractured. Gage has grafted himself over my heart and now there was no way of undoing it.

We head down to the basement, and I feel guilty as hell for keeping quiet. But the truth is, I don’t know what to say or how to say it. Every road, every conversation, seems to lead to pain these days for Logan and me. I pull him in and place a gentle kiss against his cheek.

“I still love you, Logan.” I press the words out with all my heart. “I will never stop. I don’t know what you did to me that day we met in the bowling alley—or before that in my dreams, but you shifted my entire existence on its axis. I will never recover. I will always need you, deeply—completely. I’m hungry for you in the worst way. I don’t think I could ever get enough.” I don’t think I’ve ever spoken the truth like that before, where it hurt like hell, where I could feel the breaking of a dam deep in my heart and it felt like the sweetest release. That was our relationship in a nutshell, pain and relief rolled into one. “I love you.” I peck another kiss just shy of his lips. “I love you more than the heavens love the sun and the moon.”

“I know,” he says it low, a smile of satisfaction ready to bloom on his lips. “We just need to get back on track. I was the one who said after the faction war. The Counts may have tried to kill us without the war—but the truth is, they needed it to happen. They’ve been manipulating us this entire time. We were brought together, you and me, two near perfect Celestra, to desire one another.”

“Oh my God.” I envision my mother doing the celestial happy dance once she lined us up in one another’s sight. We were nothing more than the propagation of a species. “She did this,” I hiss. “My own mother snatched you out of an entirely different period in time and put you here in front of me. She took one look at you and knew I’d fall in love.”

“Gage couldn’t start the war. He may have had your heart, but he wouldn’t have had the right blood, the proper motive to fight. It started with our love, Skyla. Gage may have been meant for you, but she backtracked—handpicked me for a reason.” He nods into my theory. “But I don’t think she found herself in a pickle and started scratching her head trying to figure out what to do. I think this”—he opens his arms at the sparse offerings—“was a part of it all along. I was meant to be here with you right from the beginning.”

“I believe it.” I pull him in. I don’t doubt for a minute my mother has a higher agenda in all of this, something bigger than pulling Logan in to seduce me, win my heart. It was something that involved Celestra and humanity as a whole.

I try to shake the thought away by retrieving the metallic version of Gage from my purse. “Marshall says I should return this.” I hand him the figurine as I lead him into the cavernous room with the makeshift island. Logan walks house to house exploring while I replace Gage safely in the Oliver abode. I go over and pick up Marshall’s house and sure enough there I am. And so is…Michelle?

“Oh my God.” I pick up the frazzled looking girl, her face locked in a scream. “This is Michelle—she fell in that haunted mirror.”

“She still in there?” He comes over and inspects her tiny effigy.

“As far as I know. Marshall is waiting for her to come out and tell him all about the good time she’s not having. Remind me to never get on his bad side.” I look up at Logan accusingly because we both know he beat me to it.

“Let’s see what else is down here.” Logan takes my hand, expertly changing the subject. He leads me through a maze of hallways until we stumble upon a door and Logan opens it with caution.

It’s pitch black inside, save for a movie projected onto the rear wall. It’s a viewing room complete with large velvet chairs—enough to hold fifty people easily.

“That’s you,” Logan whispers, pulling me deeper into the mysterious room.

My body moves on the screen. I wave back at the camera, my face the size of a refrigerator.

“Come here,” I call, waving someone over. I can’t believe it’s me, same hair, same face—dressed in clothes I don’t recognize—a sweatshirt with the word “Host” written across the front.

“Let me set this thing down,” a male voice booms through the speakers. The camera shakes before panning back to a large white house—me happy dancing on the porch in anticipation.

“That’s the house I want to build for us,” Logan marvels. “That’s exactly how I envision it.”

“You ready to do this?” A dark-haired man in a baseball cap fast approaches the foreign version of me. I can tell from the broad shoulders, the wavy dark hair peeking out from under his hat, it’s Gage.

I watch as I hop up and down on the porch, giddy as a child. “Yes!” It bumps out of me.

Gage scoops me up in his arms and spins me before landing a tender kiss on the lips.

“To our first official home on Paragon,” he says, whisking me to the open mouth of the doorway.

“Only home,” I correct, pulling him closer by the beak of his hat. “Gimme a forever kiss,” I say before we lock lips under the threshold of Logan’s dream home. I pull back and glance at the camera in horror. “Turn that off.” My face goes white as if I’m reliving an unwanted memory. I make a mad dash to shut off the camera and my fingers collapse over the lens—the sky, the sea rotate in turn before the screen in Demetri’s demented viewing room goes blank.

Something is happening. This isn’t real. None of this has ever happened. But dear God, will it?

“Let’s get out of here.” My voice shakes as I say it. I pull Logan by the hand until we emerge in the hall. I examine the disappointment in his eyes like he were just given a grim diagnosis. “It’s just some head-game Demetri’s playing. He can do anything. He’s a Fem, remember?”

“And what if it’s not a game?” Logan could cut steel with the anger in his eyes. “What if I’ve already given Gage all the foothold he needs? What if it were nothing more than a glimpse into the future.”

Chapter 68

The Cape

In the evening, Logan and I arrive at the distal end of the island, to a lush Eden known as the Cape. Its overgrown vegetation lends a tropical feel to the landscape, laden with three-story palms and birds of paradise that stretch well past my head. Bushels of knotgrass dot the path down to the white sandy shore where they greet the glittering expanse of the ocean.

Tons of people from both East and West have arrived and are already setting up camp like they’re settling in for weeks.

The moon pours its beams over us and dusts the water with a reflective luminescent bloom.

“Girls’ tents.” Logan points to the left. “Boys’ tents.” He crimps a smile. “That lasts for about an hour.”

Drake mills around behind Logan while yapping it up with Emily. I suspect Brielle is here somewhere having her heart broken all over again. I might have to pull my goofy step monkey to the side and have a serious talk with him about how to treat the mother of his child.

Still no sign of Mirror-bound Miller. If she doesn’t show by morning, I’m going to have to do something idiotic like dive in and get her myself.

“So where’s the bathroom?” I give a quick looksee past Logan’s shoulder. I totally have to go. I’ve been holding it since we rushed out of Marshall’s with my stuff in tow and now I’m going to have to go in a tent or one of those hot smelly Porta Potties you see at construction sites and concerts.

“What bathroom?” Logan raises his brows amused. He’s got a wicked look on his face, and I’m not liking this one freaking bit.

I shuffle my legs in tandem. “Seriously, I’m going have an accident.” I stop short of informing him that the sound of crashing waves is not doing anything to help the situation.

Drake pops up. “Doing the potty dance, sis?” He gives an evil grimace. I really don’t get what either Emily or Brielle see in him. “That,” he says, pointing to the Pacific, “is for number one. And this”—he holds up a hand shovel clotted with dirt—“is for number two.”

I shriek and jump backward, knocking straight into a body.

“Whoa.” It’s Ellis. “The shit shovel got you running for cover?” He holds out a hand as he heads off toward the girls’ tent.

I glare over at Logan. “Shut up.” If he told me there were no accommodations, I might have thought long and hard before deploying myself to an area of the island devoid of indoor plumbing.

Drake barks out a laugh at my dismay so I give him the stink-eye until he slinks back to Emily, shit shovel in hand. I suppose it makes it easier to unload all the crap that comes out of him—from both ends.

Logan gives a little laugh and reels me in. Stubble peppers his face and glows a warm gold as the silent orb of the moon dances overhead. He’s so handsome tonight, so desperately sad and on, this, his birthday.

“I swear there’s an outhouse about a quarter mile up the beach.” Logan settles his hands high up over my waist and sways his hips into mine. His affect brightens as he touches me. It enlivens him from the inside. The soft scent of his cologne rides the breeze and eclipses my senses. It brushes over my skin with its musk, washes through my hair to savor for later. “Just say the word and I’ll make the trek with you.”

“Now there’s a romantic proclamation,” I tease. “Thank you.”

The subtle illumination from above makes Logan shine like a supernatural being. It’s so easy like this with him. I wonder how far we would’ve gotten by now if the Counts hadn’t taken our love and hacked it down at the base—dug up the roots and made us eat them for breakfast. I wonder if he would have already had me, loved me until I was delirious like he promised.

Logan gives the slight impression of a smile and runs his bare arm over mine letting me know he hears.

We can still find out, Skyla. The war ends. I already know this.

Tell me everything. I twirl my fingers against the back of his neck—feel his soft fine hair spin over my flesh like silk.

“Here’s the birthday boy.” Gage crops up next to Logan with a marked look of irritation—no smile, not the slightest hint of jovial inflection in his voice.

I take it the PDA Logan and I are setting off isn’t sitting well with him.

“Found me.” Logan drops his hands from my waist. “I think I left something in the truck.” His eyes lock with mine for a moment—they say, Gage can take you to the end of the faction war and no farther. “See you around,” he says it sad, beaten down before disappearing into the shrubbery.

Ellis cruises by with some chick from East, wearing frosted lipstick that glows off her tawny skin. Her hair is disheveled as if they’ve already indulged in a wild romp.

“Say, Ellis?” I don’t mean to pin Gage like this, but right now I can’t think of any other way. “Did you win the last region for the Counts?”

“What?” His head ticks back a notch. “My dad would have bought me a new effing truck if I did that.” His eyes widen as the lightbulb of all bad ideas goes off in his head.

“No, Ellis,” I reprimand him like I’m talking to my sister’s dog, Sprinkles, back at the house. “I won’t pretend to be your girlfriend if you even entertain such a horrible thing. They’re committing serious atrocities against Celestra and I can only put up with so much crap from you and your daddy.”

He gives a sly smile. “That’s why I like you, Messenger. You kick ass and take names.” He gives a thumbs-up before heading off. “Let me know if you need me for leak patrol. I’ll go for a long walk with you anytime,” he says it suggestively as he follows the girl with the day glow lipstick into the bushes for round two.

“What was that about?” Gage digs his dimples in and slays me without trying.

“You tell me.” I try not to get caught up in the fact he just wrapped his arms around me, that he’s dotting my neck with a series of molten-hot kisses. Gage Oliver doesn’t fight fair, that’s for damn sure.

“Tell you what?” He moans as he buries his face in my hair.

Who am I kidding? Gage as the enemy is not going to play out well. I’ll just have to use his affections until I can, God forbid, get him to fess up to being one of Chloe’s droids. Unless, of course, he’s not, and if that film back at Demetri’s was any indication of the future, then this could very well be Logan’s worst nightmare.

Gage walks me backward into a thicket of overgrown trees with dew-covered leaves, so wide and flat, you could cover half your body with them. He moves his meandering kisses up to my lips and delivers me momentarily from the evils of thinking he were capable of anything but loving me.

“Let me take you somewhere.” He blows it in my ear with a heated rush.

I know he means teleport, and I’m pretty sure a hotel room on the thirteenth floor is involved. He could still very well be a culprit in my life, an accomplice of Chloe’s. I should take caution when saying hello, let alone diving into the backwoods of reality with him. But his kisses are so damn persuasive, I’m finding it difficult to say no.

“I’ll go, but you have one minute.” Honestly, if I hadn’t capped it off at such a ridiculously short amount of time, who knows how fast my clothes would have flown off—plus, a quick dip in the Pacific is becoming increasingly necessary for the safety of my bladder.

“Just one minute.” He seals his lips over mine and I drink him down, so thirsty for Gage as we melt into a different climate.

I can feel the sand shift beneath my feet as the perfumed air gives way to the dizzying scent of crushed ferns, intermingled with the ripe scent of the jungle. The sun tries to penetrate my lids with its lingering rays, but Gage is full tilt, loving me as he whisks us from one sandy beach to the next.

Gage rattles off country after country, refusing to let his lips leave mine. I can feel the scenery changing, unfolding around us in all of the magnificence the earth has to offer but our lips stay true to their mission. We experience the world through one long passion-derived kiss as the salty air prickles against our skin.

We let out kisses linger in the Caribbean. Our feet soak in the warm sand of Martinique—Whitehaven Australia holds us with its warm embrace.

“Fifty two beaches.” He pants into his boast.

“You’re a real inter-planet ace,” I say, breathless from his display of teleportation prowess as the brooding scenery of the Cape fills in around us. “And all that in under a minute.”

“I can’t wait to show you what I can do in one night,” he says it serious—shakes his head just barely, as if pleading for the opportunity. If Gage did land us somewhere private, I could very well fall victim to those hypnotic sapphire eyes, that dubious smile that wants me to believe in its innocence.

“Yeah, well,” I say, taking in a lungful of sea air, “Logan has segregated the masses.”

He rounds his hands over my hips and finds a resting spot for them low on my thighs. This is a different Gage—a bolder version, one that knows what he wants and how he’d like to get it. The heat rises between us to unsafe levels, as he growls beneath his smile. In one svelte move, he unbuttons my shorts and sears over my bottom with his fingers.

“Nobody ever listens to Logan,” he says.

I pluck his roving appendages out from the inside my shorts and examine him in this new predatory light.

“Maybe it’s time someone starts.”

Chapter 69

The Art of War

Gage and I stand just shy of a beach that could very well be situated in the Paradise of my father with all of its heavenly beauty. The moon blazes a trail of fairy dust over the jagged waves of the ocean. There’s a tempest waiting to erupt in our midst, an entire boil of aggression strangulating in the murky waters.

Gage sets off a contrast against the onyx sand, the pitch of night that congests the surroundings. His pale marble skin glows in this environment. A light radiates from his being and christens the darkness with his otherworldly brilliance. Gage is gorgeous, kind, an immaculate soul in every way and yet a part of me isn’t willing to provide him the faith that a messiah like him deserves. He killed something meaningful in our relationship by conveniently neglecting to tell me that he teamed up with Chloe before we ever met, and now it feels impossible to believe anything he says on the first try. He was Judas complete with a kiss, the betrayal set in motion for far less than thirty pieces of silver.

“I’d better get to the girls’ tent and settle in.” I say it so soft the words get lost in the breeze.

“OK.” He brushes his fingers high on the ridge of my cheek. “I’ll catch you in a little bit.”

The disc Demetri returned slips from my pocket and Gage eyes it like a scorpion peeking out of my shorts.

“What’s that?” His voice is stern. Gage can be far too pragmatic at times like these.

“Cheap replica,” I say, tucking it back inside. “It’s sort of a good luck charm.” I don’t intend on spilling the fact I took something from my father’s demented killer. It’s not really a lie since it’s probably useless and quasi-dangerous much like Demetri himself.

“All right.” He slips a quick kiss just above my ear. “I’ll go build a fire.” He trails his finger down my spine nice and slow. “Won’t be as hot you,” he whispers, searing my skin with his lust for me. He walks into the mist until he evaporates like a dream.

I give a short-lived smile and let the fog push me into a thicket that trails to the shore. One more second with Gage and my hormones would have detonated. I could strangle Chloe for complicating my life yet again.

The ocean spreads wide in the distance through the leaves of a Black Alder. The water ripples and glistens, as the waves crash in a neat silver line.

The U-shape of the cape provides a grotto effect. The water is filled with people—girls and boys glossed with the ocean, the tremble of moonlight dancing off their shoulders.

Most of the girls from East are topless. Not surprising since they’re always trying to out skank the girls from West. They’ve already debuted their bits and pieces at Ellis’s Valentine’s party way back when, so it’s not all that noteworthy.

I make my way to the edge and let the sea foam lap over my feet. Its icy bites remind me why swimming anywhere near Paragon, summer or not, is a great way to end up dead from hypothermia. Although, I wouldn’t be lucky enough to die according to Gage—that is, if I believe him.

“Get in, Messenger,” Ellis shouts, not too far from shore. He shakes out his hair and makes the girls in his circle of topless splendor wipe the spray out of their eyes.

“Hey, are you sure you didn’t win that last region?” I try to talk in code but the truth is I could have used the words faction war, Counts, Celestra, Ezrina is going to steal my body, and not one of them would have a clue as to what we’re talking about.

“Nope. Wasn’t even there—opted out. I’ll catch you in the next one. Promise.” He dips under and springs up with his hair perfectly slicked back. “You have five seconds before I come over and drag you in.” His warning echoes off the cliffs adjacent to the cove.

Ellis opted out?

My blood runs cold at the thought of Gage outright lying to me. He was emphatic it was Ellis—and yet I believe the stoner in question over the boy I would have laid my life down for—still most likely would.

I use Ellis’s not-so-veiled threat as a means to convince myself to get in, pulling off my shorts and T-shirt. A seam of moonlight falls over the disc and it glows as if to say don’t leave without me. I’ll be damned if I’m caught without it. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to sink me into the next region just as I dive to the bottom of the ocean. I thread my necklace through the delicate filigree that loops around the edges and put it on like a pendant, heavy and cold against my skin.

An oversized wave growls in my direction and I dive under—the cold water razes over me like peeling off a layer of skin. A scream stifles in my throat as I surface and swim toward the quiet end, near the chocolate boulders that protrude out of the water in a jumble.

“Skyla.” My name echoes in the distance. It sounds as if it’s coming from the horizon rather than the shore, probably just a hallucination inspired by Ellis and his raucous brood of hussies.

Ellis. I’m shocked to hear he wasn’t even in the region Gage claims he won. The prospect of what it might mean sends a rush of adrenaline through me.

Gage seemed convinced that Ellis was present and accounted for. He pointed the accusatory finger right at him for the loss on more than one occasion. How can I believe Gage when deep down inside nothing in me doubts Ellis?

An image of that chess set Marshall gifted me with as a spiritual air freshener blinks through my mind. God—both Ellis and Gage were on Chloe’s side of the board. I’m starting to think that wasn’t some cute little mind fuck Marshall thought he’d throw my way. Maybe it’s real. Maybe I can’t trust either Ellis or Gage.

“Skyla.” My name gurgles from the water in a series of bubbles. I half expect Brielle, or even Chloe to pop up laughing, but nothing happens.

My heart picks up pace as I tread water and inspect the area. The inky dark sea gyrates back and forth, reflecting the luster of the moon, but neither the water nor the moon is willing to divulge its secrets.

A face appears next to me just below the surface—a girl. Her long hair sprays out over her blue features—pale face, grey lips.

I scrambled onto a nearby boulder and let out a short-lived scream.

Her eyes spring wide as she leaps out of the water in an impressive aerial feat, revealing a macabre version of Michelle Miller. She lands her body over mine, the stench of death clings to her like a strong perfume.

“Shit!” I land a hard kick in her gut as she wraps her limbs around me, lithe as tentacles. She pulls us deep into the water and the icy blades of the sea slice against my flesh. A scream gurgles out of me as I struggle to break free.

Her fingers coil around my hair as I fight my way to the surface. Her rotting features melt from her skull like candle wax.

“Skyla.” My name groans from her like a demonic whisper, and I drill out a scream that could be heard for miles.

I give a hard push and swim the hell away from the corpse of a very rotten Michelle Miller.

***

The moon glosses over my arms as I propel myself out to the middle of nowhere. I’m panting, weak, and so ready to give into the evil that waits to swallow me whole at every turn.

A pair of legs dangle from a surfboard as I pop to the surface, gasping for air.

“Help,” I pant.

“Skyla?” Logan looks down with an amused sense of curiosity. His beautiful face shines with a smile, and all of the fear and terror that had enveloped me melts like snow. He pulls me up onto the overgrown boogie board with one quick tug. I wrap my arms around his back and seize until I’m able to catch my breath. “What’s going on?” He pulls away, examining me for injuries.

I tell him about the bizarre monster that leapt from the sea—how it freakishly looked like Michelle.

“You think it was a Fem?” I ask. I’m almost rooting for it to have been a Fem. The last thing I need is a psychotic half-dead Miller after my ass.

“No clue, but you realize we need to help her.” He rubs my back and warms me with his hands. “What the hell is wrong with Dudley? He has no regard for human life whatsoever.”

I take this moment to artfully avoid the fact I may have accelerated Michelle’s foray into all things looking glass.

“Are you kidding me?” Logan dives in with a stern look. “You pushed Michelle?”

I glance down at our conjoined hand, with a surge of guilt.

“She wanted to have a threesome with me and Dudley.” It speeds out of me so fast I can hardly process the words. “Look, I’m sorry. And the last thing I want to do is run in after her, but God knows I might be her only hope.” I shake my head in frustration. “Of course I’m going to help her.” I try not to sound so sarcastically pissed but I’m a little low on the milk of human kindness at the moment and I totally blame Gage.

“Hey,” Logan rubs his warm hands up and down my spine. “I’m going in with you.”

I take up his hand and press my lips over the cool slick of his flesh. I keep my eyes closed a very long time, hoping for a vision to come, to tell me what to do and how to do it the right way for once.

“What are you confused about?” he whispers, pulling my thighs up over his. A current runs through me as our bodies touch in this intimate way. His bare chest warms mine, makes me want to create some serious friction with him just to keep my teeth from going off like castanets.

I nuzzle my face into his neck, rise up and accidentally bump into his lips without answering the question. Logan doesn’t hesitate taking a mile from my inch and indulges in a kiss that has the stars glowering at us with jealousy. They wish the sky could feel so good. They could only pray for such an explosive blaze—lust as bright as a flare.

I pull back and take a breath. Truth is, I wasn’t ready to go there. And how could he, knowing I’m with Gage? Even if it is nebulous at the moment, I think Gage deserves better than to have Logan lip-bombing me.

“Sorry,” he gives a sheepish grin as if really he’s not.

The truth is, I wanted that kiss as bad as Logan. I think changing the subject is the only way out of this.

“Gage says the only person near the ravine was Ellis.” The words shiver out of me. “Guess who says he ditched the last region entirely?”

“Ellis.” He touches his forehead to mind. “Maybe it was someone who looked like Ellis? Gage wouldn’t lie.”

“You’re always so quick to believe him.” I rest my cheek over his warm chest.

“And you’re always so quick not to.” Logan collapses his arms around my shoulders bearing his full weight over me. “He loves you, Skyla. I wish I could make him feel otherwise—make him the monster you’re afraid he his.” His chest rattles with a sigh. “Gage has become my worst nightmare.”

I meditate on his words—drink them in as if they were their own toxic elixir that had the power to heal me in some macabre way like the cyanide Marshall injects me with.

“Come on.” Logan hops to one side of the board before dipping into the glacial Pacific. “Let’s swim. We’ll freeze out there.”

He holds his hands out to catch me. Logan is dependable. He would sell his body and soul to Ezrina to protect me and may have done just that. He pledged his allegiance to the enemy to try to gain the upper hand, all in the name of our holy love.

I fall gently into his waiting arms and he clasps his legs over my back like a vice. Logan gives a wicked smile—lingers his gaze over mine a moment too long. He leans in for the kill and I fight my willingness to bend to his affections.

“I love you, Logan.” I touch his hair—rake it back with my fingers. “Happy birthday.”

Logan closes his eyes, parts his lips as he bows into me.

A giant splash ignites from behind. His entire body suctions under the waterline before I can process what’s happening.

The ocean quiets, the universe stills as Logan stealthy disappears beneath me.

I let out a guttural scream that vibrates out, painful as razors.

Logan’s hand corks to the surface and I grab onto it. I lock my thighs around his head and try to hoist him above the waterline—not the most PG retrieval method.

A hard tug pulls at my waist. A thick arm—the scaled flesh of some underwater serpent tries to pry Logan and me apart. Then, with an unnatural velocity, it sucks us down toward the bottom of the sea at what feels like a hundred miles an hour. I secure my legs around Logan’s face and grip his arm close to my chest as we sail into the descent of the most erotic capture yet.

We press through the ocean floor, setting off a tuning fork vibration that echoes throughout my bones.

The Tenebrous Woods flickers below like the negative of an unwanted photo I wish we could forget.

I know exactly where we’re going—and what they’re going to do to me.

Chapter 70

Bound

A sacred darkness envelops us—a necrotic garden of exposed roots, trees the color of soot with twisted branches that mimic broken limbs. A choir of helplessness echoes all around. The deep sapphire sky mimics a midnight version of Gage’s eyes and makes me wonder if he’s watching all of this madness unfold.

Logan and I catch our breath as we land over a pile of brittle leaves. This wasn’t the usual high-stakes game of hurry up and wait in Demetri’s checkered suite. We were getting right down to the bloodied brass tacks.

Horrific screams ring out all around us. Their tortured voices race through the forest and sizzle along my nerves. You can feel their terror, plain as air. You can taste the fear. The hint of metallic-laced fright is most likely the byproduct of years of blood-let—Celestra blood misting the air with its misery.

Shutting down these tunnels has become be my life’s mission—already I know this. Although, accepting the challenge seems to acknowledge the fact the Counts will never step off their pedestal of wickedness, that even after the faction war, if we do win, they won’t change their spots to please me.

“Come on.” I take up Logan’s hand and race toward the demented cells they house in these nefarious woods. We find most of them empty save for a few poor souls on their knees with their heads bent in defeat. But it’s Lacey that I look for.

“What are you doing?” Logan pants to keep up.

A tiny face peers out of the dark in the most distal cell on the path and I let go of Logan and dart over.

“Lacey!”

Her affect brightens. Her hair looks heavily matted and her face blotched with red patches as if she’s just finished a serious crying jag.

A woman stands behind her, a brunette with anxious eyes and she pulls Lacey to the side protectively.

“What do you want?” She snipes.

“I’m here…” I stop short of saying to help. “I just want Lacey to know I’m still trying.” I slip my arm through the bars and Lacey sets her plump hand in mine. “I’m Skyla.” I look back up at the woman. “They take my blood, too.” It comes from me as the most sorrowful admission.

“Do you know the others?” The woman sharpens her gaze over me. “Are my daughters here? Laken—Jen?” Her face is rife with worry but my blood runs cold when she says Laken’s name, and I snatch my hand back from Lacey in surprise.

Ingram appears like a grey blotch of unhappiness and disrupts the non-festivities.

“I’ll be back,” I whisper, blowing Lacey a tear-filled kiss.

“Elysian, direct your subject to the trail,” Ingram barks like the impotent dog he is.

Logan pulls me by the waist and lands us on the main path dusted with a lavender patina from the moon above. A blue mist settles around us. It’s some sort of signature weather phenomenon the Counts are privy to. It’s probably a Fem. I’m probably inhaling its wickedness into my body and polluting my cellular structure with every breath I take.

“You’re both wet.” He leers at the disc hanging from my neck with suspicion before looking from one eye to the other with a cautious discrimination.

A vision comes to me as our eyes lock, a young woman, beautiful—eerily familiar. He calls to her and they engage in a heated argument. He accuses her of never loving him. She hoists up an ax and admonishes him with the threat. Its sharpened blade glistens like a seam of lightning, a promise she’s determined to keep.

“Take her through the woods.” Ingram steps back, dismayed. “There’s a rope tied to a Cedar. Secure her,” he instructs while running his finger along his electronic clipboard.

Logan clasps his arms around my waist as he moves me through the thicket. The leaves crush beneath our feet. Each step seems to elicit a new cry from somewhere in this ebony hell.

Wish Ezrina was here instead of you, Logan laments.

Ezrina! That’s where I saw the girl.

I turn to look at Ingram.

That’s right. When Ezrina was here, she was markedly pissed at him.

Oh my God—Logan. I think Ingram was Ezrina’s ex-husband. Nev once said she went on to marry a “daft fellow.”

Logan glances back and eyes him before continuing down the narrow trail.

Sounds like Nev was kind with his description. No wonder Ezrina spit in his face.

She said she never held it against him for what he did, I say. I guess the burning question is, what exactly did he do?

I don’t care to find out. Logan yanks a long rope dangling from the anemic trunk. Ingram highlights the area with his sallow glow and I step over willingly. I can’t, he shakes his head.

Logan, I plead and give a gentle nod.

I glance over at Ingram. “Is Wesley here?” God I hope it’s him. The thought of yet another stranger suckling off my reserves makes me want to vomit.

Ingram waves to his left revealing Wesley, the Gage imposter. He steps out of the shadows with his hair slicked back and an apprehensive look on his face as if deep down inside, he knows what an egregious error gnawing on someone’s neck really is. Fucking moron.

“You can tie me up—Master,” I say to Logan, “but I’m not going to fight you.” The words stream from my lips like a haunted whisper from someone else entirely.

“The rope isn’t necessary,” Wesley says, making his way over.

For a moment, I’m half convinced Logan is going to go animal all over him and tear his flesh apart like I once saw him do to a Fem disguised as a lion.

Wesley leans in with those emerald glowing eyes. His spiced cologne wraps itself around me like a heavy coat. He dots my neck with his lips before looking back up at me, and I gasp.

“You may not kiss me,” I hiss. “You may never kiss me. I will rip your balls through your asshole and shove them down your throat if you ever even think of doing that again.” I might be moved to renege on my offer to not go ape shit all over his Countenance and really make him resent not tying me up. Of course, they’d probably skin both Logan and I alive because God knows he’d involve himself in any altercation that’s associated with me.

“I wasn’t kissing you.” Wesley twitches his brows the same way Gage does. It makes me wonder if Dr. Oliver had made a genetic deposit to some long gone girlfriend before he married Emma. “You’re beautiful, Skyla,” he whispers, “but my heart belongs somewhere else.” He tilts into me. “I was going say thank you for trusting that I wouldn’t hurt you.” He offers a bastardized version of a sarcastic smile. “And I won’t.”

He sighs into my neck, nuzzles into me like he were my boyfriend—as if the threat I just gave wasn’t potent enough to shrivel his balls. He claws at me with his sharpened canines until the blood begins to flow.

Wesley dreams of his Laken—her long wavy hair, the barely there skirt of her cheer uniform. She sways her hips for him on the football field. She’s not good by the way. Brielle could have aced those moves in her ninth month of pregnancy if she wanted.

She’s very good, he corrects.

The team charges from the field. A crowd fills in around her and she falls into an embrace with a handsome football player. They exchange a passionate gaze while enjoying the fruit of a stolen moment.

Wes mulls the scene because he can’t stop obsessing over the implications of what it might mean.

The football player buries his face in Laken’s neck, takes in her scent and her face ignites with pleasure.

I open my eyes and look at Wesley as he writhes over my flesh. This is getting awkward fast.

I can feel all of his emotions, his hurt, his shame, the confusion that he can’t escape.

Wesley pulls back and licks a seam of blood about to run down his lip as he washes over me with worry.

“Do you think she loves him?” He needles me with an aggressive stare as if I might truly know the answer.

“Maybe.” I should have said no. I should have lied, but I was ground down to nothing with both Gage and Logan’s own blood-let of my heart. Telling the truth felt like the only way out.

“It’s impossible to love two people at once,” he says it mostly to himself with defeat written on his bloodstained lips.

“No, Wesley. It’s not,” I say it sharp like a reprimand. “If you want to avoid it, don’t put her in that position. Figure out what she needs and give it to her before someone else gets a foothold in your relationship.” It makes me sick to be espousing Demetri’s diatribe.

I glance over at Logan and he gives a solemn nod.

“I’m through.” Wesley disintegrates to nothing while staring me down with those haunting eyes.

Logan speeds over and pulls me out of harm’s way in the event another Count decides to pop into the vicinity and suck me dry.

“Be gone.” Ingram states without looking up from his futuristic tablet.

And we disappear.

Chapter 71

Shadows in the Night

The stars peer out from a thin veil of fog high above the Cape like it were a game, as if Orion had God-breathed air in his lungs and his bow was hungry for their splendor.

Logan and I kick our way to shore, leaning side by side on his surfboard while I tell him about Wesley’s strange thoughts. I clasp the disc around my neck to make sure it arrived safe and sound through the dimension of grief the Counts saw fit to drag us.

“Lacey’s mother asked about her other daughters and one of them was named Laken. I think it’s the same girl, Logan.” I’m sure it is.

“Might be. So you think she’s Celestra? Her boyfriend’s too polite a Count to turn her into a drinking fountain?” He makes a face. Logan doesn’t hide the fact he has a special brand of hatred brewing just for Wesley.

“I don’t know but I do know one thing”—a sly smile twitches on my lips—“I recognized the boy she was pawing on the football field. It’s that Cooper guy—our wartime buddy who keeps cropping up.”

“Cooper, huh?” Logan shakes his head. “Sounds like Laken has her hands full.”

I glance away a moment because I happen to have my hands full, too. Although, Wesley is a rat and Laken should run the hell away from him. Is Gage a rat? Should I run the hell away from him?

“You sure you’re OK?” Logan helps pull me out of the water as we make our way up the damp shore.

“I’m telling you, he didn’t take more than a couple of gulps. Maybe he was grateful for the relationship advice.” Who knew Demetri’s incessant lip flapping could produce anything worthwhile.

“He probably took off to kick Cooper’s ass.” He gives a weak laugh and pulls me down to the sand. “I should take a cue from my least-favorite Count.”

I’m not sure if he means Demetri or Wes, but then Demetri isn’t a Count at all.

A choir of voices erupt, as the party closes in on us. The thunder of footsteps drum against the beach as they run to meet us. Bodies emerge from the shadows, intertwined and falling over one another as they tumble their way down.

“Here you are!” Brielle shouts. “OK—one, two, three!”

Every available set of lungs howls Happy Birthday at full capacity and the cheery song echoes into the night with its own joyful vibration. I’m sure they can hear it all the way back at the Landon house—even as far as Michelle in that ominous mirror. A round of shouts and whistles break out as the crowd disperses. Half of the bodies file into the water, splashing and screaming as they pass us by.

“How does it feel to be eighteen?” Brielle kicks Logan in the leg before falling down next to him.

“Same as seventeen.” He stretches his arms up over his head, slow and lethargic—like a bear coming out of hibernation.

“We’re all legalizing ourselves this year.” It puffs out of her in vapors. “You and Gage are next.” She looks from me to someone over my shoulder. “You guys should do something big like go skydiving together.” Brielle shakes the sand out of her copper locks. “You know, ’cause you’re a couple and all. You’re ‘lifer’s,’ I can tell.”

Logan expands the whites of his eyes at the thought of Gage having me for life.

I glance back at my cellmate in question as he perches himself on a boulder. The clear look of hurt clouds his features as he glances down at my waist. I hadn’t even noticed Logan’s arm still snug around me. Gage looks like a god who has just been dethroned.

Logan casts a glance from me to Gage with a look that could transform butter knives into lethal weapons. Not even the waves can penetrate the silence.

“Did I say something wrong?” Bree knots up her lips trying to decipher what the deal is.

Hell if I know. Gage is a liar and Logan is the thief that took off with my heart—jammed a war between the two of us because it was the only logical solution. Nothing ever makes sense on Paragon.

Logan hops up and dusts himself off. “You’re right. They should do something big. Sometimes a big marker comes along—a birthday, a war—and everything changes. Sometimes life makes the change and sometimes others bring it for us.” Logan hardens a look over at his nephew. “I better check on my truck. Thought I heard someone say it was a good idea to flip it.”

“I’ll come with.” Brielle lifts a hand and Logan helps her up.

I watch as they melt into the shadows, leaving me vulnerable to Gage and his questionable verbal and physical trappings.

“Wanna go for a walk?” He hops down off the freckled granite and offers me a hand.

I get up on my own and slap the sand off my thighs. Might as well get this over with.

***

Gage tries twice to interlace our fingers. I have to give him props for checking to see if the first time I recoiled was just a fluke.

We meander past the boulders, past the howling screams of laughter, and off to a quiet sandy area secluded by a wall of overgrown foliage.

“What’s going on with you and Logan?” He says it sad, slow, as if he were reading the eulogy of who we once were.

“I was taken by the Counts.” I dust a finger over my neck.

“Skyla”—he spins me into him—“you’re bruising.” Gage looks over my injuries and sags. “Let’s get you to my dad.”

“He didn’t take much.” I shake him off. “See? Still have my strength.” Never mind the fact I feel nauseated and passing out feels like a very real possibility. I’m not in the mood for one of Marshall’s less than intoxicating concoctions this evening.

“What’s going on?” He dips into me. His eyes go off like sirens and my stomach does a quick revolution. I hate how vulnerable I am to his all-out comeliness, his staggering good looks. That dark hair combined with those cobalt eyes acts like an aphrodisiac. “Is this about the war? I would never throw a region to the Counts. It was Ellis. I swear on my sister’s grave.”

A shiver runs through me as though it were Giselle herself trying to convince me of this. Swearing on Giselle’s grave is his way of begging me to believe him. Giselle’s grave is sacred, a holy marker of the sister he loved—that he would use her against me at a time like this is unthinkable. Had Chloe driven him to this? Would he sink so low for Bishop’s heart?

“Ellis wasn’t there.” I don’t mean to scream it, but it shrills from my lungs like a battle cry. “What kind of bullshit would you like to feed me now?”

“Hey,” he whispers, trying to settle me with the balm of his voice, “you won’t get any bullshit from me.” He tries pulling me in, but I jump back and the world sways in one fluid movement.

“That seems like all I get from you lately.”

Gage freezes. His deer in the headlights expression quickly shifts to seething anger.

“I don’t give you any bullshit, Skyla,” he spits it out. His dimples dig in, his lips press tight with frustration. “This is fucking bullshit. I’ve been one hundred percent there for you from the beginning. The day you walked into my life, I knew—I knew you were the one from my dreams—the prophecies—and I can’t get a grip on why you won’t believe a damn thing I tell you.”

“So your shady behavior is somehow my fault for moving to Paragon? Let me offer you a clue as to what has me so paranoid—how about teaming up with Chloe? Hiding her underwear from me in the butterfly room?”

Gage squints into me as if rummaging through the possibilities and coming up with none.

“You swore Ellis won the region and Ellis wasn’t there! You’ve been nothing but a big ball of inconsistencies, and yeah,” I scream, “it makes it a little hard to believe a damn thing you say! Answer me this. Have you and Chloe ever discussed your findings as my well-placed boyfriend? Feel like fessing up to any clandestine meetings the two of you may have shared?”

Gage doesn’t say anything. He lets his silence fill in the void with all kinds of insane suggestions.

“She talked to me on a few occasions,” he confesses. “I didn’t go out and meet her. She found me at the library, at the park. I told her that I loved you—that you were the one for me. That…”

“That what Gage?” It comes out a dull whisper.

“Skyla…” His tone softens as he takes up my hand.

“No.” I pull back. “You’ve been giving Chloe a foothold from the beginning. This war—this was our time—you and me!”

“Who says?” It booms from him like the growl of a bear.

“Logan.” I shoot his name across the beach like a poison arrow.

“I don’t give a shit what Logan has to say about anything, especially when it comes to you and me.” Gage steps in firm as if his feet were about to dig in and take root right here on the beach. “I’m going to fight for you, Skyla. It’s going to be me that you watch the sun rise and set with—and not because of some mental delusion I’m spinning.” His Adam’s apple peaks and falls. “It’s because I love you and what we have is real. Once all of this goes away, including the war, I’m counting on the fact you’ll see that. We belong together. Just you and me, not Chloe, not Logan.”

A surge of heat spikes through me. I’ve never seen Gage so worked up, so aggressive about anything and it takes my breath away. I’ve seen his passion before, but never like this—never shooting off in the night like fireworks that spell “I love you” in the most intimate way.

His muscles redefine themselves in the shadows as a thin veil of moonlight baptizes him from above. His hair holds a darker hue than the night sky, set off by the pale ridges of his cheeks, his perfect lips that call me over to touch them.

So maybe Gage is telling the truth—maybe he’s not—either way, I’m not above seizing the moment—meeting him with a passion of my own before the damn war ends.

Gage wraps his arms around my bare waist and, this time, I don’t fight him.

Logan is about to draw the line. I can feel it. With or without the war, this might be the last taste of the boy I once thought so highly of—gave my heart to all too willingly. Had he really been using me all this time?

I wash over him with a lust-filled gaze.

Turnabout is fair play.

Gage edges in before kissing me softly on the lips.

Then it hits me. This was the vision I had the night we watched baby Beau in my bedroom. The one we shared of the two of us arguing at the beach.

I open my mouth to say something and a smile forms instead. The prophecy of the heated argument on the beach came true. Oh God—they all will. A breath gets locked in my throat.

He dives down over me with an all-out assault from his lips. Warm hungry kisses that battle my defenses and win round after round. Then, like a gift, his internal walls crumble. I can hear his thoughts, his random musings—the waves are too loud, it’s getting windy, the sand snapping at our legs makes him wonder if he should pull me in for shelter—how he’d like to take me to his room for safe keeping, out of reach from the Counts and Logan forever.

“Gage.” I run my fingers over his features, watch as his dimples invert with just the hint of a smile. “Thank you,” I whisper into the wind.

He covers my lips with his and pulls us down to our knees. A wave detonates over his back. It tries to wash away our desire for one another, to cool the explosion of passion, but it encourages us in the worst way possible.

I peel off his shorts in an instant, and he returns the favor by sending my bathing suit bottom sailing. Gage flips my top off with no more effort than the flick of his thumb. He unleashes his tongue over me like the slither of a snake.

I indulge in his thoughts—he enjoys licking the salt off my skin, he wishes we were anywhere but here.

He blesses my lips with briny kisses as he lies over me, breathing like he just ran a marathon. Gage flexes my arms over my head, straddles me by locking his ankles over mine. I can feel him in jags, in spasms as the icy water numbs my senses. A rock-hard protrusion pushes against my thigh and enlivens me.

Gage and his delirious kisses, his uncontrollable lust is only rivaled by my own.

We detonate into our own private world.

The waves, the howling wind, all of it melts into a perfect symphony conducted by our love.

This is our moment. The first day of something new as we navigate into one another so much deeper than flesh could ever hope to offer.

Gage sears me with affection. He runs a burning line of kisses down my chest all the way to my belly, and the earth trembles and belches before swallowing us whole.

Chapter 72

Double Trouble

Large pregnant clouds accumulate above like a purple rosary in the sky. The sound of palpable detonations goes off in the distance—the ground quakes beneath our feet, alerting us to the fact we’ve entered the seventh region of the faction war. I see the orator over the hillside. He glows like siltstone and glints iridescent as he crosses his slender arms over his head to capture our attention.

A warm breeze licks my skin. I look down at my stomach, my bare breasts—the dark triangle that has never been exposed outdoors stares back at me.

Shit.

Ironic how my mother saw fit to dump me here without a stitch of clothing. Not freaking funny, especially since she’s pulled this twice.

I reach up and clasp the disc hanging from my neck. Thank God it’s still there. It’s comforting to know I can use it to free us from this hellhole if need be. An image of Demetri’s nefarious smile crops up, and I shake the thought away.

Gage runs up and before I know it his T-shirt is over my shoulders, warming my skin as it slinks past my waist like a dress.

“Thank you,” I mouth, unable to look him in the eye. Gage has seen me naked before, but not while I was awake to oversee the situation.

I don’t recognize the military fatigues he’s wearing, nor the T-shirt he just threw on me, but I don’t ask questions.

Logan barrels over—all piss and vinegar. He’s holding a crossbow with a quiver strapped over his back. He glows a powder blue so beautiful it makes me want to touch him, press my fingers to his face and watch the light bleed through my open palms.

Logan slams his hands into Gage and sends him stumbling back a good ten feet. “You fucking piece of shit.” He continues his charge as if he were about to bash Gage into the ground until his skull cracks open, nothing but his love for me oozing out. “Not going to touch her, huh? You said we we’re on an even playing field after ski week—I shouldn’t worry, right?” He gives another shove before grabbing him by the throat. “Now, twice you try to get a foothold.” They explode in a ball of rolling flesh. Plumes of dry clay erect themselves like towers as a testament to their fury.

A glint of light catches my attention—an entire wall of sky-lit people charge in this direction. I don’t hesitate picking up the quiver and crossbow that Logan abandoned. It’s so damn noisy with the barrage of the mortar shells I don’t think they’d hear me if I yelled for them to stop, if I warned them of the enemy.

I get down low and pull an arrow into position, aiming for the tallest in the flock—and nail him in the neck. It was his chest I was targeting but the neck seems so much better. I like the swift victory an arrow brings as opposed to the soft poison of the bastardized Ruger formally introduced to me by, of all people, the Count using me as a celestial fuel station.

I fire shot after shot as the crowd huddles over the errant Count’s body and attempts to haul him off the field. I hit two in the back and one in the thigh. Only three remain as the others scurry into the woods like the luminescent vermin they are. The round heap of bodies shine like a puff of winter clouds—every cloud has a silver lining and this one just so happens to house precision weaponry buried in its flesh. I don’t feel too bad about ejecting the bastards from their mortal shells. It’s not like they won’t be back. Ezrina’s lair is rife with watery graves just waiting for them.

I squat low and run over, plucking a shotgun off one of the bodies as they writhe in a pool of their own blood. Two of the men evaporate in turn, leaving a pile of clothing and military boots behind. I snap a pair of pants off the ground and jump into them, rolling them up at the waist.

A blast ignites to my right. The heat radiates like a fireball, searing the skin on the side of my face. The ground gives an aggressive jolt and I fall, hitting my head on a rock in the process. I hug the soil as it pulsates like gelatin, and the air lights up with sulfuric fumes.

“Messenger!” I recognize Ellis’s mighty roar before the smoke clears and I see him fully. He points hard behind me and I turn expecting to see an army of Counts, an entire slew of arrows peppering the air aimed in this direction—but not this—anything but this.

Logan and Gage lie ten feet apart, covered in soot and ashes. Logan has his eyes set to heaven with a vacant stare.

A body hovers over Gage—Chloe in all her wicked determination. She touches her lips to his, administering the CPR of her dreams while arresting the blood-let from his chest with her hands. Her arms are glossed in a crimson slick all the way to her elbows.

Ellis pulls me along until we come upon them. I fall over Logan first, and check his pulse at the neck. Still beating—he’s breathing. He groans and rolls to the side, wincing in pain.

I make my way over to Gage and try to shove Chloe back to Paragon proper but with my weakened state of being, my Celestra powers recanted as a punishment from my mother, I’m no more useful than a bucket without a bottom.

“He’s not breathing.” Chloe smacks me in the arm. “Do something!” She screams before jamming her palms in his sternum and pressing in with all her strength.  Blood squirts from his wound like a geyser. In Chloe’s attempt to save him, she’s killing him instead.

I yank the disc off my neck, almost decapitating myself in the process. The gilded piece of metal, slips between my fingers as if it wanted to fall to the ground on its own volition. I jab it into the earth—solid, like a giant F.U. to the Decision Council or the Justice Alliance, whoever the hell it is my mother employed to see this farce through.

The clouds shudder. They fall like a cymbal crashing to meet its mate—dash their way to the ground and rise back up again. The world darkens to soot then blinks back into existence as if there were a momentary blip in reception.

I gasp and choke from the newfound rise of dust christening us.

“What the fuck was that?” Ellis holds me at the waist like he’s trying to protect me, but really I think he’s using me to quell his fear.

“The region is over.” Chloe yanks off her tank top and fills Gage’s wound with it, leaving nothing but her bathing suit underneath. “We’re onto the next.”

“That’s not possible.” I stare down at the disc protruding from the ground, taunting me as it glints in the light.

“Welcome to region eight, Skyla. Congratulations. You lost another one.” Chloe slaps the dust off her shorts as she hops to her feet. “You’d better breathe for him or brain damage will kick in and you’ll both be terminally stupid.” She gets in close until I can feel the heat from her body. “I’m going to find that freak that runs this place and win the region to save Gage—God knows you can never say that.” Chloe takes off like a gazelle in flight. She morphs into a blur in her quest to save the only person she truly loves.

I bear down over Gage and push in a breath—watch as his chest rises and falls like some mechanical movement. Just putting forth the effort makes me dizzy, weaker than when I started.

It would figure that Demetri would gift me the disc. He knew I’d use it in peril and what better way to ensure I lose two regions? Asshole.

“Ellis—take this.” I yank the quiver off my back and throw the crossbow at his feet. “Win the region.” I blow another breath into Gage. “I swear I’ll do anything you ask.” Not including a flesh swap, but I don’t fill him in on that at the moment. Besides, I think Ellis knows the odds of that happening are nil.

“My dad is gonna crucify me if I take the region for Celestra. He’s under the impression I’m protecting you—not sabotaging the win for his team.”

Crap.

I push another breath into Gage.

“Do what’s right Ellis—win for Celestra. If by some miracle I become overseer of the factions, I swear I’ll make you my right-hand man. Think of all the authority you’ll have, and the chicks—celestial chicks no less.”

Good God, I’m bribing him with angel ass.

Ellis snaps up the weaponry and takes off down the field. A mine explodes in his path, knocking him back like a ragdoll. His shoulder blooms a dark shade of crimson as he lies motionless with his legs twisted beneath him.

“Shit,” I pant, before blowing another breath into Gage.

I can’t lose them all—I can’t lose any of them.

“Mother!” I scream until it sounds primal, altogether animal. “Daddy.” I cry for my father, the one I know would move heaven and earth to help me. But here, in the ethereal plane, he’s helpless. The only thing I have to cling to is the determined belief that Logan, Gage, and Ellis are going to somehow survive. All of my hope is pinned on Chloe getting us out of this mess by deferring yet another victory to the Counts. “I hope you’re happy,” I scream at the fuchsia-colored sky before blowing a quick breath into Gage. “You wanted me naked and everyone I love dead. You know I can’t leave Gage!” I puff another few breaths into him.

I’ve already given Ezrina everything she wants. No use in trying to procure her useless services. Demetri—would help. He’d do it for my mother and everything he wishes they could be. He’d do it for the war, to gain ground and push Celestra and the Sectors off their longtime pedestals. The rules of engagement merely state they can’t fight—they never said anything about rescue—about deceiving with a faulty disc.

I blow in several more breathes into Gage’s beautiful body. My fingers slip into his wound and glide in the slick of his precious blood.

But first there’s another name I’ll try—one that has never let me down. If he comes, I will forever remember his generosity and I’ll be sure to reward him richly.

I tip my head back and summons every ounce of strength left in me.

I call out for Marshall as if he were the savior himself.

Chapter 73

Saving Grace

The sky in the ethereal plane mutes to an oily shade of soot. Long javelins of rain spear down, forming instant pools in our footprints. This was no ordinary shower, nothing tame like the torrents you’d see on Paragon. This melted over us like lovers’ tears with powerful sorrow behind every charge. It seared my skin like candle wax with its long deliberate incisions.

I place my lips over the raven-haired boy beneath me and breathe for him until he sputters to life under the careful administration of my love.

A roar erupts from behind. I look back in time to see a tornado of fire. A pillar of licking tongues disguised in a pleasant orange light migrates in this direction.

It takes a moment for me to realize there’s a body lodged in the furnace—a face I love and adore—Marshall.

I run over and stop shy of his burning eminence.

“I can guide you and no more.” His voice sounds, hollow, stiff, like shouting into a fishbowl.

“They’re all injured.” I point back to Logan and Gage—Ellis, too.

“Rip this region open,” he thunders. “First, the belly of your enemy, then the illusion of the sky.” His lips curve with a devious smile.

“This is no time for riddles! Just tell me what to do.” I no sooner get the words out then notice the wall of Jericho erecting itself on the horizon. The dull glow of Counts at least a hundred strong—all of them so ripe for the picking I can hardly stand it.

I run back and arm myself with the crossbow and quiver. Logan sits next to Gage, wincing with his hand on his chest.

“You guys OK?” I scream into them as the rain glazes over their skin like an anointing.

Logan gives a weak thumbs-up, and Gage offers a brief nod, but it’s clear they’re both hurting.  I dash back to Marshall and perfect my aim at the barrage of flesh on the hilltop next to ours, untied as an army of ants.

“Soak the soil with their blood,” Marshall orders.

A familiar face strides quick in my direction. Cooper Flanders.

“Skyla!” His teeth flash a brilliant white as he pants his way over. His golden hair bobs up and down as he jogs into me. A black apparatus sits stretched over his back, looks like a missile launcher. He nods over at the crowd in the distance and smiles as if we were going to take them down, side by side.

“Where’s your friend?” He usually pairs himself with some guy named Flynn.

“He’s feeling a little blue.” He pulls his cheek to the side. “Countenance.”

“He’s a Count?” I rack my brain until I reach the vague memory of knowing this. “Why does he fight for Celestra?”

“For me. For our friend, Laken.” He fires the cannon strapped to his chest at the mob sweeping over the field like locusts and half of them are leveled in a plume of soot.

“Laken?” I’d congratulate him on the slaughter of our enemy, but I’ve got a brief interrogation I’d like to subject him to.

He studies me a moment. “Yes.”

“Her sister and mother are in the tunnels. I’m trying to free them, all of them.”

Cooper swallows hard. “Laken would thank you if she could.”

“Is she here?” If her friends are here, maybe she’s floating around the ethereal plane somewhere. I’d love to meet her. I swear there’s something familiar about her, outside of the fact I’ve seen her in Wesley’s morbid fantasies.

Cooper looks perplexed as if the answer were far more complicated than a simple yes or no. It’s as if I had opened an entire library of questions, but a blue swarm infiltrates the vicinity, and now there was only time for actions, instinct and survival.

The mob screams forward. An arrow slices by and grazes his ear, causing the side of his face to explode with a giant claw mark.

He plucks a bastardized dart gun out of his pocket and hands it to me.

I fire in quick succession until the human wall starts to crumble. The opalescent mass disbands as quick as they came. I see Chloe and Holden in the distance as they aim their steely weapons in my direction.

A heated whisper grazes against my temple and sends a line of fire clear past my ear. I lift my hand to my head and glance at it as the rain washes fresh blood from my fingers.

I look up in time to see Chloe slapping Holden with a victory pat.

He freaking scalped me. Damn near killed me.

Cooper fires another shot with the hellish bomb blaster hoisted over his shoulder and the Counts blow back like dust.

The dark belly of a pregnant cloud quakes overhead as if taunting me. Marshall said rip open the belly of the enemy, then the illusion of the sky…

I pluck an arrow from my quiver and fire a shot straight up into the nebulous reserve. Nothing changes, no crash of light, no thunderous boom to let me know the region is over, just my feet pressed into the ethereal plane as rain begins to bleed from the sky. It’s as if God himself is affronted by my constant stream of impoverished efforts.

A shadow flies overhead—a bird with long dark wings, svelte as a sparrow. She unzips the sky with her talons—stretches her body along the stratosphere. A black worm comes in and swallows up all of the color, the light, until it spits us out onto the salted beaches of Paragon.

I take in the rush of crashing waves, the damp sand beneath my bare flesh as Gage lies over me naked and bleeding.

***

Here we are, back at the Cove as a wave washes over the two of us causing Gage to seize before toppling off to the side.

“You’re hurt,” I say, touching the dark hole just over his stomach.

He hands me my bikini and struggles to reach for his shorts. We throw on our clothes in haste.

“Let’s find Logan and Ellis and get you to the hospital,” I say.

We pull ourselves off the shoreline, fighting the current that labors to drag us out to sea.

Gage cups a handful of water and blasts it over his wound. The blood has ceased to flow, leaving behind a dark gelatinous hole.

“What hit you?” I ask as we maneuver our way through a thicket of palms just this side of the base camp for Logan’s party.

“I don’t know—shrapnel maybe,” he says, pointing over to Logan and Ellis huddled under a hemlock. It looks as if they’re strategizing—praying.

I bolt over to inspect the damage.

“Hey.” I rub my hand over Logan’s back and he takes a quick breath. “How are you guys feeling?”

“Like I just walked into a land mine.” Ellis gives a stern look. “Oh, that’s right. I did.”

“I’m fine.” Logan wraps an arm around me gives a heavy glance at Gage. “You?”

“I’ll live.” Gage and Logan exchange rigid stares filled with lethal implications. It’s clear that animosity left from the war has bled into real life or maybe it was the other way around to begin with.

Chloe comes up from behind, a sharpened pocketknife dangling from her fingers. She carves a neat line down the inside of her forearm, safe from any major veins and squeezes a thick seam of blood to the surface. She smears her efforts over Gage’s wound so quick it’s a blur to witness.

“You OK?” Her eyes widen as she takes him in, like she might be moved to get on her knees and worship at a moment’s notice—already she’s given a blood sacrifice.

“I’m more than fine.” He touches his fingers to his bloodied chest.

“You won’t bleed anymore. You’ll be healed in minutes.” She looks up at him solemn. “I took the region so you could get out. I did it for you, Gage.”

A thin rail of panic surges through me. Chloe plus Gage equals a faction victory for the enemy. I don’t like the math. Not only that, but my efforts at ripping the belly of the enemy open were for not. Marshall told me what to do and yet I couldn’t deliver.

“You didn’t have to do it for me.” Gage cinches his jaw. “I don’t fight for the Counts, Chloe.”

“Maybe you should,” she says. “Isn’t being on the winning team what you’re all about?” Her eyes glitter like onyx stones. “You know we’re going to win, Gage. You told me so yourself.” She cocks a quick smile in my direction before melting back into the crowd.

Gage told Chloe the Counts would win—that they would win the fucking war and somehow he omitted that piece of information from our conversations?

“You said that?” I can hardly choke out the words. This is a fresh level of betrayal, one I wasn’t ready for nor ever would be.

His dimples blink on and off as he considers this. “She said they would win and I said it looked like they might.”

A part of me dies when I hear those words. If Gage—the one who professes to love me—doesn’t believe I’m capable of victory for my people, then I’m pretty much screwed. To top it all off, I’m not sure I would have said anything different.

“We just need a strategy.” Ellis goes over and sits by the fire and we join him.  His shoulder is scratched up, but from here it looks like nothing more than a topical abrasion. “What’s your goal?”

“I don’t know.” I give a huff of frustration. “To get to Ahava, I guess.”

“We need organization,” Logan interjects. “Skyla, your job will be to find out exactly what the orders are for the region. Gage, you protect her by nailing any Counts that try to get in her way. Ellis—” His cheek rides high on one side with agitation. “Do whatever Skyla tells you, but commit to the cause. You can’t freak out over what your dad might think or everything will go to shit and you’ll wind up dead.”

“You want me to kill Counts.” Ellis deadpans. The crackling fire ignites his features in an array of sunset hues.

“Injure them,” Logan suggests, “kill only if necessary. There’s a faction meeting in a couple days at Arson Kragger’s house. You’re on the line for a tribunal if you’re not careful. Just be an open resource for Skyla and try not to get yourself slaughtered in the process.”

Ellis nods while staring into the fire. “We’re going to find out if they got permission to close the treble.” Ellis pins me with his serious eyes. “You need to watch your back.”

I look over at Gage, who thinks winning the war is out of my league, not to mention the fact he confided it to Chloe. That alone qualifies him for the dubious boyfriend of the year award.

“I’ll be careful,” I say it low.

Especially around Gage.

Chapter 74

Games Children Play

Logan’s birthday wears on. The sky rolls out its star-filled splendor as if God himself orchestrated the astronomical wonder in honor of Logan.

Four sets of bonfires rage in close proximity, entertaining us with their low demonic whispers, their sparks of affection, as the heat kisses our skin.

The roll call of bitchiness is present and accounted for, plus Ethan, and Holden hiding behind Pierce like a mask. I should shove him into the flames for tearing a line through my scalp.

Brielle and Drake snuggle up at the foot of the fire, leaving Emily oddly indifferent. I’ll never understand that love triangle, square if you count Ethan. Honest to God, I think Brielle and Drake have a bona fide open relationship. The kind my mother once accused me of having with Gage—which is laughable. And right about now, I doubt I have any kind of relationship with him at all. If we do, we built it on sand—Gage saw to it himself. If he wants me—wants us—it needs to be rebuilt from the ground up on the bedrock of truth and loyalty. I swear on my father’s grave, one more piece of bullshit springs up that I’m either not aware of, or another one of his half-truths, and I’m going to break some Levatio balls.

Who am I kidding? I’m not going to break Gage’s anything. He’s done enough damage for the both of us by breaking my heart.

“Let’s play a game,” Lexy says, looking up at Logan as if she just propositioned him. She’s either hopped up on lust or she’s been drinking from Ellis’s “special” cooler. Either way, I don’t appreciate the way she’s feather-dusting Logan with her boobs—licking his hair occasionally like she’s some freaking feline.

“Truth or Dare?” Ellis suggests.

“No.” I’m quick to douse that spark. “That never ends well.” Nor does it bode well for me since I seem to have a pronounced allergy to the truth. Besides, my neck is still feeling the not so fantastic effects of Wesley’s non-affection, and with my luck I’ll get a dare that requires both bodily strength and agility because I never choose truth.

“Spin the bottle.” Lexy purrs into the birthday boy like a cat in heat. It’s obvious her vagina is on fire and she’s looking for him to extinguish the flames.

Logan lifts his cheek as if he were trying to stop from grinning, and I want to go over there and smack him until I realize it’s me he’s leering at. I give a private smile over to him since I find any leering in my direction completely acceptable.

“Spin the bottle? What is this? Seventh grade?” Brielle rolls her eyes. Obviously Brielle doesn’t want to be barraged by the sight of Emily jabbing her tongue down the baby-maker’s throat. She has a look on her face that suggests Drake is exclusively her sperm dispenser, and that’s the way it’s going to stay—at least for tonight.

“I don’t know.” Holden is quick to put in his two cents, which also happens to be the sum total of his IQ. “We’ll be seniors next year. We should do something stupid like that.” Holden does six stupid things before breakfast.

“You just graduated.” Nat swats him across the stomach.

Ha! Holden has switched bodies so many times he doesn’t know who the hell he is half the time.

I touch my hand to my head and my hair is matted where he tried to lodge that arrow. I glare over at him. I’m not done with Holden Kragger and something tells me he’s not done with me either.

“He’s right.” Chloe lifts her chin to the flames. Her hair catches the light and glows a spectrum of amber and gold. “It’s our senior year. This is it, the big one.” She slits her eyes over to Gage’s crotch when she says “the big one” and I suck in a quick breath at the audacity. “Then it all ends,” she whispers, “and everyone goes their separate ways.”

“We’ll always have Paragon.” Ellis picks up a stick and stokes the fire. “Half of us will probably never leave.”

“I’ll be off the island before the ink dries on my diploma,” Lexy garbles it out with an alcohol inspired drawl. “Michelle’s coming with me. We’re going to fashion school.” She looks around trying to spot her partner in designer crime. “We’re so leaving.”

My lips pinch shut in the event I feel the spontaneous urge to fill her in on a few demented details, like the fact Michelle has abruptly left without her.

“I’m not leaving.” Logan loses his gaze in the growing inferno.

“You always said you’d go to Host.” Lexy leans her scantily clad chest in his direction.

“Where’s Host?” I’m quick to divert Logan’s eyes away from said sex kitten. And wait—wasn’t I wearing a Host sweatshirt in the vitriolic video Demetri gave Logan and I a private screening of?

“It’s a neighboring island with a private university.” Ellis tosses a dry leaf into the flames and it explodes into ashes. “Most kids from Paragon go there.”

“There’s a satellite school here on the island.” Logan relaxes his hands behind his neck. “I’ll probably do the online thing for a while. I already know I’m going to run the bowling alley.”

“Or let it run you.” Lexy trails a finger brazenly down his chest and he catches it before she hits pay dirt.

“So back to the game.” Chloe produces a long-necked bottle from behind her back and for a second I think it’s a root beer bottle, which would almost be serendipitous since it’s Logan’s birthday. I’d hate to think there was even the remote possibility of gifting him a matching dimple on the other side. “We should have rules.” She slits a quick glance in my direction.

Yeah, like whoever gets a hold of that bottle next is obligated to break it in half and go after Chloe—Holden, too, strictly for entertainment purposes. It could be a new party game called slash the asshole.

“First rule—no tongues,” I announce. I might be moved to cut a few out should they venture in Gage or Logan’s direction. “And no siblings. That’s sick.” Since two of the six males are quasi related, and dumbasses to boot, I felt it necessary to point this out.

“Tongue is fine.” Chloe motions for Lexy to crawl on over since we’re basically already gender segregated. “Girls first.” Chloe gives the bottle a good spin and it dances and bobs as it twirls round and round. I can practically feel her trying to subject it to her witchcraft and get it to land on her sorry ass. Then, to my horror, Chloe’s black magic yields her the advantage and she smiles wide as the bottle extends its neck in her direction.

Emily snaps up the bottle and hands it over to the boys. Ellis gives it a twist and the amber glass unleashes in a wild spiral.

Honest to God if that thing lands on Gage, I will seriously suspect foul play. There is no freaking way—the odds are totally against it, I mean… It stops just shy of Gage and points at Holden’s foot. Ha! I bet his kisses taste like feet, too.

Holden hops up and offers Chloe a hand, which by the way, she’s totally reluctant to accept. Looks like this whole idea isn’t looking so good right now. Chloe is famous for her bad ideas, like killing my father and sending me to Demetri’s tunnel of terror.

Brielle ribs me as they pucker. “I’m still planning a take down.”

“Good luck with that.” I’ve been outsmarted, out witted, and out played. Chloe is virtually indestructible. I’m betting not even my mother in the sky could hold her down and make her cry celestial uncle.

A flash of lighting comes from nowhere and startles me to attention as if my mother had heard and begged to differ.

Chloe and Holden indulge in a serious suckfest—teeth are being inventoried, tonsils assessed for infection. It wouldn’t be all that brutal to watch if it weren’t for the fact Nat still believes the boy up there impaling Chloe with his slippery member is really the ex-love of her life, Pierce. And clearly, Chloe has no regard for my rules because her tongue has meandered down his throat and straight into his bowels in front of the entire lot of us.

Natalie trembles with fury at the outright display of hedonism. I can feel her seething. It’s a barbaric display she’s being subjected to, what with all the moaning, the roaming of hands, and oh my dear God! I think I just saw Holden’s balls.

Shit. I can never un-see that.

“OK.” Ethan claps obnoxiously, much like his father is prone to do. “Time to shut down the show.”

Chloe traipses back to her seat and gives a haughty look to Nat. She’s lucky Nat doesn’t reach over and give her a flame broiled facial, an enema full of fire by way of that long neck bottle.

Emily takes control and gives the bottle a hard whirl. It spins airborne for a second before slowing to a wobble and landing square in front of me.

I glance over at Gage and his eyes enlarge, his dimple digs in deep on one side as he considers the odds. Logan looks as if he’s deflated at the thought of witnessing the event and to his surprise the bottle lands on him as well.

Logan. I’m more than thrilled to grant him a kiss on this, the great day of his birth.

He bolts up and lends me a hand.

Happy birthday, I say with an impish grin as I rise to greet him. Make a wish yet?

I’m standing next to the love of my life, so it already came true. I love you, Skyla Messenger.

The apples of my cheeks burn as his words pulse through me, covered in his affection.

I love you, too, Logan.

He leans in with a wild look of temptation. I half expect him to devour me from the look of viral lust blooming on his face, but he doesn’t. He offers a sweet peck that bears nothing more than a platonic greeting.

The next time I kiss you, Gage won’t be a part of the equation—nor will he be in the audience. He coils his fingers into the back of my hair. I promise you a kiss that you will never forget.

Logan and I take our seats. It takes everything in me not to offer so much as a glance over at Gage. It felt intimate what Logan and I shared, like we bared our naked souls for everyone to see.

“Our spin.” Ellis takes the bottle and twists it softly, and it doesn’t take long before it comes to rest in front of Gage.

My heart thumps once. A hot spear of heat splices through my stomach. Funny how just a little while ago I was about to let him deflower me right here at Logan’s birthday party, which, come to think of it, would have been the ultimate F.U. to the birthday boy in question. And now here I am, right back to doubting him—mad at him for telling Chloe the Counts would “most likely” win. Maybe there’s no reason not to trust Gage. His vision of us arguing on the beach came true. Maybe the rest will, too.

Chloe has her eagle-eyed stare focused intently on that brown glossy tube. It’s like she’s using the power of her disturbed mind to make it yield in her favor and black magically it stops just shy of her toe before sliding over to Emily.

I blink a smile up at Chloe.

“Technically my foot is there.” She points without moving so we could assess the damage and verify her claim.

Shit. It so is.

“It’s pointed at Em.” Brielle gags on the words. “Get up, Emily, and get your kiss from one of the hottest guys on the island.” She gives an impetuous look to Chloe that suggests she might off her in the flames just for the fun of it. I’m really liking this pissy side of Brielle.

“I take offense at the fact you’d mistrust my judgment.” Chloe stands and walks over to the boys’ circle. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Chloe and Brielle were having a conversation cloaked in duplicity.

Gage rises and dusts off his shorts with a look of ticked-off frustration.

Swear to God if he kisses her—if his lips even enter the same orifice-laced airspace—I will commit a double homicide in front of a rather large audience and not deny the judicial system of the much-desired felony. I would gladly rot in prison than witness the abomination that’s about to take place.

“Em?” Gage ticks his head for her to get up.

“Excuse me?” Chloe comes in for the kill. “I believe the rules of engagement suggest you kiss the person on whom the bottle landed, and that”—she lowers her head seductively—“would be me.”

Figures. Chloe plays by the rules when she thinks the outcome will plant Gage Oliver’s mouth firmly over hers.

Gage huffs a laugh and cuts a hard look into the forest.

“Well one thing’s for sure, I’m not a quitter.” He brushes me with his cobalt eyes—stares at me for a really long time before he continues. “But I’m also not an enabler.” He glares at Chloe. “I’m certainly not going to encourage your proactive psychosis and let you believe for a minute I would ever want to kiss you. I’d rather set myself on fire or saw off my arm and eat it than dream of touching you with any part of my body.”

A gasp circles the vicinity.

Holy shit. Gage just gave Chloe the finger by way of an I-can’t-stand-you proclamation that I might jot down later from memory. It’s the most beautiful poem Gage Oliver has ever written, unless of course, it’s all an act for my benefit to further propagate their malevolent relationship—which I’m beginning to seriously doubt.

“And another thing?” Gage leans in with his hatred amped up full throttle. “I want to make it really clear to you and everybody here that any agreement you might think we had was born of your own imagination. My only intent was to protect Skyla from any demons that might be out to get her, and that, ironically, turned out to be you. The reason I ever spent time with you was to gain ground on the enemy. Those butterflies? They were to protect Skyla. Everything I ever did was for Skyla, not you Chloe—never you. So you can bury your delusions of ever having me, ever blackmailing me to hang out with you, or sleep with you. I won’t be licking the dust off your feet—it’s not going to happen. There’s nothing you can ever do to truly hurt me or the girl I love. Everything you try will fail, and I’ll be there on the day of your ruin, glad to witness your downfall. You are a liar, a schemer and a murderer. You will never have my heart or anyone else’s.”

A deafening silence fills in the volume, as loud as Gage in all his fury.

“You’re right.” Chloe straightens. She grows tall as a statue in her unblemished resolve. She offers a private smile before casting her dark sparkling orbs in my direction. “Everything you do is for Skyla’s benefit.”

She walks off into the forest undeterred by his serrated words, uninjured by the projectile missiles he spewed so publically in her direction, and it makes me wonder.

Chapter 75

The Moustache Man

Late in the night, or rather very early in the morning, we cuddle up in our sleeping bags by the fire—Logan and Gage as my distal bookends. We keep the conversation light, never once mentioning Chloe or the ramifications that might come from the harsh rebuke Gage delivered only a few hours ago. I can’t imagine what a verbal blow must feel like coming from the one person on the planet you profess to love. With Chloe it’s more of an obsession—a desire to own. I’m not sure if Chloe understands the concept of love and all of its complexities, including the fact you should give the object of your desire the freedom to be with whomever they please.

I drift off to the sound of Logan and Gage discussing the tire pressure on their trucks, the double filament light bulbs they need to replace for their brake lights. Their quiet midnight murmurs lull me into a series of long, disjointed dreams. I find myself on the sea, floating, lost after a shipwreck. Logan treads water next to me, gathering debris for us to hold onto. He strategizes how to bring us to safety with a fevered speech. Gage and his sad eyes watch from the safety of a boat nearby. He calls for us to get inside, but we don’t trust him. We choose to drift rather than take the shelter, the food, the clean water he offers. Gage is the snake and everything about him is venom.

In the morning a cool mist settles over us like dew on a field of star jasmine. Voices infiltrate the vicinity as the camp rouses out of its drunken stupor. Logan’s birthday bleeds into its second day under a trembling carbon sky.

An entire choir of surprise and groans of discontent erupt, forcing me to open my eyes, gritty as sandpaper.

A blur moves in front of me. I blink several times, revealing Gage still curled up in his sleeping bag and looking over at me with a sweet smile that has the power to wipe away every transgression ever known to man.

“Oh my gosh.” I get up on my elbow. He’s got a thick black mustache drawn under his nose that curls up on the sides like some circus castoff. He flattens out his smile and points over to my face then motions to his.

“Shit.” I sit up.

Logan is already mixing with the crowd, saying good-bye to a group of guys as they prepare to take off.

“It’s doesn’t look bad.” Gage holds back a wicked grin. “You look cute.”

“Oh God.” I bury myself in the sleeping bag. I don’t need to be psychic to know who’s responsible for the graffiti.

“I swear you’re gorgeous.” Gage grabs a hold of my sleeping bag and drags me over to him. “Wanna go to breakfast? Come on.” He jostles me lightly until I come up for air. “We can go for a swim first and wash it off.” He traces his finger over my upper lip.

I take Gage in. He’s so damn sweet. He fits perfectly into my life. I’m tired of giving Chloe the foothold she needs. I’m ready to take the plunge and believe every word out of this gorgeous boy’s mouth.

“No to the swim. Yes to breakfast.”

Brielle comes charging over, her face sporting a rather unattractive beard and large bushy eyebrows.

Crap! I’ll hang Chloe by her entrails if that’s how she chose to desecrate me.

“Guess who didn’t get a Sharpie facial?”

“Chloe, Lexy, and Emily.” Their names speed out of me like a demonic incantation.

“Ding, ding, ding.” She hands me a mirror. “You get the prize.”

I examine the damage. A thick black circle outlines my face, a giant dot graces the tip of my nose, and for the grand finale, I’m sporting a moustache that curls up on the sides—a match to the one on Gage.

“I guess it’s time to put Chloe in her place.” Brielle stares off into the woods a moment. “I’ll catch up with you later and we’ll do a little plotting. I have a ton of great ideas.”

“I’m staying with Dudley, but I want to get together with you.” I’ve been meaning to spend time with Brielle, get to the bottom of that whole cash-for-friends deal Chloe wrangled her into.

Gage helps me to my feet and we roll up our sleeping bags.

“Ready to take off?” Logan wraps an arm around my shoulder. It feels brazen, like he’s stealing a moment right here in front of Gage.

“Yeah. We were thinking about going to breakfast. You wanna come?” I offer. “After Marshall’s,” I add, pointing to the desecration on my face.

Gage looks slightly wounded that I would even think of extending the offer.

“Sure.” Logan takes me by the hand. “I’ll give you a ride to Dudley’s.”

I don’t hesitate—just start walking with Logan. I’m not really interested in their bidding war over who gets the rights to Skyla.

“I’ll catch a ride.” Gage wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I didn’t drive.”

We throw our stuff in the back of Logan’s truck and hop in, with me in the middle.

We drive through miles of fresh paved asphalt—the black tongue of Paragon unspooling itself for an eternity. It feels like this could easily be last year. That I had just arrived on the island and started going out with Logan—that Gage was here posturing with his pent-up feelings and a poem at the ready, warm in his pocket. It’s strange how life comes full circle sometimes. Funny thing is, it’s not the beginning—it very much feels like the end of a very long season in my life. It breaks my heart just to think about it.

I look over at Logan, his handsome features that could slay a coliseum full of wild females. On the other side, Gage and his inherent dark beauty, so painfully cutting.

For sure it’s not the end of our story. A part of me never wants it to end. I never want to hurt either one of them. But already I know this is an impossibility. Someone in this truck will suffer from a massive broken heart. And I’ll share their pain no matter who I choose.

This is one war I will never win.

***

Marshall’s estate is guarded in a fogbank so thick that I nearly kill myself trying to scale the stairs to the porch. Lucky for me Logan and Gage catch me on either side until I right myself. It’s nice like this having them to support me as I fumble through life. But I know it won’t always be this way—that this in and of itself will end very soon.

The door sits slightly ajar, so I step in and drop my bag on the floor as I inspect a torrent of destruction that’s taken place in Marshall’s once-pleasant home—a sofa on its back, the coffee table in splinters, the large window that frames the back wall reduced to pebbles. I scan over the entry, the living room, and the great room with the piano on its side and gasp in horror. It looks like a tornado whipped through. Everything is shattered, tattered and reduced to bits and pieces. A brown rabbit hops by like it’s on a stroll in the forest.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

Marshall rounds the corner from the kitchen. Three long gashes decorate his left cheek.

“Shelly’s back,” he says with a weak smile.

“Michelle did all this?” I marvel at the decimation of Marshall’s less than humble abode.

“What the fuck?” Gage steps over a broken vase, the crunch of glass under his feet.

“Michelle fell in the mirror.” Logan fills him in as he goes over to the large oval frame sitting with an air of guilt about it because it’s clearly still intact. I follow closely behind and we inspect ourselves in the glass.

Crap. I forgot about what an idiot I look like. Logan and Gage don’t look all that ridiculous with their handcrafted stubble but I look like some long-lost hermaphrodite.

“What’s with the ghoulish display of vandalism?” Marshall stands behind me touching his finger to his chin.

“Chloe,” I say, poking the hard surface of the mirror with suspicion. “Why isn’t it letting me in?”

“It determines the course of entry upon its own whims. And today”—Marshall whispers, leering over my shoulder—“it appears you need to fracture your way inside.”

“Michelle went in?” Gage shoots me an accusatory look.

“Oops?” I shrug, trying to wipe the guilty expression off my face. “Well, she’s not in there anymore and that’s what’s important.” Thank God. The idea of venturing in to save her wasn’t all that appetizing.

“What happened when she got out?” Gage flexes his brows with curiosity at our math teacher. “What did she say?”

Marshall ticks his head in disgust at Gage’s spontaneous interrogation. “She said to destroy both Olivers if they dare set foot on the property,” he sneers. “I don’t know what kind of gentleman I’d be if I didn’t adhere to her wishes.”

“I thought you couldn’t lie.” I smack him in the stomach.

“I choose not to,” he corrects. “Besides, she used formal names and included a few more people in her verbal rant, you being one of them.”

“Nice.” I turn to look back at the mirror just in time to see a shadow cross over it. Something moves, a glint of wild hair, a shriveled spine, a mass of clumped flesh. “You see that?”

“See what?” Gage squints into my reflection.

“I did.” Logan looks right at me.

“Wait—you have to break your way in?” I glance back at Marshall. “Sounds like a portal to the Transfer.”

“Or somewhere else entirely.” Marshall stares into the glass as if he were looking through it. “Why don’t we ask Shelly?” He spins on his heels.

We turn to find a frazzled Michelle Miller looking like she stuck her finger in a light socket, her olive skin covered with a layer of soot, and her hair rising toward the ceiling.

“Shit!” I go over and help her to the couch. “What the heck went on in there?” I ask in my I’m-so-sorry-this-happened-to-you voice.

She shakes her head, eyeing the four of us as if we were in some way responsible—well, maybe I am. OK, so I am.

“Were there people in there?” Logan picks up her hand and kneels like he’s about to propose but we all know he’s brilliantly trying to read her mind.

Michelle’s cheek bulges unnaturally on one side.

“You’re safe now,” Gage whispers. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. But we need to know what you saw in there.”

Michelle twitches and jerks in a horrific spasm. Her head yanks back violently, her face loses all color as the whites of her eyes stare blank at the ceiling.

Michelle’s mouth pries wide open, and a dark winged creature darts out. It circles around the room in a spastic show of futility before exploding in a magnificent ball of fire.

“Shit,” Logan says, transfixed by the bizarre sight.

I reach down and take the demonic Fem rose from off her neck. Something tells me Michelle has endured more terror than necessary for one lifetime.

Gage’s cell goes off and he steps over to the mantle.

“What?” He shouts into the phone before returning. “My dad just opened every Celestra grave in the mausoleum.” He looks over at me and gives a brief nod. “Every single one of them was empty.” He turns to Logan. “We need to get over to the cemetery.”

“What for?” Logan asks.

“Dig for bodies.”

Chapter 76

No Place Like Home

All day and all night, I wait to hear word on the Oliver’s hunt for Celestra corpses. Logan and Gage sent a brief series of cryptic texts but that was only after I hounded them. Turns out every single Celestra coffin they pop open is curiously empty. Not that there were many to begin with, according to faction records.

I curl up with Marshall in front of a raging fire as a peal of thunder explodes outside. It’s near midnight and both Logan and Gage are exhausted but determined to go forward with their task come hell or high water—and the water started rising about an hour ago.

“I guess I’ll go upstairs and turn in,” I say, relaxing my head on Marshall’s shoulder.

“I’ll carry you in my arms.” He shuts the book he’s reading and gives a sideways glance.

“Second thought, right here is fine.” I sling an arm around his waist. Marshall plus a bed does not a good equation make. “Thank you for getting us out of the region last night.” I’ve already thanked him twice, but between getting Miller home in one piece and confirming his theory on the grave robbing Counts, I’d like to remind him of how appreciative I am.

“I could number the ways you can show your gratitude—all creative displays of affection we would both find gratifying on multiple levels.”

“Dream on.” I wonder if I’ll fall for a stupid line like that in the future?

“I will and you shall.” He gives it in a heated whisper. “Delphinius was generous enough to cast me a vision of our future.”

I spike up in a panic. “What did you see?”

“Arms and legs, and a tangle of flesh contorting in a deliciously disturbing manner.”

Gah! Disturbing is right.

“Back to the war,” I say, swiping the book from his hands and fanning myself with it.

“Yes,” he says, running his finger down my nose, “back to the war. You must employ the strategy that you and the tragic threesome devised, however anemic it may be. It’s imperative the Sectors remain in power—Celestra, too of course.”

“Sounds like we’re an afterthought.” I pull on a loose thread at the base of his shirt, lost in a momentary bout of madness with visions of our flesh contorting in unison. It’s easy like this with Marshall. I never question what his motives are or if he’s going to turn out to be one of Chloe’s psychotic minions. He simply wants to marry me and create a super race of Sector, Celestra half-breeds—nothing more, nothing less.

“I see our future is occupying your mind.” He reaches up and gently massages my shoulders. A soft buzz fills me and I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation.

“Our future,” I whisper. It hardly makes sense coming from my lips.

“It’s nice to see you’re warming to the idea. I suppose it’s time to make a formal introduction to society.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Talk about a leap in the wrong direction.

“Nonsense. It’s a privilege to shower my future bride with the accolades and attention she deserves. I can hardly wait to parade you in front of colleagues and adversaries.”

“You make me sound like a show pony.”

“More like princess—royalty. Things are going to be remarkable under our rule. Of course, our child will prosper greatly.

“Just one?” I look up at him.

“Let’s see what Delphinius thinks.”

He locks those crimson sirens on me and I can see right into his thoughts—a scene appears. It’s me lying on a bed. A bright light explodes over my head and I’m panting. Blinding pain rips through my body as a voice calls over my shoulder. Breathe. You can do this. I look back to find Marshall hovering by my side with an anxious look.

I turn to face him fully. We’ve shared this vision once before but I so hate the confirmation that Marshall will be present at the birth of my child. God, what if he’s the father?

“It was you, again.” I don’t bother layering it with any unnecessary enthusiasm.

“It was me—wasn’t it?” His lips curve into a wicked smile. “It looks to me that unto us a child will be born. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of.”

Good God.

I lean against him and close my eyes an infinitely long time. I fall into wild and treacherous dreams where hundreds of Marshall doppelgangers shoot arrows at me, and all the while, they call me mommy.

***

In the morning, a wild knock explodes at the door. Marshall bolts up to answer and before we know it, Tad is barreling in our direction.

“Get in the car. We’re going home,” he barks.

Mom trots in after him, apologizing profusely to Marshall for her husband’s erratic behavior while Baby Beau dangles helpless from her hip, his head bobbing every which way.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Tad claps up a storm, inspiring the baby to seize unnaturally.

“Oh, no, no. It’s OK!” Mom tosses the infant in the air and catches him. “You are unique!” She shrieks. “You are irreplaceable!”

Beau Geste’s head flops back. His face explodes in full-blown distress as he hacks out an injured cry. Marshall takes him up and blesses him with a soothing kiss on the forehead, inspiring the redheaded infant to sigh with delight. I hope to God Marshall rectifies the baby shaking syndrome my mother just inflicted.

“Look at you!” Mom marvels. I’m not sure who’s she’s yelling at, Marshall or the baby. “You are fantastic!”

“I am rather fond of children.” Marshall steals a sidelong glance at me.

“Ha!” Tad barks. “He just leered at your daughter.” He jabs a finger at my mother before reverting to Marshall. “I bet you’re fond of children.” He pokes him hard in the chest. “As evidenced by the fact you let a minor take up residence in your home.”

“I slept on the couch,” I fire back. I don’t care for Tad’s sickening accusations, even if they are true. It’s not like Marshall is some twenty-seven year old pedophile—he’s at least six thousand.

“Tad!” Mom slits her throat with her finger and he quickly subdues.

“I apologize,” Tad whispers with his tail between his legs.

It looks like Mom has firm command of the whip.

“Not to worry,” Marshall assures, handing the baby back to my mother. The tiny Count bursts into tears once he releases. Marshall takes him back and the crying is exchanged for happy coos.

“You’re a baby whisperer or something.” Mom touches her chest, amazed.

“Or something,” he says.

“You shouldn’t put off having children.” Mom is quick to dispense the procreation counsel.

“I plan to get right to it.” Marshall shoots a look to me “Just need to find a willing victim.”

“Please.” She takes the baby back as Tad storms off to the car. “You know...” Her eyelid jerks in a mini seizure. It’s that same twitchy look in her eye she gets whenever a bad idea is ready to bubble to the surface. I distinctly recognize it from the time she was dating Tad. “I just might know someone I can set you up with. I’ll call you over for dinner as soon as I can arrange it.”

“I look forward to meeting the young lady.” Marshall gleams in my direction. Rest assured, I’ve already met her. He winks. I’ll drop the rest of your things off later. “Speaking of dinner,” he says, holding a finger in the air toward Mom, “I’ll be hosting an end of summer soirée and I’ll need help with formal invitations.”

“I can hardly wait.” Mom sags into him dreamily as if he had offered to inseminate her himself. “Demetri sort of opened the season and now you’ll usher us out.”

“In style. This is no bikini romp by the pool. Prepare to be dazzled. The menu will astound you.” He washes his eyes over me as if I were the main course. It’s a betrothal ceremony, Skyla—a coming out of sorts to Sector society. And you will dazzle them all, of this, you can be certain.

I follow Mom onto the porch. I having a feeling there’s nothing I can say to stop Marshall from throwing me an engagement party that spans time and dimension, humans and heavenly hosts. It’s not like it’s written in stone, and I’m really going to lose hold of my senses and marry him.

Marshall checks his watch and smiles up at me.

“Three days, and eleven minutes—spot on.” Looks like Delphinius has quite the track record.

A breath gets caught in my throat.

Shit.

I’m going to marry Marshall.

My only hope is to twist the hands of fate, i.e. my mother. Although, I have a feeling I’d be better off dealing with Ezrina.

A glint in the woods catches my attention.

Wild flaming hair, a crooked frame trying to blend into the scenery—it’s her. Ezrina is here and openly sizing me up.

Mine. She cackles into the wind.

It hits me as I scoot the hell into the minivan—it’s not me Marshall is going to marry.

It’s Ezrina.

Chapter 77

The Air Up There

The Landon house looks unusually small and boxy as I make my way in the entry. Even the framework, the staircase, and the doors all looks several feet shorter, as if someone bulldozed the original in the brief time I was gone and built this miniature replica. It never fails. When I leave Demetri’s or Marshall’s and come back to Tad’s glass castle, it feels no bigger than a dollhouse full of Counts.

Ethan and Chloe are huddled around the kitchen table with a plethora of papers fanned out in front of them.

“Home so soon?” Chloe is the first to greet me.

“That’s right, back to reclaim what’s rightfully mine.” I lean in. “I’m talking about my bedroom since I already have Gage.”

“The room is mine for one more night,” Chloe quips, highlighting something in front of Ethan, trying to look important. “I’m hosting a sleepover. Isn’t that exciting? All our friends will be there.” She blinks up innocently as Mom and Tad file in the room. “Tad said you wouldn’t mind.”

“Won’t that be really disruptive for the baby?” I make large angry eyes at Mom, who’s about to nuke a bottle for Beau.

“Oh, we won’t be here,” she says, plucking things out of cabinets at an alarming pace. “I’ve got to run over to the mainland to discuss arrangements and details about our last fertility trial. I need to see how many viable eggs I have left. It’s really getting down to the wire.” She holds out a box of quinoa in Tad’s direction.

It’s nice to see her focus back on breeding, and hard to pronounce culinary disasters, right where it belongs. Which by the way, I never thought I’d say.

“That’s right.” Tad yanks a beer out of the fridge and cracks it open. “Only one more opportunity to spread my seed over the land.” He toasts the air just before Mom replaces the beverage with a glass of water.

Must we go there? The thought of Tad crop dusting his seed over the land is enough to make me want to vomit for a month straight.

“How the plans coming?” Tad asks, looking over Ethan’s shoulder approvingly.

“We’re going to call it, The Gas Lab,” Chloe informs.

“Planning an expansion of Ethan’s bedroom?” I must admit the name fits the disaster zone to a T.

“The coffee shop,” Chloe sneers. “I thought of the name myself.” She tosses back her molasses mane in Tad’s direction. I swear if I didn’t know better I’d think she were trying to procure some of that seed herself.

“That’s a fantastic name,” Tad bleats.

Mom and I exchange looks.

“Isn’t the primary product you’re trying to market, coffee?” I’m no expert, but I bet cluing the customer in on what you’re pushing is an important part of the equation.

“Anybody can do coffee,” Ethan scoffs.

“Isn’t that what you’re selling?” I’m completely intrigued, especially since Mom and Tad are putting the house in hawk for this foreclosure in the making.

“Air.” Ethan averts his eyes to the ceiling as if I should have known. “Hence the name, The Gas Lab.”

Holy shit. I bet this is all Chloe’s lousy idea. It wasn’t good enough to kill my dad and turn me over to the Counts—she wants to initiate a fiscal take down of my entire family.

“You know,” Chloe says, nodding into me, “flavored air, stuff like that.”

“No, I don’t know.” I go over to inspect the lunacy spread out before them. Apparently the only thing breeding around here is Chloe’s psychosis.

Ethan straightens the papers in front of him. “We’re taking the Kragger brand and expanding it in a new direction. We’ll still serve coffee and crap like that.”

Coffee and crap like that? Air? Obviously expanding in a new direction involves large doses of stupid.

“We’d better get going or we’ll be late.” Mom secures an overgrown diaper bag.

“I’ll grab the rest of our things.” Tad disappears.

“What about Beau?” I ask. Not that I’m volunteering to sit on the baby Count until they get home. He does have real parents, right?

“Oh, he’s coming with.” She touches my hand and marvels like some major coo has taken place.

“Is Brielle OK with this?”

“More than OK.” Mom rolls her eyes while snapping up a fistful of pacifiers. “She’s taking the summer off. She wants to enjoy her vacation.”

“So, is everything OK with you and Tad?” I whisper in the event Chloe decides to listen in. God knows Ethan could care less about the fragile state of his father’s matrimonial standing.

“Well…” She shrugs. “Not one hundred percent, but I really want to finish this trial. It’s my last chance on the planet if I ever want to have another baby.”

Crap. She’s using Tad as some genetic donation station. That’s all kinds of twisted. Little does she know Demetri’s sperm probably has some magical properties to procure a child for her at ninety if the opportunity presents itself.

“I hope you work things out,” I say. “I don’t like seeing you guys fight. Maybe you can use this time to kiss and make up? Every child deserves to be raised by two loving parents and you and Tad certainly qualify.” It takes everything in me not to stick my finger down my throat.

She looks out the window and openly frowns as if my words left a horrible taste in her mouth.

“I guess you’re right.” She dots me with a kiss. “See you in a few days.”

“A few days?”

“I’ll keep an eye on things,” Chloe volunteers.

“Great.” Mom picks up the baby’s limp hand and waves as she heads out the door.

“Selling air?” I speed over to Chloe. “I’ll keep an eye on things? Why are you even hanging around? You do realize you’re the source of all my problems.”

Chloe looks up, cuts me with her heavy gaze. “Wouldn’t it be ironic if I were the solution?”

***

It rains sickles from the sky the afternoon Ellis decides to schedule our very first play “date.”

Ellis called and said his father was in town. Apparently, Harrison senior and his prepubescent girlfriend are going to hang out and watch a movie this afternoon.

Instinctively, I pull into the Oliver’s driveway then back out and force myself to drive across the street and pull in behind Ellis’s aggressively large monster truck. If only a monster of the vehicular variety was all I had to contend with today.

I make a dash for the door with my jacket hiked over my head and still manage to get doused in the process. I’m not sure why an umbrella seems to be against my religion. Maybe it’s the California girl in me rebelling.

Ellis swings the door open before I have the chance to knock.

“You’re late.” He pulls his lips in a line as if I’ve actually managed to botch operation faux-love-honey before it ever got beneath the covers.

“Only by fifteen minutes—and there was an accident congesting traffic. In the event you haven’t noticed this is pretty much a two-lane cow town.” Minus the cows.

Ellis takes up my hand and I flinch before remembering the nature of our arrangement and let our fingers glide over one another as if we did this all the time. He leads me to the family room where Morley, the pervert, is situated with his co-ed girlfriend. She comes fully equip with pigtails and a skin tight T-shirt with Greek lettering across the front—the name of her sorority, no doubt. I bet she belongs to Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, situated safely on the campus of Gold Digger U.

She looks miniaturized while seated next to her elderly counterpart. He’s so tall and gawky, he dwarfs her—makes her look all of twelve in his evil presence.

He strokes the girl’s sable-colored hair as if she were a kitten.

Bleh. I’m not even in the room yet and I’m already inspired to hurl.

“Dad”—Ellis interrupts his geriatric show of affection—“you remember Skyla. Skyla this is my dad and Bootsie.”

“Bootsie?” I try to whisper but the pretty brunette bubbles to attention at the call of her name and gives a spastic wave. She’s probably relieved to see some youth in the vicinity for a change.

Morley gravels an impenetrable smile before picking up the remote. “You’ll have to excuse us, Skyla.” He pauses. “We’re stuck watching our feature on the flat screen today. We’re having the viewing room redone thanks to my anal retentive wife.”

I think he means ex-wife. God, I hope he means ex-wife. Olivia is an attorney for Pete’s sake. If she hasn’t spun out a divorce or two for herself, what good is her career? But then again they do insist on sharing a residence. To each his twisted own.

“Oh, I don’t mind. We don’t even have a flat screen at my house.” Tad schlepped his big box TV from the mainland, and although he keeps dreaming of a liquid crystal display, he’s stuck with the picture tube of days gone by.

Morley gawks at me a moment as if I’ve just lugged over a severe case of the black plague. Figures. He probably doesn’t think I’m good enough to date his son because I don’t come from money. He’s a dumbass that way.

“So what movie are we watching?” I ask as I take a seat next to Ellis. Speaking of which, he really cleaned up for the occasion. He’s donned a light blue polo and a pair of brown cords. He even smells good, more cologne and less reefer.

“Some lame flick,” Ellis says, reaching over and picking up the DVD. “Power Position.”

I take it from him and examine the blonde on the cover. She’s a twin to Isis. Figures. Demetri’s probably got an entire slew of bimbo “nieces” lying around.

Ellis stretches and lays his arm over my shoulder, strategically landing his hand over my boob, and I try to buck him off.

“We gotta make it look real,” he whispers it like a sweet nothing in my ear.

“No, we don’t.” No matter how much I try to readjust, Ellis’s hand continues to flop around my chest like a dying fish. Never mind. Ellis Harrison coping a feel is the least of my worries, and knowing Ellis, he only has the “breast” intentions at heart.

“It’s not working,” Morley growls while the remote misfires into the television, probably a preview of how his penis will be malfunctioning later.

Bootsie bounces in her seat. “We should go to the pet shop and hold kittens.”

“We should totally do that.” I’m quick to glom onto the idea. I’d rather snuggle with an entire zoo full of rabid oversized felines than cozy up with Harrison senior.

“No pet shop.” Morley flips it to the science channel. “Space voyages,” he muses at the asinine concept. “This should be interesting. I’m thinking of booking the first flight once it becomes available to the average citizen.”

He is so not the average citizen, but I don’t dare point this out. And I’d gladly ship him off the planet myself if I could.

“I don’t think this is real.” I contest. “I totally don’t believe a word they say on this channel after that whole mermaid ‘documentary’ thing.” Mia and Melissa were freaked out for days.

“Dude, that was so cool.” Ellis enlivens at the thought of bare breasted women colonizing the ocean. “You see the queen? She was freaking hot.”

“It was fake, Ellis. Just like the idea of hauling perfectly good people into outer space is a fraudulent endeavor. There’s no air up there—”

Bootsie cuts me off. “And no shopping,” she’s quick to interject.

Morley shoots me a look of discontent for kick-starting Bootsie’s brain cells thereby deflating his credit limit by proxy. “This is not fake.” He cuts the air with his razored words.

“Geez,” I whisper to Ellis.

“What did you go and tick him off for?” he whispers back. Ellis straightens and clears his throat. “Go make me a samich.” He barks it out a little too loud.

I give an involuntary choo-choo train laugh and ditch a quick look to Morley.

I think it’s freaking hysterical Ellis talks to his father this way and only because it’s Morley-I-hate-Celestra-Harrison. Truth is, I’m a bit aghast that Ellis is barking out orders to his father, but I totally love the idea that Morley is Ellis’s bitch on the home front.

Speaking of bitches, Morley’s pocket ingénue is gawking at me in disbelief, and come to think of it, all eyes seem intently focused on yours truly.

“Oh.” I sit up with surprise. “Are you talking to me?” Good God, Ellis Harrison has gigantic balls to be ordering me around like that.

“You’re my girlfriend. Who else would I talk to like that?” Ellis huffs as if said “samich” detail were expected from the unfortunate soul deemed his better half.

No wonder Ellis doesn’t have a girlfriend. It’s because he so doesn’t deserve one.

“Extra avocado,” he adds for good measure.

I spear him with a look. “Extra avocado?”

“That’s right. Face five.” Ellis smacks his lips into mine without warning.

Face five? My jaw goes slack at the concept.

“You, too.” Morley pushes Bootsie until she’s on her feet. “Hit the kitchen, girls. Toast my bread, would you?”

I get up on my own, lest Ellis should be motivated to shove me out of my seat and lose a hand in the process. Bootsie leads the way to the kitchen while Morley and Ellis discuss their first space voyage.

I’d like to send him to space—both of them for putting me on “samich” duty. I’ll have to figure out a way to pay Ellis back for this spectacular brand of avocado based torment.

I peer into the family room and Ellis gives me a secret thumbs-up. I suppose the treble is worth the hassle of making him a late afternoon snack.

Rain beads down over the kitchen window with its aggressive patter as I begin plucking enough ingredients from the fridge to outfit a deli with. Secretly, I’m appraising Bootsie from afar. Something tells me we’ll be spending a whole lot of unwanted time together. I bet we could become good friends. She looks nice enough, and if she’s enrolled in college, she’s got to have half a brain, right?

The rain intensifies its fury.

“You know”—she leans into the window with her glassy hazel eyes, her long chestnut hair perfectly curled and petrified into pigtails—“that’s exactly what it sounds like when I pee.”

Like I said, I’m sure we’ll be spending a lot of unwanted time together.

And I cry a little.

***

In typical Paragon fashion, the sun refuses to show. In typical Paragon fashion as soon as the tempered glow of light evaporates into evening, the clouds lower themselves to earth, thick as ghosts.

Ethan and Chloe have double-teamed the Landon house and are throwing a party that will most likely end in disaster. Chloe is here, so already we’re beginning with one.

Bodies arrive in droves for Chloe’s little celebration of all things coital. Ethan’s entrepreneurial spirit is in full swing as he sells condoms that glow in the dark for two dollars a pop at the door—and he’s freaking selling out.

“Dude!” Ellis makes his way over to me in the living room. “This is hardcore. Face five.” He surprises me on the lips with a quick smack from his own. “Your brother is giving me a serious run for my money. I’m going to have to step up my game.”

“No, Ellis—if anything, you should step things down.” Ellis’s parties are a wild orgy of illegal activity all on their own.

“By the way,” he says, leaning in, “the Count council is going down right now.”

“Why aren’t you there? You’re my eyes and ears!”

“Relax, soon as Oliver showed, I ditched. I wanted to check out the competition.” He waves a foil wrapped condom at me. “You wanna test drive this baby?”

“No.” I bat down his hand. “I can’t believe this. My fate lies in the hands of those lunatics, and it’s being decided right freaking now.”

Ellis shakes his head dismissively. “You’re like at the bottom of the agenda. It’s going to take hours to get to you.” He knocks his shoulder into mine. “Enjoy yourself tonight. You never know when it’s going to be your last.”

“Ellis!” I’m horrified by this.

“I meant in the general sense, like on earth.”

“You really know how to make a girl feel like crap,” I whisper as he ditches me for a skirt strutting by. I head over to Brielle, who’s busying herself with a tall, dark and handsome guy from East. I push him away in the direction of a bunch of skanks from his institute of questionable learning and he doesn’t fight it.

“Can you believe he asked if I wanted to take his condom for a test drive?” Brielle mock gags.

“Ellis used the same line.” I’m less impressed with Harrison with each passing hour. “Ethan’s probably selling one-liners for an extra dollar. Guess what?” I say annoyed. “The Counts might revoke my treble tonight.”

“Get out!” She shouts over the music that Chloe just turned up all the way. “What the hell is a treble?”

“Never mind,” I say, looking past her for signs of Gage. He texted about twenty minutes ago and said he was on his way.

“I have my own news. Operation Take Down is in full effect.” Brielle gives a devious glance in Chloe’s direction. She pulls a couple of small orange-colored packets from her jeans and wands them in front of me.

“What’s that?” Looks like Kool-Aid. Maybe she’s going to die Chloe’s skin until she looks like an Oompa Loompa. I’d so be down for that.

“Ipecac.” She gives a sly smile. “Makes you puke on command. It’s for the baby.”

The baby? Good God. Now I’m all kinds of relieved that poor kid is safely tucked away on Mom and Tad’s romantic rendezvous.

“Oh, look!” Brielle’s eyes widen with a childish innocence. “Chloe’s drinking the same soda I am.” She tears one of the packets open and dumps the thin syrup into the can. “Oops!”

Gage waves from the entry.

“I’m getting away from you now,” I say, just as Drake and Emily break out into what looks like an exaggerated resuscitation effort. If Brielle is lucky, Chloe will conduct her puke-fest in their direction.

I meet Gage in the dark hall cluttered with bodies. His cologne gets to me before he does as we lunge into a hug.

“Do you love me again?” he whispers playfully into my ear.

“Always,” I say, offering a wet kiss to his cheek.

“Look what I got.” He holds up two condoms and huffs a laugh.

“Two?” One would have been pushing reality.

“He said it was a family special.” Gage tweaks his brows as he tosses the tiny foil squares onto the stairs.

I cover them with my hand and pull them back.

“Maybe we should hang onto these.” I look up at him from under my lashes. “You know, just in case.”

Gage and I lock eyes. The music fades, and the room spins. It swirls with an endless list of wanton possibilities.

A pair of arms circle around my waist, a kiss is dropped on my cheek from behind. It can’t be Marshall because I don’t feel like I’ve been assaulted by a human vibrator. It feels genuine, born of love and wanting, a hint of the future locked in its warmth.

Logan appears in front of me and waves a pair of condoms in the air.

“Ambitious,” I say.

“House special.” A not-so-guilty smile blooms on his face.

Gage flicks the prophylactics away before holding up a pair of his own with a lust-born grin.

“So what are you guys going to do with them?” I ask, slightly perturbed that both Olivers dare approach me with glorified water balloons, and on this the very same eve.

A loud series of screams erupt from the family room and I catch a glimpse of Drake barfing up a lung. Nice work Brielle. Sometimes you have to choose your battles. Besides, I don’t need her taking care of Chloe for me. I plan on doing just that sooner than later. Speaking of the witch.

“Looks like you’re about to have a real party,” she taunts, eyeing the condoms.

“I gotta go,” Logan says it low, almost as an apology. “I need to get back to the meeting.” He leans in and caresses my cheek with his hand. Stay safe. I’ll call you when it’s through.

OK. I turn my face into his fingers and press in a quick kiss. Let me know as soon as you can, whatever they decide.

I will. He eyes the condoms still secure in Gage’s hand. Skyla… He shakes his head with a silent plea.

I close my eyes and pull Logan into a hug. This is all such a disaster. Maybe the best solution is for me to be taken by the Counts forever.

Logan pulls back and frowns into me. I’d be the best man at your wedding before I ever let that happen.

I watch Logan as he heads out the door.

I wonder if he’ll be the best man or the groom.

Chapter 78

Gage on Top

So who knew puking could inspire more puking? And that the smell of said puke could proliferate throughout the entire house both upstairs and down?

The party quickly moves out back because as soon as people get slightly buzzed off the hard lemonade Ethan decided to poison the population with, they feel the need to thank him by way of regurgitating at his feet.

“It must taste just as good coming up as it does going down because they’re still lapping it up,” I observe.

I’m amazed at the level of debauchery Ethan and Chloe have impinged upon the Landon household in just a few short hours.

“So I was thinking…” Gage starts slow as he leans against the trunk of an evergreen. His face is washed in blue shadows from the Cheshire Cat’s moon grinning up above. Gage is amazing, monolithic in his dark carnal beauty. I’m a fool for not taking him into the woods and having my way with him—a wild romp, something quick and dirty that I could really sink my teeth into. Logan bounds to the forefront of my mind like a spring and I shake him loose with a dull smile. “I’d like dibs on prom,” Gage says it shy, so achingly sweet it breaks my heart.

“You want dibs?” I tilt into him amused. “Is that where we’ve drifted? This is our time—remember? You and me. Nothing Logan can do or say can stop that.”

“And after the war?” His brows narrow, stiff as spears. They offer a menacing look I’m not used to seeing on his angelic face.

“I guess Logan wants to know if there’s still a chance.” I lose my gaze in the thicket behind him.

He takes up my hands and kisses them. “Is there?” A hint of desperation clots up the air. It catches me off guard.

“You tell me.” I get up on the balls of my feet and press in a tear-filled kiss. “Tell me, Gage. Lay out my future so I don’t have to think. I can’t stand this.” I tremble into him as a mean quiver races up my spine. I want the “me” from the future to get this present version off the hook. I’ll blame every asinine decision on her and live with whatever fate she decides upon. It’s the ultimate copout.

Gage nods, never wavering his stare, and leans in with a kiss.

A breeze picks up, inspiring him to pull me in tight. He slips his hands inside my sweater and warms the flesh over my back with his palms.

An image appears. I take a breath in anticipation of what I might see. Shapes and shadows emerge in the dark world behind his lenses and my discomfort increases. It could be anything, anyone.

A tangle of legs writhe over one another.

I smell Marshall at the end of this necrotic rainbow. If it is him—swear to God I’ll join the barf brigade. Or worse, what if Gage is unwittingly about to expose me getting down and dirty with Logan in the future. This is so very wrong. I should pull back, push him off me with all my Celestra strength, but I can’t look away. This is the train wreck of my own doing.

I watch the calves as they smooth over one another. The sepia-toned shadows lend a bronzed look to our flesh, makes us appear altogether inhuman. The image pans out and there I am—my overexposure cleverly hidden by the body of a man. He’s lean and mean, perfect in every way. I see the outline of his bare frame, his broad shoulders, a dark thicket of hair.

Oh my God, I moan into the kiss not sure if it’s relief or heartbreak.

It’s impossible to believe those hands clawing at his back, that the hair glinting in the light belongs to me. He turns his face and I see his smile, the dark impression of a dimple approving the situation—Gage. I can feel the lust, the rapture. You could fuel a nuclear generator with the passion pouring from the two of us. We light the sheets on fire with the slow dance of our affection. I can watch for hours, addicted to the surge inside me, the sudden need for Gage to fulfill all this wishful thinking.

A girl’s voice cries from the woods.

I pull back and pant into Gage—bite down a smile as I gaze into his glowing eyes. It takes everything in me to turn my attention to the dark hole of the woods from where the scream initiated.

Michelle appears, haggard and disheveled. She crashes into the two of us and plucks us apart. “I saw it.” She pants into the woods as a growl—an aggressive bark grows in ferocity. “It’s coming.” She seizes Gage by the shirt and shakes him.

Out of the shadows pounces a large beast with three extravagantly pissed off heads—Cerberus.

“Shit,” I say, cowering behind Michelle, who happens to be cowering behind Gage.

He reaches down and picks up a stick with the speed of a ninja. “Where the hell did this thing come from?”

“She must have pulled it out of the mirror,” I say, keeping an eye on all three snapping jaws.

Michelle buries her dark curls into Gage’s back before peering over his shoulder. “I’ve been terrified of that thing since I was old enough to see the stupid painting on the side of the gym. I hate that monster. I thought it was fucking fake!”

“It is fake,” I say, “sort of.” That mirror must work like the rest of Demetri’s haunted crap. Whatever you’re afraid of has the power to manifest itself just by touching one of his effed up artifacts. I suppose it’s too late to suggest she develop an aversion to magnificent sunsets, or warm glazed donuts and chocolate milk.

It snaps at Gage, nips him in the wrist before circling around the three of us and hightailing it into the thick of the party.

The crowd erupts in screams as an infinite amount of expletives float up into the stratosphere.

I yank out my cell while Michelle and Gage head over.

Shit has hit the fan ~S

Really, there were probably a million other things I could have said to Marshall that were more to the point and less cliché in nature.

You’ve created eunuchs of both Oliver boys with a dull blade from the kitchen?

I don’t even know what the hell he’s talking about, but then again, the feeling is mutual I suppose.

We have an uninvited party guest—Cerberus!!! Help now! ~S

You’re having a party without me?

I can practically hear the indignation in his voice.

I take a few steps closer toward the chaos and see Gage trying to ward it off to the side yard, but it’s just sitting there, growling all of its ugly heads at him.

A large gathering of people have amassed in a circle and apparently find it perfectly sane to gawk at the alien being.

Ellis blinks into it several times. “Dude, I am so tripping!”

Marshall appears by my side and sighs heavily at the scene. “Is that all she brought?” He seems rather unimpressed.

“God, I hope so,” I say, trying to push Marshall over to the demonic canine but he resists.

“I’m not going out there. I doubt it would refrain from trying to attack. I’m in no mood for confrontation.”

“What do you mean you’re in no mood for confrontation?” I push him in the chest. “You have to help. We are having a supernatural episode that’s about to turn this entire island into a freak show once the rest of the planet figures out what kind of shit goes down here. Now go!” I point hard at the tempered crowd.

“I’m amused by your show of prowess—and by the way, do feel free to bring such heated aggression into the bedroom. In fact, I say we initiate the first rule of our union—spirited disagreements are only to be conducted sans clothing underneath the sheets.” He picks up my hand gives a kiss as if to sound the gavel on his pornographic solution to marital discord.

“Just get rid of it,” I hiss.

“I can’t. I’m tied up at the moment forming the guest list for our engagement party. Word on the golden streets is, the Soullennium is rife with envy and gossip. Tsk, tsk, it brings shame to the Kingdom. The quicker the celestial scene sees you for itself the sooner the jealousy can properly set in.” He gives a sly look before evaporating into thin air.

“Marshall,” I shout, but it’s too late, he’s gone.

Michelle steps out of the shadows, shaken and staring at the dead space he left in his wake.

“He was just here.” She grabs a hold of her temples and lets out a mind-numbing scream.

Shit.

Can this night get any worse?

The phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text from Logan.

Counts just voted. Sorry Skyla. Treble has been overturned.

Just craptastic.

Chapter 79

Heads Up

The pale fog cycles and churns as the monstrous creature, Cerberus himself, zips around the yard, scattering people in droves like pigeons. It charges up the porch and into the house where more howls of terror ensue, followed by the draining of bodies who had the iron stomach to handle the ripe scent of vomit.

The faint sound of glass breaking followed by the crash of random things of great heft, rain down from inside. Just fuck. Chloe and Ethan have reduced the house to rubble in less than an hour.

Gage heads inside armed with one of Drake’s baseball bats. He looks ready to beat the living shit out of the Fem busy destroying the Landon residence when little does he know I’ll be blipped out of existence soon.

“Can you believe this?” Brielle shakes me by the shoulders. “That thing just bit Emily’s face off!”

“It did?” Shit. This is worse than I thought.

“Not really, but she’s totally got a bloody lip,” she says vindictively.

“Yeah, well, guess who’s going to wish she was lucky enough to be around to watch someone steal her boyfriend?” I don’t realize that it comes out like a threat until Brielle cowers as if I were about to strike her. “Me,” I jab my thumb in my chest. “The Counts are about to take me hostage and it’s all stupid Chloe’s fault.” To say I hated Chloe, that I wished Cerberus would eat her alive, chew her face off with all three of its razor sharp jaws would be an understatement. I don’t care what Gage’s vision says about the “future me” begging to preserve Chloe Bishop’s life. If it’s the last thing I do before I officially get wiped off the map, I’m going to kill the wicked witch of West. That protective hedge dangling around her neck doesn’t stand a chance.

“Are you shitting me?” Brielle jumps in a show of agitation.

“Nope. And now she’s going to pay.” I stop shy of tracking down the blemish on my existence to add, “Just like she paid you to buddy up with me.”

Brielle slaps her fingers to her mouth. “Skyla!” She snatches me by the arm and pulls me in. Her eyes squint with a viral desperation. “I swear to you, I’m sorry I ever took a penny. I would have been your friend no matter what.”

I shrug like it didn’t matter, but the truth is it feels like I just slit the throat of our relationship and now here we are, watching it bleed out.

“Look,” I say, gently pulling my arm from her grasp, “it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll be gone soon.” I glance back at the crowd simmering around the periphery for any signs of my nemesis. “And so will she.”

“Let me do this.” Brielle sharpens her features like she means business.

“Whoever finds Chloe first”—I shrug— “more power to her.” I speed past Brielle because I’ll be damned if I’m going to deny myself the thrill of taking down my least favorite adversary.

I push my way inside the house, completely unfazed by the fact there’s a psychotic mythological creature running loose on the grounds—hell, Chloe is a psychotic mythological creature running loose on the grounds.

I snatch a long kitchen knife from the stash of cutlery my mother keeps embedded in a chopping block high on the sink.

The dining room is trashed, the china cabinet is split in pieces, mosaic glass and pottery are spread over the stone floors like confetti. In the family room, there’s a long gash in my mother’s prized three-piece sectional with its dual reclining seats and convertible cup holders. Tad is going to shit his intestines out all over the floor when he sees this mayhem.

A swarm of bodies line the walls. A wasted boy sleeps in his own vomit on the carpet while some couple from East makes use of Ethan’s glow in the dark party favors on Tad’s favorite chair. A terrified crowd starts to build in the living room again.

Gage comes trotting down the stairs and heads straight for me.

“He went up to your Mom’s bedroom and ran right through the wall.” Gage points wild-eyed at the concept.

“You see Chloe anywhere?” I ask unfazed by the Fem’s abrupt departure.

“She’s in your room—”

I don’t wait for Gage to finish. I propel up the stairs, hopped on adrenaline and a serious lack of time as I burst through my bedroom door.

Carly Foster, Carson Armistead, Emily, Nat, and Lexy, all cower in terror of Cerberus, their worst nightmare, while Chloe stands with her back to the door as their self-appointed fearless leader.

I don’t hesitate. I swing the blade, quick and swift—and to my surprise her head flies right off the base of her neck. Her decapitated body stands erect for several seconds while a geyser of blood pumps into the air before she collapses at my feet.

“I did it.” I pant, marveling at the fact I actually managed to lop off her prime appendage.

“Shit!” Gage explodes from behind—but before I could turn or move, a black haired beauty walks out of the bathroom looking an awful lot like Chloe freaking Bishop.

“Oh, shit.” I sniffle. I glance down at the severed head sitting perfectly centered on my desk, using my laptop as a pillow.

I did manage to lop off a head—only tragically it didn’t belong to Chloe. It belonged to Michelle-been-to-hell-and-back-Miller.

***

It all happens so fast, the body Gage cradles like a ragdoll, the bloodied head he shoves in my chest for safekeeping—him blipping us over to Marshall’s quicker than the blink of an eye.

I set Michelle’s bloodied head down on the island in Marshall’s kitchen and gape at it like a thing of horror. I did this. I was the monster at the party tonight. It wasn’t Cerberus—it was me.

“Good God up in heaven!” Marshall’s voice booms through the marrow of his haunted estate with a viral intensity. “Get her to the table.” His baritone vibrates through the cookware dangling from the ceiling. “Grab that,” he barks, pointing over to the bloodied globe that is Michelle. It’s only then I notice I’ve inadvertently set her down on a flat silver tray with metal leaves that protrude as handles. I make my way over to the dining room with Michelle staring blankly into my chest, nothing but the whites of her eyes gazing out, her hair completely congealed with blood on the side.

Gage lays her body along the length of the table, and I place her head down in the middle. Gage blips out of the room reappearing with Logan, then Dr. Oliver in tandem.

We all sit there for a moment in shock just staring at Michelle Miller’s head on a platter, wondering how the hell the night went so wrong so fast.

Michelle is dead and I’ve killed her.

I swallow hard at the concept. This is an entire lifetime of pain and suffering I’ve caused her family, not to mention the horrific trauma I’ve inflicted on the friends unlucky enough to witness the event.  For me, it’s a prison term in the least. If I wasn’t known as the decapitator before, I will be now. I’ve pretty much solidified that nickname along with a life sentence or two. This was an unprecedented level of recklessness on my part and now I was going to have to pay. I accept that, but I still very much feel the need to off Chloe.

“What in the hell are we going to do?” Dr. Oliver asks, white with shock.

“We’re not going to let her die, that’s for damn sure.” Marshall rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Ezrina!” He roars. “You.” He points at Dr. Oliver. “We’ll need three vials of the venom at least. Be gone.” He snaps his fingers and Dr. O disappears without the aid of his teleporting offspring.

“Michelle is going to get the venom?” I say momentarily confused by the order.

“What the hell happened?” Logan wraps his arms around me from behind and nestles his head next to mine. We stare out in disbelief at Michelle’s grey features, her dark blue lips sunk in a pout.

“I…” It occurs to me there is no justification for slicing off anybody’s principal appendage, and well, not even Chloe’s. It was a stupid idea. I’ll forever be a fugitive on the planet, people will be looking for Skyla Messenger, homicidal maniac, when in fact, I’ll be having the blood drained from my body in some demented dimensional plane. And my sisters thought their so-called friends made fun of them now—wait until they hear the playground chants constructed around my newfound manslaughter fame.

“She thought it was Chloe,” Gage interjects. “There was a Fem running around in the shape of Cerberus—everything was insane. She was just trying to protect herself.”

Not quite the truth but I’ll go with it as a bargaining ploy if I have to.

Marshall simmers in my direction. “I’ll have you know my bailouts are far and few between when death is issued.” He settles a bevy of supplies down at the far end of the table: a bowl of clean water, an entire stack of lemon yellow kitchen towels, a butcher knife the size of a watermelon.

Ezrina appears with a metal tray full of medieval tools fresh from the Transfer.

“Pretty,” she says upon inspection. She grabs Michelle by the hair and flips her over, judging the intricacies of the veins and arties neatly severed at an even length. “Clean,” she says to no one in particular.

Dr. Oliver comes in dazed from the kitchen with his shaman suitcase and holds it up to Marshall. “All here,” he says, pausing shy of Ezrina with the heart-stopping attention she commands.

The scent of clotted blood, thick as rust, clouds the air.

“Lay her down,” Ezrina instructs and points to the floor.

“I’m afraid I don’t keep house quite the way you do,” Marshall says, arranging his dining room chairs in a tight row, long enough to accommodate a body. “There are all sorts of staph waiting to descend. Lie here Skyla,” he says rather nonchalant.

“What?” Gage, Logan, and I gasp in unison. It’s sort of a lovely bond since we’ve never accomplished that particular feat before. Who knew a beheading would be the unifying event we so desperately needed.

“Skyla.” Marshall darts a scowl at me. Dear God, he’s even more cuttingly handsome with a pissed-off look on his face, and right now, I’d rather focus on just about anything than Michelle Miller’s head on a platter, especially since I put it there. “We’re going to save Shelly. Does this please you?”

I give a furtive nod.

“We’ll need the blood of a Celestra to make this happen—a complete transfusion. Do you understand where I’m going with this?”

Shit.

I nod, a little less enthusiastically this time.

“Lie or sit, it doesn’t much matter.” He inspects the needle Dr. Oliver hands him. “Regardless, I foresee you passing out in the end.”

“So, like, you’ll just need a vial or two, right?” I try to back up but Logan has a death grip on me.

“Oh, no.” Dr. Oliver looks up from over his glasses. “We’ll need six to eight pints at least.”

Gage inches his chin back. “That’s all the human body can store.”

“Precisely.” Dr. Oliver nods into his genius. “You might want to get her a blanket. She’ll be cold once we drain her.”

Shit!

I try to shake Logan’s arms off me so I can make a run for it, but he’s turned into a vice grip.

“I’ll be here.” His features soften into me. “You don’t want Michelle dead, do you?”

“No.” Well maybe on occasion, but not particularly this one. Logan moves me toward the homemade gurney and Ezrina yanks me in. She pulls my hand down flat on the table and her face contorts in a grisly quasi-smile.

She lifts a knife up over her shoulder as if to threaten me and it takes a moment to realize Ezrina’s blood draw method may not be as orthodox as the one administered by the Counts. She brings down the blade with a horrific velocity and my hand jumps to the other side of the table.

Oh fuck.

I suck in a sharp breath. My entire person enlivens with pain.

“Holy shit!” Logan cries, holding me up by the waist as my knees give way.

Ezrina drains my arm into bowl with what looks like an aquarium pump running bubbles through it.

“Oh God,” I bleat. The floor gyrates. The ceiling spins a kaleidoscope of grey. Ezrina presses my flesh from the elbow down like squeezing a tube of toothpaste.

I catch sight of my severed hand abandoned at the edge of the table, and the room begins to fade.

“Skyla.” Gage presses his face to mine before the whole world disappears in a thunderclap.

When I come to, I’m lying on Marshall’s couch staring at Michelle who sits opposite me. She’s wearing the most unfashionable red and white-blotched scarf that looks like it came straight from the butchers, and with startling clarity, I remember exactly just who that butcher is.

“Skyla?” Marshall comes in. “Shelly is healing well.” He gives his signature peaceable smile that he pulls before everything officially goes to shit. “You’ll heal soon enough, but first, you’ll feel a little pinprick.” Marshall jabs a hypodermic needle right through my jeans and pushes in a Molotov cocktail into my ass, engineered to bring me a masterful amount of pain for the next several hours.

I open to mouth to let out a cry but lack the energy to scream. A fire rips through my bottom, shoots down my right leg before spasming into my chest. It’s in me, now, this poison, this toxin, surging and storming, intent on killing me. It forces my cells to pull the Celestra card in hopes to recover my supplies before I unceremoniously croak on Marshall’s couch.

Logan swoops in and cradles me in his arms. Gage sits next to my head and pulls at my midsection until they’ve regulated a tug of war over my soon-to-be remains.

“Enough.” Marshall intervenes and my top half lands on Gage while the rest of me bucks into Logan with passionate seizures that powerhouse through my body. This hell was brought on by my own hand, literally. I decided I knew better than fate and this is what I get for challenging its well thought out plan.

I should bow and kiss Marshall’s feet for allowing me a get out of jail free card on what might be the very last night I exist with all human kind.

The Counts are coming for this broken-down body while everyone I love watches me engage in a macabre lap dance over Logan’s hips, my face writhing in Gage’s crotch.

Kill me now.

Please.

Chapter 80

Nothing but the Truth, Sort of

“Skyla.” Gage whispers my name soft as a song.

I see Gage in my dreams, our tangle of flesh, my pale legs riding over his tawny skin, his strong hands pressed up against me. I rub my lips over the soft underbelly of his arm—his cord-like veins rope up and down, warm and pliable to the touch. I love it like this with Gage. I turn to smile at him and see Logan beneath me instead with Gage lying by his side. They ride their hands down my back, over my bare bottom until they start in on an unholy feast.

I sit up with a start to find myself still safely tucked in Marshall’s oversized abode.

“Skyla?” Gage kneels beside me, fully clothed.

Marshall stands in the background while an irate Tad drills him a new one by way of an expletive riddled tirade. Mom flanks his side with the baby, trying to offer Marshall feeding instructions.

“What’s happening?” I pant, wiping my eyes down with my fists.

“Someone called the cops,” Gage whispers, darting a quick look over his shoulder. “They reported the Fem, and”—he winces—“the unfortunate incident with Michelle. There may be a rumor going around about an ax murderer.”

“Shit.” I snatch onto the couch to keep the world from spinning.

Logan walks into the room and sets down a tray of orange juice, eggs and bacon.

“Logan!” I grab him by the arm. “The treble…”

“Next new moon.” He casts a glance to the floor before sitting beside me.

“How many days?”

“About a month.”

“Skyla.” Mom scuttles over. “We came as soon as we heard.”

“Yeah,” Tad growls, “try to guess how much the emergency ferry runs after midnight?”

“Stop.” Mom raises a hand. “Mr. Dudley is kind enough to watch the baby. Let’s hurry and get down to the station. Demetri says the entire island is on alert for some lunatic running around with a butcher knife.” She presses a hand over the baby’s ear as if shielding him from the news. “I don’t want to alarm you, but they found blood in your bedroom. Do you have any idea what might have happened?” Her eyes practically cross as she digs into me with a look of concern.

I shake my head. I’ve told lies before, plenty of them. In fact, it’s a hobby I’ve come to realize is morally reprehensible. But honestly, this is one time I think I should distance myself from the truth in a spectacular way.

“Come on,” Tad shouts from the door.

Logan and Gage help me to my feet, and sure enough, the poison seems to have dissipated, leaving a fresh batch of clean, pure Celestra blood coursing through my veins.

It’s still dark outside, and the damp air spells out midnight more than it does morning.

I glance at the time on my cell.

“Three thirty?” Three thirty-three to be exact. Shit!

“That’s right,” Tad booms. “Imagine our surprise when the Paragon PD alerted us to the fact a serial killer added himself to the guest list of some wild party taking place at our home!”

“Oh dear.” Marshall escorts us out. “Don’t worry about the little one. He’ll be safe with me.”

“I really appreciate this.” Mom touches her chest. “I owe you something big. Oh, by the way, how did you like those invitations I had made for the party?”

“They’re perfect. In fact, if you’re available, I’m in need of a woman’s touch. I’m thinking masquerade ball.”

“That’s fantastic! Consider it done. Oh, I could think of a thousand ideas! We’ll get those little glittery masks from the party store, and paper top hats and streamers. We can have Tad dress up like a jester and have a piñata. It’s going to be wonderful.”

“Sounds thrilling.” Paper hats? Marshall looks over at me with disdain. Glitter? The sacrifices I make to please you are beyond reason and apparently far beyond the borders of good taste.

I reach over and grab a hold of his arm.

Where’s Michelle?

I assume at the station with the rest of the rebel rousers who were in attendance at the slice and slaughter. Do check on her incisions. I’d hate to see infection set in.

“Skyla,” Tad barks with the charm of a drill sergeant. I head over and jump into the minivan between Logan and Gage.

My bandaged wrist catches my attention and I suck in a breath.

Its back—Marshall saved my hand.

I glance up at Logan and Gage and give a weak smile. I’d rather hack off both my hands and feet than live life without one of them in it.

Then again. I’ll be gone in a month—so what does it even matter?

***

A crowd of bodies ten deep stand outside the Paragon police department awaiting instruction. Every teen on the island and at least one of their parental units sways in the fog as the crowd slowly migrates to an outdoor amphitheater under a bed of cleverly hidden stars.

Demetri strides up, confident and cocky. He’s decked out in a long black trench coat with a fedora slightly adjusted over one eye, looking very Dick Tracy minus the Tracy.

“Lizbeth.” He shakes his head as if he were apologizing for disrupting her vacation, like he didn’t relish interrupting the rut-fest that was probably taking place and in front of an infant no less. “We’re ready to question people who were inside the house at the time of the incident. If you would all follow me.”

He leads us into the warm station, lit up with an over-bright peachy glow.

Gage takes my hand. Don’t offer any information.

Logan takes my other hand. Don’t mention the knife.

I look down at our conjoined hands. That threesome dream runs through my mind in jags and an uncomfortable smile wavers on my lips.

Skyla? Logan rattles my hand with a look of horror.

“Oh, sorry.” I shake the image out of my head like an Etch a Sketch.

Just crap.

Demetri leads us into a conference room with a group of parents lining the back wall.

Carly Foster and her sidekick Carson sit on the end of the long plastic table. Emily, Nat, Lexy, and Chloe are on one side and Brielle, Drake, and Ethan on the other. You don’t need to understand quantum physics to know this isn’t going to end well. Conveniently Pierce—Holden, whoever the hell he is today, is mysteriously missing. Funny how he brilliantly evades the law when he, himself, is supposed to be incarcerated. Must be nice to have Counts in high places, unless, of course, you’re me.

I take a seat next to Brielle, and Chloe swiftly moves in on the other side, presumably to have some touchy feely conversation at my expense.

Chloe picks up my hand under the table just as I surmised.

You’re going to pay for everything, Skyla. I’m going to eradicate you before the Counts ever have the chance. You’ll be sorry you ever thought it was a good idea to chop my head off. Her entire person sparkles with revenge. A head for a head, she says, glancing over my shoulder at Logan and Gage. Or two, or three.

Chapter 81

Head Trip

I huff a laugh at Chloe’s threat of mass decapitation. I can totally picture her running around the island like some lunatic with an ax. The visual I had of her burying some poor unsuspecting person’s cranium in the woods behind the Landon house comes back to me and I sink a little in my seat. She was traveling from the future, and well, the future could very well be now.

Demetri drones on over policy and procedure, while the ‘rents shake like a row of dogs at the pound on day seven. The police station isn’t the place any of us want to be at this ungodly hour. This is what happens when Ethan Landon and Chloe Bishop put in a collaborative effort to entertain the teen population of Paragon. Somehow, I should’ve figured that mythological creatures and murder would be high on the agenda.

I pluck my fingers loose from Chloe’s death grip. While we’re here I should press charges against her for being such a round-the-clock asshole and getting me into this debacle in the first place.

I lean into Brielle. “You have any insta-puke?” I whisper, eyeing the diet soda in front of her.

She reaches into her purse and gives a mischievous grin. She pulls the soda under the table and drains the magical foil packet into it. Brielle sets the can in front of me, glances at Chloe and smiles.

Chloe is way too astute to drink anything I offer. I’ll have to down the sinister syrup myself. I have a spectacular show planned in the event the bumbling detective’s line of questioning starts to grate on my nerves. Plan B is theatrical in nature, even if it is comprised mostly of regurgitating my dinner for divisive purposes.

Demetri rises like an onyx sphinx, his eyes nothing more than marbles full of smoke. “I gather you’ve all heard bits and pieces of what may have occurred at the Landon residence this evening.” He takes a seat about two feet away, then scoots in close to the projectile fun zone. I might actually get a twofer out of this and nothing pleases me more. “I suggest we go down the line and see if we can piece together what developed. Again, just to recap for those of you who aren’t privy, although there was blood at the scene, no body was recovered. There’s a manhunt underway in the woods for any kind of weaponry or God forbid, victim. We’ve received several calls of a vagrant roaming the area, an older woman, red hair.” Demetri looks down at me and casts the hint of a smile.

Hey, maybe I can pass this whole thing off on Ezrina?

“Vagrant?” Lexy coughs the word out while gawking at me. “Your perpetrator is sitting right here.”

Or not.

“Let’s not jump the gun.” Demetri tempers his words with those laughing eyes, always mocking, always believing he has the upper hand, which he totally freaking does.

Tad and Mom move into my line of vision and gape at me with matching bug-eyed expressions.

“Start from the beginning,” Demetri coaxes Lexy. “You arrived at the gathering.”

“I went with friends.” She shrugs. Her dark copper hair frames her chin and accentuates her bronzed cheekbones. “We walked in the door and Ethan was selling rubbers.” She says it sharp as if to alert the lot of us she’s not opposed to throwing anyone under the bus.

“What?” Tad gasps as if Ethan’s head just morphed into a snake. I don’t really mind watching Ethan writhe under the scrutiny of the truth, not that he even flinched. Instead, he’s adopted a smug expression that annunciates the fact he’s accepting of the title “promoter of the promiscuous.”

“They were glow in the dark, and he charged two dollars a pop.” Lexy continues in detail as if she were under the influence of a truth serum she accidentally ingested. “It turns out Skyla and her brothers spiked the lemonade they were serving, and then things got really weird.”

“For the record”—I lean in to give Lex a hard look—“I didn’t have anything to do with the condoms or the questionable refreshments.”

“Oh yeah?” She scoffs. “Then why did I see both Logan and Gage waving their condoms at you at the very same time? By the way, I find it sickening the way the three of you flaunt your fuck-fest in everyone’s face. It’s not natural.”

Oh God. She just said fuck-fest in reference to Logan, Gage, and me in the presence of Mom and Tad.

I doubt I’ll need the ipecac to vomit.

“That’s not true,” Gage says it deliberately loud, like he might be a tiny bit guilty. “I’m the one in a relationship with Skyla. Logan was just goofing off.” He looks over to his blond cousin. “Right?”

I suck in a sharp breath. Mom is so going to think I’m getting it on with Gage and his “condoms.” I shoot him a look.

Logan leans back in his chair and doesn’t say a word.

Mom covers her mouth while Tad tosses his hands in surrender.

Why do I get the feeling my ménage à trois nocturnal musing is playing out in real time right now in everybody’s imagination? Freaking Lexy Bakova. I should slaughter her just for sport—toss her head off Devil’s Peak and she could tattle all day long to the fish at the bottom of the sea as they gnaw off her flesh.

Lexy sneers into me. “You were also in charge of entertaining us by making body parts disappear.” She continues her quest to initiate my homicidal fantasies.

That bitch.

“After the lemonade.” Demetri verifies before motioning for another volunteer to continue. Emily raises her hand.

Thank God. Em is like way more level-headed than Lex. Lexy practically has an all-out vendetta against me because her twisted mind is under the impression that I stole Logan out from under her.

Em shifts in her seat. “We were in the backyard because a bunch of kids kept puking inside—”

“What?” Tad grips his hair at the temples and stagers a moment like he might pass out. I take it eau de vomit isn’t his preferred bouquet.

“It was dark out.” Emily gazes off into space. “A group of girls started screaming and this thing came out of the woods. It was like the size of a bear and had five heads.”

A choir of voices breaks out in an effort to correct her. A sheep with ten dicks, an overgrown rabbit with antlers all become viable options.

“It was dog.” Drake interrupts with a boom. “It was the same dog that West uses as its mascot. It had three fucking heads.”

The room quiets down to nothing.

Who knew Drake had the ability to maintain lucid?

I watch as Tad buries his face in his hands, and for a minute I think he’s laughing, but I gather weeping is a workable possibility.

“A three-headed dog?” Demetri leans in, amused at the idea as if he didn’t secretly have one of his own. “Someone else, please take over from the—three-headed dog.” He wrings all the sarcastic inflection he can out of the situation. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he were steering this conversation, making it all seem totally laughable, out of bounds from reality—which will totally come in handy when they get to the part about me.

“I’ll go.” Nat slices me with a look that says eat shit and die. “We all ran up to Messenger’s room, well, Chloe’s room—whatever—we were going to have a sleepover so our stuff was there.” She clears her throat. “Then we hear this thunder coming up the stairs and Michelle got up and started to tell us to get in the closet—that’s when the door opened and Skyla whacked her head off in one clean slice. It was right out of a horror movie.” She cuts me a hard look. “So fucking gross.”

The room erupts in a murmur.

“The body just stood there.” Nat clutches at her throat. “Her arms were reaching out like some freaking zombie then she collapsed.”

“What happen after that?” Demetri asks with a solemn expression.

Nat pulls a bleak smile. “Gage picked up the body, handed Skyla the head and they both disappeared.”

“They ran off with the deceased?” Demetri doesn’t waver his serious stance.

“No.” Nat shakes her head and sinks in her seat. “They just evaporated right there in front of our eyes.”

A nervous titer of laughter ignites from the peanut gallery. Glad to know I can provide a little comedic relief to the parental units lined up against the wall since they’ve been crapping their pants as if they expect a firing squad.

I glance over at Logan and Gage. Nat obviously isn’t in the know about Levatio and their magician-like capabilities.

An officer comes in and hands the dork detective a sheet of paper. Demetri nods as he pretends to read the report.

“Just as I suspected,” Demetri sighs. “The lemonade was tainted with a powerful hallucinogenic. I’m afraid shared hallucinations are common in these kinds of cases.”

“What about the blood?” Chloe sits up ready to kick the take-down-Skyla show into high gear. “We all know Skyla has killed before.” She glances past me at my mother. “Accidentally, of course. And it’s no secret she’s been locked up in a mental hospital. We all know she’s done terrifying things to people ever since she’s been here. The entire cheer squad is afraid of her.”

“I’m not.” Brielle is quick to interject.

“Skyla?” Demetri states my name like a question. “Anything you’d like to say to for yourself?”

“Yes.” I look down at my wrist still heavily wrapped in gauze. “I thought I might need to defend myself from that three-headed monster, so I grabbed a knife out of the kitchen and went upstairs to join my friends. I wanted to hide in my room and I accidentally cut myself.” I hold up exhibit A. Who knew Ezrina’s act of terror would come in handy? No pun intended. “You’re right, the lemonade must have been tainted. It was probably just a wild dog that strayed into the yard. You’re a brilliant detective, Mr. Edinger.” I so enjoy placating Demetri. I bet I jumped up a few rungs on the approval ladder with my mother as well.

“Case closed folks.” Demetri sets down the papers in front of me and they’re noticeably blank—findings my ass.

Just as the room starts to come to life, Michelle Miller walks through the door wearing a thick-cabled scarf with her frazzled mother by her side.

“There she is!” Lexy shouts.

Nat and Em look like they might actually pass out at the sight of her.

“Take off the scarf,” Nat pleads. “Show them what Skyla did to you!”

Crap.

I pick up the soda in an effort to create a distraction and down the entire can without stopping.

A hot burst explodes in my stomach as Michelle reveals her unblemished neck and my mother sighs with relief as though I had just escaped the guillotine myself.

In hindsight, it might have been a bit rash to digest the toxin-laced beverage. In hindsight, I hadn’t really thought of how excruciatingly embarrassing it might be to puke my brains out in a room full of friends and relations.

A loud, rather unattractive belch, that could quite possibly be heard fifty miles out at sea, expels from my digestive tract. In addition to warning ships of false danger, I’m pretty sure I’ve managed to freeze the muscles of every living creature on the island.

Not one to waste a good vat of boiling vomit I turn my head and do my best impression of a girl possessed, projecting my insides all over Chloe Bishop’s hair and chest.

She jumps out of her chair, on fire with screams, and runs retching from the room.

I continue the marathon upchuck spree for the next several minutes. It’s not until Mom mops me up with a burp cloth, that she just so happens to keep handy for such occasions, do I even notice I managed to spread a little regurgitated love in Demetri’s direction as well.

Looks like I got my twofer after all.

Chapter 82

The Sector and the Snake

Summer melts like butter on an L.A. sidewalk. I watch the fog parade outside my bedroom window as afternoon gives birth to evening, its twin in light and shadow. I remember summer days back in California when my father was alive and the sun would puddle in the ocean in a vivid display of tangerine and magenta. The bright red sky was alive with a pallet of amber and crimson, married with that lustrous shade of Hollywood gold we bathed in right before dusk.

On Paragon the world obeys one master, the grey dense fog and his damp cool presence. Only one climate exists here. The landscape is subdued with lamp-lit shades that the forever-dull sky allotted. It’s just one long monotonous pull with the exception of night. Paragon glows in the midnight hour like a lantern filled with oil. She is forever the virgin awaiting her groom. The evergreens shake out their branches and dance in the breeze. The ocean explodes with passion over its shores like a love story—its erotic poetry is written in the breeze.

It’s been a week and a half since what is referred to as “the shared hallucination” at the Landon house. Demetri employed his black magic elves to clean up the disaster and restored the tiny house back to its former indelicate glory, save for removing the scent of vomit from the carpet. The stench is not a far stretch from Mom’s cooking so we’re pretty much all used to it.

The faint sound of a man’s laughter echoes through my bedroom wall. Tonight Mom is playing matchmaker for Marshall. It’s her way of thanking him for pinch-hitting baby duty while she watched her oldest get accused of an outrageously gruesome beheading.

I trot downstairs to the kitchen and find Marshall whiffing out of the expensive cast iron cauldron Demetri gifted my mother with. The aforementioned Fem is intent on buying my mother’s affections through pricy culinary devices these days. I would cheer him on if the quality of the meals increased to at least a palatable degree, but no such miracle has transpired.

Demetri seems to be a friend with benefits in more ways than one. Ever since the night of the vomit-rama, he’s been sending a steady stream of cash and prizes to the Landon household and his generosity doesn’t stop at cookware. There has also been a steadfast deluge of the latest and greatest baby contraptions that Beau isn’t old enough to appreciate yet, like rockets he can bounce in and play yards as big as the living room. He even sent a gift certificate for the local grocery store because all the food in refrigerator was destroyed when it accidentally got left open on the night of Ethan’s brothel fiasco. That well thought out maneuver managed to wipe Demetri clear off Tad’s shit list in the process. Hell, by the looks of things, Tad might even offer him a free pass with my mother if the exchange rate is right.

“What’s with the sullen look?” Marshall comes over to greet me as my mother checks on the baby.

She makes it a point to regularly audit his breathing. Apparently, she’s afraid he’s going to forget how to replicate the autonomic response because we all know little geniuses are apt to forgetting menial tasks like respiration.

“There’s death in the pot.” I wrinkle my nose at the stove. “I’m really getting sick of Demetri’s repulsive display of material affection. It’s like he’s trying to buy her off.”

“Perhaps it’s time you apprise your mother of his true identity.”

“You think?” I look back over at her cooing into the bastardized casket sitting on the end table. She seems so content in this disorganized bubble of fake boyfriends and fake babies. It’s clear she’s pretty high on life right now. Once I prick her back to reality, she’ll fall hard and it won’t be pretty. “Maybe I will after we hurdle the Kragger catastrophe tomorrow night. She’s been talking about it nonstop. You’d think she was Cinderella going to the ball.”

Marshall lowers his chin and gives a devious smile. “She just might be. You never know when a good prince might show up for the evening.”

Before I can question his bizarre response, Tad walks in with an arm around Demetri’s shoulder—nurturing their budding bromance. Now who’s the one with the open relationship?

Mia and Melissa file in and start schlepping the quasi-edible fare to the table.

Chloe and Ethan, with their slightly rumpled hair and clothes, take seats among us. Darla and Brielle come in and chat up a storm with Mom about the baby as if he were in another country on vacation, never once venturing to peer inside the casket to obsess over his breathing. Suddenly, my mother’s irrational behavior is the model of perfect parenting. Drake wanders in with Emily and I want to grab the nearest sharp object and reenact the Miller thriller that landed me in hot vomit to begin with.

“Can’t you put a hex on him and make him love Bree?” I whisper to Marshall.

“I’m afraid love comes naturally. It’s the one arena I choose to steer clear of. Meddle with fragile hearts and you reap the reward of heartbreak and perhaps a crime of passion or two. Never pretty.”

Speaking of meddling, Izzy and her overgrown breasts just ballooned into the room. Sprinkle’s goes insane, circling her feet, and she swoops down and blindly picks him up. He licks her lips as if he were lapping up a bowl of fresh milk.

Oh my freaking shit. She’s licking back—tongue to tongue. Some serious effed-up doggie foreplay is taking place right here in the Landon living room with all eyes locked on the bizarre sight.

Tad bolts over and tries to yank the creature free. Instead, his hands slip and slither all over her heaving bosom.

She drops the dog midair just as Tad bends over to catch him and he does a rather quick and forceful face plant in the ass crack blooming from her chest. Izzy breaks into a fit of hysterical laughter as the rest of us gawk at the outright pornography of it all.

Mom walks over and extricates Tad by the hair and he takes a huge gasping breath.

“What happened?” He blinks. “I think I passed out or something.” He looks to my mother with a sideways glance in the event she’s in the market for the exceptionally rank bullshit.

Then with a saving grace, Gage walks in with a simple pink rose and hands it to me before pressing a quick kiss to my lips.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers.

Gage in all his perfection is a salve over the indignity that just took place. There is no purer love, no greater gift than Gage and his affection.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I say before taking in the citrus scent of the flower. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

Chloe simmers behind him and it delights me to no end.

“It’s from my mom’s garden. It reminded me of you, how exquisite you are— how lucky I am to have you.” He interlaces our fingers. I would give you every flower on earth if I could. His dimples dig in deep, invite me to jump in, linger in their deep well of affection. I want to crawl inside of Gage and never get out. I want to be a part of him in the most intimate way. Logan blinks through my mind and an ocean of guilt submerges me until I can no longer breathe. Gage and I are just getting to the nexus of our relationship, here on the last leg of the faction war. I can’t shake the feeling our days are numbered.

Mom shoots a venomous look over at Isis-the-Marital-Crisis. “Why don’t we all take our seats?” She spits the words out in her I’m-sorry-I-ever-invited-this-bitch voice. “Marshall, I’d like for you to meet a dear friend of the family, Demetri’s niece, Isis.”

“You can call me Izzy.” The bubbling blonde jumps in front of Marshall and latches onto his hand with fevered desperation. She must know he’s a Sector. “Oh.” She gives a loud erotic moan and Marshall quickly takes his fingers back.

Mom’s eyes spring wide with glee at Izzy’s sudden sexual interest in a man who just so happens to not be Tad.

“Why don’t you two sit here?” She pulls Marshall and the sexed-up serpent to the table by the hands like second graders.

I sit on Marshall’s other side and Gage next to me as Mom whisks the one hundred pound pot from the kitchen in one running leap, relying mostly on centripetal force to execute the maneuver. She nearly pulls a decapitation of her own, and easily would have, if Gage hadn’t ducked in time to evade the trauma.

“Sorry,” she says before unveiling tonight’s masticating challenge.

A collective gasp circles the table.

Staring back from the pot is what can only be described as a giant steaming pile of bear crap with a halo of congealed orange wax.

“And,” Mom sings, “I’ve prepared a vegetable everybody loves.” She uncovers the casserole dish next to it, revealing not only a vegetable everyone apparently loves, but also one everyone cannot readily identify.

“Ew.” Mia pinches her nose shut.

The entire room explodes in what just might be the great Landon gas attack. It’s as if all three Landon males and perhaps the tiniest cast member with a qualifying colon, expelled a series of anal offenses so dangerously putrid my eyes are watering—and holy crap I can taste it.

A series of gags and moans breakout.

“It’s…” Chloe searches for the perfect verbal pick me up to offer my mother. But alas, in the face of this grievous kitchen nightmare, even her lying lips can’t utter a single kind sentiment.

“I think you’d better check the little bugger’s diaper.” Darla chokes out the words.

If she’s refereeing to Tad, then I totally agree. There’s no way that cute sleeping baby could produce something so fierce and deadly.

“Oh.” Mom flicks her wrist as if we’re all a bunch of jokers. “It’s the cabbage. It does have a funny scent. Sort of reminds me of coffee.”

“You’re right.” Chloe snaps her finger as if she were fumbling for the exact same psychotic connection.

Coffee? It’s becoming increasingly clear why my mother has a high tolerance to offensive stenches and people. Her faculties have been destroyed by all those baby-making injections she has Tad filling her adipose tissue with. She’s lost all ability to discern taste or smell or even make rational judgments when it comes to what’s appropriate with the opposite gender. Clearly it’s time to revoke her license to multiply. I’ll talk to Dr. Booth at the Count cotillion and let him know she needs to have a conservatorship set up allowing me to dismantle all her hopes and dreams of procreation with Tad as well as any extracurricular reproduction efforts she might have planned with Demetri.

Tad picks up Demetri’s dish and ladles out a giant heap of Mom’s suspicious sustenance. I’m not sure if he’s trying to brown nose or if it’s a clever scheme to off the enemy.

The baby starts to squirm and Mom is Johnny on the spot, picking him up and reappearing at the table with the cute little Count. She pushes back her plate and I’m starting to sense there’s more than one strategy brewing here. Clearly she was never going to eat that crap she set out.

Reluctantly each of us dole out a meager portion of the cruel gruel that we dare consider a meal. Even Chloe has toned down the bootlicking in exchange for dime-sized portions. Personally, I’m waiting for Darla to burst into her bacon song and dance because I am so going next door with her when she does. Mmm, just the thought of Gage and bacon. Gage wrapped in bacon. It makes my mouth water and I lick my lips while looking right at him. God we need to find a way to make this happen.

He takes up my hand beneath the table. I have a surprise for you later.

I raise my brows seductively because God knows I have a surprise for him later.

I think tonight is the perfect night to abandon all our defenses and find a hotel room to haunt together—surprise ourselves with how much we’re really willing to share.

I can’t wait to share it all with Gage.

Chapter 83

Liars and Lovers

Dinner continues with weak conversation and even weaker stomachs that wonder where their real meal will come from once this farce disbands for the evening.

Demetri clears his throat and bleeds a smile into my mother. “I sing your praises, Lizbeth. You’ve outdone yourself with this fine feast.”

The jaw of every person at the table drops to the floor at his wild exaggeration.

The baby sputters to life and my mother is briefly distracted from the Fem who breeds falsehoods.

“Beautiful baby Beau!” My mother wiggles the babe in front of her as she takes to her daily affirmation.

Really? I marvel at the psychological strategy my mother sees fit to employ. This kid is going to grow up with an ego the size of Jupiter. An ego and a Count are a lethal combo as evidenced by the entire Kragger clan.

“You are so lovely—so right!” She howls. “I see your wisdom grow each day and bless this house with your tender love and grace. Forever may you prosper!”

“Amen.” Marshall shakes out his napkin before dropping it in his lap.

“Amen, indeed.” Izzy giggles into him. “I’ll need a date for Saturday. I just hate to be lonely.” She shimmies her chest into the table in the event he missed the extended invitation.

“It’s not good to be lonely.” Tad drools out the words.

Gage smiles and rubs a soft circle in my hand, I’ll make sure you’ll never be lonely.

I smolder into him just this side of combusting into flames. We’re moving a million miles an hour down the highway of our love and I want to do everything, explore everything with him before Logan erects a brick wall and we give to a spectacular crash.

Marshall clears his throat. I’m growing a trifle ill from the over indulgence of passion exuding from your end of the table, Ms. Messenger. He taps my foot with his as he says it. Would it kill you to show an ounce of attention to the man who’s destined to be your life mate?

“I’m doing precisely that,” I whisper.

“Precisely what honey?” Mom smiles as the baby leaves a white trail of what looks like bird poop over her shoulder.

“Nothing.” I sit up, snatching my hand back from Gage.

“You’re…” Tad pauses to circle his fork accusingly in my direction. “Acting funny again.”

“No.” I’m quick to shake my head in the guiltiest manner possible.

What has you so readily believing Lover Boy once again? Marshall persists. Didn’t he prove himself a cyborg of the enemy?

I cover Marshall’s hand under the table. I completely trust him. And by the way, that whole vision thing you taught him has totally taken our relationship to a brand new level. I’m quick to let go before the sexual fantasy involving Gage and me kicks in, only I guess you can’t really call it a fantasy because it’s going to come true—more like a sneak preview—a sneak preview of the most freaking awesome event in history.

I give a private smile to Chloe who happens to be snickering in my direction.

“What vision?” Marshall whispers.

I touch his hand again. You know, the tricks you taught him, to let me see the future through his kisses.

Marshall takes in a breath and straightens.

I taught him no such thing. I demand you steer clear of this imposter’s upper orifice at once.

Darla laughs at something stupid Demetri says and of course Tad applauds like he’s just heard the Pope at the Vatican.

I sit there staring at Marshall a good long minute.

Oh my freaking shit.

I turn to look at Gage who’s busy washing down the first and last bite of food on his plate.

He couldn’t. He can’t. Why would he lie about something so huge?

“Chloe,” Gage whispers, “could you please pass me the water?” His brow arches seductively and an alarm goes off in my stomach.

He could have easily asked Ethan or even my mother.

She passes the decanter and their fingers brush against one another. Chloe’s lips curl on the sides as Gage takes it from her, like passing a chalice full of lies right here in the dining room, at my table, with my family.

“That is fucking it, buddy,” I seethe, shaking from my newfound anger.

“Skyla!” Mom is quick to cover the baby’s ears.

“What?” Gage mouths as he stares at me with abrupt astonishment.

“You know what,” I shout. “I have freaking had it with the two of you.” I point over at Chloe inciting her in on the madness that’s gripped my world.

“Me?” She taps at her chest with an asinine level of innocence that makes me want to plunge a ladle full of Mom’s cooking down her throat.

“All right.” Drake applauds with a goofy grin on his face as if the world’s greatest catfight were about to break out.

“Skyla!” Brielle hisses while shaking her head in protest.

“Yes, Brielle,” I say, rising in fury. “I’m not going to sit back and let these two make an ass out of me for one more freaking minute.” I pound the flat of my hands against the table and the glasses dance to the left. I dart a finger over at Em and Drake. “And you two should take note.”

Gage gets up and tries to pluck me from the room.

“Don’t you touch me!” I lift a fork to him. “I’ll feed your precious baby blues to Nev for dinner if you move one more inch in my direction.”

“That’s sick!” Melissa backs up her chair as if I were about to explode in an all-out assault.

“Ethan, subdue her.” Tad gets up and takes a defensive stance. “Lizbeth, tell Dr. Feel Good to get the whack shack in order. He’s about to have another visitor— permanently this time.”

“I am not insane, but oh I was,” I spew into Gage, “to ever believe you,” I scream in his face with all of the vengeance I can muster.

“Is this a joke?” Darla squints into the display. “Oh, I get it! Theys gonna fight like hell then make up by letting us in on some big secret. I bet she’s got a bun in the oven baking for months. Look at the pooch on that girl. It’s a dead giveaway.”

I shake my head incredulously. I do not have a pooch.

“Oh for crying out loud.” Tad throws his hands in the air, acquiescing to her theory. “With our luck, Lizbeth, we’ll get stuck with twins this time. Better get an assembly line of caskets ready—one of them being mine.”

“Let’s get out of here.” Gage tries to wrap an arm around my waist.

“Oh, I am getting out of here.” I turn to Marshall.

Izzy titters into his shoulder while pressing her boobs against him like some erotic hot boulder massage.

“Get back.” I smack her down with a napkin. I grab Marshall and yank him up. “This”—I hold up his hand in victory—“is the man I’m going to marry.”

Marshall purrs like a lion and it pulses through me holy and right.

“This is the man I’m going have children with and love with my body every single night for the rest of my natural life.” I sob a little into the words.

Demetri raises a brow, amused, and I half expect him to applaud my performance—only I’m not performing. This is real.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” I say deflated. I seem to have lost momentum because the tears are coming fast and furious.

Marshall rises, strong and tall by my side. He could totally kick some Levatio ass if he wanted, and I’d be the last person on Earth to stop him.

“I’ll take a quick drive with the young lady,” he asserts. “I promise to get to the bottom of this erratic behavior.” Marshall assures my mother. “Do remove this cad from the premises.” He shoots a searing look to Gage. “I believe we are witness to a fragile human heart that has been deceived and broken in the most hostile manner as evidenced by the passionate outburst delivered tonight.” He points hard at the guilty Oliver. “The rose, my friend, was a dead give away of your philandering ways.”

“Gage!” Mom’s jaw drops as she observes him in this new awful light.

“I didn’t do anything.” He catches the napkin Mia throws at him.

Marshall speeds me out of the house, down the porch and into the night.

I never want to look back. I never want to see that ridiculously perfect face again.

Marshall wraps his arms around me and I bawl into his chest as the cool mist encapsulates my misery.

Gage greets me behind my lids.

Breaks my heart all over.

Chapter 84

Butterflies and Battlefields

Long after midnight, once Marshall drops me back off at home, Logan meets me in the butterfly room.

I tell him how I bathed Marshall in tears. How I cried harder when Gage sped out of the driveway at a million miles an hour like he was pissed that I was onto him.

Logan rocks me in his arms, drops a kiss on my temple as the paper butterflies look on in horror at what their creator has done to me.

“Wish I could have been there,” he rumbles. “Might visit the scene of the crime later for kicks. You can come with, if you need a good laugh.”

“Logan.” I swat his stomach. My mascara is still washed down the side of my cheeks in a mud-slick, and my hair looks like a tumbleweed, but I don’t care. Apparently Gage finds me repulsive in any state.

“Are you listening to yourself?” Logan pulls back and examines me. “You’re insane if you think Gage has been duping you. So what if Dudley denied teaching him the tricks of the trade? Obviously Gage learned how to do this in some way and I’m betting Marshall was the portal to that knowledge.”

“You doubted his capabilities the night you took me to the Falls. You’re the one who fertilized this seed of doubt. Besides…” I shake my head into his chest. It comes out childlike, lost. I take in Logan’s clean scent, the fresh trace of dryer sheets perfuming his sweatshirt. “You’re my forever, Logan.”

He gives a disgruntled huff. “You and I both know how that’s going. We’re down by eight, only four more regions. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know we’re staring down the barrel of eternal servitude. See? Right there, Gage’s prediction comes true. We live very, very long and sorry lives.” He rubs his arms up and down my back.

“And what about my mother’s predictions? About our paths parting and then converging?”

“Probably same thing. I’ll see you in the Transfer. Maybe there’s some stupid Celestra with the capability to drag us into his dreams.”

I let out a groan at the thought.

“They’re taking me, Logan,” I whisper. Maybe that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Maybe if I hadn’t had the threat of disappearing forever looming over me like a sharpened sickle I wouldn’t have mentally imploded for all to see at dinner by way of announcing Marshall as my husband—openly declaring to love him with my body, no less.

“I’ll never leave you, Skyla. I swear to God I’ll be right there with you every single minute.”

“Until I turn into Ezrina and you turn into a bird.” I sniff into him. “How did we ever get sucked into that.”

“I wanted to help you and you wanted to help me.” He rubs his hand over my arm and warms me with his undying affection. “OK, let’s switch gears. It’s time to think positive. We still have your mother. We could win the last four regions. I’ll die to get you to the sword of the Master if I have to. You’re going to sit supreme over the Faction Councils. I swear on my life this is going to happen.”

“You’re right.” I nod. “I need to believe. Things are going to turn around. My mother will find Ezrina and Nev innocent and we’ll get to stay in our own skin.” I say it at an alarming decibel, the way Mom does while trying to convince a docile infant he’s the next prodigy since Einstein, even though his genes demand otherwise. “It’s you I’m going to marry. My visions—our visions are real. Those are the truths I choose to cling to.” I lock eyes with him a very long time.

“Skyla.” Logan’s whisper breaks up the silence. “I believe every word you said, even if you don’t.”

A heavy sigh escapes my chest as I nod into the fact he’s right. I don’t believe jack that just flew out of my mouth.

“Our days are numbered.” It comes out barely audible. “And once the Counts and the Fems take over, so are everyone else’s.”

A strange dark haze infiltrates the butterfly room. Logan and I glance at once another with thin veiled surprise.

We both know what this means.

***

Iron skies, rivers of blood beneath my feet. I appear in the ethereal plane cradling a gun, the cool metal quickly molding to my hand.

“What the hell?” I hold it out, feel its heft. This is hardly my mother’s style.

A landscape emerges—a barren wasteland with old adobe-like structures lying in ruins. Their clay domiciles provide the perfect hiding ground for the enemy. I run my hand over the encrusted walls and it leaves my palm freshly dusted a bright terracotta.

Arrows dart by, and I duck into one of the decimated buildings. I examine the weapon in my hand. Long and slender, looks more like a magazine than a gun itself, but it has a barrel and a place to cradle my finger before discharging. I hold it out and aim at the building across the way to examine its power. I pull the trigger and ball of light shoots across the expanse like a cannon. The structure crumbles to dust at its nuclear command.

“Crap!” I jump in amazement at the goliath display of power.

A large creature, a man, a god approaches with his wings spread wide, ten feet in either direction as he emanates a light that could put the sun to shame.

“Do refrain from discharging at random.” It’s Marshall.

I drop to my knees in his glorious presence. I can’t take my eyes off his glowing eminence, so aggressively perfect that it inclines me to bow at his feet.

“Arise at once,” he barks. “I won’t have you worshiping me. We are one and the same, and we worship the Master together. No need to add idolatry to your long list of celestial offenses.” He helps me up. “Come now. Delphinius has already spoken with Countenance.”

“What?” I take him by the hand as we head down the dusty trail.

“It’s your punishment. Your celestial devices have been revoked, and I’m afraid, this day, in this region, you will also lose your sight,” he says it low, apologetically.

“No.” I shake my head. “If I can’t see, I can’t win. If she takes away my eyesight, I’ll know she hates me.” Not that I ever doubted she felt otherwise.

“I’m sorry, Skyla,” he says, waving his hand in front of my face. “I must go now.”

“Marshall, no!” I lunge at him as he evaporates to nothing and the world fills in with a blinding white fog.

This is no ordinary lights out—not the way I envision being blind in the least. This is an organized chaos orchestrated by the one who loves to watch me suffer, the very same one that bore me through her loins.

“Skyla?” A familiar voice calls out—Gage.

A part of me wants to scream for him to help me out of my worst nightmare with my head intact but my vocal cords don’t bother. Instead, I swat my arms in front of me and try to walk a straight line, not moving three inches in the process.

A warm pair of arms wrap themselves around my middle. He drops a tender kiss on the side of my face and pants. “I’ve got you.”

“Logan?” I cry in a panic. If my mother is capable of this madness, if Gage is capable of deceiving me, and Marshall left me to my own devices, then I need Logan just to breathe.

“It’s just you and me, Skyla,” Gage whispers as he guides me forward with quick easy strides.

Every step feels tragically fatal. Every movement feels like a fresh deception, another step closer to the cliff he’s about to push me off.

“I’d never hurt you, Skyla. Logan told me what Dudley said. I swear to you—”

“I wish I were deaf.” I heave the words out in lieu of tears. “Don’t you dare use this opportunity to stroke me with excuses. If you really love me…” I grab a hold of him and shake him. “If you really want me to listen to you—win this fucking region.”

Gage picks me up. I fly through the air like a trapeze artist and land stomach down over his shoulder, my face bobbing into his backside. The blood rushes to my temples as he moves us out onto the field at an aggressive pace. He snaps the weapon from my hand and fires, time after time loud as a cherry bomb if it were going off in my ear. A stunted silence excavates the noise and I’m left blind and numb with just the simple vibrations of the ground shaking, the thumping of my body as Gage runs while holding me captive. Looks like I got my wish. I hope my mother is proud. Here I am deaf, dumb and blind—dumb because Gage keeps fooling me into giving him my heart on a platter over and over.

A tremendous jolt rocks the earth. It knocks Gage to his knees and as he pulls me into his arms. He cradles my head with his hands before falling over me. Gage doesn’t move. I try shouting his name, pushing him off, but he doesn’t budge, doesn’t flinch as I writhe beneath him. I bring my fingers up to his face to touch the features I’ve memorized down to the placement of each molecule, and a warm trickle of liquid greets me. I tap up the side of his cheek and my fingers fall into an open gape of flesh, nothing but tissue over bone.

His face.

It’s gone.

Chapter 85

A True Vision

My lids flutter open. A cascade of butterflies infiltrate the air. Their wings decorate the area in every shade of blue, but it’s the cobalt ones, the ones dipped in the exact color of Gage’s eyes that mesmerize me and make me linger.

It takes a second for me to realize I’m back in the butterfly room with Logan. I pull back from his tight embrace and examine him, lap up his beautiful face with my eyes in perfect working order. I give several hard blinks as the butterflies adhere themselves to the walls with a sizzle.

“I had the worst nightmare,” I say.

“That you were in the war? You were blind?” Logan’s longitudinal divot inverts.

“You, too? It’s like we’re living the same nightmares both in and out of reality.”

“Skyla,” he whispers, shaking his head, “that nightmare was real.”

“Gage.” I cry out his name like I were grieving him, an irony in and of itself since only moments before I wanted to cut out his liver and feed it to the dog. “They blew his face off.”

I snatch Logan by the wrist and drop us through the closet. I slam the dresser into the wall and bullet us through the door and down the stairs.

“Jumping Judas!” Tad booms from behind. “She’s taking off with another one!”

I don’t bother stopping to explain to Mom and Tad why I’m racing off in the night with Logan, barefoot in my kitten and tea cups pajamas. I just hop in his truck and scream the word faster at the top of my lungs.

We race through traffic. Logan speeds on the wrong side of the road. He drives on the shoulder and melts the rubber on his tires as soon as we hit the open country that leads to the estates. He doesn’t wait for the long arm of security to rise in his honor. He guns it and crashes through the impotent stick trying to hold us back. We do a full-blown donut as we twist into the Oliver driveway just before Logan plows through Emma’s flower garden. He crashes the truck head-on through the kitchen window, embedding his front end into the side of the house.

Logan and I jump out of the truck and race to find Gage.

***

Emma and Dr. Oliver accelerate down the stairs. Emma pinches up her white flannel gown while Dr. O hugs a bronze shotgun close to his chest.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” He jerks the weapon while raging into Logan. “I’ve a bum ticker in the event you weren’t aware.”

“It’s Gage.” I push past them as I claw my way to his room.

“Let me.” Logan arrives at the door first and flicks on the lights, sheltering me from the sight. “Gage?” He makes his way over to the bed.

I try to follow but my feet won’t budge.

There he is, sprawled out over the mattress, not moving.

A pool of red covers the top of his bed. His sheets are soaked in a crimson gloss while a puddle of blood stagnates on the floor by his shoes.

Dr. Oliver curses up a storm as he chokes over his son’s lifeless body.

Emma grabs onto me by the door and bursts into tears. Her body convulses into mine and shivers from the shock of the gruesome sight.

It takes five full minutes for Barron to assure us he’s going to make it. He whips back and forth at unnatural speeds, disappearing then reappearing with his medical bag, barking out orders at Logan for hot water, clean towels.

Emma and I muster the strength to go over and assess for ourselves what the damage might be. We find Gage staring up the ceiling, blinking slow and exhausted.

“Gage?” I draw in close. He looks perfectly normal from this vantage point. It’s only when I get in further do I see the left side of his face hanging open, exposing the roots of his teeth. A tear runs jagged from his jaw up to his temple. I turn my head at the sight and bump into Logan.

“It’s OK.” Logan dots my face with a kiss. “He’ll be just fine.”

I don’t say anything. I certainly don’t clue his family in on the fact I made Gage try and prove his love for me and therefore put him in danger. We could have hid behind the ruins, sat in silence while the Counts reached victory, arrived back on Paragon with both our faces intact.

“Nothing a few hundred stitches won’t fix.” Dr. Oliver hovers over Gage with a large circular needle that’s usually reserved for repairing yours truly.

“Don’t hurt him.” I take up his hand, close my eyes and envision his perfect beautiful face.

His body jumps with a violent force, shaking me off the mattress.

“What was that?” I scream.

“He’s gone into shock.” Dr. Oliver reaches into his bag and produces two metal paddles. He drops an ointment over one before rubbing them together with an eerie calm. “Logan, I want you to take Skyla downstairs,” he instructs. “Emma, you’re to get on your knees and plead for your son’s life.” He reaches down and plugs the contraption into the wall as Logan extricates me from the premises.

My lungs rattle out a scream for Gage. Every ounce of me that ever loved him cries out in pain, in sheer agony at the prospect of losing him tonight—of never touching him, never hearing him out.

***

Logan pulls me downstairs. He drags me all the way to the front yard and slams the door, loud as a cannon.

I stagger over to the thick navy lawn and raise my face to the sky.

“Do not let him die!” I scream it at the top of my lungs. “Do you hear me, mother?” My throat bleeds from the caustic effort. “So help me God, you kill him and I’m going to find out what you really love and destroy it!” I drop to my knees with my head spinning from the chaos.

“What the hell?” Ellis shouts as he and a group of guys head in this direction. The stench of weed wafts over, thick like a cloud, but I don’t let the company impede my inter-dimensional rant.

“You said you’d come!” I mean for it to blast from my lungs but it sails out a whimper. “That you would help me fight—you and Daddy. But you lied. Just don’t let Gage die and I’ll leave you alone forever. I’ll live with the Counts like a good girl just like you want. I swear it. I’ll give them all of my blood, every hour I have left on this planet. Let Gage live.” I bury my head in the thick, damp grass. The heavy blades slice against my throat as I give in to the earth, the sky, my mother and her demonic head games.

It’s over.

Skyla? My mother appears behind my lids in a vision. Why are you so upset? She looks angry more than perplexed. Gage is on the mend. Do refrain from irrational outbursts. If you’re to lead the Faction Councils, you must practice irreverent calm. Be slow to anger, impossible to infuriate over a rumor or misunderstanding. You must come from a place of knowing at all times.

I lie motionless, unable to speak and, ironically, this infuriates me.

I’ve clipped your tongue for the night. She smiles into her admission. Don’t trouble your heart over love. Arrangements have been made for you in that arena. She leans into me until the love pours out from her completely. Trust me, Skyla, leave your heart in the Master’s hands. I’ve seen all that is in store for your future. I helped shape it and fashion it just as you would have wanted if you were aware of the circumstances.

She turns to leave, then looks over her shoulder at me. And one more thing—congratulations on your first win.

First win? I try to call after her but she’s already gone.

Logan helps me up to my feet.

We took the region. I wrap my arms around his neck and he spins me victoriously.

We won the battle.

Gage won.

Chapter 86

On Love and Such

Logan and I meander back to Gage’s bedroom to see how he’s doing.

The dark mahogany bookshelves are neatly lined with hardbacks, each sporting matching gilded fonts along the spines while an army of trophies gleam up top from when he was a boy. Gage keeps his room neat and tidy. You could perform surgery in this ultra-hygienic environment. Lucky for Gage because that’s sort of what’s happening now.

Dr. Oliver finishes up the last chain of stitches. An entire row of thick black X’s dot the left side of his face from his lip to his ear before darting straight up to his temple.

Gage wears a sullen expression as he fights sleep to gaze over at me. His swollen lip breaks into a painful smile, and I feel guilty he even attempted the effort.

“Get some rest,” Dr. Oliver says as he heads to the door. “I’ll be back to check on you. Try not to speak or you run the risk of splitting open.”

Gage plucks at my fingers and gives a brief nod. We did it.

I look to Logan. Tell him he won the region. That he did it.

Logan and I sit on either side of him while I hold his hand. Logan touches his arm, so Gage doesn’t have to risk his stitches to speak.

Will you still be my date for the Kragger dinner tomorrow night? Gage doesn’t seem all that concerned that Logan is listening in on our conversation.

“Give her some breathing room,” Logan says it as nice as possible, but I can feel his agitation in this short distance.

“Skyla?” Emma peers into the room. “I just got off the phone with your mother. I told her Gage had an accident and that you were comforting him.”

“Thank you,” I mouth since my other, not so angelic, mother depleted my vocal cords for the evening.

I’m sure Tad thought of a dozen different scenarios all having to do with me running away or hacking someone’s head off.

“Goodnight, all. Gage, you need your rest.” She gives a wink before slipping out of the room.

What’s this breathing room business? Gage doesn’t skip a beat as he glares into Logan. The ridge of stitches jumps from his face like the serrated edge of a knife as he clenches his jaw. They’re already swelling, forming red welts that bump along his cheek.

“Take it easy.” Logan’s voice is filled with his own frustration. “I just meant give her a break to figure things out.”

Tell him not to worry about me, I say it to Logan.

“She says she can’t stand the sight of you.” Logan forces a half-smile and I suddenly feel the urge to sock him. “Not really. She doesn’t want you to worry about her—she can’t talk.”

Thanks to my mother everything needs to be translated via Logan for the night.

I touch the back of my hand to Gage’s forehead. Dr. Oliver loaded him up with painkillers and antibiotics, and yet he’s still burning up.

Tell him he can take my blood and he’ll be healed by morning, I nod into Logan.

“She wants to heal you,” Logan gives a circular nod into Gage. “You should do this. Take my blood in the least.”

No. Gage flat lines. I’ll be fine. I can handle a scar or two.

You would have thought we were offering a fresh case of smallpox.

I glance up at Logan. Tell him I think he’ll look hot with scars but he doesn’t need to have them. I’d love to do this for him.

Logan frowns his displeasure. “She says you’ll make a great Frankenstein for Halloween. She admires your dedication to the costume.” Logan winks over at me and I can tell that’s as far as he’s willing to go.

Fine. I’ll tell him myself, I say, touching my fingers to his hair ever so gently, as his date to the Kragger’s party. Please tell him, of course I’ll be his date tomorrow night. I bite down on my lip considering this for a moment. On second thought, I think we should steer clear of one another.

“She said she’d be your date tomorrow night, then changed her mind.” Logan spreads a mile wide smile.

Logan!

“What? That’s what you said.” He grins into his mischief.

I shake my head over at Gage.

Logan gives a long blink of dissatisfaction. “Does this have to do with the Kraggers?”

Exactly. I give Gage’s hand a squeeze. I need to buddy up to Morley and Arson—get on their good side and fast. I’ll have to figure out a way to please every Count on this island to get them to reverse that order or I’m as good as gone.

Logan leans in. He grazes over me with a delicate stare as though he were adoring me in this panicked state, as if what I had said was in some way cute and endearing.

What? I blink into him. I’ll be hanging with my new BFF Ellis Harrison. I might need to hit his stash just to kiss the right amount of Kragger ass. This isn’t going to be easy, you know.

Gage groans not needing to hear my asinine plan to know he doesn’t approve. If it has to do with the Kraggers, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go through with it.

“I agree.” Logan shakes his head, still dimpling over at me as if he were falling in love with me all over again “You won’t need the Kraggers. We’ll find a way to keep the treble. And we’ll take down the Counts together like we planned right from the beginning. We built our relationship on the foundation of their destruction and we’re so close to having everything we’ve ever wanted. We’re going to win this, Skyla—you and me.”

The tension boils around Logan’s brazen words. Gage is slacked jawed at his open attempt to usurp our relationship—ironic because Gage has clouded the waters with his less-than-chaste behavior right from the beginning.

Skyla, Gage leans in on his elbow, retracting from Logan’s grip. It kills me that you don’t trust me.

I look up at Logan not sure what to do with Gage at the moment.

His left dimple depresses. Let me come to the butterfly room tomorrow night after we leave the Kraggers. He jostles my hand. We can have our own party.

I give a weak nod. We’ll get this whole mess straightened out. I think.

I offer Gage a gentle kiss on the forehead and let Logan walk me downstairs.

We sit on the porch and swallow the fog as it presses into us with its cottony billows.

“You still worried about trusting him?” Logan plucks a reed from out of the border garden and twists it between his fingers. Logan has the capability to make every action, every sentence an act of sheer nobility.

I clutch at his bare arm. I’m sure he’ll have good excuse. Really, I’m not too worried about it. I’ll be gone in a month anyway. If not then, whenever my mother decides, she’s not overturning Ezrina and Nev’s ruling. It’s going to be me and you, Logan, either way.

So I guess its Gage who’ll be left alone. My heart breaks just thinking about it.

Logan wraps his arms around me and we watch the film of precipitation swirl over the yard. I stare into the mist a good long while until I start to see shapes and faces form in a velum state. Ladies in long dresses with hoop skirts, men in top hats, all of them dancing, twirling at a frenetic pace.

Do you see that? I ask.

“See what?” He strains his gaze out in the distance.

I pick up his hand and interlace our fingers as the Transfer transplants move among us.

Holy shit, Logan tightens his grip. They’re everywhere.

Chapter 87

Milking It

In the morning, I’m barely able to rouse myself out of bed. I suppose I should be thankful Ezrina didn’t feel the need for a conjugal visit last night or I might have slept well past evening. I’ve made it clear to Logan to include me in any nocturnal wanderings that he endures on my behalf. As it stands, it’s eleven-thirty in the morning, and this being Paragon, it looks more like evening anyway.

Tonight is the big Kragger get-together where they fatten up innocent island folk for their next altar sacrifice, only we all know who that will be, and I’ll be damned if I’m going down without a fight.

I stagger over to the mirror and take myself in. Great. I already look remarkably disheveled and insane. It’s not that big a stretch from me to Ezrina, really.

I guess technically she can screw the rules of our covenant and take over my person any time she pleases. She’s rogue that way. I should probably forewarn Gage of the possibility, but I’m guessing he’ll pick up on the bait and switch sooner than later.

I glance back at my reflection and try to memorize my features, my downturned lips, eyes clear as glass. I’m pretty certain once I’m a permanent resident of the Transfer, I won’t be caught dead gazing at myself in the mirror. I’m not sure who’ll have it worse, me in the Transfer or Ezrina in the tunnels. Oddly, I think Nev and Ezrina will find the baby-making suite in Demetri’s tower nothing short of paradise after what they’ve been through. One man’s hell is another man’s Eden. Blood for sex doesn’t sound like such a bad deal right about now.

I head downstairs to find Mia and Melissa taking lunch orders for their now joint business effort—the M & M café.

I quickly peruse the breakfast menu.

“Two eggs over easy, toast, and give me six sausages,” I say, throwing all artery clogging caution to the wind.

Mia slinks over with her neatly styled bob. She’s been frying the hell out of her hair with the flat iron so you can actually smell it when she gets in close but I’ll admit it does looks great on her.

“I had the weirdest dream last night,” she whispers as Melissa gets on with my order. “It was about Dad. You ever dream about him?”

“Sort of.” It’s the only logical answer. It’s not like I can call all the light drives I’ve been on “dreams,” but they qualify on some level I’m sure. “What was the dream about?”

“He said he was coming and that I should get ready to meet him. He said he missed me.” Her brows furrow as she sniffs back tears.

I lean in and hug Mia an extra-long time. He came to her in a dream and this sweetens the day without even trying.

“I love you,” I whisper. “If Daddy were to come to Paragon, would you want to see him?”

She blinks into me. “Of course.” It comes out sharp, charged with confusion. “But he’s not, Skyla.” She sighs into the window as the fog presses in.

On the other side of the glass I can see the face, the hands, the tall ornate hat of a woman—her entire being is married with the mist. She covers her mouth with her fingers as if to feign surprise.

This whole island is insane. Even the fog holds its wicked secrets.

“Dead people don’t come back.” Mia flicks a dishtowel over her shoulder and heads to assist Melissa with my order.

“What was that about?” Mom settles next to me at the bar while nursing the baby.

I glance over at her bare nipple, the baby suckling off her like he belonged there.

“Oh my freaking God!” I jump out the chair so fast the barstool shoots back like a missile and nearly takes out the TV.

The baby seizes and starts in on a full-blown howl.

“Oh for God’s sake, Skyla,” Mom snaps. “You act like I have a cockroach crawling on my shirt.” She stands and tries to soothe the screaming infant by clicking her tongue like a chicken on fire.

“If you had a cockroach crawling on your shirt, I’d be less concerned.” I step in and examine the extra nipple taped to my mother’s bare breast.

There are so many things wrong with this picture I don’t even know where to begin. First, the fact my mother has meticulously adhered a large, rather vulgar-looking rubber teat to her person is proof positive we have treaded well into raging lunatic territory. Second, the fact she feels comfortable walking around bare-chested outside the confines of her shower is more than a little unnerving, regardless of the fact her blouse is merely unbuttoned to her belly.

“It’s this new product called ‘Milk from Mommy,’” she whispers as the baby nestles into her breast again. “You attach this apparatus to your person and wear this over your shoulder.” She exposes a thin plastic pouch the kind Dr. Oliver keeps blood in like sane people, only this little baggie is chock full of milk, and presumably not my mother’s. “My body heat keeps it at the right temperature while he nurses and we get to connect on an intimate level. We’re forming a real mother, son bond.”

“That is so freaking sick!” Melissa gags at the sight.

“So you just keep refilling it with formula?” Drake surprises me as he pipes up from behind. He’s got his arms folded and his eyes glued to Mom’s triple nipple.

“God, no.” Mom shudders as though he had suggested beer as a viable option. “This is one hundred percent human breast milk. I found a provider from a gal I met at the clinic. She’s right here on the island so I simply drive over each day and pick up a fresh supply.”

“You’re milking people?” Mia whimpers in horror.

I’m betting right about now she wishes she were dead just like Dad.

Baby Beau looks up as if he wanted an answer to this himself.

“She has a machine that milks her.” Mom shoves the baby’s face back into her chest, and he indulges on the rather frightful contraption.

I wonder what level of child abuse this qualifies as and if just witnessing this carnal act carried out on an unsuspecting minor somehow makes us all accessories? God, I bet we’re all going to fry in hell for this.

“Have you seen my belt?” Tad wanders in clutching at his pants, surprisingly blasé about the entire scene until he catches sight of the spectacle and his trousers sail to the ground forming a chino puddle.

“Holy shit,” I whisper. It was bad enough having to witness my mother’s wares and now Tad has joined in on the fun, blinding us all with his tighty whities.

“What the hell is going on, Lizbeth?” he bellows with his pants down.

Mom makes bug eyes at him and points hard at his clothing malfunction as if Tad alone had the power to permanently scar us with the manifestation of his hairy legs. She doesn’t have a clue at the outrageous level of improper behavior she herself is breeding. The Landon house has bad form written all over it today.

At this point I’m not sure which barbaric display of overexposure is worse.

“I’m breastfeeding.” She shields her hand over the baby’s eyes until Tad covers up his skivvies.

“Jumping Joseph and Mary!” Tad stomps over to my mother and gawks at the indecency she’s propagating under the guise of nutritional bonding. “Crap on a crap cracker. You’re going to get us arrested!”

“Oh, get over it,” she snipes. “Everyone knows breastfed babies grow up to be better-adjusted adults.”

“Not this one,” he fires back. “I’m betting the day little Beau Geste here discovers this morsel of indecency lurking in his past, he’ll be looking to pump some lead into a couple of elderly next-door neighbors. Guess who’ll be sleeping in a casket then, Lizbeth?”

He’s got her there.

“The great thing about it is”—Mom walks over to the couch as if Tad hadn’t just threatened her with caskets and bullets—“any of you can try it.”

“I’ll pass,” I say, blinking a smile at Melissa as she sets down my food.

Tad takes a seat at the table and flips open his laptop, probably hoping to distract himself from the warped fantasy fleshing out around him with something more based in reality, like videos of talking cats.

“Tad?” Mom calls out, hopeful he’ll succumb to her lunacy. Swear to God if Tad starts breastfeeding, I’ll arrange for some bullets and caskets myself, better yet, I’ll avoid the felony and become a permanent resident at Marshall’s palace of perversion way the hay before graduation.

“Never mind that,” he snaps, shaking his head into his laptop, “we just bounced three checks, one of which was the mortgage.” He spikes up and points accusingly into the monitor. “Look at this, Lizbeth. Someone hijacked two thousand dollars cash out of our checking account last Thursday. We need to get down to the bank and let them know someone fraudulently accessed our funds.”

Mom remains suspiciously quiet. “Do you girls have your dresses pick out for the big dinner tonight?”

Did Lizbeth Landon just change the subject on a dime? Me thinks she’s guilty two thousand times over.

“Did you hear me?” Tad balks. “Two grand just evaporated into thin air and now we’re up the wazoo in bank fees!”

“You’re upsetting the baby,” she hisses. Her face twitches unnaturally, never a good sign. “I needed that money so I simply withdrew it from our account. I had no idea I needed ‘permission.’” Her auburn hair shakes out around her face.

“You needed the money?” He extends his arms to the sides as if she had the power to electrocute him with her words. “How about consulting with a little thing called our checkbook to familiarize yourself with the balance? And what exactly did you do with the mortgage, the car, and your friendly neighborhood psychiatrist payment?”

Gah! They’re still paying Dr. Booth?

“It’s for the baby—breast milk doesn’t come cheap.” She returns her attention to the infant currently motorboating in her bosom.

“Milk?” Tad’s face turns into a giant raspberry. “We’ve got an entire gallon of cow juice in the fridge! Skyla, pull out the milk and show your mother.”

I choose to ignore his plea for camaraderie although I’m totally siding with Tad.

“It’s for an entire month’s supply,” she shoots back, like that makes things better. “I’ll try to get a price break next time, since he’s really taken to it.”

Tad seizes. He completely stops breathing before zipping out of the room at speeds that defy the laws of physics. Who knew that verbalizing the family’s financial destitution was such an efficient way to make Tad leave the room? Or maybe it was simply my mother’s virally insane third boob.

“That went well,” Melissa quips. “You do realize that the rest of this family needs to eat, right?” She takes a jab at Mom in her father’s absence.

“She’s just trying to take care of the baby that your brother abandoned,” Mia fires back.

“Yeah?” Melissa postures with her hands over her hips. “Well, you can kiss any new back-to-school clothes good-bye because that lady just exchanged them for a couple of boobs!”

“Mom!” Mia staggers at the thought of having to wear clothing from yesteryear for yet another season.

“Girls,” Mom calls out, rubbing her head at the temple. “I’ll have enough money to get you both new clothes. I’ll take you to the mall in a week or two.”

They squeal and dance in a circle at the prospect of a shopping spree.

I lean into Mom full with suspicion. If she doesn’t have enough to cover her mortgage maybe we’ll be living at the mall? Or in the least Mom will turn into one of those crafty mothers who make you invert store tags on clothes so you can eventually return them.

“Where are you getting this money?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

“I’m getting a loan from a friend. He offered to do me the favor anytime I needed.” She cuts a steely glance up at me before petting the baby like he were made of porcelain.

I’ll bet I know exactly who this friend is.

We all know how useless his favors turn out to be.

Chapter 88

Carousing with the Counts

The sky lights up a smooth shade of ash with no rain in sight for the evening, just the ghosts from Ezrina’s underworld submerging us in their mist.

I pick up Logan and Gage in the Mustang and drive us down to the east end of the island.

The melancholy orb of the moon lingers high above, glaring down at us, severe as a blister.

“Strange night,” I muse as we pull down the long secluded road that Logan navigates me toward.

Gage sat in the back so Logan could give directions. His swelling has gone down significantly, leaving him with that slightly “Frankensteined effect” from the bevy of stitches Dr. O had to map out, but what a freaking hot Frankenstein he is. Actually both Logan and Gage took my breath away in their dark suits, their metallic-toned ties, and cutting good looks. I can’t help but feel lucky to have both Oliver boys in my life. I know it can’t go on like this forever, and thanks to Ezrina and the Counts, I won’t have to worry about that too much longer.

A large white mansion that seems on par with Demetri’s not-so-humble abode springs up from behind a row of hedges. I pull up on the long brick driveway where a valet waits to take my keys and thus making a quick escape nothing short of impossible. Good thing I have a handy Levatio by my side, albeit slightly battered and bruised.

Logan and Gage brazenly size me up before we head up the stairs.

“You’re too hot tonight,” Logan muses.

I excavated an old silver dress that I once wore to a New Years’ Eve party, my last one in L.A.

Since I’ve grown over two inches in that time, the hemline has crept up considerably, and with a pair of spiked matching FM’s, it’s made of some serious kick-ass win.

“I’m really trying to get Ellis’s dad to like me.” Hell I’m trying to get Arson to like me, too. I might even volunteer to open a blood bank in the back of the venue in an effort to keep me out of solitary confinement.

Who knew making it to my senior year would be my new goal in life?

“Oh, he’ll like you.” Logan averts his eyes. “He likes them young. His new girlfriend is a sophomore in college.”

“So I’ve witnessed. His poor wife.” I’d stab my husband in the eye if he even looked at a sophomore in college, well, unless the sophomore in question was me.

“Ex-wife. She’s likes them young, too,” Logan adds.

Gage gives a quiet nod affirming Logan’s theory regarding the juvenile-loving Harrisons.

Gage is tall, dark and handsome tonight and far too quiet, but apparently speaking is beyond painful when half your face is stitched up. Not that I mind. Gage is even hotter as the strong, silent type.

We enter the through a set of beveled glass doors into a sea of elegantly dressed people. The architecture is comprised of nothing but sparkling chandeliers, glossy marbled floors, and expensive artwork—your standard fare as far as megalomaniac Counts are concerned.

I spot Ellis with his parents talking to some kids I don’t recognize, probably from East. Arson Kragger is yakking it up with Ellis’s dad, most likely going over procedures on how they’ll snatch me in my sleep. Behind him, an entire wall looks as if it’s missing—the house simply opens up to the backyard where a massive buffet is set up.

“OK.” I take a quick breath while glancing at both Logan and Gage. “Maybe you guys should hang out by the food?” Because I guarantee they will not like what is about to go down.

I stride confidently in Ellis’s direction. Why do I get the feeling this is going to hurt?

He takes one look at me, and his jaw drops. His father’s eyes bulge out of his head as if he’d like a piece of me himself.

I strut my stuff, swaying my hips, trying not to wobble on my five-inch heels and ignore the fact it feels as if I’m walking on ice.

“Hey,” I squeal into Ellis who looks resplendent in his own right, and just as I’m about to enter their circle, my foot glides out from under me. I throw my hands in the air, trying to right myself with an unflattering gyration. Instead of falling flat on my ass, I manage to accidently knock Arson’s wineglass into Morley’s face. He jumps back and inspects the fresh blotch of crimson on his white dress shirt while wiping down his eyes.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” I try to mop up the effort with his tie. “You can get it out real easy with hydrogen peroxide. It bubbles up real cool and everything.” Oh, wait that’s for bloodstains. Dear God, this isn’t blood, is it?

“It’s quite all right.” He pulls his suit over a notch and buttons it, hiding the hideous disaster his future faux daughter-in-law just inflicted upon him.

“How are you doing?” Ellis’s mother, Olivia, embraces me. She holds the scent of strawberries and springtime, her bright orange hair hangs almost to her waist. “Remind me to thank you for that later,” she whispers.

It’s hard to tell whether or not I’ve pleased her. She suffers a self-inflicted facial paralysis via Botox so it’s nearly impossible to decipher her true emotions.

“I might take you up on that.” I give a shy smile to the boy and to Bootsie, who inspects the awkward exchange. It’s only then I notice the boy’s arm wrapped around Olivia’s waist while Bootsie nuzzles into Morley’s neck. Seriously? Eww. And by the way, it hasn’t gone unnoticed that they’re both showing me up in the PDA department.

They’re all standing around sort of gaping at me expecting me to molest Ellis or go home, so I pull him in and indulge in a lingering lip-lock that gives homage to PDA’s everywhere. I stab my tongue around Ellis’s mouth as if I lost a diamond in there.

Crap. Kissing Ellis is worse than sucking face with burnt toast. He tastes exactly how he smells, perfectly illegal, and I don’t mean that in any good way. I am so going to have to do something about this, stat. But, really? There aren’t enough breath mints in the world.

This is all systems go, no dicking around. I have one night as far as I see it to prove to the Counts that I need to stay on this side of the island.

Ellis pulls back and tries to catch his breath.

“You’re good,” he whispers, astonished by the fact, as if he were truly expecting a less than stellar performance.

“Skyla?” A voice booms from behind.

I turn to find Tad and Mom with the baby in a sling over her chest. I hope to God he’s not sucking on her auxiliary nipple in front of mixed company. The Counts will probably want the entire family banished from the planet for that act of perversion, but then again, my mother is one herself.

“What’s going on?” Mom narrows in on me. Her cheeks fill with color after witnessing the spit swap session with my most favorite stoner.

This embarrasses her?

Before I can properly stutter out the lie, Demetri and Darla fill in our circle.

“Everyone looks stunning.” Demetri spews the words through his perennial smile. “Skyla—a new boyfriend perhaps?”

“Yes.” I nod into Demetri. “That stunt with Mr. Dudley was just to tick off Gage.” I try to shrug it off. “I’m one hundred percent into Ellis and secretly have been from the beginning.” I pick up his hand and press it against my lips. Gah—even his hand smells like pot.

“You two should join us sometime for dinner,” Ellis’s mother offers. “In fact, I insist!”

“Oh, for sure,” I say. “I’ll be around for a lot more than one dinner. There’s holidays, birthdays… I’m pretty much a permanent fixture.” I cut a look to both Morley and Arson, who appear a little less than amused.

“Really?” Mom squints into me. I just want to shake her. Why can’t she just accept Ellis and be quiet? Did I needle her over the fact she chose to defile someone else’s baby? And I fully expect a lawsuit in eighteen years with Beau Geste at the helm, ready to trickle every last dime out of Mom and Tad over their questionable dining practices.

“Yes, really.” I contest. “This time it’s forever.” My stomach seizes as I say it.

“Don’t worry, son.” Tad pats Ellis on the back. “Skyla’s version of forever will be over in about fifteen minutes. Some other guy will sail by and catch her interest and she’ll dump you at the dinner table like the last goof.” He and Mom turn toward Demetri and start in on their own conversation.

“Gage is not a goof,” I whisper to Ellis.

“You really dump him at the dinner table?”

“On accident.” I shoot Tad a dirty look for even bringing it up.

“If you’re going to do that to me, at least have the decency to wait for dessert.”

Morley stiffens his neck in my direction as if he’s on to my fickle love ’em and leave ’em behavior. Leave it to Tad to botch everything up.

Morley leans into his son. “She seems quite the catch.” He leers over my body with his slow as molasses gaze before reverting to Ellis. “I’d savor this fifteen minutes, if I were you.” He takes the hand of the co-ed next to him and stalks off into the crowd as our small group disbands.

Perfect. Strike one.

“Thanks a lot, Ellis,” I hiss.

“What?”

“You could have let him know how much you love me,” I whisper. “Or how you can’t live without me, or how you’re looking forward to seeing me, alive and well, every single day.” Honestly, you just have to spell everything out for some people.

“What’s this about?” His mother’s brows touch in the middle. Dear, God she must have figured out the fact I’m using her son and now she’s morbidly pissed.

“Skyla’s been taken.” Ellis nods as if this were banal news on every level. “And she got her treble revoked. New moon, right?” He asks as if we were talking about our plans after graduation, only I won’t have any because I’ll be an entire scholastic year behind for the rest of my unnatural life.

“Yes, that’s right,” I offer. Fantastic. Ellis could care less.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Olivia takes a sip from her champagne. “I had that happen to a good friend of mine a few years back.” She shakes her head. “Hey…” She brightens. “If you see Paige Carpenter, tell her Olivia from Zumba says hello.”

My mouth falls open, perplexed by the obvious lack of heart that each and every Count seems to display.

“No. I will not say hello. She needs help. I need help.” I shake my head and take off.

I walk out onto the cool patio and run smack into Marshall and Triple-E Izzy.

“I hate Counts,” I hiss it low.

“Keep it down.” Marshall slits his eyes to her overexposed rack. “Perhaps a walk in the fresh night air will calm your nerves.”

“Precisely why I’m out here.”

“Other direction.” Marshall takes me by the elbow and escorts me back inside as we meander through the crowd. “Did we lose her?”

I look back and see Tad eyeing her happy sacs like an infant ready to take the taste-test challenge.

Mom is occupying Izzy, showing off the baby. Actually… she’s exposing the udder duct taped to her chest to the horror of Demetri’s fake niece.

“She’ll be busy for a while.” I pull Marshall to the side. Marshall looks like the god he is tonight in his immaculate suit, his hair slicked back—the devil winking in his eye with a constant proposition for me. “I think you’re really great but I want you to know it’s OK for you to see other people.” I’d hate to think Marshall was saving all that pent-up aggression for yours truly, when there are so many willing females ready to succumb to his every desire.

“Perfect. I’m seeing other people right this very minute. The entire lot of them smell like a cheap insert from a magazine,” he says, pressing his hand in the small of my back and navigating me through the great room.

“I mean dating, sexually assaulting, things of that nature.”

“Nonsense. I reserve those rights for you and you alone.” He gives a sly smile and my insides melt a little.

“What if you had to wait a really long time?” Like forever.

“Six thousand years is quite enough, but I suppose a few more wouldn’t kill me outright—if I were subject to the curse of death, of course.”

We head toward the entry and a blast of frigid air bleeds in from outside.

“You would wait for me?” I don’t understand this. “What if there’s nothing to wait for?” I press in my gaze and arc my body toward his. I need for Marshall to understand in the most loving way possible that we can never be.

“Everything I’ve shared with you, the news Delphinius gave us, the prophecy regarding the birth of our child”—he narrows his crimson-colored eyes over me with a sweetness I’m not used to from him—“it will happen, love.” He touches his thumb to my cheek and his wonderful vibrations tune through me like the strumming of a harp. “I love you, Skyla. In time you will feel the same.”

I catch my breath and hold it, not sure how to respond. A part of me knows this is real. A part of me already has a very special place in my heart for Marshall. And although I’m terribly afraid to admit it, the thought of making love to him has been playing out in the recesses of my darkest fantasies for some time now.

“Really?” His brows arch in amusement.

Shit.

“I assure you”—he rakes the words across my cheek like a firebrand—“your darkest fantasies will blush at the very idea of what I’m prepared to do with you.”

“The people from the Transfer…” I change the subject with a start. “I’ve seen them. They’re trapped in the fog.” I try to catch my breath and shoo all thoughts of Marshall and his carnal affection away but it’s like trying to put out a forest fire with a squirt gun. My face flushes with the flurry of promiscuous possibilities.

“They, my love, are the fog.” His brows rise. “Temporarily, anyway. I couldn’t figure out how to make them go away once they seeped their way into existence so I’ve banished them to vapors.”

“You did this?” I have to say I’m rather impressed with his ability to banish at will. And the fact he has the ability to get my hormones from zero to overdrive in less than five seconds is pretty remarkable as well.

Chloe struts by in a cheetah-print scarf she’s trying to pass off as a dress with Holden by her side. Figures. She’s probably the one who suggested my treble be revoked in the first place. “Can you banish people to vapors?” Although, I think ashes would suit Chloe better.

“No.” He glowers over at the two of them.

“Marshall, you need to help me,” I plead. “My treble will be up soon.”

“There are rules.” He depresses a forlorn smile.

“How will I ever be your wife?” Words I thought would never leave my lips. “How will we ever delve into the dark recesses of my twisted fantasies—how will you love me with your heavenly bod if I’m captive in some cage like a zoo animal?” That’s right. I’m throwing it all into the get-me-out-of-Celestra-jail hopper, including my delicate girl parts.

“I’ll seal you as my own. Once you’re sealed, I have visitation rights wherever they drag you off to.”

“Conjugal visits?” I balk. “And this is supposed to comfort me?” I let out a deep sigh of discontent. “In all honesty, Marshall, it’s only you who has never let me down. If you could help me again just this once.” Technically, twice, when I fill him in on the Ezrina gaffe, but only if he saves Logan too. I’d go down with Logan in a heartbeat. There’s no way I’d let him suffer alone on my behalf.

He glances around as if he were about to impart some sage wisdom passed down from the ages. “I assure you, I will not let you down. I would never withhold my affection from you just because you’re bound and chained. Speaking of chains that bind, we could practice this art ourselves, if you wish.” He looks intent on starting the bevy of bondage exercises as soon as tonight.

“I’ll pass on the whips and chains for now.” I give a devilish grin because, if Marshall is correct, there will be plenty of time for this later.

He lifts my chin gently with his finger. “I promise you this. I’ll gift you a visit with one who can change everything.”

“You will?”

“I already have.” He points out the door, and I gasp at the sight.

Chapter 89

The Parent Predicament

The large gaping mouth of the door is bejeweled with two of the most beautiful beings to ever walk the planet—my parents.

I run over to my father and leap into a hug. He spins me, laughing his velvet, husky laugh. The familiar scent of his cologne serenades me with its blessings like a song written in the blood of a million yesterdays. It’s strange seeing him here at the Kragger estate, which sort of amounts to a Count convention.

“You look so good.” I kiss his cheek and run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. He’s younger and this alarms me on some level. I wonder how far back he’s traveling from.

“I’m not traveling, Skyla.” He pulls the loose hairs from out of my eyes. “Your mother here was kind enough to bring me along for the journey.”

I go over and hug Candace Messenger’s thin frame, take in the scent from her hair of lilac and roses. It’s so much like looking in a mirror with her, but she holds the air of authority—that look of knowing she talks about is forever embedded in her eyes.

“You let him cross the chasm,” I say.

“Indeed, there is something unusual at play.” She winks. Her gold dress sparkles under the charge of the chandelier. She looks luminescent—an alluring siren who demands the attention of every living being on the island.

Marshall bristles against me. What’s a chasm or two when every dominion is at your disposal?

It’s almost as if he’s secretly trying to tell me something about my mother. Nevertheless, she can probably hear his thoughts—and mine.

“You guys look great and everything,” I say, “but there’s no way you two can come inside.” It might be a dead man’s party if you’re a resurrected Count, but for sure not of the dearly departed husband variety. “Mia’s here,” I add to my father.

“I’ll do my best to avoid her,” he assures. “But before my visit’s through, I’d love for the two of us to be reunited. In fact, I’ve been visiting her dreams, trying to prepare her for this.”

“I really doubt there’s a logical way to do that,” I say. “How long are you here? Where will you stay?”

“They’re guests at the ranch,” Marshall answers. “Your father has taken to the animals.”

“Well, if you like animals, you’re in luck. There are plenty in there.” I glance over my shoulder and see Morley and Arson.

Gage and Logan stand in the back, talking to Ethan, Drake, Brielle, and unfortunately Chloe. I bet Demetri is hiding like the coward he is. How morbidly exciting that both of my father’s killers are about to have the scare of a lifetime, not that either of them would be genuinely frightened. I doubt Chloe even knew what he looked like.

“My treble ends next new moon.” I direct it at my mother accusingly before reverting to my father. “Daddy, you have to do something. I’ll be of no help to those people in the tunnels, if I’m locked up in a cage for the rest of my life.”

“Skyla,” he says, sweeping over me with a look of anguish, “certainly there’s something we can do.” He protests to my mother.

“Rumor has it you’ve taken to appeasing the petitioners.” She says it low, almost as if she were holding back a laugh. “Have you figured out how to make them happy?” She’s talking about Morley and Arson. Considering I’ve yet to invoke their mercy, I’d say that rumors fly quicker than greased pigs in the nethersphere.

“If the rumor you received was via my grey matter, then yes, you’re correct,” I say. It’s like I can’t turn off the bitchy attitude with her. It’s weird. “I just have to figure out what makes Arson Kragger tick.” Preferably something I can feasibly achieve without a resurrection.

“His study is off in the back,” she offers. “Most men keep their prized possessions front and center.”

“Perfect!” I snatch Marshall up the elbow. Of course I’m not going to dig around the Kragger estate by my lonesome. “Where will I find the two of you?”

“Here and there.” She glosses over the crowd with an assertion of venom. Something about my mother scares the hell out of me on every level. “I’m sure we’ll bump into you again.”

I wave as Marshall presses me back into the house and down a corridor to the left.

“This is so freaking surreal!” I squeal into him as he wraps an arm around my waist like we’re a couple. Although, according to Marshall, and the future prognostication of Delphinius, we sort of are.

“Your beauty is surreal.” He says it low and sultry.

Carly Foster strolls out of a vacant room with a lanky boy I may or may not have beat up while I was hallucinating from the effects of the holy rose of terror. I duck my face into Marshall’s chest as we walk on by.

“Here it is.” He opens the door to a dimly lit study the size of the entire Landon living space.

I do a quick inventory of the neatly laid out frames on his desk, the oil paintings lining the walls, and realize just where Arson Kraggers tiny, cold heart lies.

Just as I thought—all four walls are filled with picture after picture of a black haired beauty, eyes the color of a crystal sea—Emerson.

“So I guess we know what we have to do,” I say, turning to Marshall.

“We?” He buzzes with surprise. “If the we in question is you and Ezrina, I believe you’re on the right track.”

“I’ll need you to supervise. You know, get her into the right body.”

“I always get into the body I desire.” He smears it with his signature sexual leer. “I gather no one is rushing to fill her void. You’ll be fine on your own.”

“Why aren’t you willing to help?” I’m stunned by this. “This is totally easy for you.”

“And completely forbidden.”

“You helped with Logan.”

“I gave you the dress.” He pulls me in and my chest conforms to his. The only thing that feels forbidden is Marshall holding me so brazenly while everything in me quivers for more. “Body assignments are strictly forbidden. The Counts are breaking a myriad of dogmatic principles and I won’t take part in their destructive behavior. They will be judged.”

Obviously, there isn’t a soul in any dimension able to get me out of this mess. I pull back and sigh into the dismal reality.

“Fine, I’ll go to Ezrina myself.” I take Marshall in with all of his physical perfection while interlacing our fingers. I can feel his glorious, vibrant love pulsate through me and wonder how I ever got so lucky that a celestial king such as himself should ever pay me any attention. How I long for those burning nights laden with Marshall’s bare flesh pressed against mine. Of course, that’s after I chain him neatly to the bedpost and chastise him with my body. The punishments I have in store for him are rife with blistering passion. Marshall is an Adonis that I plan on worshiping nightly.

“My, my—pouring it on a little thick, are we?” he purrs, lapping up the stroke to his ego.

“Did it work?”

“Perhaps.” He steals a quick kiss before pulling away. “What the hell—let’s get this party started.” He snaps his fingers and we disappear.

Chapter 90

Blue Light Special

The pale alabaster walls of the Transfer elongate in front of us as Marshall and I stride toward the Count marine exhibit.

We enter the expansive wing of Ezrina’s lair and find the queen of the underworld clicking away at an illuminated clipboard similar to the one Ingram clings to in the tunnels—her Ingram. Creepy.

“What?” She doesn’t bother to look up from her endeavor.

“Follow us,” Marshall instructs and she’s quick to obey.

I lead her over toward the back row of suspended corpses where I once saw Emerson’s body, and sure enough, she’s still there, floating in sea of blue syrup. Her long, dark hair is sprayed out like a bad case of static electricity—her eyes are closed partway. I wonder what having Emerson back on the island will be like? I bet the Kraggers will say she ran away and they buried some poor, unidentifiable creature, because they’re original like that.

“I want this one,” I say, tapping the tank and setting off a spiral of approval from the soon-to-be-resurrected princess herself.

Ezrina cocks her head at Marshall and he motions for the hocus pocus to begin.

I watch as Ezrina drains the tank, wheels her next door to the lab and performs some sort of carwash detail over Emerson’s body and a thought comes to me. When I worked shoulder to shoulder with Ezrina, during my involuntary internment, I was taught the simple procedure of loading a Count in the suspension fluid and the Count in question was named…

I take in a sharp breath.

Laken Stewart! That’s where I know her from. Gah! She’s a Count!

Laken Stewart is the girl Wesley has his penis compass set to—the one that makes Cooper smile with a patina of lust-driven hope in his eyes—the very same one with a mother and sister locked in the tunnels. But how? I guess my own family tree could answer that question.

Laken Stewart is a Count.

I shake my head at the idea. And now there were more questions I’d like answers to. I look over at Marshall and Ezrina the not-so-good witch as they bubble and brew over Emerson’s body and decide to shelf the conversation for later.

“Leave,” Ezrina demands.

Both Marshall and I head back to the vial sarcophagus and hang out with a bunch of dead Counts while she performs her secret magic.

I walk row after row of the watery Count coffins until I get to the place where I set Laken’s body myself. I remember that day distinctly.

“What are you doing?” Marshall seems slightly amused.

“Looking for Laken Stewart. I put her in this tube.” I knock on the glass of an empty overgrown vial and glance at Marshall.

“You were traveling, dear. She’s long since been resurrected.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“Not my dealings, neither are they Ezrina’s. She does what she’s told and nothing more is added to the conversation.”

“I tried to breathe life into her. I touched her dead lips to mine, but it didn’t work. I thought I could save her.” I shake my head, impotent. “I can’t save anybody.” Least of all the people in the tunnels.

“Hey”—I lean in with concern—“you never did tell me what had you so worked up over Logan.”

He takes breath and withholds a laugh.

“Everything has its price.” He pulls me in by the waist and mesmerizes me with those rich henna eyes.

“If you tell me”—I bat my lashes—“I might just share a vision with you.”

He straightens at the thought. “The Pretty One saw fit to submit a trial with the Justice Alliance, leaving yours truly in the defensive hot seat.” He leans in and puckers.

“Whoa.” I press a hand into his chest. “Why would he do that?” Throwing Marshall in front of a celestial jury makes no sense.

He gives a long blink of dismay. “Why worry yourself with details, love?” He says it sweetly as he slips a kiss into my hair.

“Did you do something wrong?”

“Sometimes,” he says, picking up my hand and pressing his lips to my finger, “there is no other way.”

My heart thumps erratic at the implications of it all. I very well know that all roads to anything wrong usually lead to me.

A loud pop explodes in the other room and Ezrina appears in the doorway. She moves over a step and reveals a breathtakingly beautiful, very much living, Emerson Kragger.

***

The party rages on as we arrive back at the scene of the soon-to-be “Countastrophe.” Things usually fall to shit pretty quickly once the dead saunter back onto the island, so I surmise tonight will be no different.

I swallow hard as we walk through the front doors of the massive Kragger estate with a newly animated Emerson in tow. She’s gorgeous, if I do say so myself—long black hair, eyes like the evening sky, and she’s even donned a velvet dress from Marshall’s haunted-frock collection. She’s a stunning creature and I’m hoping to God she doesn’t accidently stun Arson Kragger to death from the shock of it all.

“You can’t just walk in there,” I tell her. “I’m going to find your dad and bring him to you first.” After I have a rather strange conversation with him loosely based on reality.

“OK,” she says before darting inside and swirling through the crowd.

“Crap,” I hiss. Typical Kragger behavior. It’s like they’ve all got the asshole gene. I quickly plow through the wall of bodies and snatch her back by the elbow. “There may have been something I forgot to tell you,” I pause, while I try to manufacture something to tell her. “You have to live with me.” Shit. Tad is going to be less than thrilled about having an extra mouth to feed. “Just for a while, and if you don’t, then I hope you enjoy the view from your water-filled condo because back in the aquarium you go.”

She flinches in horror.

“Fine.”

Emerson succumbs to my command with nothing more than a threat. This is going to be easier than I thought.

I pan the crowd and spot a tall bleached-out creature headed in this direction. Shit! There he is and I don’t have a proper plan in order.

“Wait here.” I push her behind a giant potted plant. “Mr. Kragger?” I shout as he turns to go outside. He pauses with a malevolent smile before making his way over. His long, thin fingers sport nails sharpened to triangular points. His tall, foreboding frame dictates the world must look up at him—he’s evil incarnate right here in the flesh. No wonder he breeds demons—he is one.

I step into him, shaking with a surge of adrenaline. I’m so damn sick of the Kraggers trying to use me, touch me, and commit bodily felonies with me at their leisure.

“I need the ruling for the treble overturned,” I demand.

“No.” He scratches at his eyelid bored with my effort.

“I have something you want and the power to take it away. Revoke my treble and you lose her twice.” I yank Emerson from the indoor shrubbery and shove her in his direction.

You can feel time stop, his face, his body freeze as he takes her in.

I half expect him to start in on an inquisition, pull at her hair to see if she’s a lookalike in a cheap wig, an apparition, or a hologram, but he doesn’t. Instead, Arson Kragger drops to his knees and starts in on an all-out wail.

I tremble at the sight of a grown man weeping at his not-so-dead daughter’s feet.

Something tells me I’ve just won my treble back for good.

Chapter 91

Freak Out

I wish I could find some way to blame this all on Ethan and his so-called special lemonade. I wish I could stop the crowd from amassing around a heaving, sobbing Arson Kragger in order for Emerson and I to get our resurrection stories straight but I can’t.

An entire mob of people bear witness to the grown Count lost in mortal sorrow.

“Chloe.” Emerson steps over her grieving father as if he were a stone in her path. “So nice to see you again.” She gives a stealth look of hatred as she circles around her least favorite casket dweller. “Skyla here tells me things are going great for you.” She jets her chin out with a marked aggression, and for a second, I’m about a thousand percent sure claws are going to fly.

Gage appears next to me with his strangely sexy patchwork face.

“The hell is going on?” he whispers.

“I found a way to get my treble.” I slip my hand down low and he slaps me some skin.

Logan crops up on the other side and gives a little laugh as Emerson goes on about how she’s been studying abroad, never once bringing up the funeral.

“Excellent work.” Logan breathes it over my shoulder, sultry as if my power to procure the dead for my bidding was a complete turn on to him. Probably is. “How long does she stay?”

“Forever, if I’m lucky.” I have no idea what the expiration date is on the Kragger in question.

The crowd breaks into an unbearable murmur as Arson recomposes himself and stands to his feet. He stagers over to Emerson with his arms stretched out like a zombie and she recoils from his touch.

I take in a quick breath.

Who knew I’d have to program her to be nice to her own father? Speaking of which…

“Did you guys happen to see my parents?” I crane my neck past Gage, into the dwindling crowd. I guess once you bring back the dead, people hit the exit pretty quick.

“Right there.” Logan nods behind me and I turn, nearly passing out at the sight. To my horror, Mom is proudly displaying her partial frontal nudity with baby Beau happily suckling away at her breast extension.

I gasp at the sight. No wonder people are leaving in droves. If Arson’s howling didn’t freak them out, my mother’s insistence to publicly flaunt her udders, might have did them in.

“I’m taking your mother home.” Tad glares at me like Mom’s boob flashing dress was designed by yours truly. “I’ll bring around the car,” he barks into her. “For God’s sake, Lizbeth”—his arms flail, mixing the air in front of her—“cover up, will you?” He stalks off, and for once, I feel like stalking off with him.

Then it happens.

“Lizbeth?” My mother, the one who gave birth to me, the one who bears my striking resemblance and has long since passed away, approaches the partially clad psychotic I now call Mom. Candace wears her signature “I’ll cut your throat” smile. Honest to God, she might have been better suited as Chloe’s mother than mine.

“Do I know you?” Mom leans in before her eyes saucer out at the sight. “You look so much like.” She turns to face me, stunned.

“It’s her.” I hold my mother up before she collapses and kills the baby she’s attempting to suffocate in her bosom.

“Let’s go somewhere.” Logan takes my celestial mother by the arm and tries to steer her toward the exit but she raises a hand to him like she’s about to smack him and he subdues the effort.

Marshall looks on amused from the sidelines. He seems content to observe from a distance. I suppose outing himself to the Olivers was enough.

“Lizbeth…” My father sweeps in. “It’s me,” he whispers.

“Oh, honey!” She presses a long kiss into Dad’s cheek before pulling away to deal with the squirming infant in her arms. She covers up her girl parts quick as possible and readjusts the baby in his expensive suede sling purchased by none other than my father’s killer. “What’s happening?”

Dad looks across the room and I follow his gaze straight over toward the assassin himself.

“Come with me,” he beckons. “I will tell you everything.”

Chapter 92

Ranch Hand

A vat of fertile clouds settle over the island, thick and cloying with a thousand different faces embedded in the haze. They watch over us with curiosity, with a wickedness that suggests they are very much rooting for our downfall.

Marshall decides to use his Sector status for good and blip both of my mothers, my father, baby Beau and me over to his earthly haunt.

Mom sent Tad home alone—well, she tried—Izzy hopped into the minivan citing she needed a ride and of course Tad was more than happy to oblige. Let’s hope a ride of the four wheeled variety is all he obliges her with.

Mom and Dad sit on Marshall’s sofa while Candy girl bosses my favorite Sector around like her butler monkey. Needless to say, Candace insisted Marshall reintroduce himself to my mother, which of course he did.

“You call this tea?” The celestial queen balks, at the porcelain teacup he carefully set at her side. “The water I wash my feet with would taste better. Try coffee.” She bats him away.

Logan and Gage decided to grant us some privacy and bowed out of the family reunion even after I begged them not to. Logan stayed behind at the Kraggers and offered to give my sisters a ride home, so I gave him the keys to the Mustang. It’s not like I needed it with the supernatural transport. I also made him promise to bring Emerson in tow. Thinly veiled threats aren’t going to work with the Kraggers. I need to make it clear I’m the one holding the life or death reins around here.

My parents sit side by side on the couch, love struck and doe eyed, reminiscing about the good old days—the long walks on hot sandy beaches and late-night candlelit dinners after the girls went to bed.

I clear my throat in the event they forgot one of the girls was seated right here in front of them.

“I think we should cut to the chase,” I say. I think Mom would stay forever if I didn’t prod things along, not that I could blame her. Anyway, Gage and the butterfly room await.

“What is the chase?” Mom looks over at Candace with a discerning look. “Why are you here?” She pins her with an unnecessary level of suspicion.

“I’ll be prepping Skyla for the war as will her father.” Candace openly takes on my mother with a death stare.

“There are only three regions left,” I say. Isn’t she even mildly aware of the fact I could have used this prepping months ago?

“Then we should get to business.” She glowers at me with a look that suggests she might drag my ass outside right now and slap a crossbow in my hands.

My mother takes in a quick breath and examines this queen perched upon Marshall’s recliner like a goddess.

“I’ll have you speak a little kinder to my child, thank you very much,” she snaps. The baby in her arms dangles lifeless from her breast and suddenly I’m fearing for both of their lives.

“My child,” Candace corrects, “is a woman with great capability. She doesn’t irritate easily. Do you Skyla?” She never once takes her eyes off Mom.

“Well…” I start.

Marshall comes back with a steaming mug at the ready and shakes his head at me, imploring me not to continue.

“Bitter as you,” he says, handing it over to Candace, “like it.”

I’m sure he added those last two words for safekeeping of all things scrotum.

“Lizbeth,” my father starts, “I won’t be staying long. Would it trouble you to spend some time at the ranch?” He says it slow, his voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to ask, of course I’ll come—if you don’t mind this little one.” She picks up Beau’s tiny listless hand. “He’s not mine, but I wish he were.”

My father brushes her cheek with his finger and gazes at her as if she was the brightest star.

“Does he treat you well?” He’s asking about Tad.

“Yes.” Mom waves a hand in the air. “Gosh yes. It’s just sometimes I wonder if I moved too soon. I should have waited, given fate a chance to step in. I’m not sure if he was really the one.”

“He was.” My doppelganger clears her throat. “I always place the correct people by your side when you need them—when the time is right.” She looks directly at me when she says it.

We are so having a Logan-Gage-Marshall inspired conversation before she leaves.

My father starts in slow with details regarding the war, the fact the Counts have the upper hand, then eases in for the kill.

“One of the Fems—one of these creatures that are trying to overturn Celestra and the Sectors—I think it’s important for you to know he was responsible for my death.”

“Oh my gosh.” She grips her chest in horror, accidently clipping the baby.

“You know him, Lizbeth,” Candace sings like a chime. “He pursues you with a relentless vigor. He would set the universe on fire to have you.”

Did she have to paint such a tragically romantic picture?

“Me?” Mom slinks into her humility. “Who is this? Is it you?” She gapes at Marshall as if she’s seeing him in some predatory light.

“No, Mom.” I take a breath. This is it, the moment I have waited for. I can practically hear the drum roll in the background. “It’s Demetri.”

The room stills. My mother inventories her surroundings as if she’s mildly questioning if this were a dream.

“Demetri?” Mom shakes her head as if a word salad just fumbled from my lips.

“Yes.” I nod incredulously. “He offed Daddy and now he’s trying to buy your affection so he can get into your pants.” OK, so maybe I could have phrased that with a little more finesse.

“Oh, Skyla.” She averts her eyes.

“It’s true.” Candace touches her fingers at the tips, while gauging my mother’s reaction.

Mom takes up Dad’s hand and blinks into him. “He killed you?”

“He was given an order.” Dad glances over at me as if I were the one who gave it.

He means Chloe. And Chloe did so because of me. Holy shit. I’m indirectly responsible for my own father’s death. People who are indirectly responsible are totally innocent, by the way.

“Lizbeth,” my father whispers, “he was indirectly responsible.”

Shit. People who are indirectly responsible are totally guilty and should be impaled on a very sharp post.

“He was directly responsible,” I correct, with no real evidence to back this.

“I agree with Skyla,” Candace chimes. “The fire may have killed you, but it was he who set it.”

“You said he had an order.” My mother nods. “He has to follow orders. He told me so himself.”

Good God. Not only is she defending the Fenemy, but she’s embraced the disadvantages of his lifestyle.

Just fuck. If the fact he set my father on fire is an impotent means of getting her to hate him, then all hope is truly lost. Besides, Chloe gave the order. I should spill everything I know.

I perk up a little at the thought of dethroning the leech of Landon castle as faux daughter of the year.

A vision comes to me, faint and disorganized at first, then the zoom sets in and it hones in with perfect clarity. It’s me, bouncing up and down in front of Gage with excitement.

“Yes,” I shout, “don’t ever let Chloe Bishop die, Gage! You hear me?” I rattle him by the shoulders to annunciate my point.

I snap out of the hallucinatory montage.

Why in the hell would I not want Chloe Bishop to die?

I try to open my mouth to rat Chloe out to my mother as the true culprit of the Messenger family demise, but I can’t seem to do it.

Something tells me to hang onto this for just a little while longer.

I’ll let Demetri fry alone—for now.

***

The Landon residence is dark—save for a nightlight in the hall.

I steady Mom as she cradles the baby and we make our way upstairs. She doesn’t say a word in this vegetative state of disbelief. I told her to get a good night’s rest—that we could talk about things in the morning.

Nothing is ever going to be the same again. We’ve finally crested the black hole we fell into since the time of my father’s death and now the light was emerging, drawing us in. Salvation had come, an escape from the Counts, from the stronghold Demetri held over my mother. I have Morley and Arson in my back pocket, well, mostly Arson. I can’t say Morley was too impressed with the spit swap, and the way Ellis has trouble hanging onto girls, it’s no surprise he finds this insta-relationship a ruse. Anyway, my father and mother are both in town and my real mother, Lizbeth, finally found out she’s being played by the demon who haunts this island. All is definitely well.

I head into my room and close the door, startled to find Emerson sitting on my bed, giving one of her famous goth death stares into my laptop. She probably has like a thousand emails to catch up on.

“What’s up?” She says it bored.

“Nothing. You have a good time tonight?” I ask, plucking off my heels.

“I guess.” She doesn’t look up. The backlight from the computer gives her a bluish hue and I fight the temptation to go over and check out her not so rosy glow in detail.

“Chloe looked pissed,” I say, raking a brush through my hair.

“I own Chloe.” Emerson looks up and gleams a black smile. There’s something innately pretentious about her. An invisible dark air clouds her expressionless features, her low-toned voice that she holds like a secret.

“Nice.” I shrug. Hate to burst her bubble, but Chloe has already been called out on that whole Ethan thing, not to mention the fact that Emerson’s own death is a rather moot point right about now. “Well, have a good night. I’ll be in the attic if you need me.”

“Who’s up there?” She swoops her dark mane behind her shoulder and her pale eyes shine like stones.

“A boy that I happen to love very much.” I think he loves me. I know he loves me.

She glares in the direction of the butterfly room as if she had X-ray vision.

“He’s knows something,” she says it calm, sedate. “He’s keeping things from you.”

“Like what kinds of things?” Seriously? Maybe this is some kind of superpower unique to Emerson, or it’s something she picked up on the other side. Emerson is probably rife with all kinds of death benefits.

She shakes her head. “Don’t trust him.”

“You’re full of shit,” I flat line as I make my way over to the closet. Looks like someone’s been sipping the Chloe Kool-Aid, and I’m the one being played. “See you on the flipside.”

“He has a rubber in his right pocket.” She drones on in the same monotone voice. “He always has one handy, but he’s too embarrassed to admit it.”

I stare at the emo princess firmly planted on my mattress, not sure what to make of her spontaneous prognosticating before stepping into the closet and shutting the door. I let the darkness seep in around me as I contend with her words.

What if Gage Oliver really is hiding more than a condom?

I hate this seed of doubt. Something tells me reanimating Emerson was a very big mistake.

I would have gladly gone down to the tunnels believing Gage Oliver was the boy who would love me forever.

Chapter 93

Pick Pocket

The air in the butterfly room is perfumed with a familiar woodsy scent. Gage sits cross-legged against the backdrop of a thousand paper wings. He looks mythological, godlike, in their presence. I’m bowled over by his onyx hair—his angelic, yet bewitching, features. The harmony and rhythm God put into him is a stunning tribute to His otherworldly craftsmanship.

Gage greets me with a magical kiss, one that says, “I love you” in so many soulful ways.

“How’s your face?” I feather my fingers over his wound. He looks glorious, immaculate. Even with this horrific show of injury, Gage is fiercely gorgeous.

“Better now.” He pulls me into his lap and loses himself in my hair.

It feels precious like this with Gage—as if I know deep down inside our days are numbered. I can see the writing on the wall. I didn’t need Emerson and her forked tongue to clue me in on the fact. But really, more than any deception he might be pulling, it’s Logan and the gap closing in on the faction war that’s about to put our love on trial.

“Tell me everything,” I say, slipping my hand up his shirt and scratching at his chest.

“I swear to you I learned the vision trick from Dudley.” He readjusts me over his lap so he can look into my eyes. “He was gutting a rabbit in his sink, babbling on about how powerful he is, and he started to talk about his favorite ability—‘show time on command.’ When I asked about it, he said it was vision distribution he could share with other people. I asked if it was through dreams and he said that I wished. He mentioned his kisses may have felt like dreams but they were in every way real.”

“Sounds like Marshall.” I’m totally relieved. “So what’s the deal?”

“He said that he believes he can share his visions to the point of commanding the prophecy to manifest itself. You can do it with your eyes or with your lips, so…” Gage leans in with a smoldering seduction and blesses me with a kiss. “I chose lips.”

“Excellent choice.” I reward his wisdom with a peck. “Marshall didn’t even realize he was selling the farm.” I coil my finger in the back of his ebony hair. Gage’s blue eyes magnify like miniature globes and my stomach melts just looking at him.

“Do you believe me?” He touches his forehead to mine.

“Yes, a million times, yes.” I try to shake loose the image of Gage brushing against Chloe’s fingers at dinner last night. I’m so ready to be done with Chloe in general. “Let’s put this all behind us and get back to being Gage and Skyla before—” I stop short of saying, it’s too late.

His dimples dig in—no smile.

“Before Logan comes in and tries to reclaim what he thinks is rightfully his?” Gage doesn’t look amused.

“I didn’t say that.”

“I did.” He drops a kiss to my neck. “I’m not afraid. I know you love me. I know you’ll be my wife.”

It’s this moment that galvanizes us.

“Gage and Skyla forever.” It passes through my lips sovereign and righteous like the most sound doctrine known to man.

“Gage and Skyla forever.” He grazes my lips with his teeth as we collapse in a heated kiss. His tongue flexes and darts over mine. Gage is lost in a blaze of passion, a detonation of his love waiting to blossom inside me. He pulls us to the floor and rides his hands up and down the inside of my dress. There is no question of who we are and where we’re going. Destiny is driving this train. It’s real and it’s right.

I push all thoughts of Logan out of my mind. I try to ignore the idea that my girl parts have the power to spiritually link me to a person and pursue the act of taking off his clothes with a vengeance. His jeans unbutton on command—his zipper melts on its own volition. I tug down his pants and touch on something square and rigid in his pocket.

I sit up on my elbow and pluck out a foil packet just the right size to house a condom.

“Sorry.” His cheeks fill with color. Gage is bashful to the last drop just as Emerson suggested.

“So, what else are you hiding from me?” My heart thumps unnaturally at the prospect.

“Nothing.” He holds up his free hand to attest to the fact. “Just had it on the dresser—thought I’d bring it along.”

“Are you a liar, Gage?” It comes out lower than a whisper, just this side of teasing.

He holds my gaze much longer than he ever should have to. His left eye twitches as if he were weighing his options.

“No, Skyla.” He takes up my hand and dips my finger into his mouth as if it were a confection. “I’m a lot of things, but I am not a liar.”

It makes me wonder what exactly those other things might be.

I shake out the small square package. “Maybe we’d better use it.” Like before he breaks my heart.

“Are you sure?”

I pull him back down and dip into a kiss that tells him how sure I really am. If Gage Oliver is bound to break my heart, he may as well do it right.

Gage runs his hot hands across my hips and drips them down slowly over my skin. He runs his fingers on the inside of my panties and I move in an attempt to help wiggle free from their protective layer. I want to feel Gage against me. I want to feel all of the intimacy he has to offer before Logan blows the whistle and declares it game over for Gage and me. That’s when the real heartache begins. When I have to choose whose team I’m really on. But tonight—tonight it’s just Gage and the condom that’s been burning a hole in his pocket for the last several months.

The foil square glides in my hand and I tear it open, never wavering my stare from his smiling eyes. Here we are. This was finally going to happen.

Gage sinks a sultry kiss over me with the tenderness of a thousand lovers and the room starts in on a violent spin.

***

The ground jolts. The butterfly room, the island, it all disappears.

Gage and I rouse to a black-and-white world, a layer of grime over the clouds ready to bleed their oil on the parched soil below.

Gage rolls off me revealing the landscape of the ethereal plane.

“Is she shitting me?” I marvel. Apparently the prospect of keeping me chaste is like a starter pistol for the next region. At least I’m still in my dress.

“I’m betting she’s not.” He reaches past me and pulls a bastardized Ruger from behind a rock.

“Get up!” Logan runs over. “Noster pulled out. It’s just Celestra.” He gives an impoverished smile. “The Counts are already calling it a win. The whole damn faction is out for blood today. I’m staying with you.”

“You can’t stay.” I bounce to my feet and push past him, scanning the vicinity for Delphinius. I see his tall frame across the field next to the border of the forest. “There he is.” I take up Gage by the hand and pull him close.

“I’m not leaving.” Logan aligns himself on the other side of me as we run from bush to bush to get to the forest. “They’ve split into two groups, one to conquer and one to kill.”

I stop midflight. The idea alone takes my breath away. I wonder how long before Celestra decides to pull out altogether? Could there be a war with just me? I know for a fact I would die trying.

“We’ve lost too many already,” I say.

“That’s exactly why I’m sticking around.” A spasm of grief shoots across Logan’s face. “I’m not losing you, Skyla.”

“Yeah, well.” Gage gives him a nice hard shove in the opposite direction. “Nobody wants to lose you, either. Go hide in a gulley somewhere—keep your ass alive.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and treks us across the expanse of bushes until we hit a barren strip that leads to the woods.

Logan appears, panting from behind and interlaces our fingers. It feels as if he’s fusing the two of us together, as if our souls already have.

“They’re going to kill you,” I hiss. “It’s treason. You’ve sworn your allegiance to them and if they catch you making nice with me or my faction friends on the battlefield, it’s game over.” I yank my hand free from his grasp and swat him hard across the chest. “Go,” I shout.

Logan steps into me with defiance written all over him. “No,” he says it with controlled anger.

I wrap my arms around him tight. “So help me God I will fall on a spirit sword before morning, if anything happens to you in this region. Think this through. You’re extinguishing your future, hastening our demise, not protecting it. I have Gage.” I wipe the mud off Logan’s cheek, leaving a smear an inch thick under his left eye. Logan looks like he’s ready for a heated scrimmage, one that requires a football as its primary objective, but still, he’s fierce and gloriously noble. “I promise I won’t die.”

“I’ll keep her safe.” Gage gently pulls me over. “I won’t let anyone hurt her. I swear. You have my full permission to kick my ass if anything happens.”

Logan rides his tongue over his teeth as he glares at Gage’s arm strapped around me. “That’ll probably happen anyway.”

Gage and Logan lock up in a death stare, but I step away, opting to assess the clearing rather than watch the Olivers’ emotional brawl.

The clearing spans more than fifty feet of dry, cracked soil.

Gage spontaneously picks up my hand and leads us, quick as blur, to the other side. I glance back at the empty void.

Logan didn’t come. He listened.

A swell of relief rides through me. I don’t want Logan dead, not now, not ever.

We make our way over to a thick crowd and find a couple of girls and four boys about our age laid out on dry soil with arrows lodged in various places. A boy with dark hair starts to shiver, vibrating over the ground like a motor.

“Give him blood,” I shout making my way to him. It’s only safe to presume those standing around gawking are Celestra because for one, they’re not blue.

I snatch a dirty arrow off the ground and slit my arm open just above the line of injury Ezrina caused. A thin seam of crimson pillows to the top and I get on my knees to bring it to his lips. His face is pasty—lips are purple. He pants, opening his mouth for the medicine of my marrow. His iced skin touches mine then he disappears.

“Shit,” I hiss.

“Skyla.” Gage pulls me back by the shoulder. “Your blood doesn’t work here.” He says it sweetly, almost as an apology. His eyes sparkle like the sea and he hides a smile that says he’s proud of my fruitless effort, no thanks to my mother and her incessant need to punish me. “But we can still help.”

Gage and I move over to a girl with an arrow speared through her abdomen.

A boy with cut features, a chest like a brick wall, rolls up his sleeve and replicates my effort on his own arm and I recognize him instantly.

“Cooper!” I say it like he’s an old friend. “Where’s Flynn?” I look past his shoulder for his Count-erpart.

“Laying low. He’s not so hot on fighting with the resistance anymore now that he’s easily identifiable.”

“Sorry about that. It’s my fault.” Sort of like everything else. He lets the injured girl take all she needs. He’s nurturing her to health with his blood as if it were natural to procure medicine from your bodily fluids.

“We’re going to win this thing, you know that?” His hair gleams darker than I remember it, the exact color of a burnt umber sky as it prepares for a storm. He reminds me of Logan in a way, and this endears me to him.

“Yes. We win,” I say, charged from the proclamation, as if it already happened, as if the odds weren’t heavily stacked against us.

A burly man, with auburn-colored hair, slices both his arms and lets the injured come and take their fill.

We could save our kind, outsmart the Counts.

“We need a triage,” I say. “We need at least half a dozen of us willing to aid in recovery at all times. We can’t lose anyone else.”

“Are we giving up?” A young girl steps forward. God—she looks Mia’s age, with long, dark hair and beautiful, swollen lips.

“No,” I say, carefully extracting an arrow from the girl beneath me, “but keeping alive is just as important as winning.” The injured girl lets out an anguished cry as she tries to bat me away. I show her the bloodied stick before tossing it to the ground.

“Delphinius,” Gage calls to a group of men twenty feet away.

I glance up and see him there, lanky and unnaturally elongated. He dwarfs each one of us. We’re all grasshoppers in comparison to his magnificence.

He blips over and lands just shy of the girl I’m mending—peers over my shoulder to observe my efforts. “You’ll need much more than you can provide. There’s a trail of bodies leading all the way to the falls.”

“Ahava?” My pulse quickens at the thought of being so close to the sword of the Master. It’s my goal in life or death to reach it.

“No. You’re to get to the Jasper River to claim this victory.”

“Geography please,” Gage says as he situates an injured boy toward Cooper’s newly punctured wrist.

Truth is, I feel weak and dizzy just watching, but I can’t stand the thought of losing another Celestra, and to lose another soul when we can make a difference would be akin to suicide.

“Past the forest,” Delphinius thunders, “follow the river. A lake with three falls rests at the base. Ten Countenance must die and their blood poured out into the water for the victory to lie in your favor.”

“They have to kill ten Celestra to win?” I swallow hard at the idea.

“Yes.” Delphinius twitches ever so slightly as he sets his nose to the wind. “Seventy-four have perished this hour.”

“No,” I say, getting up.

“I thought you said they needed ten?” Gage rises, perplexed by the psychotic mathematics.

“The blood of ten in the lake. They have eight.”

The man with the brandy-colored hair looks up before tending to the remaining victims.

“Let’s go.” Gage takes my hand.

I bend over and pick up a bloodied arrow.

“Useless without a bow,” Gage warns.

“We’ll see.”

“Skyla,” Cooper calls just before we round out the thicket, “keep safe.”

“I will.” I say it hushed because I’m not so sure I can.

I tighten my grip on Gage as we rip through the woods.

“It’s downhill.” He picks me up and we glide through the air. We follow the river as it snakes clear to the bottom.

The sky swallows all of the lavender glory from above, regurgitates it into a bruised navy welt with dark ash clouds. A red trim lines the precipitous billows as they reflect the lake drenched with Nephilim blood.

Three separate falls dump into a large reserve. It’s so strikingly similar to the Falls of Virtue, a replica of the one down in the Transfer, it makes me wonder what it all means.

“Oh, God.” I gasp.

The water holds a burgundy cast. It glows under the moon like wine at midnight.

“The bodies are gone.” I marvel. “But the blood stays.”

A loud blast goes off.

Across the way, next to the middle fall, a pale blue Count flexes something over his shoulder—he sends a body flying into the water, rough, like a sack of potatoes.

“That was a Celestra—a person.” I snatch the Ruger from Gage and run to the base of the lake to hunt the bastard down. I come upon him at the shore as he crouches low enough to see his reflection. He observes the necrotic water as if examining his handiwork and I fire the potent pistol. A glowing blur moves in behind him, and I discharge a few shots in his direction for the hell of it.

“You got ’em.” Gage taps me on the side in excitement.

We bolt over, jumping tree roots and limbs to get to them before they rouse from their paralytic stupor.

“Shit!” I seize at the sight of Logan lying on the ground—the toxic dart pinned high on his heart like a lover’s note. He blinks up a moment before gazing out into the sky and sinking into unconsciousness. “No!” I drop to my knees and press a kiss over his forehead.

Gage takes the gun and the bloodied arrow out of my hand. “Turn away,” he instructs as he leans over a man in his early twenties, a tattoo of a snake rides up over his forearm.

I turn my head and hear the distinct sound of a melon getting pummeled.

“Wait here,” he whispers. Gage disappears down the trail to the lake, blood soaking the ground on his heels.

I pet Logan’s brow, slow and remorseful—my sleeping lion, fierce and noble as any king that ever lived.

A heavy splash garners my attention and Gage speeds back, panting. “He disappeared”—his teeth shine like lanterns—“as soon as I threw him in.”

“I’m sure he’s lined up in the queue down in the Transfer as we speak.” It’s Ezrina’s busy season, courtesy of the war. “Look!” I point over at a blue shadow darting in and out of the evergreens across the way.

Something small and presumably lethal swishes by my head, and Gage fires back nonstop until we see an iridescent film on the ground.

“Got the bastard.” Gage starts to head over and I pull him back.

“This one is mine.”

“Skyla—” His breath warms my neck as he holds me. “I don’t want you to do this.”

“Others are living it. I need to fight.” I take the bloodied arrow out of his hand and glance up with an apology pouring from my being. “I’ll be OK. I promise.”

“I’m coming with you.” Gage tucks Logan beneath an Elder tree as we make our way into the woods and extricate the body. It’s a girl with dark springing curls, same paper-white skin as Emily, and for a moment, I think maybe it is her only she’s not a Count. Gage carries her to the river and lays her over the ground just shy of the water’s edge.

I hold the arrow over her eye an unreasonable amount of time. I don’t know how long the effects of the Ruger last or if I want to find out, but I can’t help but look at her long thin limbs and wonder if maybe she’s in cheer, or if she likes a sweet boy who writes poetry or a boy with a dangerous smile.

“I can’t.” I toss the arrow to the side. I knew I’d make a lousy warrior. “I can’t kill under pressure like this,” I say stupidly. Although, odds are I would have a hard time killing without pressure. I lean in and whisper, “You’re safe.”

In an instant she seizes my wrist and lands me on the ground, bashing my head over the pea gravel. My temple lands on the jagged edge of a rock, and the world surrenders to darkness for a moment—an entire bevy of stars spray out in front of me like you see in cartoons.

Gage yanks the demon-possessed Count off me and she goes ape shit all over him. She picks him up and tosses him into the woods a good fifteen feet away as if he were a toy.

Shit! She’s a monster—a Count jacked up on superpowers that my mother may or may not have gifted her with for just this occasion.

She’s out for blood—it’s her or me.

I sway on my heels, still reeling from the after effects of the blunt trauma she inflicted.

This girl, this Emily lookalike, picks me up by the throat and lands the two of us in the lake. She pushes us out until my feet no longer reach the soggy bottom.

“This is for Countenance.” She says it sweet as if it were a sentimental dedication before kneeing me in the gut like she were stomping out a fire.

The wind expels from my lungs. She snatches my hair at the nape of my neck and dunks my head under as I continue to struggle. Water fills my throat, and I gag and wretch, ready to vomit from the bite of rust infiltrating my senses.

I promised Logan I wouldn’t die. His image rests over my mind, my heart—indelible, etched in stone, nothing but blood and bone.

I reach up and seize her by the shirt, pull her under and wrap my legs around her chest like a millstone. My fingers knot up in her hair, and I twist her neck—turn it until I feel a pop vibrate through my arms. According to the orator, death isn’t good enough. She needs to bleed. I claw a line up her neck so powerfully deep I shave her down to muscle in one brutal motion.

She evaporates to nothing—and so do I.

Chapter 94

Looks That Kill

Gage and I blink back into the butterfly room, dazed by the prospect we added tally marks to our personal body counts.

My phone goes off. It’s a text from Marshall.

Congratulations Ms. Messenger. You’ve won a region by your own hand. Your mother is beaming with pride. I’ll expect your company in the morning.

“We did it,” it expels from my lips clouded with grief. I pull Gage down into a warm, sultry kiss, forgetting all about the condom, the fact Gage might still be hiding things from me. For sure I’m not giving myself to him. I don’t want the night I murdered for my faction and the night I had sex with Gage to be inextricably linked forever.

My fingers weave slow circles through his hair as Gage caresses me with nurturing comfort kisses.

With Gage it would never be just sex. It would be tangible love, exploratory passion—ecstasy in action.

I pull back and examine him with the weight of a killer in my heart and the killer is once again me.

“Everything in me feels bad,” I say.

“Death is a horrible thing.”

“You think the Counts will resurrect them?” But really I mean her. The one I laid to rest by my own hand.

“I’m sure they’re in line, as are those Celestra.”

“Maybe it’s best Noster pulled out.” I breathe into his hair. “I don’t think you should participate anymore. It’s too dangerous. You’re risking too much.”

A palpable silence fills the tiny space.

“You can’t stop me,” he whispers.

“They won’t resurrect you.”

“They won’t resurrect Logan, either.”

God, he’s right. If Logan dies, it’s game over, just like Gage.

I wiggle down in his arms and look up at him. Just being near him takes my breath away.

“What’s on your mind?” He drops a kiss over my temple.

“I want to apologize for going off on you in front of my family. That was horrible and disrespectful.”

He glances at the wall and shakes his head. “It’s OK.”

“It’s not OK. I was confused about what Marshall was telling me and then I saw your hand brush up against Chloe’s when she was passing you the water and I lost it. I can’t for the life of me stand the thought of you with that witch in any capacity. It makes me insanely jealous.” I secure my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. “It kills me to think of you with anybody else.”

Gage runs his fingers through my hair before gently lifting my chin.

“I feel the same way about you,” he says as moisture glistens in his eyes, “and so does Logan.”

“Great,” I whisper, touching my cheek to his, “I feel like crap.”

“Don’t. I’m betting something happens soon that changes all our lives forever.”

I lock eyes with him.

“You know something.”

His expression grows all together serious as his features dim to pitch.

“Something.”

I’d ask what, but a part of me doesn’t want to know, especially not after my mother had that cryptic conversation with Logan in the Elysian Fields. I’m still not sure what it means that our paths will part for a while then converge again. And where does Gage and those flaming visions we shared of ourselves fit in all of this? Damn it to hell if I know.

But I still trust Gage. At least I still want to. Just because Emerson nailed the fact he had a condom in his pocket doesn’t mean anything. For all I know, it might be the proper storage compartment for all things prophylactic. It might be the very thing that boys are taught in school—some code of ethics in gym or boy scouts on how to protect themselves from wayward vaginas.

Perhaps the things he’s keeping from me are perfectly boring, like the fact he needs to change the tires on his truck or whether or not he should get a haircut. Although, I hardly think those things will change our lives forever.

I spend the night in the warm comfortable arms of the one I think I can trust.

But I see those mysteries lying in wait, like a snake in the grass.

I’m pretty sure I can only avoid them for so long.

***

In the morning the dull glimpse of sunlight blesses the fog outside my window, heavy and pale like a fallen halo.

I clean up Emerson and put her in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She looks totally cute and normal—not dead at all, so I invite her to have breakfast with the fam.

Downstairs, Mia and Melissa are busy scrambling eggs and burning bacon, which smells equally as heavenly as unburned bacon. Chloe and Ethan share their post coital bliss by way of looking and smelling skank as possible. Drake and Tad are going over a stack of paper bullshit that probably has something to do with gases forming in their digestive tracts and how they can market it to the free world.

Everyone is already noshing on Mia and Melissa’s creations sans Mom, who sits in the family room quasi defiling someone else’s child. On second thought, I probably should have debriefed Emerson on the oddities of said fam, but I negated my responsibility as a good hostess and simply landed her in the shark tank dripping with pints of fresh life-giving blood.

“Good morning.” Mom does a double take. “Skyla, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Everyone, this is my friend Emerson.” I stop shy of saying Kragger in the event the Landons are aware of the fact Arson’s daughter with the same face and moniker passed away a few years back.

“So nice to meet you.” Mom coos over the baby as he securely suckles off her faux breast.

Drake exams Emerson with great interest while lapping up a bowl of cereal. “Brielle says you were like dead or something. You run away?”

“Nope—dead.” Emerson doesn’t bother to spice up the truth with either euphemisms or enthusiasm. Instead, she makes herself at home and goes over to the fridge to inspect its meager offerings.

“I have to say you have gorgeous hair,” Mom boasts. “It’s the first thing I noticed. It’s so shiny and smooth. I’d love to know what kind of shampoo you use.”

“It was a leave-in treatment.” She hardly cuts a smile as she cracks open a diet soda.

Chloe strums the pads her fingers across the counter while eyeing Emerson as if she were a predator.

“So how long did you leave it in?” Chloe’s question might seem harmless on the surface but her voice holds a challenge. “Like three years?”

“The same amount of time I let my enemies go free.” Emerson hacks her to pieces with just one look.

Tad scoffs at the paper Drake is busy shoving in his face. “We need new ideas for the Gas Lab.”

“Air and coffee aren’t enough?” I ask before putting in my usual order with the girls. “Make it two or four,” I say, thinking of Emerson. I’m pretty sure not eating for several years can really ratchet up an appetite.

“Flavored air,” Ethan corrects with a mouthful of food. “Thirty-one flavors of air to be exact.”

“Very original.” I’d ask, flavored with what, but truth is, I’m afraid.

Knowing Ethan I’m betting there’s already one in the works called “Sweaty Sex with Chloe,” or “Killer Sex.” Either way, it’s disgusting.

“Spoke to that Kragger guy last night.” Tad makes a circle in the air with his fork. “Talk about your freak show.”

Emerson’s eyes widen. It’s the closest thing I’ve seen to an emotion since she’s arrived.

“He’s mentally unstable.” Tad espouses his armchair psychology in the presence of said mentally unstable person’s long-dead daughter. “I bet me and the boys end up running all the stores on the island by Christmas. Heck, I might even get that loon to sign over the deed to his house if I play my cards right.” Tad barks out a belly laugh while Emerson needles him with her death spears. She postures as if tackling him were a real prospect.

“We should sell knives on the side,” Ethan offers his illogical advice. “The ones that cut through pennies and shit.” His eyes linger over Emerson—run up and down her body while molesting her with his carnal wanderings. Chloe butts into his shoulder, hard, with a look of discontent. Does she really expect a devoted relationship after unzipping his birthday suit with a knife?

“Oh!” Mom waves her hand with excitement. “I got my milk donor to agree to sell at the store. She’s very excited about the ice cream and cheeses. That’s the new thing all over France.”

I scoff at Mom’s spectacular level of insanity.

I’m pretty sure human boobs were never intended to stray into the dairy business.

“What do you think, Chloe?” Emerson leans her elbows onto the counter. “Do you think people should barter their bodily fluids in exchange for cold hard cash?”

I bet that’s how Chloe sponsored her friends for Skyla campaign.

Chloe narrows her steely gaze over Emerson. She galvanizes her hatred and fear all rolled into one.

“I think,” Chloe starts, “helping someone get something they otherwise could never have is a beautiful thing.”

“And when it hurts them?” Emerson glowers. “When all of your so-called good intentions poison them—and they wind up dead?”

“Sometimes things happen.” Chloe doesn’t waver.

“Sometimes they do.” Emerson plucks at her fingers.

I smell some serious payback in the works.

“Accidents happen,” Emerson hums.

Second thought, I smell a serious “accident” in the making.

The two of them shoot hate-filled beams at one another. I’ve never seen Chloe so challenged before, so taken aback by a show of force.

“Yes.” Chloe gives a morbid nod. “Accidents do happen.”

It’s a total kill or be killed atmosphere. I’d better hand deliver Emerson to the Kraggers before Chloe hand delivers her to the yard in the form of mulch.

Drake stiffens at the strange show of bravado. “Are you two like on something?”

Mom sucks in a lungful of air and plucks the baby from her third nipple, leaving him to squirm and gyrate unnaturally. The short auburn hair on his head wafts in the breeze, soft as down feathers.

“Oh dear God up in heaven, forgive me.” Mom pants as she places him over her shoulder and runs in a spastic circle. “It completely slipped my mind that this woman, whom I don’t even know, might be under the influence of some chemical substance. She could be poisoning the baby and I’m party to it.”

“For God’s sake,” Tad crows. “I bet you’ve just funded her reefer habit for the next two years.”

“Never mind that.” Her voice spikes clear and high. “Help me get him to the emergency room. Oh God.” Mom is in a clear panic as she hustles around collecting bottles and formula, shuffling diapers into a large bloated bag on the floor. “That E.R. is a germ emporium, and we could be stuck there for hours. God knows what the baby will come home with.”

Tad throws on his jacket. “Pretend to faint, Lizbeth,” he advises. “That’ll move us to the front of the line.”

They zip down the hall and out the door, leaving the freshly packed diaper bag in their wake.

“Wait!” I run out after them and catch up with Mom on the porch.

“Thank you.” She snaps it up and hikes it over her shoulder.

“I’m going to see Dad.” I whisper so Tad won’t hear. “Are you going to stop by?”

Her face pinches before smoothing out in a sad expression.

“Honey, that was just a dream. None of that was real. Get some rest, OK?” She runs her fingers over my cheek before rushing to the minivan.

“It wasn’t a dream,” I call after her, but she doesn’t listen. “People don’t share dreams.” Unless of course, you’re Logan.

Figures. Mom’s shock over Demetri put her in a hardcore state of denial. Obviously, she’s too enthralled with the prospect of having a spare penis around to paint him as the villain in her life. I wonder what Demetri would do if he knew we outted him to his precious Lizbeth?

A small pink duffle bag sits next to the door and catches my attention. A note is pinned to the side. From D. Edinger.

I pick it up and unzip it.

“Oh my God.” It expels from me in disbelief.

An entire array of leather straps and buckles, the very kind they use down in the tunnels fill the small tote. I do a quick inventory of the sexual perversion—a long leather leash, a whip, a collar with metal spikes—nothing but a bunch of S&M crap.

It’s like he’s brazenly threatening me with some sort of demented captivity.

I suppose I got my answer.

If I thought brining Emerson back was enough to keep my treble open, I’d better think again.

Chapter 95

Nature Verses Nurture

A somber sky boils up above in a rainbow of muted colors. A deep siren of red tints the underbellies of the pregnant clouds, reflective of the evil that’s overrun the island. Paragon laughs in the face of the seasons. It sinks us in mire, powders us with fog from dusk till dawn, dressing the sky in an ashen canopy of defiance. It is the wound of the world, the place where God weeps over the sorry state of humanity, grieves the fact he ever made such vile creatures worthy of contempt—creatures who eat evil for breakfast.

I pull into Marshall’s palatial estate and get out of the car. A bevy of voices rise from the back of the property, so I round out the side of the house and head toward the early morning rebel rousing.

I wish my mother were with me—that she believed what she heard and saw last night. Demetri’s stranglehold over my mother is exasperating—an exercise in futility that apparently not even my father himself could rectify.

Ms. Messenger, Marshall nods a private greeting from a table set out on the lawn adorned with crisp linens and silverware. Glad you could join the festivities. I was just going over nuptial arrangements with the future in-laws.

“Oh God,” I whisper, totally ignoring Marshall for the time being as I take in the expanse of the property in its entirety.

A spectacular spray of sunlight fills in the landscape with a butter-yellow haze. The clouds ruffle out a lavender hole in the sky and pour ethereal beams over the backyard.

The horses roam loose and mingle about with the lamas.

“Skyla!” My mother rises and a spray of butterflies flush out from around her in a burst of orange passion, giving the illusion of flames as they dissipate into the sky.

Dad rises, revealing someone familiar behind him—Logan? That’s odd. Then again, my mother did say he was her favorite suitor for me.

I wave at him as I offer my celestial mother a quick hug, then a stronger, longer one to my father, who feels every bit as much alive as I do.

“I had a personal invite. I couldn’t refuse.” Logan stands, spearing me with his handsome features. A naughty smile plays on his lips as I wrap my arms around him.

“I’m sorry for shooting you,” I gurgle into his neck. “Are you OK?”

“It was nothing—just a quick nap.” He reaches down and interlocks our fingers, meeting his gaze with mine. I dreamed of you. It was completely indecent. His brows spear down in a malevolent manner—makes him look sexy as hell. This bad boy side of Logan is dangerous in a becoming sort of way. We burned up the sheets, Skyla. And, in case you’re wondering, you’re a spitfire in bed.

Marshall clears his throat and glares over at Logan as if he heard every single word—as if he saw the scene play out in his mind.

“Sit, love.” Marshall nods into me. “The crepes are fresh.” He swoops in behind me and pulls out a seat. Marshall makes sure I’m comfortable before pouring a glass of sanguine liquid into a crystal goblet for me.

“Blood orange juice?” I’m hopeful.

“Nothing but the best for the love my life,” he says, situating himself across from me. “Get used to having the finer things at your fingertips—your disposal.” He punctuates it with a sexual leer that lets me know he’s the luxury in question. There’s no doubt Marshall would be a luxury for any woman.

“Do you hear this?” I look to my mother. Her hair billows soft and fine. Gold filters through each shaft, each its own glittering city. “That orator you sent has convinced this Sector that we’ll marry. And he’s totally impossible now.”

“Delphinius gave confirmation?” She gives a congratulatory smile over to Marshall.

Logan clears his throat. Logan looks every bit as heavenly as my mother, my father. He feels every bit as much family.

“I think,” my father says, placing his hand over my back, “your focus should be one hundred percent scholastic for now.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Marshall wands his fork. “I’m faculty, you know. It doesn’t get any more scholastic than yours truly.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Dad shoots a look to the hypersexual Sector.

Logan gives a low thundering growl. “He meant education. As in going to Host with someone like me.” Logan blooms a wicked grin.

I roll my eyes at the strange banter that’s taken over the table and lean into my father.

“I miss you so much.” I sigh into him. I could spend the rest of my life gazing at his familiar features. His skin looks healthier than I remember, less thick, more youthful. His eyes sparkle like miniature globes. A perfect combination of the ocean mixed with the forest.

“I’m here now,” he assures, brushing my cheek with a kiss.

“I commend you, Skyla.” My mother holds her emotions close like a very sharp knife. “You proved to be a true warrior in battle last night.”

“You were right to defend yourself.” My father is prompt to justify my actions.

“But I killed her.” The words strangle from my vocal cords.

“It was fascinating to witness.” Marshall leans back as though he were replaying the event. “When she reached up from her corpse-like state and snatched you to the ground, it was a scene straight out of a horror movie. You did quite well.”

“What’s going on?” I tick my head back a notch, astonished at how well apprised they all seem to be. “Were you having some shared hallucination?” I gape at the three of them. Or maybe they were there in spirit?

“Heavens no.” Marshall looks disgusted by the thought of a three-way lip-lock. “We curled up on the couch and watched it on the flat screen.”

“You watched it on TV?” I scoot back in my seat incredulous at the idea.

“Of course we watched, Skyla.” Candace leans in. “I have the war projected at all times. You do realize you’re constantly under the supervision of angelic hosts. You’re to teach them a lesson through your ability to reason in faith.”

That’s right. I think Marshall mentioned once, we were reality TV for angels.

“What’s the point?” I ask. “They’ve got all the faith they need, besides…” I’m not letting her off the death train so quickly. “Killing someone is horrible. The war should be private. I never want that to be considered for anyone’s viewing pleasure. And, by the way, I didn’t enjoy killing and never plan on doing it again.” I look over at my father. “You were right. I was defending myself. She would have killed me if I didn’t act, but I hate myself for it. I hope the Counts bring her back.”

“Interesting.” My mother’s face smooths with curiosity. “You care for the state of your enemy. I guarantee you, Skyla, had she survived, she would have enjoyed a victory dinner in honor of your death. She would have stomped on your memory, used your name as a curse for the rest of her natural days. You are far too much of a bleeding heart. Do consider saving your affection for those who deserve it.”

“Skyla is very forgiving.” Logan pipes up. He relaxes into his seat with his hands folded at the waist, observing the conversation, and suddenly it feels like it’s the analyze Skyla hour. “She has big heart—sometimes too big. She’s generous and doesn’t like to hurt others.”

I wonder if by “others” he means Gage.

“Room for three in that heart, I hear,” my mother says, grazing me for a reaction.

“You and I both know I can’t have three.” I test her with curt look. “Why would the Decision Council entertain such a foolish idea?”

The world grinds to a halt around us. The horses and lamas crane their necks in this direction as if they understood the depth of my folly.

Marshall sharpens his stare, hard as flint. “I’ve warned you about slandering celestial beings.” He says it low as if we were the only two at the table. “And calling someone a fool qualifies you for the flames. Do hold your tongue.”

A lama strides over and places its head lovingly over my mother’s shoulder as if to comfort her from the effects of my harsh words. Its golden fur gives off a lustrous shine while its long lashes give it the attributes of a beautiful woman.

“I’ve called Logan for you,” she purrs, absentmindedly scratching the creature just below its chin.

“As in for breakfast or for life?”

She gives the lama a tiny smile but doesn’t answer the question.

“What do you think, Dad?” I appraise my father with the dappled sunlight over his shoulders. The rosy patch of flesh still slightly raised beneath his left eye, a permanent scar from a motorcycle accident in his teens. I guess we take our scars with us. They draw a roadmap of our past, tell us we can heal, but that we shouldn’t forget where we’ve been. I want to reach up and touch the pad of my finger over it, see if it’s warmer than the flesh around it.

“Your heart knows the answer.” He dips his hand in my hair and gives a gentle tousle. “It’ll come to you when the time is right.”

Somehow, I find this impossible to believe. I’d like to smash Logan and Gage together until they become one person, but that’s horrific and heartbreakingly unfair. They are each their own universe, and in the end, I must choose.

Marshall clears his throat, as if he knows what I’m thinking.

Then there’s my math teacher to contend with.

I turn back to my father. “When did you meet Mom? I mean—you know, Lizbeth.”

“Shortly after your mother passed. It was a blind date set up by friends.”

I cut a quick look to Logan and Marshall.

“That friend wouldn’t happen to be Demetri, would it?”

Dad looks over at my mother and they exchange a long moment of silence.

“Curious how destiny works.” Marshall glowers at her. “Wouldn’t you say, Skyla?”

Dear God. What the hell is going on?

“I think we should get to training,” Logan says. He settles his hand over mine beneath the table. Maybe we should let this go for now.

“No.” I shake my head. “Why would Demetri set you guys up? He was the one who killed you. If he wanted Mom so much, why not circumvent the situation and marry her in the first place?” The concept, although repulsive, seems highly logical in nature.

My father looks over at my mother, who’s attracted a swarm of horses and lamas in a rather peaceful-looking congregation. A stray cottontail hops over the thick navy lawn and burrows in for the show.

“What’s going on?” A rise of panic fills me. “He’s not going to be a part of our lives, right? He killed you.” I pull Dad by elbow. “And captured me.”

“Sometimes we learn lessons the hard way,” my mother reprimands. “Certainly Lizbeth is no different. I won’t tell you the future, Skyla, but perhaps it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

“Not outside the realm of possibility,” I say to myself as if trying to decipher a riddle.

“She would marry your killer?” I breathe with disbelief into my father.

“You’re a killer, Skyla.” My mother notes. Nevermore flaps down like a thunderous shadow and lands on her shoulder, majestic as midnight. “You yourself will marry one day. Should we judge the one who’s destined to love you?”

Freaking shit.

“Logan, take care of my daughter.” My mother charges him with the instruction and the world stills around me as if she were ordering him to commit to spousal duty. She takes her time before rising from the table. “We’ll see the two of you inside for training.”

Inside? Nothing about this morning makes sense.

“Aren’t we going to shoot arrows and stuff?” I ask. It’s hardly an indoor-friendly sport. And speaking of arrows, a nuclear detonation would seem more efficient against the Counts, although I’d exclude my family and Ellis from that equation. Then it dons on me there are probably a whole lot of other friendly Counts out there.

“Arrows and stuff,” Marshall says it mostly to himself, exasperated by my lack of all things warfare.

“Skyla.” My mother huffs while stretching her neck to the sky. “We’ve moved beyond arrows and stuff,” she mocks. “Sector Marshall, come. Leave them be.”

“The clock is ticking—you have less than five.” Marshall says it sharp before cutting Logan a look that suggests a limb would be required if we were late.

It’s becoming clear my mother is trying to nurture my affections for the Oliver present—to ensure a love connection under the guise of her approval. If she knew how I truly felt about him, she wouldn’t have to try so hard.

I watch as my father tucks his hand in the small of her back. They share a laugh as they walk across the patio. They look every bit a couple. How is it possible that he ever loved two women? Although I guess, technically, he’d still be married to my real mother if the Counts hadn’t set fire to her flesh like she was garbage and left her to die—then turned around and did the same thing to him. I guess Mia wouldn’t be here though. And I do love Lizbeth and very much consider her my mom.

“Do you think I’ll burn?” I ask Logan as he helps me rise from the table.

He pulls me in and dots my lips with a morose kiss.

“I think we both will.”

Chapter 96

The Rabbit Hole

The clearing in the sky fills in with fire. The burnt clouds swallow the blue window to the atmosphere in a rolling fury. There is a cruelness in their eager desire. They don’t bother to hide their jealous hunger. Those dark clouds want to punish the beauty of the flawless sky, devour it, digest and expel it from its bowels to teach the atmosphere a lesson.

Nevermore lands on my shoulder heavy as a brick. I’m guessing he’s all pent up and in need of a sexual reprieve by way of Logan’s dream spa.

“I never want us to burn,” I say, relaxing into Logan as we stand in the backyard of Marshall’s estate. “I want to win this war. Bring home the sword of the Master—and stop the Counts from taking innocent souls, namely mine. We have to free those people in the tunnels, Logan. It’s hell down there.”

“And what if we can’t?”

“We have to. I won’t accept no for an answer.”

“Human trafficking happens every day.” He pauses just shy of the forest and circles his arms around my waist. “It’s an evil that prospers in the face of every person with good intentions.” He picks up my hands and presses out a quiet smile. “But something tells me you won’t give up.”

“Will you?”

“I’m going to be right there next to you, fighting.”

“What else are you fighting for?” I can feel it in his gaze. His desire clouds the vicinity thick with wanton pheromones—hormones that shout “take me, love me, let me be your forever.”

“I’m fighting for you.” He steals a sweet peck of a kiss that rivals the five star meal Marshall graced us with at breakfast. Feasting on Logan’s flesh would be the richest fare, the icing on the cake of my carnal desires.

I glance back at the house and see Marshall looming like a shadow in the window.

“Yeah, well…” I sigh, pumping my shoulders. Nev readjusts himself, spiking his talons into my flesh in small painful bites. “You can give up because I’m pretty sure we’re not going to happen.”

“Skyla,” he says it with a quiet laugh that suggests the thought were absurd.

“Turns out Marshall’s frat brother is legit. Not only that, I had this vision of me having—” I stop short of letting Logan in on the future of my uterus. “Never mind.”

“I had a vision us.” Logan pulls me in close. “That’s the future I choose to believe in.” He sways into me with a sheepish look as if he were unsure of something. “I’ve been meaning to get you and Gage together. There’s something I want to say to the both of you.”

That condom Gage and I tore into with full intent on using blinks through my mind and I shake the thought away. Instead, I shift my focus onto a little white rabbit sitting by the table. Another one hops over with the same snowy fur. It’s a real live fairytale erupting right here on Marshall’s estate.

“Oh look,” I say, pointing. “They’re nuzzling just like us.” I pull Logan in and rest my head over his shoulder. It’s a perfect diversion from all things Gage and condom related.

We watch as the furry little creature comes up from behind and pounces its tiny friend.

“Aw, he just gave her a hug,” I coo.

The action begins. He secures her with his front paws and ruts away, wild and uninhibited before another one shows up on the scene and we’re just one hop away from the world’s fluffiest orgy.

“Oh my gosh.” I bury my face in Logan’s chest. “That is so freaking obscene.” Logan trembles with a quiet laugh beneath me.

“Don’t be too hard on him. He’s an animal. Procreation of the species is nothing more than a primal response.”

“Is it?” I catch Logan’s amber gaze and hold it. There’s something carnal brewing in them.

“It won’t be like that for us.” His voice vibrates through me like a hammer striking iron, and my cheeks fill with heat. “Although, I won’t object to an animalistic display of affection, should that be your preference.” Logan’s smile widens with the playful banter.

“Very funny.”

A moment skips by with our heavy gaze set on all of the sexual possibilities that the future holds for the two of us.

I press into Logan and feel a rock hard protrusion against my thigh. I glance down and ride my eyes back up to his.

We could always make that future now. Logan and I can give those rabbits a run for their money.

Right here on the grass, Skyla? A dirty half-smile glides up his cheek.

Right here, right now. I tease. I’m quoting you by the way.

A heavy swish slices through the narrow space between us and we follow the offense to find a freshly planted arrow in the trunk of a pine.

“Shit!” I bounce back. Nev spreads his wings wide and lets out an ear-piercing cry.

“Time to come in.” Marshall calls with a bow dangling from his wrist.

“If the Counts don’t kill me,” Logan says, pressing me toward the house, “Dudley will.”

***

The mood in the house feels rather somber as if by some celestial benevolence they all realize Logan and I were outside contemplating open-air rutting.

Marshall’s not so humble home has been restored masterfully since Michelle trashed it in a fit of Fem inspired delirium.

Nevermore flies in and perches on the sofa, prompting Marshall to toss a decorative pillow in his direction.

“Skyla.” My mother’s face shines with a rosy glow. “There’s so much to cover in such little time. I’ll allow for a short cut.” She takes up my hand and walks us swiftly over to the mirror of horror.

“Oh no.” I back up into my father.

“Do what she says, Skyla,” he assures. “She won’t hurt you.”

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t witness the Miller in the mirror incident. And by the way, afterwards, she vomited a flying rat from her mouth.”

“Don’t be a child,” my mother reprimands. “Come—Logan and Sector Marshall will accompany you.”

“I defer to the Pretty One.” Marshall gives a quick nod.

Nevermore cries and lands swift on my shoulder.

“It’s not safe for you, Nev.” I try to shrug him off but he won’t go. And I won’t humor him by touching his flesh to hear him out. “Why would you want me to go in there?” I spear my mother with a look. “I know full well I’ll drag out a million clown Fems with me.”

“Outsmart them,” she directs.

“You mean think of puppies and kittens? Fear all things soft and cuddly?” The fornicating fur balls come to mind. Great. I’ll usher out an entire foray of horny hares. Really, the only thing I fear these days is losing Logan and Gage.

“Precisely.” She spins me by the shoulders and forces me to look at my wincing reflection while my father stands approvingly in the background.

“What exactly are we doing in there?” Logan comes over and slings an arm around my waist. The words Gage spoke long ago about us living to a ripe old age hardly seem to hold any truth to them. If anything, Logan and I are ripe for death.

“More importantly, how do we get out?” I challenge my mother with a look. Her sheer beauty is intimidating. She owns the world and everything in it, and she for damn sure doesn’t fear something as trivial as death because she’s already crossed that flesh-deficient bridge.

“The porthole will remain open for the two of you. Try to elude harm and you will emerge victors on the other side.” She says it melodic as if she were casting a spell.

Nev gives a pinch.

“Three,” I say, nodding into him. “Make sure the porthole stays open for the three of us.”

“Four.” Marshall sours into the idea. He strides over to the fireplace and strips the spirit sword from over the mantle. “Let the games begin.”

The mirror warbles, turns into a pool of liquid mercury, soft and pliable as I push my fingers through.

My father comes over and depresses a long kiss over the top of my head. Glean everything, he says.

“I will.” I don’t wait for Logan or Marshall to go first. I simply step inside.

The layout of the strange terrain opens up and I gasp.

We are so very truly screwed.

Chapter 97

Skyla in Wonderland

The world inside the depraved mirror is nothing more than a scorched wasteland, a soulless haunt that’s best forgotten.

Thick clouds loom above the darkened landscape. They’ve gorged themselves on despair, stockpiled grief in pounds and are waiting to unleash their baskets full of misery.

Marshall and Logan appear beside me along with Nevermore in his human form, tall and stately with serious features.

Thousands of glowing eyes lay close to the ground, inspecting us.

“What the hell are they?” I whisper afraid to move. Puppies and kittens my ass. My mother has a very dark sense of humor. Maybe when I get back, I’ll push her in the mirror for laughs.

“Bound Fems.” Marshall erects the sword before him and lights up the night ethereal.

“Master Oliver, mind the young lady for me,” Nevermore says, scooping up a large fallen branch as his choice of weaponry.

A glint of light falls over the creatures and I see with clarity a den of wolves—an entire population of overgrown, mangy dogs with a rabid gleam in their eyes that suggests they just found dinner.

Logan pulls me in and we back up slowly.

Marshall and Nev charge the hungry pack as the beasts pounce in unison, snapping their jaws, growling a choir of hatred.

“Let’s go,” Logan whispers as he leads us into a wooly thicket with large tree-like protrusions covered in fur, an umbrella of dirty feathers in lieu of branches.

“No.” I resist his efforts to prod on. “We’re not leaving them.”

Nev and Marshall slash and thrash their way into the throngs. It plays out like a cartoon with wolves flying and spinning through the air. Nev weaves their tails together, creating a matrix of miserable mutts while Marshall slices them in half with his sword—leaving the legs to move long after they’ve been disconnected. An errant beast bites him on the lip. It snaps at his face, and for a moment, I’m afraid his flesh will peel off like a mask.

“Marshall,” I scream, trying to run into the wild pack but Logan holds me captive.

A fireball explodes up above.

“Shit!” I hiss as Logan leads us through the strange woods. We pass Marshall and the barking brood of disaster, as we head down a steep hillside.

“We’ll wait here.” Logan pants, looking around, unsure of our safety.

A scream fills the air. A shadow bruises the sky overhead. A creature appears with lantern-green eyes, a mouth of blood and teeth. It holds the body of a large demonic panther the size of a school bus.

“Crap.” I pull Logan toward a ravine but the beast plummets to earth, panting and snapping with a horrible stench emitting from its being.

Logan steps in front of me, presses me back with his hand and the ground starts to crackle and quake.

“Run, Skyla.” He heaves the words in a panic.

A howl fills the air. It sounds ominous, makes me anxious to know the fate of Nev and Marshall.

“Get in the tree.” Logan picks me up and tosses me, through the air, into the gnarled arms of a twisted oak. I try to latch onto it before falling twenty feet down to the lowest branch. I twist and turn until I can see Logan, fighting the demon with nothing more than a makeshift club. A long crimson stain burns through his white T-shirt.

“Damn it,” I hiss, lowering myself until my feet land on terra not so firma.

The creature pounces on him, locks its jaws over his shoulder, and clamps down. Logan lets out a guttural cry.

I don’t bother looking for a stick or a stone. My anger is a sharper, more accurate a weapon at this point. I jump over the throbbing creature and thrust my hands into its throat, dig my nails into the rubbery flesh until it dissolves between my fingers, reminiscent of the time I killed Holden Kragger when I thought he was a Fem.

The beast gives a violent shudder and sends me tumbling through the air. The sky pulls away in jags as I hit the ground in a head-on collision. I struggle to open my eyes. My vision tracks in triplicate, unable to keep up with the scenery.

I wobble to my feet and stagger backward into something soft and pliable.

“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall purrs, out of breath.

I snatch the sword from his hand and run toward the demon thrashing Logan around like some oversized chew toy. The sword illuminates in the night with its deadly beauty and I slash the creature, slicing a line right down its back. Its flesh bursts open like a seam, exposing a line of crimson, the white sinew of its spinal cord just below that.

A wild moan emits, an entire coven of ebony bats bolt out of the new infliction and it collapses to the ground, deflated.

“Logan!” I pull him free from beneath the hideous beast.

“I’m OK,” he says, nursing his left arm.

The creature combusts. It lights up the sky with a brilliant blaze of orange and gold, enough for me to make out the nuances of the landscape. I spot a river that leads toward a valley and a large lake just beyond that.

The fire dies down quick as it came and the beast sputters to ashes then promptly disappears.

“I recognize this place.” The smoke chokes out my enthusiasm.

Nev and Marshall make their way over—Nev with some strange contraption secured to his skull.

“What the hell is that thing on your head?” I point up to a giant ball of fur resting on him with a long tail dripping down the side.

“Souvenir.” He tips into me, exposing the long string of tails knotted together.

“Crafty,” I muse. “Listen—I think this is the same landscape as the ethereal plane.”

“Well observed.” Marshall charges ahead and we follow.

“That’s the forest we were in yesterday.” Logan points to the overgrowth adjacent to the lake. Although in this cruel landscape, its triplicate falls can hardly afford a trickle.

“It’s the cursed version,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around Logan.

“The regions are connected.” Marshall wades across the shallow river, inspiring us to do the same.

“This is it,” I say, emerging on the other side next to the lake. “This is where I killed that girl.” My voice is thick with shame even though what my mother said was true. She would have gladly killed me first, then partied like it was her birthday afterward.

Nev comes over and places his thick, strong arm around my shoulder, looks into me with his lucent eyes. His broad cheeks are filled in with the hint of a beard.

“You did what needed to be done.” He wipes at something just shy of my ear and holds up a bloodied finger. “Don’t be afraid, Skyla. You’ve proven yourself a warrior for your people.”

Logan points up ahead. “Gage said the orator eluded to the fact the next region lies beyond the lake.”

“Let’s do this,” I say, gazing at the darkness that pulls out in front of us. This mirror world, this necrotic geography might just glean us enough knowledge to swing the sickle of destruction in our favor.

We pass the thicket, and crest over a series of rocks and knotgrass up to our hips before coming up on the other side.

“It’s in ruins.” Logan squints into the long stretch of dry ground that spreads out over miles. Old burnt-out structures, stone buildings partially collapsed, stairwells that lead to nowhere fill in the interim.

“The goal is to reach the next region, Skyla.” Marshall pulls a pair of leather driving gloves onto his hands. “Heathcliff and I will steady the offensive.”

No sooner do the words leave his lips than a thunder of hooves head in our direction—an entire stampede of wildebeest progress like a malevolent army.

Logan pulls me close and runs us straight into the barren land. We don’t stop until we hit the base of the desolated city where buildings rise like broken promises out of the rubble. There are far more buildings here than we’ve yet to see in the ethereal plane.

“It looks like some long-forgotten civilization had sunk into the sea, and to its misfortune, came out here on the other side,” I say as we stumble through the streets. “I think we found Atlantis and it turned into a big steaming pile of crap.”

“Skyla?” Logan stops to take in the city view in one steady spin—his arms open with wonder. “I don’t think this is Atlantis.” He starts in on a laugh. “This is Paragon.”

Chapter 98

There’s Someplace like Home

The sky presses down like a rubber tarp over the vicinity, looming and suffocating. Logan and I take in the silent scream from the petrified landscape the haunted mirror has exposed. This skeletal version of Paragon lies before us like the open grave of the future.

“Paragon?” I take in a stale breath of fog and ash at the revelation. “Oh my God.”

“Knew it,” he scoffs. “Soon as we hit that lake, I thought it was strange to have the same thing on the island, in the Transfer, and the ethereal plane as well. You know what that means, right?”

“Um…” Should I know what this means? I should totally be having one of those aha moments but the aha cupboard is rather bare at the moment. “It means we just have to figure out the layout of what comes next to find the porthole into the last region?”

“Precisely.”

“Really?” I straighten, proud of my accidental discovery.

“The Counts are white-knuckling this entire event and here we are in the heart of a map,” he marvels.

“Weird, though. This is Demetri’s mirror. If it could have given an edge to the Counts, why put it in my possession?”

“Maybe he wants to balance out the scales for killing your father.” He raises his brows slightly at the demented possibility.

“He said he’d give a kingdom in exchange for the love of a lifetime.” I remember Demetri uttering those exact words at Logan’s unbirthday party. “A kingdom—this kingdom,” I whisper.

“Before we go painting him a hero, wasn’t he the one that cost you a region with that faulty disc?”

“That’s right. Plus he’s the ass who has me locked in a dungeon to satiate the junior council.” Wesley runs through my mind—aside from sucking the lifeblood out of me, he doesn’t seem that bad. I swear this would somehow be easier if I could hate them all.

“What could possibly be in downtown Paragon that would be a portal to the next region?” Logan scrutinizes the bony structures that surround us.

“All of the other regions were a blend of hills and flatland, the lake, which we hit twice, in fact.”

“No, the first lake was different.” He jabs his finger in the air lost in the memory. “That’s a small watering hole on the other side of the island by Pike’s Reef. We’ve been moving east to west.” He lifts his head to the sky and looks around. “Ahava is paradise so what would be paradise to you, Skyla?”

“Paradise? Like Hawaii?” I think of Gage and that aching kiss on Hanalei.

“No.” He gives a quick smile. “Here on the island. The butterfly room?” His face creases, perplexed by the idea.

“No, definitely nothing near that Count coven I’m holed up in.” I tap my finger to my chin as we continue past the burnt out bank, the bakery. “Oh!” I take in a quick breath. “That one place, across from the bowling alley. You said you wanted to build a house there. It was beautiful.”

“Our house.” His dimple gives a sideways smile. He presses in a kiss that flames over my lips. “I’m building it for you—for us.”

I nod and wrap my arms around him.

“That will be our Ahava.” My chest heaves as the words vibrate past my lips. The disturbing footage from Demetri’s haunted castle springs through my mind. I can still see it, Gage and me, moving in—his strong arms carrying me over the threshold.

“Let’s get over there.” Logan rushes me past the downtown district and over to the bowling alley. Its burnt-out shell lies like a relic of some ancient monster with pale limestone set in a circular pattern.

“Logan.” I tug for him to stop. “Look at that.” Its startlingly familiar, something we had bore witness to once, long ago.

“Strange.” Logan dips his head in. “It looks like a miniature version of the Coliseum.”

“What do you think it means?” My heart thumps. Adrenaline spikes through my bloodstream as I stare out at the skeletal structure. I half expect an entire herd of lion Fems to sprout up through the middle.

“It means I’d better do this—” He rips a kiss off my lips and pulls me across the street in a slow hypnotic dance.

On the authentic version of Paragon, the ocean would be visible by now. The shore would be battered with large crushing waves. Beautiful hemlocks would bat their long lashes and flirt with the sea.

“I don’t get it,” Logan says, landing us in a barren space of lavender clouds mixed with fog. “There’s literally nothing here.” He raises his hand and the air ripples. It radiates out with a powerful light.

“It’s another plane. It must be.”

“How do we get in?” He slashes through the air and it spins like a circle of mirrors reflecting the sun—blinding us momentarily.

“How do we get anywhere?” I nod.

Logan and I ditch across the street. We hold hands and run as fast as our bodies can carry us, crashing through the curtain of fog and light in one spectacular blaze of glory.

***

We land hard with our backs nailed to the ground as a phosphorescent plume explodes overhead like a rocket. Beneath us, blue grass carpets the soft flowing hills. It comforts us, begs us to stay awhile and sleep under its hypnotic spell. We know this place, this familiar setting. Elysian Fields—Ahava.

“Skyla,” Logan shouts victoriously. He lands a kiss over my cheek and holds me while tumbling us down the hillside. He kisses my lips, my nose, my eyelids. “We’re here. We made it.” He jumps to his feet and pulls me up.

The hush of quiet waters fills the expanse with its gentle purr.

“The falls,” I say, pulling him toward the peaceful sound.

A broad lake sparkles to our left, sharp as shards.

“Oh no.” I pant, deathly afraid my mother and her homies are going to spring up over the water and tell me we’ve done something terribly wrong, but they don’t.

Logan walks us to the south side, toward the back where a red glow emanates from inside the divot behind the lower fall.

“That’s it.” Logan rubs my shoulders. “That’s where the sword is.”

We push in close to the rugged granite, directly behind the wall of water. The roar from the falls is deafening.

This is it, I say. You think there’s a sword here?

Doubtful—a replica maybe. He pauses just shy of the final turn where a bright orange glow illuminates him from behind.

Knowing Demetri, it’ll throw the last two regions in his favor.

Logan presses into me with all of the skill and mastery his seduction can afford and wraps his arms around my waist.

We’ll get the real sword. He lifts a finger and the rush of the water reduces as if he had just turned down the volume.

“How’d you do that?”

“I believed,” he says, pulling me past the falls and toward the water. Before I realize it, we’re walking over the lake as if it were made of a solid sheet of sapphire.

“Logan?”

“I don’t think right now is a good time to doubt.” He says it calm, full of patience with my display of exuberance. “Skyla…” He bears into me with those hazel stones and his features soften. “I know you’re with Gage, but in my heart,” he whispers, raising my hand over his chest, “I never let you go. Our love has grown inside me.” His eyes glint with moisture. “I’m going to ask you something—I don’t want you to answer. This is a question for another time in our lives, but I would be remiss to be standing in the most beautiful spot in the universe with the only girl I will ever love and not do this.” Logan drops to his knee, never taking his gaze off me. “Skyla, would you do me the honor of spending your life with me? Gracing me with your presence for as long as I have breath in my body? Every day on Earth would be paradise a thousand times richer than this with you by my side. Be my wife—marry me.”

I take Logan in as all of the splendor of Ahava glitters around us in a parade of unspeakable joy. The landscape lights up with jubilation at the prospect of our union.

“Logan.” I take up both his hands and smile wide. “I—”

The sky blackens. It expels a thunderous clap—flattens like a lead blanket over a house of cards.

I already know my answer.

And when the time is right, I’ll give it.

Chapter 99

Tunnel of Love

A black mist takes over.

The horrific sound of people screaming fills the air. This place, this stench, it’s all too recognizable—the Tenebrous Woods.

I try to run and smack into Logan.

“I’ve got you.” He pushes a quick kiss over the top of my head.

Ahava spins through my mind. It was so beautiful, so serene. Everything was perfect with the two of us, then it was lights out. I can’t help think it might be some big analogy for our relationship—my mother’s way of warning me of the doom and gloom to come.

A dull grey light warbles in this direction and illuminates the purple tree trunks with gnarled roots that dangle from the upper branches like dreadlocks.

“Before he gets here—” I whisper, with my chin tucked.

“No.” Logan wipes his finger over the outline of my lips. “Don’t. It was stupid. I should never have put you in that position. Promise me you won’t answer.” A broken heart just might push me over the edge.

“It wasn’t stupid,” I whisper. “It was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me. I love you, Logan.” I’ll never forget that moment, the water shimmering beneath us, the sky above like one long crystallized diamond, and Logan declaring his love for me right there in Paradise. Every one of those feelings I had from the beginning flooded back. Not even Gage and his wondrous affection could dam up their efforts. “Who said you’d end up with a broken heart?” I touch my fingers to his cheek and feel his skin sizzle against mine.

“Come.” Ingram appears and funnels us through a maze as though he were directing the flow of traffic. Of course, this would be the most horrific detour ever.

What Ezrina ever saw in him I will never know, I say.

Logan squeezes my hand. From what I gather, they were sort of forced together. According to her, she only had eyes for Heathcliff.

Ironic how my mother plants three handsome prospects before me, and here Ezrina only wanted the one, and that never panned out for her.

It’s panning out for her now. Logan rubs my palm with his thumb. In bits and pieces.

Oops, sorry, I pull his hand close to my chest. I don’t mean to lump you in a group because you’re not. You’re special. I know this—I can feel it.

His brows rise and fall. Maybe when we get back, your mother can fill you in on the rest of the story.

The rest of what story?

The rest of our story. Logan stops shy of the internment Ingram has procured for us. She spoke with me again. I think it’s important you hear the rest from her.

I knew it. My mother has been withholding vital information this entire time. She’s vindictive that way.

Ingram hands Logan a long leather strap to secure me with.

“I won’t fight,” I say it with a touch of pride.

“Suit yourself.” Ingram backs up, taking the leather menace with him. “We’ve a new consumer waiting to partake.”

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!

What if it’s some old geezer or a totally crazed lunatic that accidentally gnaws my head off? This is so going to get ugly fast I can feel it.

“She’s ready,” Ingram calls. “Elysian, step two paces to the left.”

God—Logan is going to go ape shit if this creature even makes me whimper, and of course, that will land Logan in the Elysian Fields permanently, and well, probably me, too.

A thin framed boy with familiar sandy blond hair steps forward.

“Ellis?” Logan and I say it in unison.

“Hey, guys.” He strides over sheepishly.

Ellis is here to rescue me! This is fantastic. It’s the total F. U. to his father, who by the way is a total perv, and I would have gone down fighting if he were the vampire in question coming in for a quick sip of some of my Celestra reserve.

Ellis steps forward and dusts the hair off my shoulders.

I keep eyeing Logan so he can give me some kind of signal and I’ll know when to kick Ingram in the balls on my way out of this maze. He so deserves it.

“So how do I do this?” Ellis rasps. His breath actually holds the scent of mouthwash, not pot central at all.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, trying be covert with our efforts. “How do you think we should do this?”

Ellis leans in and licks at my neck.

“Eww!” I bat him away.

“Tie her up,” Ingram commands.

“What are you doing?” Logan knifes the words while jamming his fist into his hand—I presume instead of Ellis’s face.

“I’m here to get some blood. My dad thinks it’s a good idea to start getting into this shit, so of course I’m going to request Skyla. Dude”—Ellis shoves Logan back a good foot—“it’s not like I’m going to kill her.”

“Since a struggle has ensued, I’m afraid this is mandatory.” Ingram shoves the leash into Logan.

Logan straps my arms and legs with the long leather snake. My limbs spread wide, leaving me vulnerable to Ellis’s every desire. I pull my head back, trying my hardest not to do something stupid to Ellis, like reach down and bite his ear off.

Ellis grazes my neck with his lips. He starts by giving me a hickey then quickly acclimates to the process. I can feel his teeth sink in and I draw a sharp breath as the lifeblood begins to drain from me.

Freaking Ellis.

His mind starts to wander from the memory of a cheeseburger to far more fictitious memories that involve lots of female anatomy and his partially clothed yet fully attentive body. Ellis starts in on a porno reel that makes my entire person blush head to toe from the offensive. The worst part is, I happen to be starring in said impure mental infraction along with Chloe, Brielle, and, of course, the guest of honor, Ellis himself.

I groan from the visual. This goes on for what feels like hours—for far longer than I have blood to give, that’s for damn sure. I’ve never seen anything so disgusting, so perverse. It stretches out to include such insanely vile behavior that I no longer want a bird’s-eye view of. In fact, I want off the pleasure-Ellis-merry-go-round immediately.

Gah! The bodies gyrate in rhythm and Ellis starts in on a move that horrifies me into paralysis. Ellis zooms in on a tight shot of the female anatomy I never knew existed. He pans out and to a mass of moving flesh—pale limbs intertwined with tawny limbs and Ellis’s hairy self, entangled in the middle. Little did I know he was capable of ratcheting up the heat in such a disturbing manner.

“No, not that,” I hiss quietly, lest the tyrant of the tunnels hears and has my mouth sewn shut with the flesh of a dead Celestra. No, no, no! Oh crap. There we are in one mass tangle of flesh, Chloe clawing over me like a lioness, ravaging me while Ellis sodomizes Brielle. Ellis quickly abandons his post at Brielle’s hindquarter and yanks me into him, and it’s a replay of those bunnies from Marshall’s backyard.

The ground shakes in rhythm to Ellis’s fantasy.

Every hint of sound, of color, of light, gets vacuumed out of existence—everything goes silent, then the world morphs to a still, beautiful, black.

Chapter 100

Love the Hard Way

A seizure of light explodes from up above.

“Move her.” Marshall’s soothing tone washes over me like the strum of a harp.

“Touch me,” I want to say, but my lips are numb, too weak to move.

“I don’t care about protocol, damn it!” My father shouts with a ferocity I’m not accustomed to. “She’s in pain, Candace. Have a heart for once, will you?” He booms.

I fade in and out, struggling to rouse from this coma-like slumber as the world bustles to life around me.

Marshall’s living room takes shape; the sofa, the coffee table, the piano in the distance—it comforts me on some intrinsic level as I relax into the loving arms that hold me.

“I’ve another vial in the humidifier,” Marshall instructs. “Last drawer in the fridge.”

A sharp jab explodes over my bottom as he pushes in the venom with very little mercy. An icy chill penetrates deep within my tissue. Another jab hits just above that, forcing my eyes to spring wide as I suck in a breath at the pain. A choking sound emits from my throat as I try to initiate a scream.

So help me God, I will asphyxiate Ellis in his sleep—first, for landing me in some depraved group fantasy, and second, for causing so much pain and suffering in the aftermath of his rather heated blood withdrawal.

“And, one last time.” Marshall sings while injecting me with another sharp bite of venom.

“Don’t focus on the pain.” My father hums from above. “Think of how fortunate you are to be out of the tunnels.” A hot teardrop rains from above and filters into my lip line, forcing me to taste the salt from my father’s sorrow. “You’re pure as gold, Skyla. You must never forget that.”

My body contracts. Large, clapping seizures slam and retract my torso like an accordion.

White, blinding, pain—a nuclear detonation of a million tiny pain receptacles ignite throughout my body at once.

This is the end of my existence—this is how I die—raging in agony in my father’s lap. My torso bucks in rhythm. I gallop like a horse trying to hitch a ride with the Grim Reaper, but he won’t stop for me—death never comes.

A vision pulls me out of my semi-conscious state—the pain fading to the background in a fit of supernatural respite.

A dark bedroom appears. This time I recognize the bed and the man with his naked limbs. Gage bears down on me with heated passion and I push him away.

Help me, I plead.

What’s wrong? He pants, still worked up from his shower of affection.

We need to find Logan. I pull back the sheets and expose my naked body, long slender legs, nothing but skin.

You’re having another nightmare. He births the words with sweet sorrow.

I need to make sure Logan made it out of the tunnels.

Gage relaxes next to me and pulls me in lovingly. He isn’t here anymore—he’s gone. His voice breaks just like my father’s, as his dimples press in. Gage is bereaved, his expression heavy with concern. Logan isn’t in the tunnels, Skyla. He’s dead.

I sit up, startled. Tears stream down my face as I try to evict the nightmare from my mind.

“Skyla,” my father whispers, burying me in his chest, “you’re back. How do you feel?”

I dart a glance around the room and find Marshall kneeling to my left, running his hand over my arm with his sweet, soothing vibrations.

“Where’s—” I pause when I see the most beautiful sight in the world—Logan. “I’m OK, Daddy.” I relax in his arms and give way to a sigh. Logan is alive and all is right with the world.

***

Logan drives me home. He sent Gage a text as we pull into the driveway to let him know I was taken, but that I’ve recovered—that I’m all right.

Gage sends a response, and Logan flashes his phone so I can see it.

And you tell me NOW?

Needless to say, Gage is genuinely pissed.

“He’s at the bowling alley.” Logan purses his lips. “I’m thinking he’ll be here in—”

Gage opens the passenger door to the truck and slides me into his arms. He offers a long embrace, his warm hands press into my ribcage so hard I think they might leave permanent imprints.

“I’m OK. I swear it. It was weird. It was Ellis.”

“What?” Gage shakes his head incredulous at the idea. “Harrison is going to die.”

Escalating voices emit from the Landon house. Sounds like Mia and Melissa are about to forgo the hair and go straight for the jugular.

“I’d better get inside,” I whisper.

We head into the Landon house. The air is thick with the heavy scent of smoke. The fire alarm is busy wailing away and so are both Mia and Melissa as they exchange expletives like seasoned sailors.

“What the hell is going on?” I yank Mia back by the arm as they get into one another’s faces.

A strangled silence fills in the void of their angry voices. Gage hits the fire alarm with a broom a few times and the damn thing shuts up but not before leaving its calling card in my ear. It’s still going off clear as a bell inside my head.

“I take it you want the stove off?” Logan extinguishes the flame without waiting for an answer.

“Mia was over doing it,” Melissa calls out, “just like she overdoes everything else. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date.” She snaps up her purse and heads down the hall. The front door slams, rattling the windows just this side of breaking them.

“What was that about?” I pull Mia in and wipe the hair from her eyes. Her skin is oven hot, she’s perspiring like crazy, and I can tell she’s about to lose it.

“You mean you didn’t hear?” She squeezes the words out while sucking back tears. “I thought she blabbed it to everyone. It’s official. She and Gabriel are together now.”

I want to say, who the hell cares? Or thank God she took that Armistead asshole off your hands because he’s got demented genes, but poor Mia looks as though she’s just been slapped and knowing Melissa, she probably has, so I opt for the demure road instead.

“As in boyfriend, girlfriend?”

Mia nods.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I’m pretty sure Tad’s not going to let that happen.” Once he catches wind his baby is doing the couple shuffle, he’ll put the kibosh on that goodtime like he does everyone else’s.

“She’ll deny it. She sneaks around.” Mia looks defeated and heartbroken—burnt out on life all together.

“I have a friend on the island you might want to meet,” I say. “He’s real nice and I’m pretty sure you’ll feel better after having a talk with him.” Of course, I mean Dad. Every day with Dad in our world is the best day ever.

“Is he cute?” Mia’s eyes widen at the prospect of a new juvenile suitor.

Logan gives a half-smile before heading over to the slider and opening it for ventilation.

“He’s not that kind of friend,” I lower my voice. “He’s more of a father figure.”

“It’s not that shrink you see, is it?”

“No, not Dr. Booth.”

“OK, whatever. I’ll talk to your friend. But right now, I think I’ll go take a nap or read a book. Sometimes I just want to escape from reality. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” I wish we were in the past—still in L.A. I’d do everything different. That’s one thing I know for sure.

I walk Mia up to her room and watch as she slinks on the bed. She looks helpless, trapped in a room with a sister she can’t stand at the moment. Odd, I feel the same about Chloe, only thank God I don’t have to share a room with her, and for sure she’s no sister.

Mia will feel better once she talks to Dad. One thing my dad can do is somehow make me believe everything is going to be all right—that not even death can stand in our way.

That horrible dream I had of Logan springs to the forefront of my mind.

It couldn’t have been a vision. I refuse to believe it.

It was nothing more than a nightmare.

That’s all it’ll ever be.

***

When I arrive back downstairs, Drake, Chloe and Ethan have sprawled out over the kitchen.

Chloe whispers something to Gage while leaning against the counter, then quickly darts over to Ethan as soon as I walk in the room.

Crap.

A horrible fear spirals through me. What if it’s all true? What if Emerson is right and he’s still keeping sinister-Bishop things from me? The creepy Kragger was right about the condom, and Gage certainly didn’t pull a kitchen knife on Chloe when she got within striking distance, so something does appear to be up. God, I pray nothing that belongs to Gage is “up” when Chloe is around.

I go over to the table and take a seat, inspiring Gage to sit beside me. His warm, woodsy cologne whispers my name and I glance at him with heavy eyes.

“So who you seeing now?” Drake directs the question to Logan. “Are you still with Michelle? Or did you tap that?”

“Tap that?” I squawk. The next time I vomit, I’m aiming for Drake’s shoes.

“Nope. Miller and I are done.” Logan raises a brow in my direction before knocking back his soda.

“Dude, there are so many hot chicks going to West this year.” Drake flexes his hands behind his neck and nods into Logan. “I had to go down to the attendance office to clear up some shit and like four supermodels walked in—and they were all sporting massive lady lumps.” Drake cups his hands in front of his chest like he’s already molesting them. “You could score with all of them if you wanted.”

You’d think Drake had branched off into the pimp business the way he suddenly feels the need to hook Logan up with some lumpy “supermodels.”

“Lady lumps?” Chloe scoffs at Drake’s genius.

“I don’t know.” Logan glances from me to Gage. “I think I’ll steer clear. You go ahead and hit those.” He nods into Drake. “I’ll watch from the sidelines and learn from the master.”

“I’ve already got two of their numbers.” Drake smears his words with an irresponsible swagger that makes me want to smack him.

“Drake!” I kick him from under the table.

“What? It was for Logan. He’s having a dry season. Us guys have to look out for one another.” He fiddles with his phone and Logan’s cell goes off. “There, I just forwarded you the hot brunette’s number. Give her a crotch-shot and let her know what’s up.”

“A crotch-shot?” Chloe and I ask in unison. Creepy.

Figures, the one thing that can unify the two of us is some serious asshat stupidity brought on by yet another Landon.

“Yeah.” Ethan looks right at me. “You know, like the one Gage sent to steal you away from Logan.”

“What?” Gage booms, pissed at the concept.

“Just repeating what Chloe said.” He slips her a crooked grin.

“Oh, please.” Chloe swims with glee. “That’s not what happened. I said I’ve seen his package. That’s obviously what sold Skyla. It was nothing more, nothing less.” She picks at her nail polish in an effort avoid eye contact with all parties that have a direct interest in Gage and his package.

“That’s such a lie.” I fume over at her.

Logan rasps his knuckles against the table. “And for the record, there is absolutely nothing wrong with my package.”

I promptly ignore Logan and his plea for penile equity.

My blood starts to boil at the thought of Chloe spouting off lies about Gage and his body when she knows damn well we’re trying to get back on track.

“It’s a lie, right Gage?” I look to him for support only he’s being unnaturally quiet about the whole thing. I get that he’s ticked, but this is a pretty good time to lay into her with some of that pent up rage he’s feeling. “She didn’t see your package.”

His dimples depress as he glints into Chloe with a pissed-off expression.

“Oh, you haven’t told her?” Chloe claps a hand over her mouth in an effort to demonstrate the not so seriousness of her artificial faux pas.

Shit.

“Gage?” I jump back with my chair so I can get a better look at him. His face has lit up like a Christmas tree and I’m pretty sure that’s not a very good fucking sign.

“It was an accident,” he says it low. “It’s not what you think. Chloe’s trying to do what she does best—keep us apart.”

“What kind of an accident?” I press on. “Did she walk in on you in the bathroom?” Somehow a stream of urine shooting from his penis would add some levity to the situation. Somehow our entire relationship hangs on the balance of humility and bodily fluids.

“No.” Gage gives a little laugh at the idea. “She didn’t walk in on me in the bathroom.”

I suck in a lungful of air. I’m horrified at the height from which we’ve fallen.

“Oh my God. She did see your baseball bat!” I scoot my chair the hell away from him in the event his pants decided to catch on fire because it’s become apparent he is such a fucking liar.

“Dude.” Drake marvels. “You’ve got a baseball bat down there?”

Brielle walks in and breezes over.

“Talking about Gage?” She says it so nonchalant and so correctly pegged the phallus in question all eyes redirect themselves to her. “What?”

I close my eyes briefly and try to blink out of this nightmare. Surely this is some toxin-induced hallucination. We couldn’t possibly be sitting around the Landon dinner table discussing Gage Oliver’s private parts and the list of suspects that may or may not have ogled at their size and stature.

Drake nods over at Gage. “Shoot me a crotch-shot, would you?” I’m sure his curiosity is working overtime. Just the thought of every person at this table imagining Gage and his area is totally embarrassing and disgusting. I hope to God Mia doesn’t feel the sudden urge for a glass of water or the imagery might haunt her forever.

“Skyla.” Gage says it sharp and clear. His dark lashes hover low as if this entire conversation were absurd. “It was back in May. I was getting dressed in the gym and I heard someone giggling. I thought maybe whoever it was might have seen me but I wasn’t sure. Chloe told me at Demetri’s party earlier this summer that it was her. You were already plenty upset with me so I didn’t think telling you was the best idea.”

“And what did she tell you today?” I don’t miss a beat.

Mr. Condom in his right pocket thinks he can keep things from me but I’d like to know every last underwear-deficient detail. And—I’d like to steer the conversation the hell away from his considerable, crotch-shot worthy size for a moment.

Gage presses back in his seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable as if he and Chloe had been caught in yet another lewd act.

Anger flashes through me like a fire. “I’m starting to think that it really was you rutting with Chloe in the butterfly room a few weeks back.” Did I just say that out loud?

“What?” Logan balks as if I had just accused Gage of chopping the paws off a litter of puppies.

Gage digs his palms into his eyes for a moment. “Skyla, that wasn’t me,” he says exasperated. “And just a few minutes ago, Chloe was saying she noticed you didn’t wear your ring anymore—she asked if we were over.”

“Oh,” I say stupidly. I just want to crawl under the table. What if it’s all true? I wouldn’t put it past Chloe to sneak into the gym to catch a glimpse of Gage in the buff. And, of course she’d be more than willing to point out the fact I no longer sport my faux engagement ring.

“So?” Chloe leans in deep over the table, with a serpentine smile. “What is it, Skyla? Are you and Gage still together? Or aren’t you?”

I glance over at Logan—Logan who proposed to me just hours before, although it feels like a dizzying lifetime ago. His sad eyes pull down over me as he gives a quiet nod.

“Ethan,” I snap at my stepbrother so loud he startles at the call of his name. “She cheats on you. She slept with Pierce Kragger in my bedroom and I needed to bleach the walls because she blistered them with that skank smell she leaves behind.”

Chloe’s mouth rounds out as though I had just dropped a bombshell.

What’s with the surprise? Hadn’t I just accused her of doing the same thing with Gage?

“Who cares,” Ethan quips. “It’s not like we’re together.”

I look at him in disbelief and shake my head. Drake and Brielle nod as if they know exactly what the hell he’s talking about.

Doesn’t anybody around here take a relationship seriously?

Logan and Gage press in with the weight of their stares and a roll of nausea pulses through me.

Do I?

Chapter 101

Team Skyla

After that miserable crotch-inspired conversation, the entire lot of us actually sat in the family room and watched a marathon of horror movies like one big dysfunctional family.

Mom and Tad came home with baby Beau who apparently didn’t suffer any great ill effects, or at least, according to Mom, those great ill effects were impossible to trace. Nevertheless, the teen population disbursed to the privacy of their bedrooms. As for me, it’s time to pick up Emerson from the Kraggers’, lest they forget I’m using her as my treble pass.

Logan and Gage walk me down to the edge of the driveway.

“You mind if I come for the ride?” Gage dusts over me with a morose expression.

“Yeah.” Logan hitches his thumb toward his truck. “I’d better get to the bowling alley and check out a few things. Take Gage,” he says it sad, depleted. “I’d hate for you to venture into Kragger territory alone.” He cups the side of my face and smooths his thumb over the high ridge of my cheek as if he were yearning to kiss me. I’ve got relations duty tonight. See you in my dreams?

You bet. I press my lips into his open palm.

“Night,” he calls, heading to his truck.

I toss Gage the keys to the Mustang.

“You drive,” I say.

Chloe and her manipulative behavior drained me beyond reason—too bad there’s no toxin that can cure Bishop of her wicked ways. And, thanks to me, not even death was able to contain her.

We hop into the Mustang and Gage fires up the engine, lets it run a good solid minute before carefully backing out of the driveway. It feels safe like this with Gage in the driver’s seat. He has a way of making me feel sheltered, protected.

We cover a majority of the island sunk in silence, our grief thick and smothering–nothing but an entire ocean of heartache that Chloe dumped over us.

Gage pulls off a secluded street that leads to the Kragger compound and places his warm hand over mine.

I lunge at him, wrap my arms around his body and my chest heaves with a quick burst. I miss Gage so much. I miss who we were and how much he loved me. I miss the way my fingers would dig into his hair and how his lips were never strangers to mine.

He takes a sharp breath into my neck, and I can see his thoughts spinning out like a reel. Gage and me at the bowling alley the day I arrived on Paragon. He seizes at the sight of me with an intense desire, cringes when he sees Logan and I hitting it off. Gage flips the page in his memory and reflects on kissing me at a pool party. I remember that night. We were trying to fool the entire island into thinking we were officially a couple. He speeds through scenes, Ellis’s parties, the butterfly room, the day we first said I love you. Gage writes a song with the montage of kisses that swirl through his mind.

“That was so beautiful,” I whisper. “Thank you for sharing.”

“I want to share everything with you.” He pulls back. His dimples flare on and off with approval. “Skyla, what is it that you need me to do to gain your trust again?”

“I do trust you.” It speeds out of me. A hot boil ignites deep in the pit of my stomach. Of course I trust Gage. Don’t I?

He shakes his head just barely. “I love you so much that it actually hurts. I’m in agony, Skyla.” He washes over me with his cobalt beauty. “I’m all torn up inside because of what’s happened to us.” His brows crease. “I’m really afraid. I’m afraid Chloe finally won and now you’ll never be mine. I can’t breathe—there’s no air without you,” he chokes it out in a whisper.

I lean in and hold him for a very long time. I can’t bear this pain. It’s all too much. If these feelings corrode our relationship for another wasted moment, he’s right. Chloe won.

“We’re going to get through this,” I say. “I know we will.”

I can feel it deep down inside, but the Logan-shaped hole in my heart begs to differ.

***

Once I arrive home, I walk Emerson upstairs to my room after her daylong play date with Daddy, only to find Chloe sitting Indian style on my bed with her head sunk in a book. Origin of a Vampire, by Addison Moore. Figures. Chloe is probably reading up on her lineage.

“Out.” I hold the door open as Emerson takes a seat at the desk.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Emerson tosses back her midnight hair. Her pale face gazes at Chloe in all her dark beauty. “Maybe we can talk about old times—reminisce. Is Skyla up to speed on all your mysterious secrets? Or should I fill her in?”

Chloe smirks with disgust.

“Please,” I scoff while plucking off my shoes, “I know all about her deadly offenses—Ethan, you, my dad.” I snatch my West sweatshirt off the floor. “By the way, she lives to steal my boyfriend.” I just called Gage my boyfriend! I think that means we’re back on track. I’ll have to call him and tell him the good news. We’ll have to celebrate before this whole faction war comes to a close and I feel guilty as hell for being in the same room with him.

“That’s it?” Emerson directs all the abhorrence she can muster at me.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “She gutted Ethan like a fish and now she’s resigned herself to a servitude of gifting him blowjobs. It’s almost worth having her under the same roof, knowing she suffers a fate worse than death.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Ethan.” Chloe shakes her head.

“Other than the fact he’s not Gage.” I’m quick to remind.

“Neither is Logan or Dudley, or whoever else you’ll be using as your consolation prize.” Chloe skewers me with a look of insolent pride as if she’s in the know on some big secret that’s yet to play out in my future.

“And who will be with Gage?” Emerson asks, amused by our banter.

“I will.” Chloe gleams over at me. “I’ll have him, and he’ll worship me.”

I don’t know what frightens me more, the fact she had the nerve to say it in my room, on my bed, or the fact every cell in her body believes it.

“Let’s play a game, Chloe.” Emerson teases with a husky tone.

“No,” Chloe snaps. The look of tempered fear in her eyes is enough to confirm the fact Emerson has Chloe by the balls.

“Let’s play a game of hangman,” Emerson says it slow, vindictive, as though the secret she’s wielding like a sword was buried in her words.

“Did Chloe hang someone?” I’m fascinated. “I totally wouldn’t put it past her. I bet she’s tried every modality possible to force someone to give up the ghost.”

Emerson looks up at me with her clear blue eyes and scoffs. “You don’t know the beast you’re entertaining.”

“Oh, I so do,” I’m quick to retort. “It doesn’t get more beastly than having my father killed.”

Emerson stabs Chloe with her dagger-like eyes and the temperature in the room plummets to a primitive chill. Chloe is posturing through her anxiety, but I can see the map of fear written all over her as she twitches unnaturally over my mattress.

“What’s going on?” I feel like shaking Emerson until the secrets spill out of her ears. “What did she do?”

“She’s still doing it, Skyla. Can’t you see?” Emerson needles her with a relentless brand of hatred I thought only I was capable of exuding when it came to Chloe. “She’s a criminal. She’s too ashamed to admit all of her indiscretions.” She spears her revulsion in Chloe’s direction. “I can make you dance. You’re my own personal marionette doll. Dance bitch.” Emerson doesn’t crack a smile, just glowers into Chloe like she’s the devil herself. “It’s going to be one hell of a year at West.”

Chloe flinches.

“Oh, wait, I didn’t tell you?” Emerson widens her eyes with delight. “I had my dad transfer me. I’d hate to stay at East and be the freak on campus. At West, I’ve already got a built-in bestie. Isn’t that right, Chloe? It’s going to be you and me again. Just like old times.”

Chloe’s face turns an ashen shade of grey. She jumps to her feet and makes a beeline out the door without the polite forethought to say good night.

I swoop in on Emerson.

“Tell me everything you know or I’ll sink you in blue Jell-O by midnight so help me God.”

“Shit.” She blinks back a moment. “Do you even fucking understand there is no second resurrection? It’s one and done, so don’t go threatening me.” She stabs a finger in my chest. “I don’t respond well to threats in the event you haven’t noticed.”

Perfect. Now she’ll have both Chloe and me as her afterschool bitches.

I take a deep breath.

“Look, it’s really important for you and me to be on the same team. I hate Chloe as much as you do. I really need to know what you have on her. It must be something huge to make her run for the door like that.”

“It is,” she assures. Emerson dives on the bed and the canopy shakes as if it were an earthquake. “Whatever. I’ll tell you in the morning. I’m fried.”

“You will?”

“Yeah, but you need to keep quiet about it. And trust me, if word gets out, I’ll know it was you.”

“Why would I say anything?”

“It’d be impossible not to.”

***

I tire of playing riddle of the Sphinx with Emerson. The riddle of the Sphinx was easier to solve—the answer was man. In Chloe’s case, the answer is beast, but what else could she possibly have done to earn that title?

I crawl into the butterfly room and find Gage sprawled out, sleeping with his arm up over his head. He looks unblemished like a marble carving. His thick lashes curl up perfectly. Any woman in her right mind would die for them, for him in general.

Here it is, the last leg of our journey, according to Logan. Once the faction war ends, we’ll land on another battlefield, the terrain in the shape of a heart.

I lie down beside him and watch his chest rise and fall. He’s so sweet and gorgeous I want him to be mine. I ache all over for Gage.

He groans and rouses. His lids slit open revealing bright pink tracks layered over the whites of his eyes.

“Hey, beautiful.” He places his hand on my hip like he’s done it a thousand times before. “Everything go OK?”

I nod. The last thing I’m going to do is drag Chloe and her whirlwind of secrets up here like some smelly dead carcass, and I do believe a carcass is involved.

“Guess what?” I whisper.

“What?”

It’s easy like this with Gage. Like I had made a wrong turn and was lost and now I’m found, safe right here next to him.

“I love you, Gage Oliver.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Are you hiding anything?” I ask point-blank.

Gage gives a reluctant, slow nod. The cords on either side of his neck distend as he reaches over and pets the side of my cheek.

“Will you tell me?”

He hesitates. The look on his face answers before he does. “I don’t think so.”

My heart implodes on itself at the thought. I hate the fact Emerson is proving to be some reanimated prognosticator with twenty-twenty vision into my future.

“I can’t.” He shakes his head. “It has to do with my dreams. I don’t have all the details. I don’t even know if I believe them anymore.” He sighs with frustration. “Trust me, Skyla—sometimes it’s best to let the future play out.”

“I do trust you Gage. And I’m pretty sure whatever it is you’re withholding has to do with you, me, Logan or Chloe.”

His dimples press in, no smile. “It’s always the same things, isn’t it?”

“So I hit the nail on the head?”

“All four.” He drops a throbbing kiss on my temple. “I promise you one thing.”

“What’s that?” I slip my hands up his shirt and warm my arms over his back.

“You will never go unloved.”

Sometimes that’s enough to hear.

***

The night wears on. I can feel his warm breath shower over me while the butterflies watch peacefully from above.

A dream emerges as Gage holds me in his loving arms.

A hillside explodes from nothing as I enter Logan’s dream world. A rich lavender sky opens clear and smooth, layered with a spectacle of stars that glitter like fireflies. The clean scent of honey and lemons spice the air as a cacophony of explosive grunts, and berated spasms of ecstasy, rocket from a nearby thicket.

I find Logan lying on the grass, reclining on his elbows.

“Oh. My. God.” I run over the rich lawn so dark in hue it looks necrotic. “Have they no shame? At least we can’t see them,” I say, landing next to him.

I glance up and a tangle of pale flesh slaps me in the face, long hairy legs over svelte porcelain limbs, a perfectly bleached moon rises and I turn my face in a hurry. “Oh God.” I scoot into Logan for protection.

He leans back, plays with my hair an inordinate amount of time before saying anything.

“How did it go?” He looks down, inspecting my features as though he never intended for me to answer. He could read the truth for himself written all over my face.

“It went.” A sigh escapes my lips. “I do trust Gage. I know things are complicated right now.” I pause as Ezrina lets out a hearty groan. “He knows things, Logan. Things about you and me and Chloe.”

“Did he say what?”

“No—nor will he. Not sure I want him to anyway.”

“I might want him to.”

“Why? It’s not like we can change any of it.”

Nev’s staccato grunts go off like the blast of a shotgun.

“Maybe not.” Logan scoots down until he’s in line with me. “But if Gage knows, I need to know. That’s what a team is about, working together on a play.”

“Are you and Gage on the same team?”

“We’re team Skyla.” He nudges his shoulder into mine.

I lay my hand over his chest and gaze out at the stars. The vocalization has quieted—nothing but the sound of erratic breathing, a hymn of hallelujah stemming from each breath.

“Team Skyla.” I shake my head.

More like team Oliver.

I’m going to be an Oliver someday.

I just can’t figure out which Oliver.

Chapter 102

Headache

In the morning, Gage swarms me with a sea of kisses before blipping himself out of the butterfly room.

I must say, having a boyfriend with the ability to teleport himself anywhere is more than a little perk. Think of all the frequent flier miles we’ll log by way of his well-chiseled body?

My thoughts revert to Logan and my mood plummets.

I sink down through the hole in my closet and land with a soft thud. Today is a perfect day to bring Mia over to see Dad. I can’t even imagine the broken heart she must have over that whole “steal your boyfriend from under you” debacle, especially since the boyfriend snatcher in question sleeps less than six feet away.

I head into the bedroom and check myself in the mirror. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mia took the working end of an ax to Melissa in her sleep—

A dark brown stain over my pillow captures my attention.

I turn slowly toward the bed.

I don’t have a brown pillow, do I? I step in closer. It looks tie-dye, or like Emerson spilt pomegranate juice all over it. Gross. She probably puked. It’s probably some disgusting aftereffect of Ezrina’s keeping solution and now her digestive tract is malfunctioning. She’ll be burping up bile and blood for the next twenty years—and she thought Chloe’s presence was vexing.

I sweep in and pull back the covers to assess the total bodily fluid damage.

“Holy freaking shit!”

Nev’s wings expand on the other side of the glass in response to my panic.

“God!”

Emerson Kragger’s headless body lies in state while a puddle of rusty liquid spreads over the mattress thick as an oil slick.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I let Nev in the window and he sails past me in a heated flurry.

“What the hell am I going to do?” I shout into him. God, what if my entire family has been decapitated? What if some maniac has already spiked their heads on that crappy picket fence Tad keeps threatening to fix?

“Skyla?” My mother bursts into the room uninvited.

“I’m changing!” I shriek, pushing her out and slamming the dresser over the door in one bionic move.

There’s that theory.

I distinctly smell a Bishop involved in this massacre. She just took proving a point to a whole new level. Chloe Bishop will be nobody’s bitch with the exception of Gage if he commands it.

“Is everything OK?” Mom’s muted voice pulses through the walls, heavy with concern.

“Everything’s fine! I’m just practicing for a play.” Lies spew from my lips like some autonomic response.

“Are you doing summer stock?” Mom sounds proud of my new false endeavor.

“Yup.” It’s called, I’m going to bury an ax murderer. “I’ll be down later.” I shout, moving my entire desk to block the dresser, which blocks the orifice to the potential serial killer implications of it all.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” I hiss looking back at the disfigured corpse. Nev lands on my shoulder, and I reach up and hold him. “What am I going to do?”

Looks like someone’s done half the work for you. Dispose of the rest—and do so quickly. The odor is making my eyes water.

“Dispose? With what? A meat grinder? This is Emerson freaking Kragger. Her dad is going to kill me when she doesn’t show up for blackmailing duty. I’m done. I may as well be the one lying in that bed. Freaking Chloe.

Are you suggesting Ms. Bishop is responsible for the carnage?

“Yes! And this shocks you because?” I pop a quick text to Gage begging him to bolt back here ASAP.

Good Lord. Nev lets out a shrill cry. If I had a halfpenny for each time she threatened to lop my head off. And here I thought she was being cute.

Gage materializes before me with a lustful look in his eye, still wet from the shower, and I spin him around.

“Crap!” He jumps back.

“Shh!” I hop from one leg to the other in a panic.

“Let’s get her to Dudley’s.” He speeds over and plucks the bottom sheet off the four corners of the mattress and pulls the edges together like she’s a load of headless laundry.

Brill! Why didn’t I think of that?

I huddle in and Gage blinks us away from the scene of the crime.

***

“Skyla!” My father rises with a blooming grin on his face as we land in the middle of Marshall’s living room. “And you’ve brought Gage.”

“That’s just as well.” My mother rises and matches my dad’s enthusiasm.

“Marshall?” I jet over to him as he strides into the room with a tray of steaming teacups and rattle him by the shoulders as a spray of hot liquid drips over my legs.

“Not now, love.” He places the tray on the sofa table. “We’ve guest.” Do reprise your enthusiasm later this evening. My bed has longed for your touch since the moment you left. And what’s with Jock Strap glaring at me?

I drag him over to the bedding lying on the floor and pull back the sheet.

A huge gasp fills the room as they take in a collected breath.

“What happened?” Dad cries out in alarm.

Good God, he probably thinks I’m bringing Mia to him, or Mom.

“It’s Emerson Kragger,” I pant. “Chloe Bishop happened.”

The room stills as we gape at Emerson’s long frame, her hands spread wide with surprise.

“Pity,” Marshall muses with a false sense of charity. “Would you like to bury or burn her?”

“What?” I shriek.

Nev flies in a circle around the lot of us.

“Put her back together.” I plead to both Marshall and my mother.

“Sorcery.” Marshall makes big eyes at me as if he never messed with Michelle’s unfortunate state to begin with.

“You’ve lost her head.” Mom leans in and examines the hole in her neck. She digs her finger in and her expression sours.

“I never had her head.” I suck in a sharp breath. “Chloe buried it in the past! I saw her about a month ago trotting off in the woods behind the house. Why the hell would she do that?”

“No fresh earth to tip anybody off.” Gage nods because he knows all about burying and unburying the dead. Although right about now, I need him to know all about cranial search and rescue.

“Skyla, what will you tell her family?” My father looks up at me, concerned about my perilous state of contention and quite possibly manslaughter charges once Chloe pins this whole knifing debacle on me.

“Nothing.” I flail my hands. “Let’s get her to the table.” I reach down and start dragging the carcass. “Marshall, find her head.” I bark out the instructions, only he doesn’t move.

“Skyla,” my mother scoffs. I so hate the scoffing when she’s wearing a close replica of my face. “What do you intend to do once you find her head?”

“Put it back.” I pull out the words. God, do I have to spell out everything? We have a reanimation to get to and everyone’s just standing around all pissy like it’s my fault they’re not doing better things like noshing on Marshall’s vermin-based culinary treats. “I’ll have Marshall pump her full of my Celestra blood and she’ll be back to normal by dinner. A little help from you wouldn’t hurt, either.” I slide Emerson across the carpet leaving an indelible stain that I can already tell will be a bitch to get rid of much like the perpetrator of this offense, i.e. Chloe-I-chop-heads-off-before-breakfast Bishop.

“Skyla.” Mom closes her luminescent eyes. “It was Emerson’s time. She’s unable to come back. I’m so sorry dear.”

“Her time?” A hopeless ache rattles deep in my bones. “No,” I cry. “That means I’ll lose my treble. Arson Kragger will never forgive me for teasing him with his daughter. The tunnels won’t be able to protect me from his wrath.” I look to my father and drop to my knees. “Daddy? Help, me. I beg of you.”

Gage pulls me up to the couch and presses a kiss square on my lips.

“She just needs another soul.” He soothes me with his calm spirit. Gage always knows the right words to say.

“Perfect!” I bounce up and bolt to my mother. “Ezrina! She’s dying for another body.”

“No can do.” Her eyes narrow in on mine. “Emerson’s time has passed and Ezrina needs to remain. Besides, it wouldn’t be right to inflict that kind of punishment on a soul who’s done nothing wrong. Her hair sparkles as if each strand were fiber-optic.

There it is.

Emerson is dead and Chloe prospers once again.

“Marshall?” I look to him pleading.

“I’m sorry, love. This is beyond my realm. I’ve not a soul to offer.”

“I might,” Gage says it low with a morbid growl.

“Oh no.” I hold up a hand at his insane offer. I’m not sacrificing a perfectly good Gage for Emerson Kragger’s next reprisal. “Maybe we can kill Chloe?”

Gage shakes his head. “You said never kill Chloe. You made me promise we wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Statements like that make me wonder where your loyalty lies. I always want Chloe dead. It’s the only constant in my life.”

“I have another solution.” His dimples invert with a twinge of regret over what he’s about to suggest.

“Nev?” I ask. Of course that might ruin things spectacularly for Ezrina.

Gage shakes his head. “My sister.”

Chapter 103

Head of the Family

The room spins on its axis, and for a brief moment, I think I’m going to pass out from the sheer genius Gage just espoused from his lips. The idea of filling Emerson Kragger’s “testament to all things goth” with sweet little ole Giselle is beyond brilliant.

I wrap my arms around him and breathe into his neck, savoring his cologne as if it were God’s own breath.

“You saved me,” I whisper.

Gage and the infinite ways he loves me is a spool of never-ending affection that gives without ever asking for anything in return. Well, if that condom he keeps handy is any indication, he might want something in return, but that too is because he loves me.

“Giselle?” Dad asks. “She’s become like a daughter to me.”

“Really?” I take him in as his eyes glow in the shadows. I love the thought of my dad knowing and loving Giselle. “You think she’d want to come back? I mean, I know it’s not her body, but they look so much alike.” Emerson is gorgeous—or she would have been if she ever bothered to smile. “Can we have Giselle back?” I bear into my mother for mercy.

“It’s not up to me.” She gives the slight hint of a smile. I can feel the love radiating from her like pinholes of light that penetrate through a tangible darkness. “Giselle would have to approve. It would mean she would have to leave Paradise. That’s a tall order for someone who hardly remembers this planet.”

“She loves us,” Gage starts. “She’s family and so is Skyla. I’m sure she would be more than willing to help.”

Marshall averts his eyes as if the odds were slim.

What is with these people? Doesn’t everybody want to live right here on planet Earth?

“Giselle?” My mother looks past my shoulder.

I turn to find Gage’s sister looking bashful and unsure of why we’ve called her while huddled around a headless corpse.

“Giselle!” I’ll be the first to admit, the whole idea doesn’t look too appealing. “I swear I will owe you everything,” I say, running over and giving her a death grip of a hug, no pun intended.

“What’s going on?” She steps out of my embrace and over toward Gage.

See? She totally trusts Gage. It’s all going to work out fine.

“Feel like trading Eden for Hades?” Marshall quips.

“Oh, stop.” I shoot him a dirty look. “Guess what?” I spring back with all the enthusiasm I can muster. “A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity has come up just for you!” Wow, if that doesn’t sound like a late-night infomercial for the lame and restless, I don’t know what does. “I’m mean, if you want a change of scenery, why not consider your options?” Again, it’s like I stepped in a steaming pile of stupid and I find the need to share the stench.

“What Skyla is trying to say is”—Gage wraps an arm around her—“we need you.”

“Giselle,” my mother starts in with her I’m-not-shitting-around voice, “would you like to enter back into the earthly plane bearing this corporal form.” She fans her hand over Emerson’s less-than-impressive state of being.

Well crap. It’s like both Marshall and my mother are working against me.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but we can work with it,” I offer.

Giselle’s mouth falls open with disgust and she recoils right out of her brother’s arms and lunges for my dad instead.

“What’s wrong with you people?” She gasps over at Gage and me as if we had just asked her to do something morally reprehensible and celestially forbidden. Well, maybe running around like a Halloween decoration would be, but this is different. I think.

“She has a head,” I offer. Somewhere. “Marshall and I were just about to go and dig it up. You can come, too. You’ll be super pretty.” Shit. Inviting someone to come along on a headhunting adventure for a head you wish them to don like a hat is probably not the best idea. First, she’ll probably have one serious mud mask in place, and second, bad freaking hair day.

“Giselle.” Gage pleads without even asking the question. “I really would appreciate it if you would at least consider this.”

“Come, love.” Marshall takes up my hand.

Nevermore lets out a soft cry and swoops to my shoulder from off the mantel.

Marshall leers at me. Let Jock Strap and your father do the grunt work. We’ll have all the fun of getting down and dirty with it. His cheek slides up one side as if there were sexual implications involved, and truth be told, I’d be willing to fulfill an implication or two for a head right about now.

I hope Gage and my father can persuade Giselle to abandon Paradise while I go to central Hades to dig for the corporal apex of a newly decapitated Kragger.

***

The woods behind the Landon residence materialize in hues of blues and purples. A cloud of vapors suspend themselves over the ground, giving the illusion that the tree roots are moving, slithering over the earth, thick as anacondas.

“Do tell. What direction did you spy Ms. Bishop heading in?” Marshall bows sarcastically as if this were an exercise in futility.

“I don’t know. Aren’t you equipped with some kind of spiritual sonar? Use your infrared graveyard vision and look for a skull or blood—go.” I bat him away. “Go get her. I’m sure there’s at least a ten mile radius of forensic evidence.” Freaking Chloe. I’d like to reduce her to a head—mount her in my bedroom and throw darts at her nose every night.

“Sonar? Infrared graveyard vision? Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for the crime investigations chapter of Sector P.D., a rather elite group of graveyard go-getters.”

“This is no time for your paltry sense of humor.”

Nev pounces on my shoulder and I try to evict him by way of a hard shrug but he smacks me in the face with his wing a good three times and stays put.

“No offense.” I twist into him. “But you weigh a ton. This could all get done much faster if you hang out in the air. You can look for clues from the sky.” I’d hate to exclude Nev since he wants to be a part of it. “If you find her first, I’ll give you an eye.”

“There you go,” Marshall quips. “First, you present Giselle with a less-than-comely corpse, and now you’re ready to up the ante with a one-eyed cranium. You really know how to sweeten the pot.”

“Who said I was offering Emerson’s eye?” I hiss into him. “You weren’t exactly helping back there. I’ll have you know this Earth is paradise for some of us. In fact, some of us dream to linger well into our diaper wearing, hilariously delusional Alzheimer years and beyond, so stop being so high and mighty about where you’re from because this cadaver capital of the universe isn’t all that freaking bad.”

“Go on.” A smile pinches his lips and he blinks it away. “I’m enjoying your tirade immensely.”

“No!” I bite the word out.

“I’ll give you fair warning, a kiss is on the rise. I completely adore this feisty side of you.”

“Be quiet.” I shake my head incredulous at the thought of him getting a rise in his pants because of the fact I’m fuming.

“It’s coming.” He says it with a dark air as he steps in my direction.

“Kiss me and die,” I say, walking past him deeper into the forest.

“You’ll need this.” He holds up a rusted shovel that’s miraculously appeared in his hand and charges over. “And this.” He sears my lips with a molten kiss that burns for seconds once he’s through. Marshall and his incessant brand of lust—he’s on fire and so are his kisses. “I do believe you’re blushing.” He accuses with a stern look. “I dare say you’d like another.”

I open my mouth to protest and a vapor of fog emits in lieu of a reprimand.

I take up the shovel and walk past him while Nev nuzzles into my neck.

Child forgive me, I know where the head lies.

“Nev knows where the head is!” I jump up and press my lips against Marshall’s, quick as a fleabite. I’ll never in a million years admit to wanting the first one. I thought I had died when he pulled away. Marshall is worse than crack. No wonder Michelle goes batshit every time he’s around. All she really wants is one more hit.

“Speak, you stupid bird.” Marshall touches his hand to Nev.

Accept my deepest regret. Nevermore shuffles like he’s about to fly away.

“Why are you apologizing?” I say it soft. “The important part is that you remembered. Just lead the way.”

Nevermore pushes off my shoulder and flaps slowly up above until he leads us to an arrangement of stones set in a circle.

“Looks perfectly satanic,” I say, pushing the stones away with my feet. “This is so Chloe’s style.”

“She’s the devil incarnate,” Marshall huffs while taking the shovel away from me.

“Is she?” I’m wide-eyed over the fact Chloe could, in fact, be the fallen one. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit.

Marshall pauses with the shovel part way inflicted into the earth. “It’s a euphemism, Skyla. Chloe is but a minion,” he says, carefully uncovering soil until long tendrils of hair rise out of the dirt like the silken roots of a flower.

Marshall pads away all the clay he can before reaching down and pulling her up by the mane like picking a carrot out of the ground.

I turn my head at the hideous sight.

Her face is swollen, her lips are shriveled and both eye sockets have inverted—the eyeballs themselves, suspiciously missing.

“Who did this?” Marshall asks Nev in an accusatory tone.

I muster the nerve to look back at Emerson’s gaping eye sockets with nary an eyeball or eyelid left.

Nevermore shrieks, then bows his head as if to say he’s sorry.

“Oh, no.” I shake my head.

“I’m afraid, oh, yes.” Marshall confirms.

What girl wouldn’t want to trade in Paradise to become a blind, mutilated corpse?

Every girl, that’s who.

I am thoroughly and completely screwed.

Chapter 104

Headed for Trouble

The faint sound of voices emit from the Landon House adjacent to the woods.

Tad and Mom’s voices carry over the evergreens and rise up to the dismal sky with their pronounced dissatisfaction in one another. They’re arguing again—probably over the fact their daughter barricaded herself in a prospective crime scene then disappeared into thin air. I bet Demetri is combing the island pretending to look for me in hopes to makes his lap rocket more enticing to my mother.

I glance back down at Emerson’s less than comely severed head and withhold the urge to vomit.

“What the hell, Nev?” I say, landing my hand over his cool glossy plumes. It’s bad enough poor Emerson’s head was hacked off, but having her eyeballs pecked out by a raven has to be an all-time low.

I thought Ms. Bishop had abandoned it to be devoured by wild beasts. I wanted to procure the delicacies for myself.

“Heathcliff.” Marshall glides his hand off Nev’s back in disgust.

The voices from the house grow with intensity. The volume increases until it’s painfully obvious they’re packing up their argument and hauling it in this direction.

I bet Tad is finally going off the deep end and is luring Mom out here to hack her to pieces. Good thing Marshall and I are here to protect her.

Marshall kicks at a stack of leaves before rushing us out of Dodge—so much for my mother’s safety.

“I’m not overreacting,” Tad snaps. “Would you stop for a minute?”

“I don’t want the kids to hear,” Mom hisses back. “Skyla did not steal anything.”

What the hell? I pull Marshall behind the fat trunk of a sycamore and listen in on their accusatory conversation.

“She steals, she lies, she runs away,” Tad crows. “What more evidence do you need? She knew where the money was hidden right from the get go when we moved here. I bet she cases out the bedroom every chance she gets.”

I should so sue Tad’s ass for character defamation—hell, character assassination. I have no clue what the hell they’re talking about.

I reach over and clasp onto Marshall’s hand.

I bet Chloe stole a shitload of money and now Tad is blaming it all on me, I say.

Language, he reprimands.

“Skyla has a job.” Mom defends. “Besides, I know for a fact she didn’t steal that money. I did!”

Mom stole the money? What forbidden bodily fluid is she in the black market for this time? Honestly, I’m afraid to go there.

I peer around the trunk to catch a glimpse of Tad’s gobsmacked expression.

Ha!

“What would you do that for?” He grates.

“I needed to pay the clinic one final installment, and I may have overextended the checking account with a few minor purchases for the baby.”

She means Beau, I say. The baby she stole from Brielle.

Mom clears her throat in an effort to resuscitate him. “Also, I bought you that collection of beers from around the world that you’ve had your eye on.”

“Cans or bottles?”

“Bottles.”

“That’s why I love you.” Tad gurgles the words out with a kiss.

Eww.

Giggles ensue, and I can’t bear to look. The sound of pine needles compressing fills the quiet of the forest, then the progressive rustle of leaves being disrupted in the most caustic manner erupts at a quickened pace.

Are they? I squint into Marshall for confirmation.

He peers over and frowns.

Most aggressively, he confirms.

Let’s get out of here. I for sure don’t want to stick around for the sound effects.

I give it less than three minutes, he scoffs.

Seriously, let’s get Emerson’s head back to my mother so she can seal and heal. We don’t have time for this.

He sighs. The thing we don’t have is a head, Skyla. I dropped it to take up your hand.

“Shit,” I hiss.

A slight moan escapes from just beyond the bushes. I’d rather graft Ellis’s lips to my neck than listen to Mom and Tad get it on.

I covered it with leaves, he informs leaning out to take another look. They’ve completed their mission—and at a minute and thirty-five seconds. It leaves no imagination as to why your mother seeks affection from a celestial being.

Mom purrs with delight. “This is so comfortable,” she whispers. “We should come out here more often. This could be our spot.”

“Our codeword can be raking the leaves.” Tad barks out a laugh.

“Speaking of leaves, this mound makes the world’s softest pillow. I have a feeling raking the leaves is my new favorite hobby.”

Pillow? I give Marshall a curt look before confirming my worst nightmare. Mom and Tad just had relations lying over Emerson Kragger’s oh-so-comfortable cranium. There has to be all kinds of bad baby-making juju involved with that.

We wait patiently while they recompose themselves, listening as Tad goes on and on about how he’s got a surprise up his sleeve to spice up their love life. I’d rather eat a bowlful of Kragger eyeballs than listen to him count the ways he plans on sodomizing my mother.

“You’re such a tiger,” Mom coos.

“Izzy helped me out in that department.” His voice dissipates as they head to the house.

I bet she did.

Marshall and I rush back, and he snaps up Emerson by the scalp.

Marshall doesn’t bother waiting for Nev, and the forest inverts like a dream.

***

Giselle stands to greet us as we reenter Marshall’s living room. She looks so much like Gage with her dark hair and eyes like the bluest part of the ocean, dimples you could dive into—it’s astounding.

Gage gives a promising smile as he rises to greet me.

“Looks like you’ve got a willing victim.” My father plops a hand on Giselle’s shoulder, happy to have solidified the body-swapping match.

“Is that the head?” She nods toward Marshall who artfully hides it behind his knees. “Well, let’s see it.” There’s a note of unmistakable glee in her voice. “I want to see my new face.”

Without thought to practicality and perhaps sanity or reason, Marshall thrusts Emerson’s apex forward and holds it out like some macabre victory prize.

An assortment of sticks and leaves poke out every which way in her wild mane and her mouth is partially impacted with mud.

Giselle shrieks in horror and digs her face into my father’s chest.

“Way to go, Conan,” I snipe at Marshall.

“Her eyes.” My mother takes a breath at the sight. “Skyla—she’s severely damaged.”

“I know, I know.” I fall onto the sofa and hug a pillow, accepting my fate.

“Well,” my mother says, clapping her hands, “let’s get to work.”

Work? I perk up a bit.

I watch amazed as Candace Celestial Messenger barks out orders and Marshall obeys every last one like a seasoned cabana boy.

She calls for bowls of water, a paring knife, two sticks of butter and a pair of scissors. She kneels on the floor and inspects the body for other signs of trauma.

You never know, Chloe might have gaffed Emerson’s stomach or plucked out her heart while it was still fresh and beating before the big hack attack. Who knows what tender vittles Chloe might have noshed on in an effort to completely piss off Emerson.

Gage and I go over and watch as my mother mercilessly dunks Emerson’s damaged head in a small pool of water, carefully pulling her fingers through the hair as if she were combing out a child after a bath.

“I’m not really sure about this,” Giselle’s voice trembles.

“Yeah,” Gage exhales, “maybe this isn’t the best idea.”

They’re right. Besides, I can’t even imagine how pissed off Emma will be once she realizes her long-dead daughter has come back as a bona fide zombie. From the looks of things, I gather Giselle wouldn’t make such a great impression on the teen scene either.

“OK, just forget it,” I say.

“Forget what, Skyla?” My mother doesn’t bother looking up. She simply continues plucking and picking. She scoops up a stick of butter and injects it into Emerson’s mouth extruding what looks like a thick brown piece of crap from the opening of the neck. “Nothing but fresh Paragon soil.” She says it low for those of us wondering how she got Emerson to defecate from the back of her throat.

She lays the head over the neck and pushes in as if she expects it to snap into place, and bizarrely enough, it sort of melds together.

My mother begins to whisper and chant in a language I don’t recognize. The syllables all speed together then stop abruptly before she switches to a singsong cadence.

Marshall kneels and grabs Emerson by the shoulders. He joins in on the frightful chorus and Emerson’s corpse ignites a brilliant cerulean blue, the exact color of the spirit sword.

The seam of skin around her neck folds in on itself at the infliction—melts until it’s smooth, unblemished as a newborn.

“There.” My mother pulls back and gives an approving nod.

Emerson glows an odd shade of teal, her face still holds two dark caves in place of eyes, and well, I’m pretty sure that’s the deal breaker.

“Can you…” I point over to the ocular region. “You know.”

“Oh heavens, yes.” She bats me away as if the idea of leaving her so deformed were absurd. “Gage, lend me your eyes.” My mother lifts her chin at my sweet innocent boyfriend.

“No!” I bark.

Gage leans in reluctantly and she nods as if memorizing them.

“Stunning.” She blinks a quick smile. A loud pop explodes over Emerson’s head and the entire corpse twitches. “She’s warming up.”

“Just like an engine.” My father nods as if he’s seen this before.

The unearthly glow dies down in an instant, revealing rosy skin—more alive and healthier than Emerson ever was, I’m sure.

“Here we go.” My mother claps over at Giselle and she vanishes into thin air.

Emerson—I mean, Giselle gives a series of blinks before sitting up and sneezing seven times in a row. She gives a gentle laugh and opens her mouth with surprise as she takes us all in with eyes the exact cobalt blue as her brother’s.

“Is it you?” Gage leans in and treads his fingers soft over her cheek.

“It’s me!” She says, far too jubilant to be Emerson Kragger on her best day. We’ll have to teach her to be cold and calculating when Chloe is around. I have a feeling dinner tonight at the Landon house is going to be amazing. “I’m really here!” She hugs Gage with all her might.

“You look so much like yourself,” I say, diving down to get a hug myself. “Hey.” I turn to my mother. “Do you think you can…” I tap my face where Giselle’s dimples once resided.

“Come.” She calls Giselle to turn around and digs her fingers into either side of her cheeks. “And we’re finished.”

Giselle test-drives a smile and her killer dimples dig in, deep and precious.

“How long can I stay?” She pulls her knees in with excitement. Her newfound divots make her look severely cute.

“I’m gifting you a full lifespan for your sacrifice.” My mother matches her enthusiasm. “I dare say grey hair is in your future.”

“That’s terrific.” Gage exhales through a smile. “Looks like we have a new member of the family,” he says it directly to me, and my heart melts at the thought of Gage as family. Already it feels as if we’re years into a marriage built on love. All of the madness of this summer dissolves in this one beautiful moment.

I pick up Giselle’s hand. Her dimples explode in unison with her brother’s and it all becomes real.

“Family,” I whisper.

Dad comes over and lays his hand over my shoulder. “You’re very lucky, all of you.”

“Go on.” My mother gives a curt nod. “Strategize on how to get to Ahava. Make me proud, Skyla. Retrieve the sword of the Master and give your celestial family something to cheer about.”

“I will,” I say. “Thank you! Thank you for giving Emerson back her life—I mean Giselle. I’ll make you proud. I swear it.”

My mother’s features sharpen. Her smile dissipates.

“You had better.” She explodes in a tower of flames and evaporates to nothing.

Chapter 105

Family Reunion

To say Emerson Kragger has undergone a drastic improvement, what with the recently renovated features, eyes to die for—eyes in general, and to top it all off a bubbly personality, would be an understatement, but right on the money nonetheless. Only it’s not Emerson. It’s Giselle. This entire situation is made of win.

We spent the whole afternoon coaching her on all things human, which basically translated into discouraging her from smiling like a loon and hugging people every three seconds. She made Emerson look psychotic and the hugs were bordering on assault.

Gage phoned his mom and let her know he was brining “company” home for dinner—me, my father, Marshall, and Emerson Kragger. He decided it would be better to surprise his parents with the newest edition of the family.

Gage teleports the two of us high on the ridge of the driveway. I pierce him with a look as Marshall helps Giselle and my father out of his car.

“It’s still not too late to call and warn them,” I say. Quite frankly, I’m a little afraid of what Emma’s reaction might be. If she croaks from the shock of it all, I’ll totally blame Gage. I’m pretty sure I’ve reached capacity as far as reanimation requests go.

“It’ll be fine.” His dimples wink at me as if affirming the fact.

We head over to the house and I can’t help but feel something akin to the walk of shame. Certainly springing a long-dead child on someone, in another human form, feels morally questionable and perverse on some level.

“We’re here,” Gage shouts as we enter the Oliver’s spacious home, which holds the scent of a full-tilt Thanksgiving dinner. Honestly, she could have called for take-out, but Emma seems happy to slice and dice and prepare great tasting, labor-intensive meals from scratch.

“Good evening.” Barron greets us in the dining room. “I put the extension in the table before I set it. It’s been so long since we’ve had guests.” His face brightens at the sight of Marshall and my father. “A Sector and a soul from Paradise no less. I’ve chilled a bottle of my finest wine just for the occasion.” Dr. Oliver and my father exchange hearty handshakes as if they were old friends.

“Splendid,” Marshall says. “I brought an extra bottle should the need to inebriate ourselves arise.”

Logan appears in the room and offers me a quick embrace.

What’s going on? He gives a puzzled look.

Nothing’s going on. I slide his hands off me in the event my brain wants to replay the horrific scene from earlier. I don’t mind letting Logan in on my body swapping secret, but I’m pretty sure Gage should tell his parents first.

“Have you perfected the advanced serum we discussed?” Marshall drills into Barron.

“What serum?” I ask. I don’t like the sound of this. The last time Marshall tried to advance the method of my recovery, he riled up my body with a cosmic blast of pain.

I catch Giselle glancing nervously at her mother.

Besides, this is supposed to be an all-out family reunion of chasm-crossing proportions. This isn’t about me or which poison Marshall prefers to shut down my vital organs with.

“Gage.” I nudge him.

“Mom—Dad?” He pulls Giselle over and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Emma and Barron inch forward with platonic amusement. Emma’s hair is pulled back so tight she’s inadvertently taken ten years off her age.

“This…” Gage starts in slow. “Is Giselle.”

They squint into her with a slight look of confusion.

“So nice to meet you.” Emma wears a tired expression that masks a twinge of sadness. She disappears into the kitchen and returns with a giant red casserole dish. “Everyone, take a seat!”

“Pleased to have you with us,” Barron says, with a little less enthusiasm and assembles himself at the table next to his wife.

“That was sort of anti-climatic,” I whisper.

“I don’t think they get it.” Gage blows a breath through his cheeks as everyone fills a chair at the table.

“It’s me,” Giselle blurts. She holds out her hands at Emma as if to show off a new dress. “I’m back. Skyla needed a soul to fill this body and I got the green light.”

That was one of the euphemisms Gage taught her this afternoon.

I offer her a discreet thumbs-up as if to say, way to utilize her newfound knowledge.

“What’s going on?” Barron freezes with his hand in the breadbasket.

“It’s me, your daughter.” Giselle’s features sag. “I thought you’d run up and hug me and there would be all this joy and laughter.” Her voice trails to nothing.

“Oh my God!” Emma jumps up so fast she knocks her chair back. “Is this true?”

Marshall gives a brief nod.

Barron heads over and the three of them delight in the world’s longest embrace that I’m pretty sure Giselle is going to remember for the rest of her very long life.

“Good God, this is great news!” Emma shouts. “Who could eat now?” She grabs Giselle by the shoulders. “Tell me all about yourself. What have you been doing? You’re absolutely gorgeous!”

Good thing she missed the headless sneak preview.

Barron lays a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Let’s take this in the next room and let our guests have dinner before the food gets cold. Would you please excuse us?” He tips his head.

“Congratulations,” Dad says as they disappear into the family room bubbling with chatter.

“I’m not sure what that was about, but,” Logan says, reaching over and clasping my hand, “thank you, Skyla.”

“It turns out it was Emerson’s time.” I briefly fill him in about Chloe and her headhunter ways. “And lucky for me, Giselle agreed to fill her shoes.”

“You’re brilliant.” He leans in and brushes my lips with a brazen kiss.

Technically, it was Gage who thought of the idea, but I take the fire from his lips, greedy for the burn.

Marshall knocks his spoon hard over Logan’s knuckles like tapping a xylophone.

“Shit.” Logan snatches his arm back. “That’s my freaking throwing hand.” A veiled threat lies beneath the agitation.

“I’m willing to wager that’s not all you use it for.” Marshall says it low under his breath. Although the implication is disgusting in nature, it doesn’t stop a flood of heat from infiltrating me head to toe, leaving me unnaturally aroused at the thought. And by the way, I so want to knock Marshall’s teeth out with a spoon because my father is staring right at me.

Gage huffs a tiny laugh.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Logan wraps his knuckles in a linen napkin like it was a Band-Aid.

“Dude, relax.” Gage holds out a hand, trying to tame Logan’s burgeoning anger. “It’s just that you said, as her Elysian, she had to call you ‘master.’” He grazes my father with a brief glance before lowering his voice. “And we all know, master-bater is a more of an accurate description.”

The muscles along Logan’s jaw redefine themselves. He turns to my father and offers an apologetic nod.

“Quite a bit of tension in the room,” Dad says with a benevolent smile. “How much of this has to do with my daughter?”

Is he trying to start a fire?

“She demands a little tension. Wouldn’t you agree?” Marshall toasts me with his Merlot, causing the smooth red velvet in his glass to swill effortlessly. That’s probably what my blood would look like if the Counts bottled it. I bet they’d ship it out for special occasions, weddings and faux burials.

“Lest we forget what all the bickering is about,” Marshall continues, “at the end of the day, I am the bridegroom of great fortune.” He nods into my father. “I’ve arranged a betrothal banquet that your lovely ex-wife is assisting with. In a few nights, the grand gentry of celestial order shall celebrate this joyous occasion.”

Logan scoffs. “I don’t know what the hell you just said, but I’m damn sure Skyla isn’t going to parade around as your wife anytime soon.” He glares at Marshall, smoldering in his hatred.

“There’s no doubt she’ll be mine.” Marshall taunts with a fire blazing in his eyes. “You, my friend, are already at the curb. Your anger stems from the simple fact the one you sent to keep her safe, swept her from beneath you. Must be unpleasant to know her needs are better met elsewhere.”

Dear God. If this conversation somehow reverts back to Gage’s baseball bat, I am going to freak the hell out. It’s like we’re on a loop or something. And by the way…

I glare at Marshall because he so obviously doesn’t care that my father is in the room.

Masturbation? Celestial wife? Needs? What the hell is wrong with these people?

“I don’t have needs.” I shake my head at Dad while trying to grow a pair of balls to finish my line of thinking. “I’m practically asexual. And in case you’re wondering, I’m still a virgin.” I sort of mouth that last part because I swore I’d never say those words again. However, this situation warranted breaking said vow of sexual silence in order to help restore my dead father’s sanity.

“Sounds like neither Oliver holds the power of persuasion,” Marshall says it mostly to himself. He looks up slowly across the table and glares. “Enough.” He holds a finger out at Gage who sits seemingly innocent while molesting the hell out of a glass of water. “I’ve warned you to abstain from the fornicating frolics. Tell your grey matter to keep it clean. Refrain from the vulgarity until you are no longer in my presence.”

“Does this ever end?” Dad asks, appalled at the bizarre display of carnal indecency.

“Never.” Gage is quick to answer. “It never ends. But it will. I have the gift of knowing, remember?” He guts Marshall with the dig. “And you will be a guest at her wedding.”

The table flips toward the wall. The dishes, the glasses, the food—it all slides to the floor in one horrific crash.

Marshall secures Gage by the throat and lifts him off the ground with just one hand—holds him out like a spectacle for all to see.

“Go ahead—think just one more carnal thought in my presence,” Marshall taunts.

Logan gives Marshall a hard shove, and in one swift move Marshall picks up Logan in the same manner. There they are, in their own home, both Oliver boys with feet dangling off the floor—nothing but choking sounds emitting from the two of them.

“Put them down!” I scream.

Marshall chants something low, whispers it out like a curse.

“There’s no need for this.” Dad holds out his hands as if he understands the gravity of Marshall’s nefarious threat.

Logan and Gage drop like limp rags. They glance at one another before taking him down by the legs. It’s all fists, a tangle of limbs, the occasional expletive, and yes, even Marshall has joined in on the vocal offensive.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Dad holds that twinkle in his eye that I miss so much.

I wrap my arms around him and feel his breath bless my temple.

“What are you thinking, Daddy?”

“That you’re already well loved.”

***

After the almost meal, Marshall was kind enough to restore the dining room to its pre-assault state. Emma served her famous apple pie while the ruffians mostly ate ice to soothe their swollen jaws.

We decide to conclude the evening with something far more American than apple pie, and that just so happens to be war.

Logan, Gage, Marshall, my father, and I, all end up in Logan’s room going over strategy.

“Tell me again why she did this to you?” Dad asks, telescoping a magnifying glass over my heavily inked body from ski week. Logan has a series of these pictures pinned to his wall so I guess, technically, that makes me a pinup girl.

Dad traces his finger over the colorful creation. There I am in all my bare-skinned glory, tattooed from the neck down like a member of the Japanese mafia.

“She’s got this weird gift,” I say. She being, Emily.

I lean in and inspect the body mural she turned me into.

“Logan’s the lion,” I whisper. “Gage is the vine.”

“They’re everywhere,” Dad marvels.

“Do you understand any of this?”

“Skyla,” he whispers as he takes in the minute details inscribed on the soles of my feet. “The Master abhors any type of sorcery. Although, I’m not sure what this falls under. He will, however, allow it if he’s propagating it through his own will, for his own purposes. This may very well be a reading of great value.”

“We need to analyze these better,” I say, snapping them off the wall and heading over to the round table that Logan has set in his palatial bedroom. “My dad thinks these are far more valuable than we’re giving them credit.” I lay them in front of Marshall and a lewd smile forms on his swollen lips.

“He’s correct.” He peruses them with a gleam in his eye. “I see the lake, the falls.” Marshall points toward the lower torso.

Logan leans over and tracks his finger down the picture. He traces my belly all the way down to my bikini bottom and stops with his finger firmly planted over my vagina.

“That would make this Ahava.” Logan takes a breath as he announces it.

Perfectly perverted.

“That makes sense.” Marshall tips his head thoughtfully. “It’s forbidden, yet is the treasure trove of pleasure and fruit. The future of Celestra depends on it.”

Are they freaking kidding me?

“Nice.” I am so not amused.

Gage darts a quick look in my direction and his dimples invert. The naughty curve to his lip suggests the mental cinematography must be exquisite.

“It’s hidden,” Dad says, hovering over Marshall’s shoulder. “It means it’s holy and reserved for the right person.” He catches my gaze and holds it for a second. “An intimate union requires a covenant with the Master. The one who is allowed to retrieve the sword must comply by his commands.”

I hear everything he’s saying, but mentally I’m picturing a sword hidden in my body like some medieval tampon, and suddenly, I’m afraid to sit down.

“This picture.” Marshall pulls a series of photos taped together to recreate the long canvas that stretches the length of Emily’s dining room. “I’m here.” He glides his finger over a pair of wings ridding high over his back. “Look at this.” He taps over to my effigy where Emily has me wearing a pair of feathered appendages. A bloodied hole lies over one shoulder and it looks as if I had just plucked an arrow from my back. Logan and Gage sit slumped and injured—God, I hope they’re simply injured.

“When do you think this happens?” Gage spins the picture to get a better look. “Eleventh region? Twelfth?”

“Twelve will be Ahava.” Marshall pulls another series of photos out to inspect. “What are your thoughts, Nathan?”

It startles me to hear my father’s name. It sounds beautiful like a song. I had been craving the sound and hadn’t even realized it until Marshall filled in the void, poured sunlight where there had only been the dark cover of earth, six feet deep.

“Ahava must be its own region.” Dad agrees. “I’m not even sure a full challenge will be issued. This one will be exclusive.”

“Just Skyla?” Logan darts a quick look to Dad.

“The war is in her honor,” he affirms, “but it doesn’t mean she’ll be the only one trying to fulfill the task.”

“She’ll be the only one who can,” Marshall amends. “Or so we hope.”

“From what I understand,” I start slow, “the sword of the Master isn’t just mine for the taking. Why would the Counts try so hard unless they believed they were capable of the grand prize?” They’re capable of just about anything and that includes swiping the sword before I ever get a chance to see it.

“True.” Dad looks up with anticipatory excitement. “But I’d like to believe you’re the only one that can truly complete the mission. This blade is private issue from the King. The sword of the Master, much like the war, was meant for you.”

“And the Sectors?” I ask. Certainly we haven’t forgotten whose war this really is. They want to rule just as much as Celestra.

“The Sectors,” Marshall says with a satisfied growl, “are interlinked with the destiny of your people. The covenant shall be ours.”

The covenant, in my pants, where all things are holy.

Dear God.

If there is a sword at the end of all this madness, I might just fall on it.

Chapter 106

The Fear in Cheer

The next morning, I rise with a song of wicked intent blossoming in my heart. Not only is the sun filtering through the ethereal haze to ensure a perfect morning, but I managed to beg Giselle in all her Emerson-inspired magnificence to sleep over last night. I can’t wait to drag her downstairs for a little show and tell. I plan on eating the look of fear in Chloe’s eyes for breakfast.

We get dressed and head on down for curtain call. I’m counting on Giselle to put on the performance of a lifetime. All she really needs to do is look eternally pissed and scowl at Bishop once in a while. God knows that’s all Ethan does, and oddly, look where it landed him.

A smattering of Landons are present as we enter stage right.

Chloe in her unstoppable pursuit of bitchiness doesn’t quite notice the tall, dark, and very much alive beauty beside me.

Mom and Tad give an unenthusiastic reception to our guest, but Chloe stops short of injecting a spoonful of cracked wheat into her mouth, letting the milk dribble down the side of her petrified face.

I snap a quick picture with my cell. The sheer quantity of dumbass written all over her is priceless.

“Morning.” Giselle growls it out all emo, like she might knife everybody in the room if someone reciprocates the greeting.

A strangled gagging noise escapes from Chloe’s throat.

“Oh, hon, are you OK?” Mom jets over and gives her a few good slaps on the back.

I should seize the moment and slap her in the face a few times in an effort to clear the obstruction that’s blocking her sanity. Oh, wait. You can’t cure stupid.

“I think Chloe is just excited about cheer today,” I say, taking a seat at the barstool over from her. I pat the seat sandwiched between Chloe and me for Giselle. “Today’s our first practice of the year. Plus, we get our schedules.”

“Bonfire’s tonight,” Drake adds.

Drake. I can’t even look at him straight without envisioning the remote regions of his underwear that he’s allowed his cell phone to travel.

“What are you staring at?” He barks.

“That bird dropping on your forehead.” OK so his hairline may not replicate bird droppings, but I can’t think under pressure.

“Shut your face,” he grumbles. “Your breath is rancid.”

“You’re weird and your feet smell,” I fire back.

“Enough you two.” Tad pushes his reading glasses up and further inspects the laptop, fueling his Internet addiction disorder—most likely porn per Izzy’s suggestion. I bet he’s fought the temptation to shoot her a crotch-shot. After all, Tad is the septic tank of defunct testosterone from which Drake and Ethan spawn.

Chloe remains shell-shocked, stealing quick glances at the warm body seated next to her—inspecting her neck for signs of trauma.

“You know,” Giselle says, hardening her gorgeous eyes over at Chloe. “I had the worst headache yesterday and I can’t figure out why.”

Ha! I had nothing to do with that zinger. Giselle is a natural at tormenting Chloe. Senior year is going to be a freaking blast.

“Funny”—Chloe gives a steely glance my way—“my head feels as though it’s about to explode.”

“It’s the weather,” Mom says, glancing down at Beau who I think mistook her anatomical nipple for the synthetic one that actually produces. “I get this horrible sinus infection at least twice a year. Is your mucus running clear?”

All eyes revert to Chloe for a status update on her bodily secretions.

“It’s fine,” she squeaks. “I think Skyla is right.” She stabs me with look. “I’m just worked up about school. I’m not the biggest fan of things that keep cropping up in my life over and over.” She sweeps her gaze back to Giselle as if she were a giant tarantula waiting to pounce.

“But this is your senior year,” Mom protests. “You’re going to be the kings and queens of the entire school. Trust me. You’ll never forget your senior year. Make sure you do something really crazy to make it memorable. I remember when I was back in school,” she titters, “we filled the fountain with detergent and turned the senior lawn into a foaming sea of bubbles.” She can hardly get the words out—just the thought has her in hysterics.

“Oh, I will.” Chloe gives a black smile. “I will do something so certifiably insane no one will forget it.”

I sink in my seat a little.

I’m not sure what’s worse. Chloe or the Counts.

***

Gage swings by to pick up me and Giselle and we greet him in the entry. We’re taking “Emerson” down to Kragger-ville, where she’ll be forced to interact with emotionally decapitated people for the next several hours.

“Oh,” I call to Giselle as she runs upstairs to get a sweater. “Grab my cheer bag! It’s on the floor next to the bed.”

“How’d it go?” Gage whispers it hot over my lips before surrendering a kiss.

Tad grunts from behind and we quickly part ways.

“See this, Lizbeth?” He dives his finger in the air. “This is the reason you’re going to have another child suckling off your bosom by Christmas.”

Must he be so graphic, and right after breakfast?

“Not true.” I give an impish smile up at Gage. “I’m chaste and pure as mother’s milk.” Mom was more than relieved to learn the donor wasn’t “hitting the reefer” as Tad so indelicately put it.

“This bag?” Giselle calls from the middle of the stairwell, holding up the pink tote full of bawdy bracelets and buckles Demetri sent over to taunt me.

Everything in me seizes. God forbid those contents fly out like candy from some brothel-bound piñata. One look at those thorny devices and Mom and Tad are going to think Gage and I are involved in some heavy hitting sexcapades.

For a minute, I envision myself strapped and secured to the four posts of my bed with Gage at the helm, wielding a whip. An entire torrent of fire explodes inside me and I sway on my heels.

“Skyla?” Giselle holds the bag up and the zipper speeds down as if it were possessed.

An entire barrage of leather leashes and spikes and everything not holy and definitely not nice, rains down over us.

“What is this?” Mom holds up a collar with a three-way chain dangling from it.

“Holy Hannah mother of God!” Tad snaps the lead from Mom before the baby can use it as a teether. “Here’s your reward, Lizbeth, for encouraging her to make her senior year memorable.” He turns to Gage and me. “Congratulations on your license to practice depravity. I’m betting Skyla here will be testing positive in her B-A-B-Y exam very soon.” He holds up a manacle as hardcore evidence. “This is a very bad influence on your sisters.”

Like I’d let them watch.

“Oh.” Giselle inverts the pink tote of defilement. “It isn’t even your bag. It belongs to a Dr. Isis Edinger.”

“Izzy?” Tad secures the collar to his chest in her defense.

“Didn’t she mention she dropped off a bag for us?” Mom covers her lips in horror. “Is this what she meant by innovative material to put the spark back in our marriage?”

“Sweet babe in a manger!” Tad’s eyes pop from their frame. He bends over and starts snapping up the deviant devices like they were manna from heaven.

“Come on,” I say, walking out the door. “I think a bag of bad influence just vomited all over the floor.”

Gage slips his arm around me.

I’ll let you be a bad influence on me anytime. He dips into my neck and inhales the scent from my hair.

I reach up and gently bite his earlobe.

“I already am.”

***

We hightail it to West for our first day back on the field. Giselle begged to come with us before we “fed her to the Kraggers” so she could explore the campus. I’m not sure if Giselle fully grasped that line when she said it, but I like how quick she’s catching on. Although, knowing the Kraggers the way I do, feasting on flesh is not beneath them.

The sky above may have hinted at sunlight this morning, but it quickly reverted to the mainstay weather pattern on the island, casting a blue-grey film over the landscape with fog proliferating around us like a clap of flour.

“It feels like we just left.” Brielle laments as we head onto the thick lush grass just shy of the football field. “Summer just flew by.”

It’s unbearably muggy out. I remember a day like this last year when I arrived on the island. It was the afternoon Gage told me we would marry someday and I didn’t believe him or his impossibilities. And now, everything I once thought made no sense, takes on more clarity than the simpler things that I once knew. Gage and his prediction seem as logical as breathing, but then so do the visions I’ve had of walking down the aisle with Logan, and, of course, I can’t forget the fact my uterus will one day sponsor an entire race of hybrid Sector-Celestra babies. If Marshall has his way, I’ll busy myself into the next millennium creating a whole new species of celestial beings. For a second I envision myself—my hair in rollers and my robe open in the front with long flesh-colored socks where my boobs once perked with pride. On second thought, every single one of those visions makes absolutely zero sense.

Logan jogs over with his girth as wide as a building. He looks regal in his practice uniform with Cerberus barking out his silent approval from over his shoulder. He plucks off his helmet and reveals beads of sweat in the shape of half-moons under his eyes.

“Hey, handsome.” It comes out low, spontaneous, and inspires Logan to slide his arm around my waist and offer a sideways hug.

“You see the schedule?” His features darken.

“Did Gage hack into the mainframe again?” Not that I’d mind. Spending my junior year with Gage was bliss. He was a comfort to have around—but still, Logan would be, too. “Do we have any classes together?”

“Four,” he mouths, breaking out into a killer grin. “Trig, English, government and we definitely have chemistry.” He smears it with a smoldering look.

“Of course we do.” I bat my lashes.

“Unfortunately, a few other people have it, too.” He casts a quick glance onto the field. I see Gage’s jersey, number forty-four, jogging out and getting into position to catch the ball.

“You, me, and Gage, huh?” Senior year will be interesting, that’s for sure.

Giselle comes up after several minutes of exploration.

“That three-headed dog nearly frightened the spirit out of me.” She presses into Logan with a heartfelt hug. “So, do you think I can cheer?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Brielle pops up and answers before Logan can say anything. She’s still leery of “Emerson Kragger” buddying up to me so quickly. I don’t dare tell her the truth about Giselle. The fewer people that know, the longer Chloe will be under my thumb.

A whistle blows from across the field and the coach waves the team over.

“Tonight’s the bonfire,” Logan says, walking backward. “I’m in charge of pizza. You like extra anchovies on yours, right, Skyla?” He gives a wink, and a quick bite of heat rips through my stomach.

We watch as Logan shrinks onto the field. Gage pauses to wave in the background. Here we are, senior year, with Logan and Gage by my side. In months, it will all be over. It hasn’t even begun and already it feels as if it’s swimming by way too fast.

“Listen up,” Chloe barks. Ms. Richards stands next to her going over her roster, looking decidedly like Ezrina in the process.

Em, Nat, Michelle, and Lexy have their permanent scowls stamped across their faces. It’s all staring to feel familiar again—Brielle is right. It’s like we never left.

“First game is in two weeks,” Chloe shouts as if we were standing an entire planet away. “We have a new teammate.” She holds a hand out toward Giselle. “And I want everyone here to make her feel welcome. We’re a team and it’s about damn time we started acting like one.”

Giselle and I exchange looks. Clearly, whatever dirt Emerson had on Chloe has garnered us the Holy Grail of blackmail. I’d be remiss to let this precious piece of defamation slip on by. I’ll have to figure out a way to extract that knowledge from Emerson’s once-defunct brain. I’ll ice pick my way into her grey matter if I have to.

We run through a few quick routines with Giselle struggling to keep up.

“I promise I’ll teach you everything,” I pant as we take a quick break.

The entire lot of us, collapse in a circle on the lawn.

Lexy and Michelle use one another as a backrest, grumbling over how sore they are from a few short cheers. Chloe lands next to Giselle and extends her long tan legs until the tip of her feet hit Emily’s sickly pale flesh.

“This is our last year, guys.” Brielle stretches the words out slow. “We’ll never have summer cheer again. We’re going to be so lost after this.”

“Get over it.” Em is the first to console her. “You’ll probably have another mutant swimming in your gut by spring. You might even end up on one of those ‘who’s the daddy shows, or you can be America’s next favorite knocked-up teen. You can move to Hollyweird and we’ll all say we knew you before your hormones kicked in.”

“I’ll never leave,” Chloe sings. “There’s magic here. It’s home. Sometimes I think that not even death could keep me away from Paragon.”

I cut Giselle a quick look and avert my eyes over to the field.

“Remember Mr. Mendelson?” Brielle asks as if he were a huge road bump in their scholastic career.

The bitch squad bursts out laughing, their cackles spear into the sky with an adolescent ecstasy.

“He was our P.E. teacher in ninth grade,” Brielle informs.

“Yeah,” Nat adds, “he pulled double duty as our sex ed instructor.”

More explosive laughter ensues.

Brielle tucks the tip of her pinkies into her eyes to stop the tears. “He would wear these short-shorts and jog around the field with no underwear. I swear it was like a daily challenge to be the first one to spot his hairy balls.”

Eww. I offer an uncomfortable smile to Giselle. I’m not sure if she’s up to speed on either sex ed or hairy balls in general. We could be talking serious tabula rasa here.

“Things have really changed this year.” Nat’s features take a turn for the serious. “Kate is gone.” She plucks at an auburn curl, tight as a spring and lets go. “I’m not with Pierce anymore.” She says it slow like she’s stoned—her face immovable without emotion. She glances up at Giselle. “So you’re really coming to West?”

“That’s right.” Giselle hones her newfound ability to sound like she hates everything. “And I’m going to stay—even you try to hack my head off in the middle of the night.”

Michelle’s face pinches.

Oops. Probably should have clued Giselle in on the fact I may have been guilty of that offense myself on at least a couple of occasions.

Lexy smears a grin across her face. “I think we should get to know you better. You know, initiate you into cheer.”

I smell an accidental homicide, by way of hazing.

“We’ll throw you a party,” Chloe offers. “Just the people from West so you can get to know everyone.” She eyes Giselle with malicious intent. Chloe is the cat and Emerson is the mouse she plans on eating for dinner. I’ve learned the hard way that any party of Chloe’s ends in broken hearts and tragedy—with vomit and Fems parading around as mythological creatures.

“I don’t need a party,” Giselle hisses. “You can get to know me here. Ask me anything you want. I love to share. I’m very generous with what I know.”

“I’m sure.” Chloe incites a challenge with her eyes. It spells out I’ll kill you all over again.

A whistle goes off and Ms. Richards calls us into position.

We get up and dust the loose blades off our legs.

Chloe walks by Giselle and knocks into her shoulder, hard like a threat.

Whatever it is that Emerson knew is still lurking in that brain of hers. All we need is for Giselle to tap into it and let the corrosive knowledge flow like a fountain.

Senior year—the first thing that’s going down is Chloe.

Chapter 107

Light My Fire

That evening, in keeping with tradition, Natalie Coleman has opened the beachfront property of her parent’s estate and is hosting an end-of-summer bonfire that spans both East and West.

The bonfire blazes up to heaven. It cuts through the mist with its tower of auburn flames. At least five smaller fires burn around it like a wreath. They send their metallic embers effortlessly into the night sky, appearing and disappearing like a series of flickering illusions.

I find Ellis over by the smallest one, alone, nestled in the sand. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled low over his face and he looks a little too morose for his usual happy-go-lucky, suck-the-life-out-of-you self.

“Hey, you.” I lie down beside him and use his thigh as a pillow. Every muscle in my body is sorry I ever signed up for cheer.

“Where are the gladiators?” He mumbles.

“The who?” I glance up and notice his bottom lip is severely swollen and split on one side.

“That’s right,” he says, patting his injury. “Your boyfriends kicked some ass.”

“Sorry.” I bite down a smile. “I never asked them to do that. I swear.”

“I know.” A plume of fog escapes his nostrils. “Are you mad at me?”

“Surprisingly no.” The smoky mist opens up overhead and I see the stars in all their splendor. “New Moon’s tomorrow night.” I dig my feet into the cool sand. “So what’s the verdict? Am I taking a permanent vacation? Or do I get to live another day and go to some more of your killer parties.”

A devious smile buds on his lips. “My dad says he couldn’t get rid of you if he tried. Between my Mom’s threats and Kragger senior pledging his undying gratitude—he says you’re pure as gold.”

“Really?” I jump up and hug Ellis a real long time. I’m going to get my treble back—everything is going to work out in the end, I can feel it. “Funny your dad said that,” I muse, lying back over his legs. “My dad says the same thing. I’m pure as gold.”

A high-pitched scream saws its way over. I look up to find Brielle as the supplier of the ear-piercing infraction.

She skids into my leg like she’s sliding into home, kicking up a sandstorm in the process.

Drake lands on top of her and starts in on baby number two, right here in front of Ellis and me.

“I think he’s pecking her to death.” Ellis spits the sand out of his mouth as he says it.

“Should we intervene?”

“That’s how she wants to die.”

I wonder if I’d want to die that way. With Gage loving me with his kisses. An image of Logan wrestling me, pinning me to the ground with a fit of lust, interrupts the thought. Figures. I can’t get one good fantasy going because they keep intermingling. I have a feeling I’ll be subject to three-way nightmares for the rest of my natural life. Not that Ellis helped in that department.

“Dude, that’s so cool.” Ellis pops his bare leg beneath me. “I just effing read your mind!”

“Yeah, well, when you bite your fake girlfriend’s neck like it’s a piece of juicy fruit, that’s what you get. It’s a bloody perk,” I say it nonchalant as if I didn’t mind at all that he held me over the precipice of death while lumping me into a hotbed of erotica with Chloe of all people.

A flock of girls from East cackle past us.

He glides up from beneath me. “Excuse me. I’ve got some minds to read.”

“Don’t move,” Logan instructs. He takes Ellis’s spot and provides a much leaner, meaner, thigh for me to relax my head over.

“Word from the Faction Council is the New Moon take down is a no-go.” Logan’s teeth illuminate in the dark like white flames.

“Ellis just told me. Best news I’ve ever heard. Now all we have to do is figure out how to get the rest of our people the hell out of there—permanently.” Little Lacey burns through my mind and a pang of grief sears itself over my heart.

Logan strokes his fingers through my hair, making tiny circles near my scalp. I can feel his affection for me in his touch. Something’s reverted in Logan. He’s been different all summer, but lately, it’s as if Gage wasn’t even in the picture anymore.

Speaking of Gage, I pan the vicinity and catch a glimpse of him in the dark end of the parking lot and a breath gets caught in my throat.

I prop myself up on my elbows and take in the offense full measure.

Chloe’s figure moves like a shadow, lithe and supple as a snake. He’s openly talking to Chloe and a fire line of anger rips through me. Chloe shifts and I can see Giselle standing there, looking good and pissed.

All of the rage I held just seconds before, releases. For a minute I didn’t trust him. I vacillated and I hate that.

“What do you think is going on over there?” I ask quiet with a hint of shame.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Logan tosses a pebble as the water rises over the shore in a rush of foaming aggression. Brielle squeals every now and again from underneath Drake, letting us know she’s still breathing. “Do you remember the bonfire last year? How we spent it in the Transfer?”

“That’s right.” For a moment I get lost in the memory and forget all about Gage and Chloe’s parking lot conference. Maybe they’re teaching Giselle all about deception. Chloe is the master. “How’d I get that treble?” That was the night I came back to the bonfire after magically procuring a treble and Logan went back to the Transfer with me. It was insanity. It’s a wonder I didn’t swim back to the contiguous forty-eight and demand homeland security quarantine the island.

“Let’s just say a supervising spirit owed me a favor or two.”

I re-adjust to get a better look at him.

“You had a supervising spirit way back then?”

“Nope, but that’s the good thing about supervising spirits. They sort of own the time continuum.”

“Did you change things?”

“Only one thing.” He sweeps his fingers down the side of my cheek, soft as a whisper. “You weren’t alone. I never want you to be alone. I always want you to have someone loving you.”

Sadness blossoms like a flower under the warm supervision of Logan’s morbid sunlight.

“Don’t talk like that.” The horrible nightmare I had the last time my body was grinding from Marshall’s toxins floats through my mind and I shake it loose. I couldn’t live without Logan in my world. It would be too much asking me to try.

“What’s up?” Gage falls in the sand beside us. His tall frame, his broad shoulders glow against the backdrop of a deep navy sky.

I don’t say anything at first—still skeptical of what he and Chloe might have been discussing.

“What’s up with you?” I ask, hoping he’ll volunteer the information.

He opens his mouth to say something then looks up behind me.

“You’re about to find out,” he whispers.

Chloe and Giselle head over along with the rest of the bitch squad. So unnerving. I know I wanted Giselle to fit in, but not with them. I’ll have to reprogram her to keep away from the mean girls lest she becomes one. Now that would be a freaking nightmare. It wouldn’t be the first time a resurrection backfired on me.

“Can I talk to you a minute?” Chloe glowers at me.

“No.” I burrow my neck into Logan’s leg and fold my arms over my chest like a defiant child.

“I’ll go with you.” Giselle offers, pulling me up by the hand. Gage told me you two were having trouble—her dimples go off sympathetically—that you didn’t quite trust him.

We follow Chloe over to a low growing palm. Its sharp fronds ripple like a petrified flag in the wind.

“So look,” Chloe huffs. “Before you came to Paragon, Gage said he’d keep an eye on you. Not much happened beyond that.” She glances past my shoulder at him with a look that could cut his throat. “I still want him, Skyla.” Instant tears glitter in her eyes. “I wish he wanted me.” The confession escapes her lips with less than a whisper. “It’s not over. Everything is far from over.” She chokes the words out before heading back to the parking lot.

“What was that about?” I ask Giselle, stunned by the spontaneous confession.

“Gage wanted her to say it to your face.” The moonlight casts a pale blue shadow over her dark hair. “He wanted her to admit she was wrong—that he wasn’t purposefully a well-placed boyfriend, whatever that means.”

I take a breath at the thought. Chloe Bishop might bow in the right direction if a knife is held to her back, but for damn sure she comes up fighting. Gage tried to douse a grease fire with water, only to fuel her hatred, and he inadvertently sparked a dozen new infernos around us in the process. Now, I fear for his safety as much as I do for mine.

Gage comes over and Giselle pulls a disappearing act by heading toward the shore.

He wraps his arms around my waist easy and soft.

“Hey.” He glances down a moment.

“Hey, yourself.” I can’t be mad at Gage for trying to get Chloe to admit to her wicked ways. He pulls me behind an overgrown Juniper and we indulge in the shelter of privacy.

“I want you to know something.” I press my ear into his chest and listen to the deep percussion of his heart. The soothing cadence penetrates my skull, invites me to stay awhile—hypnotizes me with its thumping rhythm. “I love you, Gage.” I look up and take in his big beautiful eyes—his dark lashes hovering in perfect symmetry. “I trust you with my life.”

A sigh depresses out of him as if he were holding his breath all summer to hear me say those words, to confirm the fact I still believed in him—in us.

I push up and graze my lips soft against his. Gage holds back, savoring the moment before offering a quick peck that makes me ache for more. There’s something powerfully seductive about Gage—his hair, his face, the body of Apollo. Gage is mythological creature unto himself.

I’m going to love you every day until I die, Skyla, and that will never be enough.

He lays both hands over my cheeks and gently pulls me in. His kisses start in slow, then build into something hotter than the fires that blaze around us. He lets his tongue roll over mine, lets it speak to me in our own private language of love. This was the preface, the appetizer for all of our days—this primal love so thirsty, so hungry for that final quenching touch. We kiss for weeks, for seasons, exploring in fine detail the hot expanse of one another’s mouths. These were desperate hours, kisses of deliverance, kisses of forgiveness. Each carnal yearning pricked just a little bit deeper. Deep inside, we both know these simple kisses could never be enough. Gage and I needed a banquet, a feast of our flesh to ever hope to be satisfied. Everything in me command—demanded it. This was a fire that could never be extinguished, with Gage as the eternal flame.

A disturbance in the periphery catches my attention.

“Knock, knock.”

I jump back to find Logan standing there with his arms folded low—a ticked-off look on his face to let us know how he feels about our exchange.

“Sorry.” He crimps a smile. “But I was hoping to interrupt.”

“What’s up?” Gage growls it out. He isn’t impressed with Logan’s need to cut the power supply to our electric lip-lock.

“I’ve been thinking about something for a while now—I think maybe tonight’s the night to get it out.” Logan cuts a hard look to Gage. “Skyla”—he loses steam as he says it—“you’re so beautiful.” He comes over and picks up both my hands. “The minute I saw you…” He tilts his head back and his Adam’s apple rises and falls. “I fell in love with you.”

A sad smile pulls across his lips and ignites a twinge of fear in the pit of my stomach. I’m afraid of whatever insanity might escape his lips. What if he’s going to leave Paragon? Or sequester himself in the tunnels? Or something else entirely batshit that I can’t even imagine right now.

“What’s going on?” I tug at him with urgency even though I might not ever want to hear what comes next.

“Do you remember that night at the bowling alley?” The stars surrender their pale eminence over Logan like a blessing. “The night I told you I thought we shouldn’t be together for a while?”

Worst night of my life. How could I forget?

“Worst night of my life, too.” He lets go of my hands and steps in closer to Gage. “I know I said I wanted you two to have your moment, to be together until the end of the war.” He takes a breath. “But I’m done with that.” He reverts to me. “I want you back, Skyla. I’m not waiting another month or year for the damn war to end. I’m through with what the Counts think.”

Gage huffs a laugh. “So just like that?” His brows hood over his eyes with dismay. “You think you’re going to turn our relationship off like a faucet? She’ll just run back to you because you said so?”

Logan gives a long blink. “No—I don’t. But what I do expect”—his voice bites through the air—“is for you stay the fuck away from my girlfriend.” He gives a hard push into Gage’s chest.

It was an entire year in the making, that powerhouse shove. It said I’m sick of you in so many different ways.

“So now what?” Gage taunts with amusement at the thought of Logan spiking a flag into my heart. “Am I supposed to step aside—watch you make your move because you own her?”

“No.” Logan drops his voice to a lower octave. “I don’t own Skyla and neither do you. I thought maybe…” He swallows hard. “If she had any feelings left for me, this might be a good time to reignite them before things go too far with the two of you.”

“Too bad.” Gage bullets out the words. “Things have already gone too far.”

Logan winces as if he were sucker-punched. A muscle flexes in his jaw that ignites when he’s angry.

“I don’t believe you,” Logan rasps. “Skyla and I have shared moments that would make you puke all over your fresh-pressed Levis.”

A spear of hurt cuts across Gage.

“I swear,” he says to Logan just above a whisper, “I’m not going to lie down like a good little bitch and watch you slither your way into her heart. You had your chance and you blew it.” He glares into him. “Just like you blow everything else in your life.”

Logan glares into him with a deadly intent. “Sounds like my life interests you.” He leans in. “I bet you wish you were me.” Logan gravels it out, his mouth rising on the sides. He’s taunting him, shoving him around emotionally, because he doesn’t want to be the one to initiate the first swing. “Deep inside, you know you’ll never have what Skyla and I share. Why don’t you go hook up with Chloe? Everyone here knows you want to. You could do her in the parking lot—write a poem about it after.”

Expletives thunder from the two of them before Gage knocks into Logan with one hard shove after another. They collapse in a tangle of limbs just shy of the fire, grunting and kicking. Gage knees Logan in the balls with one bionic thrust, just as a crowd amasses, cheering them on for the hell of it.

“Enough!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “I’ve already made my decision,” I shout in a fury.

Gage stares up wild-eyed with anticipation while Logan tries to deny his physical suffering for a moment to focus in on my words. The imagery of the two of them like this, with the look of hurt and desperation brimming on their faces, etches itself over my heart. I never want to forget the pain I’ve caused, the pain I’m about to.

They both wear a slight veiled look of hurt just beneath the surface as if neither of them truly believes I would ever choose them.

“I choose…”

Chapter 108

Baby of Mine

“So who did you choose?” Brielle gapes at me with those lily pad eyes of hers as I recant the details of last night’s events. She slept over, well, technically in Drake’s room. Giselle crashed at the Kraggers’ where, apparently, she has a master suite complete with spa.

I plop down on the mattress next to her and give a hard exhale as I stare up at the canopy.

“I chose no one.”

“What do you mean you chose no one?” She scoots back so fast her head hits the wall. “You belong with Logan and Gage. They’re like your soul mates or something.”

“Are you even listening to yourself? No one has two soul mates.” Three, if you count, Marshall, but I’m not even going there right now. “That’s the problem. I can’t have both Logan and Gage. I mean it was OK while Logan was trying to protect me. Then I fell in love with Gage and things changed.”

“So, be with Gage.” She shrugs as if the problem were solved. “He’s a god. If you don’t sink your hooks into him, Chloe will. By the way, sorry that whole revenge against Chloe campaign sort of nosedived into nothing. But I’m still on it.”

“No big deal. No one could ever really hurt Chloe like Gage can. And by the way, news flash, Chloe could care less that I have any part of me hooked into him. She’s going to keep burrowing herself into his life. That’ll never end. I can already tell the lives of my unborn children are at stake.”

“Then, duh? Go with Logan! He’s hotter than a firefighter in July.” She fans herself at the thought.

“I know.” I sigh. Logan’s hot looks are totally disrupting the situation, although I’d still love him even if he looked like Ezrina, like he did me. “What about you?” I ask changing the subject. “Do you really want Drake after all he’s put you through?”

“I guess.” Brielle weaves a loose thread between her fingers as she considers this. “I mean we have a kid together and stuff.” There’s a faraway look in her eyes.

“You really do love him don’t you?”

“My mom told me a long time ago not to get too attached to boys. They take off whenever they feel like it.” Her face pinches in pain. “Guess she was right.”

It takes everything in me not to hunt down Drake and smack him upside his misshapen head.

“It’s not true.” I crawl up next to her. “She might be right about a lot of things, but this isn’t one of them.”

“And you know this because of Logan and Gage?” She makes a face. “Not everyone has a Logan and Gage in their lives, Skyla. Most people would be lucky enough to have one person that loved them like that and you have two.”

Marshall flexes through my mind with his wicked smile as if he were impressing himself on my heart from afar.

“You’re right. I am lucky.” Only right about now it feels more like a curse because choosing one means losing the other. “Brielle”—I take up her hand—“you know what boy will never leave you? Which boy will love you until the day you die and beyond?”

“Ethan?” Her forehead wrinkles in confusion.

“Nope—Beau.”

“You’re right.” She gives my hand a squeeze and repositions herself. “It’s so cool that your mom is really into him and your sisters, too. Speaking of your sisters, they should totally find a new hairdresser.”

“Oh, they hacked each other’s hair off as an act of ultimate revenge.”

Brielle blinks over to me with a mischievous gleam in her eye and smiles.

***

Downstairs, the sound of Tad’s voice buzzes with a fury. Ethan and Chloe sit at attention as Tad goes on about something called, superficial analysis.

“What’s going on?” I ask, peering over Ethan’s shoulder. Tad’s laptop is open to a bunch of images of buxom blondes, all of which bear an unmistakable resemblance to dizzy Izzy.

“We’re profiling what we want the new waitresses to look like.” Ethan espouses his stupidity faster than I can process it.

“Baristas,” Chloe corrects.

“Whichever.” Tad frowns into the monitor. “The important thing is, we understand what the customer appreciates and we give it to him.”

“You’re selling waitresses?” Brielle gags at the thought. Clearly, she’s equally baffled by the Landon logic.

“We’re looking for girls who can fill a bathing suit. That’s gonna be the employee dress code,” Ethan interjects. “We want to draw a certain crowd.”

“So let’s see?” I tap my chin. “You need bimbos to attract douchebags with no money so we can all go broke at record pace? You’re selling coffee and air! You can practically run the place yourself and save the overhead.”

“Oh, Skyla.” Chloe cuts a quick laugh. “You’re getting really worked up at the thought of a bunch of beautiful girls running around. Are you afraid they’ll snatch Gage from underneath you? You know what they say. Once you lose faith in someone, it’s impossible to gain it back.”

“I’ll second that,” Mom huffs, pumping the baby on her hip to keep him quiet. “Trust is a pillar that cannot be shaken.”

Chloe gives a private smile.

“I trust Gage.” I say it low in the event my mother wants to glom onto this conversation in detail.

Chloe’s eyes smolder as her lips curve tight. There’s an underlying satisfaction written on her face suggesting she’s pulled another one over on me. Why do I get the feeling I’ve walked into yet another snare? Chloe would love for me to doubt Gage forever. I bet that’s why she dubbed him the well-placed boyfriend to begin with. In fact, I bet that’s exactly it. Life is nothing but a never-ending mind game to a bitch of Chloe’s stature.

Tad straightens. “My God, I think she’s right. We could run the place ourselves and work there for free.”

Ethan scowls over at me for ruining his blond ambition dreams.

“So…” Mom hums with the baby in tow, her chesticles safely tucked under the confines of her bathrobe. “You girls ready to dance the night away? Skyla, do you know what you’re going to wear?”

“I’ll probably just pick something up later.” Marshall very politely asked me to wear something from his enchanted closet and I didn’t have the heart to say no.

Brielle motions for Mom to hand over the baby. “Can I?”

“Oh, sure.” Mom looks less than eager to comply. She holds baby Beau out with the distinct look of reluctance as if Brielle were about to shoot up the room and kidnap him from the island. Although, technically, Brielle can take him anywhere in the world. She is his mother. I think maybe that little bit of biology is what has Mom freaked out the most.

“Hi.” Brielle blows in his face. “I’ve missed you.” It comes out as a sudden revelation.

Mom closes her eyes and gives a private nod. This was her greatest fear, her worst nightmare—Beau being yanked from her faux third nipple.

I’m the one who sort of convinced Brielle to give motherhood another try, and even though it shouldn’t be a big deal, I can’t help feel a little bit guilty.

Sometimes in life, we desperately want things we can never truly have, like my mother with Beau—like me with both Logan and Gage.

Chapter 109

Masquerade

Marshall’s home glitters under the duress of thousands, if not millions, of tiny little twinkle lights. They spray their incandescence throughout the downstairs and extend their grace into the backyard. The entire estate has been transformed to look like a fairytale—a rather haunted fairytale, but nevertheless, magic abounds. Bodies mill about in hoards both inside and out and I’m a little stunned to see so many guests at this early hour.

Marshall greets me at the door, looking stunning in a slick black suit. He’s sharper than usual—dare I even say, bordering on illegally sexy.

“The invitation says six, but everybody’s already here,” I say panicked. I came over early to pick up my dress and it’s only four-thirty.

“Humans at six—exceptionally stunning beings at this very hour.” He picks up my hand and presses in a heated kiss.

“I’m still in jeans.” I snatch at my legs.

“By all means, let’s remove them.” He leads me through the entry.

A couple walks by immersed in laughter. They head toward the back where most of the ghostly guests have congregated. Every now and again, the chatter hits a crescendo, followed by an explosive group chortle—and for some strange reason, it feels as if the laughter is at the expense of yours truly.

“Make haste to the bedroom.” Marshall whisks me upstairs and seals the door shut behind him. “We’ve only a moment to spare.”

“Sounds like you’re setting me up for a quickie.”

Marshall pauses, his resplendence set off by the dark background of the heavily paneled walls.

“Oh dear Skyla.” A wicked grin blooms from him. “Quick doesn’t fit into the plans I have for you. Slow”—he takes a step in toward me—“methodical, lingering passion that boils for days is what I have mapped out in detail.” He caresses my face with his thumb. “Of course, that’s just the first rapture-filled rendezvous. After that, expect wild romps at a moment’s notice, in all locations, all hours of the day.”

I try to step back, but his vibrating impulses spike with intensity and my skin is hungry for his touch.

An exotic flower arrangement sits on the end table next to his bed and distracts me long enough to break the spell. Lilacs, tiger lilies, and orchids spray out of an elongated crystal vase and release their heavenly fragrance into the air.

“Smells like heaven,” I say, inhaling to full capacity.

“I’d much rather perfume the room with the scent of our love.” He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in.

“And what might that be? Sugar and spice and everything not so nice?”

“If by not so nice, you’re implying devilishly delicious, I’d have to agree. Just thinking of you makes me sticky sweet.” It expels from him with a growl as his cheek slides up the side.

“And on that note.” I push his hands down and they melt off my hips, slow and deliberate. He moans into me and the light hits him just right, making him look like a bronze God. Marshall belongs on a pedestal, for all of humanity to worship from afar.

Now that I’m not officially seeing Logan or Gage, maybe this is the time reserved for us. I had considered it once before when Gage and I were on the outs but now…maybe I can extinguish all of those midnight yearnings once and for all. I shake the thought loose as quick as it comes.

“Not seeing Logan or Gage?” His head ticks to the side with curiosity. “I propose we acquaint ourselves at once,” he says, tightening his grip around my waist.

“Never mind that. Let’s get on with it,” I say, bored, as I flop onto the bed.

“How unfortunate you lack the proper enthusiasm, but nevertheless, I shall grant your request.” He unbuckles his belt in a dramatic fashion until I hold my hand up for him to stop. “Just checking.”

He looks decidedly disappointed before heading toward the closet. A strange glows emanates from inside and follows him out as he presents me with a luminescent gown with a silver patina. It’s short, most likely above the knee with a scoop neck, low back, scratch that—no back, and sleeveless. But it’s the luminescent glow it gives off that’s going to make me look like an overgrown firefly for the night.

“Oh, no.” I shake my head in protest. “It’s going to look like I stuck my finger in a light socket. I’m pretty sure I don’t need to attract any more attention to myself.”

“Don’t be silly. Your precious face will be discreetly hidden. All evening people will wonder which girl is it that radiates like the sun.” He produces a pale mask decorated in silver and pink—luscious full lips with cat’s eyes and a crown over the top.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I have a sprite passing these out at the door as the guests arrive. I assure you each mask will find its proper home—there is nothing random about this evening.” His lips pinch on the side as if he were lost in thought.

“Sprites are real?”

“Of course they’re real,” he says, plucking the dress off the hanger. “Mankind’s greatest folly is not believing in things which they cannot see.”

“Some things have to be fake,” I say, taking the dress from him. Long, filament fibers stretch out in a three-foot fringe and wrap themselves around my arm inducing a slight electrical current, sticky and soft like jellyfish tendrils. “Wow. This thing has some serious static cling.” Knew it. The electrical offense that’s been committed to this sheathe should be reported to the fashion police.

Marshall doesn’t ask permission, he simply lifts my sweater straight off my person and replaces it with the cool fabric. It shimmies down my body like an arctic cascade and a soft strum of pleasure emanates from the gown.

“This feels fantastic.” I unbutton my jeans and step out of them. I’ll ignore the bra issues this dress entails until Marshall leaves the room. “So what’s the catch? Am I going to dive-bomb the first cute male I spy—i.e. you—and thrust myself in your direction?”

“I do believe you’re flirting, Ms. Messenger.” He purrs with approval. “Regardless, I give you my assurance your hormones won’t propel into overdrive. Any midnight yearnings you might feel regarding any ‘cute males,’ i.e., me, will be compulsory based upon your own desires.” He spins me around so I can see myself in the mirror. “Believe me,” he whispers hot into my ear, “it will be of your own volition when you finally fall to your knees and beg for something to be thrust in your direction.”

“Like a sword through my heart?” I tease.

“Your humor charms me.”

Marshall points down at a pair of high heels, same silver tone, sans the glow and I press my feet into them.

“So what’s going to happen tonight?” I gaze at the dress in my reflection.

“Everything.” Marshall holds up a large gold disc.

“What’s that?” I hobble over and snap it up. “Oh, my gosh—you’re giving me another one!” I resist the urge to fall on my knees and thank him profusely by way of plucking off his shoes and kissing his feet.

“It’s defunct,” he muses, petting the opalescent stone set in the middle.

“So you’re teasing me. Or let me guess, you’re willing to reinitiate its powers in the event I swap saliva with you.” Marshall’s goodies often come with sexual price tags.

“Nonsense, this is a gift from me to you.” He braces me by the shoulders. “It’s imperative you hear what I’m about to say.” His eyes dart from either of mine, spastic, as if to drive the point home things can end badly for me if I don’t heed whatever the hell he’s about to tell me. “It doesn’t remove you from the war, Skyla. It calls the very next region.”

“Oh.” I hold it up to the light. “Just like the one Demetri gave me.” My fingers fly to my lips in a lame reflexive attempt to cover my verbal blooper.

Shit.

“Yes, like the one Demetri gave you.” His brows narrow in an angry V because he already knows. “Regions seven and eight. Why in God’s name would you accept anything from a Fem?”

“It seemed harmless,” I whimper.

“Harmless?” He kicks the end table over and the vase shatters across the floor. “Be informed, I’ve already brought up the offense to the Justice Alliance. I implore you, Skyla, to consider with great heft before accepting any gift from the enemy.” He sags, glancing down at the disc in my hand. “Think long and hard before you rest that piece of metal on the soil of ethereal plane. Think much more than twice. You must be of the utmost confidence that you’re ready to face the final region.”

I nod. “The benefit being, we catch the enemy off guard—cripple them and go in strong.”

“That’s right, Skyla, the element of surprise will lie with you.” Marshall flips up the bottom of my dress and lays the disc over the fabric, inspiring thousands of hair-like filaments to stretch over and secure themselves to the round coin. A high-pitched sigh escapes from what sounds like hundreds of tiny voices.

“This dress,” I glance up, “it just made a noise.”

“Observant tonight,” he says it stilted, still miffed from that whole Demetri thing. Marshall rubs my cheek with the back of his hand. He lends a loving look that I’ve never seen him offer before. “It’s time for me to present you to the gentry.” He links his arm in mine. “As my future wife.”

***

Downstairs, bodies swirl as they mingle with the night air, women in feathered dresses—sharp handsome men by their side. So many exquisite beings in one small space—they take my breath away with their errant beauty.

Marshall is sublime. He outshines them all with his resplendent glory. It’s easy to see that he’s a proverbial head above the rest, the cream of the celestial crop.

“I’m glad you think so.” He brings my hand to his lips and warms it with a kiss.

Marshall leads me to the center of a wooden dance floor as the sound of stringed instruments rise around us.

“Everyone’s looking.” I gasp.

All eyes are glued on Marshall and me with mouths ajar as if we were about to fornicate like rabbits.

“We could, you know—bring new meaning to the bunny hop.” His brows dip, amused at my line of thinking. “Never mind everybody. You are a stunning young woman, Skyla Messenger. And tonight, you have captivated every soul in the vicinity with your glory.”

I catch a glimpse of Dad and my mother near the house and wave at them from over Marshall’s shoulder.

“She came back,” I whisper. I thought my mother was going to lock herself away in Paradise, or wherever it is she resides, until after the faction war.

“She very much loves you. She wouldn’t miss our introduction into the eternal commonwealth if her wings depended on it.”

“Wings,” I muse.

“Everyone has wings Skyla—they’re optional to don, like shoes.”

“Sounds entertaining.” I can barely fit another shoe in my closet, let alone an assortment of oversized feathers.

“You’re issued just the one pair.” He gives a knowing wink.

“So, what kind of announcement—I mean introduction are we making?”

“I much prefer your idea.” He belts out a whistle to garner everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlepersons of the great establishment.” His voice roars like thunder. It sounds foreign—indiscernible in the slightest sense. “It is my pleasure to bestow upon you the infinite beauty who is my spirit mate, as well as the corporal form of the woman who shall please me as my lover.”

I suck in a quick breath as the crowd breaks out in a delightful applause at Marshall’s rather vulgar and X-rated descriptive.

I yank him in close. “Keep it PG. My dad is here.” What is this “please me as my lover” crap anyway? Did I unwittingly sign on to be his sex slave? I bet this freaking dress is hexed.

A tall being, familiar in every way, steps forward. It’s Delphinius the orator from the ethereal plane.

He places a hand over both my forehead and Marshall’s and starts in on a low-lying hymn. It sounds like a choir of hallelujah but the word is ever so slightly different.

“I now proclaim a covenant of God over the two of you,” he sings the words loud and clear as a symbol.

I shrink in horror trying to sink out of his grasp but he holds firm.

“May the glory of God in the highest”—he elongates the word highest for close to a minute—“set your course as you go forth in the victory of his love.” He breaks the word love into two very long impractical pieces.

A wild applause breaks out from the crowd as I try to catch my breath.

It takes everything in me not to knee Marshall in the balls in front of God and the eternal commonwealth of La La Land. How dare he spring some surprise wedding on me.

Delphinius gives one loud clap and the circle of ethereal beings collapses in silence. “Let the banner of this covenant live forever as his Holy Spirit resides in your hearts. You are now entwined as one forever more.”

“It is done.” Marshall breathes over me.

“What have we done?” I squeeze his hand with a death grip.

“You and I, Skyla, have entered into a sealed and lasting covenant.” He punctuates it with a molten kiss that lingers over my lips long after he pulls away. “All that’s left is to consummate our union.”

Chapter 110

Devine Debacle

“Covenant?” I hiss as Marshall wraps an arm around my waist and we offer a spontaneous bow to the quickly dispersing social circle. “What the hell was that about?”

At least twelve different people snap their heads in our direction, offering a forlorn look to Marshall in the process.

“Congratulations.” My mother starts in on a slow sarcastic applause as she makes her way over. She’s wearing a deep indigo gown with what looks like a bevy of stars sparkling throughout. She holds the entire solar system hostage on that frock of hers.

Dad comes up from behind and drops a kiss on my head.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers.

“For not dismembering my new husband’s crux of virility? What the hell has gotten into everyone?” I wouldn’t put it past Marshall to serve something “home brewed” with enough of his Sector-based witchcraft to make everyone fall under some mass nuptial hallucination.

Bite your tongue. Marshall gives my hand a gentle squeeze. Witchcraft is strictly forbidden.

“Skyla.” Mom slips her arm around me and immediately I’m soothed by her sweet vibrations. “It was beautiful watching Sector Marshall unite with you in spirit. I only wish he had waited until Lizbeth arrived.” She frowns at Marshall’s apparent guest list blunder.

“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “He did the right thing. For sure that would not have gone over well. Anyway, I’m not marrying Marshall, in fact, I’m not even with Logan or Gage at the moment.”

“This isn’t dating.” Marshall looks aghast at my oversight. “This is everlasting love.”

The idea of everlasting love with Marshall takes my breath away. A small part of me wants it—is already there.

I gag as a jumble of words try to escape my throat all at once. “Need I remind everyone covenants are serious business?” I shake my head, incredulous at what just happened. “Besides, we didn’t say ‘until death do us part’ or anything, so this totally doesn’t count.”

The three of them tick their heads back in unison as if I had just let loose a series of vile curses over my unborn children.

“‘Until death do us part’ is simply a formality.” My mother scolds. “This is a lasting covenant, Skyla. It commences now but establishes itself in full once you’ve consummated the union.”

My mouth squares out in horror. I can’t even lift my eyes to look at my father.

“It’s all right, Skyla.” My mother pulls me in and offers a feather-soft kiss over my cheek. It feels glorious to be loved by her. “This is for a later time.”

An entire hoard of well-masked people stream outdoors—all human I assume.

“Looks like the troops are here,” Dad whispers and everyone around us slowly lifts a long, handled mask to their faces. Birds and tigers, flowers, queens, and laughing jesters, everyone sports a unique covering that Marshall chose expressly for them.

My mother nudges me so I lift the long stem of my disguise and peer out through the cutouts while my breath warms the inside.

Logan and Gage arrive, both wearing Phantom-like masks that require no holding of anything and I must admit they look decidedly hot. Logan’s mask is outlined with gold while the one Gage wears is outlined in clear reflective stones, bright as diamonds. I’d recognize those two if they had paper bags over their heads.

I trek my way over. A large crowd comes between us and I land smack in front of Tad, Mom, and baby Beau who happens to be wearing an odd black dress.

“Unique,” I say, plucking at the strange lace number.

“Isn’t it something?” Mom beams, removing the ornate visor from her face. Her mask is of an overly done up woman, pearl skin, large pink lips bloom like cherry blossoms, eyelids elongate like bright blue eggs. Tad’s looks like a combination of a person and a pig with crooked fat lips that drip to the ground.

“I know you!” A voice sings over the crowd.

Mom and I turn to find a heavily endowed female Fem with twin tassels strategically dotting her gown as a testament to all things mammary. She twirls and whirls in our direction revealing herself from behind the cardboard cutout of a hissing snake as the sensible Edinger of the bunch. She points to her breasts and as she strides toward Tad to punctuate the fact she’s in a discerning frame of mind.

“Nice,” I say as he ducks and dodges through the crowd to land before her in record time. “Home wrecker.”

“Isis?” Mom balks at my analysis. “She’s harmless.”

“Demetri’s not,” I say, panning the crowd for the devil in question. “He killed Dad and he’s slowly killing me.”

Her mouth opens to protest then quickly closes again as she dives past me and lands in someone’s arms.

I turn in haste, fully expecting to slash Demetri’s throat with the heel of my shoe, but it’s not Demetri. It’s Dad, and my spirit sings at the sight of my parents embracing.

I step back offering them a moment of privacy.

Melissa steps out of the house, laughing with a boy attached to her arm. She wears the mask of a rabid-looking hyena, and oddly, so does he. Although, his mask is darker, more nefarious in nature and this alarms me on some level. They take off toward a secluded area of the forest and melt into the shadows.

Mia steps out, beautiful and alone. Her paper disguise lays low at her hip and her eyes are downturned as if she’s already had a good cry. I go over and offer her a hug.

“You look great!” I smile, pushing her hair behind her ear. She’s wearing a bright red dress with a full skirt and sequined crimson heels like she might be up for a visit to the Emerald City later.

“And you look like a glow stick.” It comes out more an observation than an insult.

“I guess you’re right.” I pluck at the fabric and a sea of tiny screams fill my ears. “Remember when I told you there was someone who could cheer you up? Someone who might make you feel better about this whole Gabriel Armistead fiasco?”

“Yeah,” she says, bored by the conversation. Her gaze cuts past my shoulder, trying to decipher Melissa in the shadows.

“Well, he’s here. I’d love for you to speak with him, and I know he’s been dying to speak with you.” No pun intended.

“Is it God?” She sneers. “Because it’s going to take a miracle for me to feel better about anything.”

“No, not God,” I whisper, pulling her into a crease of darkness. “Mia, you’re special. You and Melissa, and the rest of the Landon family, you’re all angles known as the Countenance.”

“Are you on crack?” She plucks her arm free.

I crimp my lips as I consider the can of worms I might be opening.

“Dad had a twin brother and he’s here tonight. Let’s say hi.”

“What?” She squawks in disbelief. “Dad did not have a twin.”

“You’re right, he didn’t.” No use proliferating the lie.

I walk her over to where Mom and Dad have sequestered themselves with the baby. We find them out at the far end of the yard under a full-blooming olive tree. Its inky fruit dots the canopy of branches as the lavender night sky peeks between the leaves. The air is fresh with the heavy scent of moist earth and pine. “This isn’t Dad’s twin, Mia.” I take in her wide-eyed wonder. “It’s Dad.” Mom relinquishes Beau to me as Mia comes into their circle.

Honestly, there are some things only a mother and father should handle, and post-death reprisals are one of them.

Baby Beau and I circulate through the crowd until we emerge on the youthful side of the property, out by the shadowed thicket where a bunch of people from West exchange masks, and mock the event in general.

“Really, Skyla? Firefly attire?” A girl titters from behind the mask of a haggard woman, eyebrows that arch so high they can cut you.

It’s the queen bitch herself. I’d recognize the snarl in her voice anywhere.

“Would you go away? You’re scaring the baby.” I cup my hand over his head and turn his face toward the woods.

Chloe fans herself with the effigy Marshall saw fit to gift her and offers a wicked crimson smile.

“How do you like my new haircut, Skyla?” She twirls a little before reverting a heated gaze in my direction. You could skillet fry a meal off Chloe’s hatred for me.

“What haircut?” She’s got her hair pulled back in a ponytail…only—there’s no tail. “Lop a little too much off on your hacking spree?” Oh shit. Was I supposed to say that? I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to keep up the dumb blond routine when it comes to acknowledging the fact she killed Emerson—twice. Sort of blows the whole Giselle hiding out in a Kragger body thing sky high.

“I don’t do home haircuts.” A quick puff of fog escapes her lips as she chokes out the thought.

“Looks like your hairdresser got a little liberal with the shears.” I try to step past her, but she blocks my path. “Honestly? I’ve got better things to do than deal with your bad hair day. Relax, it’ll grow out.” Chloe acts as if her follicular suicide is all my fault.

“Funny.” She drills her satanic laser beams into my skull. “That’s what the beauty school dropout who razored it off said when she was through. You wanna know what she said when she started? From Skyla with love.”

I swallow hard.

“Brielle,” I say it low. Shit. What the hell would she do that for? She must be crazed at the idea that we’ve all but hijacked baby Beau. I mean, for God’s sake, my mother has him parading around like a transvestite and suckling off her bosom. Pitting Chloe against me would only stand to reason.

Wait…could this be Brielle’s ultimate act of revenge?

“Let the record show,” Chloe says, crossing her arms, “I will kick your ass in the ethereal plane and I will thrash your world right here on Earth. I am so over playing nice with you.” She pokes me hard in the chest, and the baby wobbles and whines.

“You never played nice, Chloe. You killed my dad and you killed Emerson, Ethan, and—” There was a name…It was going to bubble from my lips. It felt natural, as if I knew of another Bishop casualty but my vocal cords wouldn’t give it. It was almost as if I understood something about the future, something that would happen, that had already embedded itself in my heart forever.

“Say it, Skyla.” She steps in. Her hot breath sears over me like fiery coals.

“Who is it, Chloe? Who are you going to kill?”

Chloe blows a quick breath into my eyes and I jerk, almost falling over with the baby in these sky-high heels.

“Go to hell,” I say, leveling myself as I make my way around her.

She snatches me up by the wrist. “This is hell. It’s hell every day I have to look at you.” She draws back and hawks a wad of spit into my eye, gelatinous and hot.

Chloe takes off as I put Beau’s dress to good use and wipe the venom off my face. I wish getting rid of Chloe was just as simple.

***

A curtain of evergreens provides the perfect backdrop for Marshall’s monster mash—Chloe being the monster.

I spot Logan and Gage hanging out with Ellis so I head on over. Looks like all limbs are present and accounted for—Ellis’s included. I don’t want them warring over me tonight or any other night for that matter. I don’t know how any of this is ever going to work. I want Logan just as much as I do Gage, which defies logic and reason on every level. I was indoctrinated into the Mom and Dad, one man per woman, army. I played with Barbie and Ken for God sake, not Barbie and Men.

My dress glows like a lamplight as I move into their circle. Baby Beau marvels with approving coos as he tries to pluck every last curl off my head.

“Let me.” Logan offers, taking him from me like he’s already held a thousand infants and I melt at the sight of him with a baby in his arms.

Ellis peers into Beau and lets the baby take a hold of his finger. “Good genes,” he says, pulling back. “So how many kids are we having?” He squeezes a loose grin in my direction.

“Let’s see—no fun, plus one, equals none.” I bat my lashes into him. “You think I can have a word with the gladiators?”

“Sure.” He looks past my shoulder. “I see someone I need to talk to anyway.” He darts over to Chloe and pulls her into the woods.

What’s that about?

Logan and Gage don’t say a word as we back into an overgrown spruce with its trunk flocked in long green whiskers.

A strangled silence crops up. It leaves the three of us looking to the ground, our shoes, baby Beau and his feminine accruements.

We stew in the unnatural tension. It ferments around us, thick and smothering. I can’t recall a single time that we’ve grappled for words, struggled to stand in one another’s presence. I bet this is what it’s going to be like from now on—just the thought nauseates me.

A smile plays on Logan’s lips. It pecks and claws at the edges as he fights to keep it at bay. “I think we should see each other.” Logan’s eyes swell with anticipation as he gently bounces the baby.

“I think we should keep seeing each other.” Gage emphasizes the word keep without missing a beat.

For a minute I consider telling them both that I accidentally may have married Marshall tonight, but don’t.

“OK,” I nod, “I’ll see you.” I dart a quick glance into the woods to avert their gaze.

“Which one?” Gage says it low, hesitant.

“Both of you—well, technically, neither of you.” I give a depleted smile. “I want to really dig down deep, no psychical stuff. I want to get to know the two of you better.” What I really want is for all of this to go away. Doesn’t my mother know that choosing between Logan and Gage is too big of a burden for any heart?

“I think digging in deep is a great idea.” Logan pulls me in by the waist and holds me alongside the baby like we’re a family. “I think getting to understand who we are outside of the tug of war for your heart might help you see things clearer.”

“She said nothing psychical.” Gage glares into him.

“We’ll see,” Logan whispers. The baby starts to fuss and he rocks him gently trying to appease him. “I think he’s hungry. I’d better find Brielle. Be right back.”

Actually, Bree’s probably not sporting the slightly deranged equipment the baby requires to satisfy him, but I don’t correct Logan as he makes his way into the crowd.

Gage collapses his arms over me tight like a shield. He presses his face into the side of my neck and inhales like he were coming up for air.

“I thought you agreed—no physical stuff.” I give a dark laugh.

“Hugs don’t count.” He pulls back and takes me in. “But everything about us does.” He slips a smoldering kiss over my lips. Gage isn’t afraid to break the rules where Logan is concerned. “You look amazing.” There’s a marked sadness in his eyes and it kills me to see him this way. “Sorry.” He touches his nose to mine for a moment. “I had to sneak in one last kiss. The thought of not touching you kills me.”

“What’s going to happen to us?” The words speed out of me, desperate and broken. My entire being demands a response.

His dimples dart in and out, creating a swarm of shadows. “I do know what’s going to happen.”

“You do?” There’s a strong comfort in the fact Gage has already touched the nebulous future. “Will it be OK?”

He exhales—his face visibly upset.

“Skyla…” It depresses out of him.

The scenery around us breaks like glass, long shards fall like rain until the old world no longer exists and a new one appears.

The faction war has called us, and I’m about to make sure it’s done so for the very last time.

Chapter 111

This is War

The ethereal plane blooms around us as the landscape fills in. The ground, the sky, the dilapidated buildings, they all wear the same washed-out tones of sepia. A fingerlike shadow falls from a lone pine and fills the expanse I’m standing in.

Gage runs over, his dimples pressed in as if he were proud of what we were about to accomplish. He sears my lips with a kiss and twirls me as if we had accidentally landed in Paradise, left our earthly worries behind for good.

“Ethereal plane doesn’t count either.” He breathes the words over my cheek. “You ready to take this?”

“Damn ready.”

“Logan is up ahead. He wants us to follow him—said he’ll signal if there’s resistance.”

“Where’s Delphinius?”

Gage nods past me at the burnt-out remnants of the bank and I pull him hard across the field without a second thought.

We find the orator himself in a partially charred building, with his enormous back turned to the door.

“How do we get to Ahava?” I cut to the chase as I burst into the room. I’m so sick of all this bullshit. I want to conquer this damn place so I can do something useful like free the people holed up in the tunnels. I try to catch my breath as I assess the fact he’s alone, conferring with a backlit clipboard similar to the one in the Transfer, the tunnels.

Delphinius straightens. His head almost hits the ceiling from the sheer volume he requires. “There will be great bloodshed this day,” he says with a sense of personalized sympathy as if he were consoling me on an intimate level.

“So we’ll have to kill.” Gage expands his chest, ready for the offensive.

“No,” Delphinius corrects, “but they will.”

“Excuse me?”

“Consume Celestra, those are the only orders.”

“Consume Celestra.” I look to Gage. I’m floored my mother would approve of this madness.

Delphinius stretches his long arm across a splintered shelf, retrieving a silver goblet.

“This is from your mother.” His eyes shine with the hint of a smile. He seems so kind and father-like. “She requested you drink the elixir.”

The goblet is round with tiny bulbous protrusions. The stem is comprised of the long leg of a bird with its talon settled over a disc at the bottom, and it reminds me of the haunted mirror crowding Marshall’s living room. “Looks like something from Marshall’s medieval workshop,” I muse, taking the cold steely cup from him.

“Sector Marshall was indeed the craftsman.” He dips in with a knowing smile. “Congratulations once again. You make a fine addition to the noble gentry.”

I cut a quick glance to Gage. I am so not going there right now.

A crimson liquid swills in the goblet, thick as nectar. A quiver darts near the bottom. Oh God. There’s something swimming in there.

Thoughts of Isis and her slithery beginnings run through my mind.

“No thanks.” I try to push it back but he won’t take it. “There’s a worm drowning in there. I don’t care if it’s the best tequila in the universe, I don’t want any.”

“It’s Caelestis reserves,” he informs.

Blood? And that’s a selling point, how?

“My mother is a raving lunatic,” I say, watching my reflection wobble in the liquid. “Consume Celestra…” I glance up at Gage. “You think this has anything to do with moving us closer to Ahava?” I know damn well how to get to the next region thanks to Logan and that magic mirror. I should be running instead of wagering whether or not to fortify myself with iron in the worst way possible.

Gage shakes his head—doesn’t say a word.

“Drink, Skyla.” Delphinius raises his enormous hand to encourage me. “The region cannot complete itself unless you do.”

I take a sip and falter. People digest things like worms all the time. It’s practically a rite of passage at universities, the world over, to swallow a live goldfish freshman year. I’m pretty sure Drake and Ethan have swallowed a parasite or two, what with all the bad hygiene and sleazy girlfriends—with the exception of Bree, of course.

I take a heroic swig and pause to assess the damage.

“It’s bitter wine,” I whisper, secretly doing the happy dance. The fact my mother has chosen fermented spirits in favor of the choice drink of Countenance everywhere pleases me to no end. I chug the rest to the dregs, letting the tiny worm slip down my throat and gag twice before setting the cup down with force.

“Excellent,” he says, retrieving the goblet. He wipes down the rim and the inside with meticulous precision. “You’ll feel the effects of your punishment shortly. I’ve already administered a dose to your cohort in depravity.”

“Logan?” My voice sounds faint, muted. Per usual, my mother’s timing is wonderfully ironic. We finally have our act together. We know where the portal to Ahava is. All we need to do is secure the region. It makes me question if the tempest who bore me really wants a Celestra win. Wasn’t eliminating our powers in every single region enough? Blinding me, landing me in the ethereal plane naked whenever she felt the need? And now on the last leg there would be more of her off-brand discipline to contend with.

“Can Celestra prosper?” I ask as my head fills with a strange sensation, light and airy as the world loses its crispness for a moment. Something is happening…

“Yes.” He turns to Gage. “Celestra can prosper by getting past the enemy. The region waits for you. Go on now, run.” His voice rumbles loud as thunder. “Tread lightly, the enemy hungers for your slaughter.”

Gage takes me by the hand and we step back into the ruins of this false Paragon.

“Shit.” Gage drags the word out in a whisper.

An entire army of soldiers, dressed in fatigues, jog through the area bearing elongated weapons that vaguely resemble rifles. They shout in unison, a strange, haunting cadence that surrounds them in mystery as they travel up the hillside.

The air begins to smolder, the scent of ash and dust burrows in our nostrils.

“They saw us,” Gage marvels, “and they didn’t come—they didn’t try to kill us.”

“They’re not blue.” The Counts would have cast a sickly glow that in this tarnished sunset would be easy to decipher.

An explosion of pain surges from my back. I drop to my knees in agony as volcano-like eruptions spring from my shoulder blades.

“Skyla?” Gage glances over at me before doing a double take.

Enshrining me on either side, are a pair of pale-blue wings that have sprouted from my body, enormous—disturbingly heavy, gorgeous in every way.

I let out a groan and twist to get a better look. A dull light illuminates from my newfound appendages. I twitch and they lend a powerful clap reminiscent of Nevermore and his enormous wingspan. The plumes ignite, expelling a brilliant glow as sharp as an atomic blast.

The tendrils of my dress animate to life. The tiny filaments hum and vibrate as if Marshall himself had wrapped his arms around me. With these wings, this dress, I’ve become one of them. I can feel the love of the Master pulsate through me like a gift.

Gage shields his eyes until my newly acquired feathers cease to illuminate.

He gives a sheepish grin.

“What?” I say, staggering to my feet. I’d abandon the heels but I’m pretty sure they’re better than the alternative in this thorny terrain.

“You’re stunning, that’s what.” He leers into me with his cheek curled up on one side—his head dipped low with seduction. “You’re the butterfly I’ve dreamed of a million times—blue as the sky—a creature of beauty all your own.” He sweeps a heated kiss off my lips and pulls back. “I always want to remember you this way. The angel that lived inside my heart for so long is real, and she’s you.”

I wrap my arms around Gage and bury my face in his chest. Gage dreamed of wings, of butterflies, an angel—and here I am, decorated in all my ethereal glory—a surprise to even me.

“It’s going to be impossible to move like this.” I fan out my arms. It feels like I have a bookshelf strapped to my back.

“It’s your mother’s idea.”

“You’re right,” I whisper. I step out and throw my arms out. “So this is the big punishment?” I balk at the sky as the sound of mortar shells stop abruptly as if frightened by my audacity. A peal of thunder ignites so deafening in nature that the ground quakes with its fury.

The air grows frigid, as biting pelts of hail assault us from above.

OK, I don’t think we’re communicating well. It’s not like I wanted her to outdo herself in the big bad bitch category, but I’d say for sure she’s giving Chloe a run for her money.

“It is a punishment, Skyla.” Logan staggers over from behind a building as the hail lets up to nothing.

“Logan!” I drag myself along the dirt-covered road with the lead weights strapped to my back. His shirt is soaked with blood. A crimson trail leads over his shoulders. “What happened?” I whisper, alarmed by his injuries.

“I ripped them out.” He winces in pain.

“Why?” I touch my hand to his wound, horrified at the dark gloss covering my fingers.

“It’s a target,” Gage says, herding the two of us into the shell of a nearby building. The outer wall is comprised of smooth stones in browns and blues, and I try to map out which building downtown this might have been.

Bodies start to fill in the land. The ground turns to dust, parched and cracking as if the hail was nothing more than a hallucinatory effect. The soothing sound of the storm has been replaced with the crash of mortar shells and loud booms of thunder from a shotgun blast.

A swarm of grenades hit the region. The ground comes to life, bouncing and thrashing as we try to steady ourselves. It shakes us from the building like ragdolls, landing Gage fifteen feet out in the field. He lies motionless on the ground, open for scrutiny by the enemy with his skin as pale as milk.

“Skyla.” Logan heaves as the walls crumble around us. He pushes me out of the way with a powerful shove and gets his arm pinned under a piece of metal rebar.

Logan lets out a groan and tries to yank himself free, but ends up stripping a portion of his flesh from the elbow down.

“Shit, don’t move.” I kneel beside him.

Gage reappears. He tries to lift the jagged beam, but it doesn’t budge. He gets on the ground and gives a few good kicks before the rusted hardware gives an inch. Logan slides his arm out and pushes me away from the crumbling structure.

“Let’s get out of here.” Gage takes me by the hand and leads us out into a dust-filled haze. The three of us make our way through roads congested with dislodged boulders, an entire layer of dirt caked over an unrecognizable cityscape.

“There.” Logan points over to the circular remains of the bowling alley. A strange glow of sunlight shines down from above, paper white and blinding, with no heat. We cross the street and take in the lay of the land from behind the architectural deformity.

“Oh my God.” It depletes from my lungs in agony.

Bodies in piles—angels all around, sifting through corpses like wheat.

Horses roam the vicinity. Behind them lies an entire row of men with assault rifles. In the far corner, I see Marshall with his arms stretched wide, overseeing the entire situation.

“This is it.” I marvel, stepping in for a closer look. My wings flap slowly with enthusiasm. “This is the scene from the mural in Emily’s living room.”

“You’re right,” Gage says, taking it all in.

Gage and his impeccable features. He doesn’t have to fight this war. His participation was never mandatory nor do his bloodlines hang in the balance. This is his love shining through, his radical love—his utter devotion to me as a person. Gage is a blaze of glorious righteousness and he uses our love as fuel for the fire. My heart sinks at the thought of him getting hurt, physically or emotionally.

Marshall makes his way over to us with his wings intact, the touch of a scowl on his face. His beauty and nobility outshines every last one of us. He pours out his glory as rich and pure as God himself.

An explosion rocks from behind. Bodies charge into the area—the Counts—their flesh is coated in mud, dulling the luster of their unfortunate lineage.

Nat and Holden barrel in with a scream in their mouths. They fight shoulder to shoulder as they come into the thicket of flesh. Holden slices a man in half with a bayonet, stabs another in the face right through the eye.

“Crap,” I hiss at the carnage. “We need to get in there.”

Chloe isn’t far behind. I spot her in the mayhem as Celestra tries to get out of the way because they were caught off guard, most unarmed. Chloe falls to her knees holding herself by the waist. A seam of crimson stains her shirt.

“She was hit.” I try to rush over but Marshall catches me by the waist.

Not for you to tend to, love. He says it with great sadness as if the outcome didn’t look too good. Isn’t this what you wanted? He looks down at me as if I had the power to kill her with my admission.

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” I try to break free from his hold, but he doesn’t budge. That vision Gage shared comes back like an unwanted visitor. “I hate death, Marshall. I hate it.”

He points over to Chloe and she jolts as if she were electrocuted.

For you, Marshall says it sweetly. She lives for now.

From behind, a bevy of voices cry out in distress. I glance back to see a swarm of mud-clotted bodies pulling Gage into their midst.

“Shit!”

In one swift motion, Marshall takes to the sky with his wings spread wide.

“Skyla,” Logan shouts, pulling me toward a split in the building as a way out of the chaos. “Get to safety. I’ll get Gage.”

“No,” I shout, refusing to follow his lead. “This is my war. These are my people getting hurt, sacrificing their lives. I need to stay and fight, and if that means I die, I’m OK with it.” Not really, but I’ll be damned if I let a cowardly implication fly at this sensitive hour.

Logan snatches me by the wrist and holds back a smile.

“You can’t win if you’re dead,” he says, exasperated, almost as an afterthought. “But I’m proud of you.”

A shadow envelops us from the right. A woman with stunning features holds out a rifle to me like a peace offering. Her chestnut hair explodes a potent shade of crimson in the light.

“Ezrina!” I draw a breath at the sight of her. For one, she’s sporting the gorgeous uncursed version of herself and for two, so not supposed to be here. “How the hell did you get here?”

“Never mind.” She hoists something that looks like a missile launcher over her shoulder, long-handled with a dark mahogany overlay and carbine fittings. She pulls the trigger and a series of rotary blades spit out at demonic speeds. Nothing but beautiful metal discs spinning their ballet of death as they slice across the field.

“Holy shit,” Logan whispers.

A tall, dark, and handsome Nev appears beside her side, his skin tinted the palest cast of blue, much like Logan’s. “She has a knack for sharpened steel.” He gives a quick wink in my direction.

My mouth drops open at the two of them. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having the warm fuzzies at the thought of Ezrina and Nevermore risking their necks yet again, but I’ll be damned if they’re winning my war for me.

I take off into the battlefield, posthaste to find Gage, firing into the line of quasi humans who bear their mortal mark as clear as a summer sky.

“Skyla.” Logan motions in the direction of a mob with a dark-haired boy lodged in the middle—Gage.

We hit a wall of Counts and slash and thrash our way through the crowd. My wings lodge and snag as I swim through the sea of violence to get to Gage. The blade of a knife curves across my belly just enough to graze me. It slices the dress and my flesh in one neat line.

I look up to find the vaguely familiar face of a girl, wielding a machete. She wears an evil grimace while slashing her weapon in front of me. Something about her reminds me of Emily so I kick her feet out from under her rather than introduce her to the working end of my rifle. It’s not until I step over her body do I realize who she is. It’s the girl from the lake—the one I presumably killed. The Counts have already resurrected her and brought her back to the front lines to fight the war for them.

I tread forward without giving her a second thought.

“Gage!” I shout as bodies fall around me.

I spot Cooper alone in the midst. His shirt is off and a long gash runs from one end of his ribcage to the other as if someone tried to saw him in half. I glance back for Logan but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Cooper!” I shout, bolting over.

The girl with the evil grimace appears, quick as an apparition. She dives at me with her blade, but I jump out of her knife-wielding way, and she slashes Cooper instead.

His flesh splits straight down his side as if it were rubber.

“You stupid shit.” I jab the butt of my rifle into her jaw and knock her to the ground.

“Here,” I snatch the machete off the ground and shove it in Cooper’s hand.

A hard blow cracks over my skull and I drop to my knees.

The world blinks in and out of existence as Cooper helps me up and pulls me away from the blistering crowd.

I stagger in the wake of the cranial assault, trying to gain my footing.

Cooper tries to yank me off the field, but I screw my toes in the ground. I may be seeing stars, but I’m not leaving the fight.

A long blade comes at me. I look up in time to see the wicked girl from the lake wielding a pocketknife straight at my abdomen. The unholy grin dissipates from her face as her body bisects in half. Her torso lands to my left and her legs wobble a moment before settling to the ground. I look up to find a sickly blue frame with his bloodied sword still erect from the rather brutal charge—Holden Kragger.

“We’re even,” he says, dipping back into the crowd.

“You’re good.” Cooper digs a smile in his cheek. “You’ve got the enemy siding with you.”

Blood pools on the ground as the girl Holden killed dissolves to nothing.

I take him in. Cooper seems like the world’s nicest guy.

“Speaking of the enemy, Cooper, what does Laken Stewart mean to you?” It feels off asking him now, but really, when else is there?

He directs his gaze toward the crowd a moment, hesitating with his answer. “She’s someone special.”

“I thought so. Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Laken Stewart is a Count. I saw her in the Transfer myself.” I stop short of mentioning Wesley and his demented yearnings.

“I know she’s a Count. But she’s not like these guys. She’d be the last person to hurt Celestra.”

“Cooper—” Before I can get a word in about her family, or Wesley—an entire herd of muddied Counts charge in our direction.

Cooper and I start in on a slaughter. Arms and legs and the entrails of the enemy rain down like a blood-soaked wet dream. This is the moment I was born for, one of them anyway. This was the war in my honor, for my blood and for the blood of my people. There isn’t a Celestra on the planet I’m not holding in my heart. I don’t know what will become of the Counts that Cooper and I are extracting, but in the heat of the battle, as my hair, skin, and muscles are being cut to pieces, I could care less if the entire brood of them were barreling straight into hell on the Demetri express.

This was the end.

God had spoken and vengeance was mine.

Logan appears, bloodied and battered, sporting a rifle of his own. He points in the distance and I see Gage fighting off two Counts with nothing more than a stick.

“We’ll loop around.” Logan inverts his lips momentarily. “He’ll make it, Skyla. You don’t have to worry.”

I catch a glimpse of Cooper as he’s swallowed in a rolling cloud of flesh, all of them Counts. He expels a loud roar and the crowd bursts into a sanguine shower. Cooper presses the enemy like a vat of grapes ripe for the harvest—drawing new wine from their bitter hearts as he rages toward victory for Celestra.

I glance back at a familiar looking boy in the distance, a bow swinging in his hand.

Ellis? I squint into him. His jowls are set deeper, his body smaller in stature, and an unnatural smile hedges on my lips. That’s the boy who took region six for the Counts—the one Gage mistook for Ellis in the middle of a downpour and I was slow to believe him. Just the sight of him makes me want to run to Gage and apologize all over.

The boy looks right at me, lifts his crossbow and fires.

A biting pain gaffs my left shoulder just above my wing. I let out a cry and hold onto Logan to keep from falling.

“Shit,” Logan seethes. He gives a gentle tug at the newly embedded arrow and a hot bite of adrenaline explodes through me.

“Take a deep breath.” Logan latches on and yanks it out rather unceremoniously.

I let out a shrill cry that cuts through the war machine percolating around us. It drills into the sky and straight back to Marshall’s estate where my mother is watching safely from Paragon—in her party dress made of stars, with my father tucked neat by her side.

Logan pulls me in and presses a burning kiss against my lips that not only manages to silence me, it takes away the pain—the war, thoughts of my destiny with all its malignant intent.

The rain starts in and saturates us with my mother’s blessing. She desires Logan for me. He’s her pick in the race for my heart. I guess in some ways, Logan has already won.

A wild cry comes from the battlefield inspiring the two of us to exchange a knowing glance.

Logan pulls back and washes over me with all of his hell bent love. “Let’s do this.”

I take him in, so fierce and noble.

“Let’s do this.” I knock the butt of my rifle into his, and we make a run for the enemy.

We storm the field in an effort to secure a win for Celestra—save Gage in the process as tears rain down from heaven. Our clothes cling to our skin. My wet hair dances over my back, thick as snakes. The sky summersaults into itself as it bears down and expels a never-ending stream of citrine aggression.

We hit the wooded area just past where the kitchen would be. I recognize this as the place where the Mustang ran over the two of them.

On the mountain in the distance, I can make out foot soldiers heading up in rows of ten and twenty, angels interspersed between them.

“I thought the angels couldn’t fight this battle,” I say as we take a moment to catch our breath.

“They can’t.” His face pinches with pain. “They’re here for the dead, Skyla. They’re taking them home.”

So many bodies—so many precious beings lying strewn on the ground like refuse. I guess people do die in this war. I held out Ezrina like some life-gifting force and here were the messengers of God collecting souls from the deceased by the droves.

The rain lets up as I scan the field for Gage. He needed me and I failed him. I should’ve blasted through the crowd to reach him. He would die before he left me to fend for myself and now perhaps I played a role in his death by not returning the favor.

Chloe runs from a quickly dispersing mob. She holds a blade dipped in blood—her face white with shock.

I press my way over as the Counts scatter like rats, and spot Gage lying on the ground with his face to the blackened sky. His eyes blink out of rhythm, disoriented from the beating—all alone, lying in a pool of growing crimson.

“Shit.” I don’t consult with Logan or strategize. I simply run into the enemy’s hands—thick in their mist and open fire on every mud-slicked coward who stands in my way.

Bodies fall like flies. Logan joins in on the assault.

I skid on my knees—slide into Gage as if there was a victory involved.

Maroon liquid streams from a line erupting from his neck. His body shakes. It trembles out of control as he tries to say something.

Dear God, this was Chloe’s calling card, a near decapitation that she didn’t have the heart to carry out.

“Gage.” I press my finger to my lips then to his mouth.

Skyla, his eyes roll back into his skull—his mind unable to compose a thought.

God almighty. I would bargain the world away to keep Gage alive, healthy, and breathing right beside me forever.

“We need to get the hell out of this region,” Logan roars trying to lift me. “It’s the only way to save him.”

“Marshall!” I scream.

Marshall swoops to my side and observes his injuries. His forehead wrinkles with concern. “You’ve five minutes until he bleeds out. Make use of your time.”

“I’m not going to use the disc,” I pant. I’m aborting the mission. There’s no way I’m opening another landmine and losing Gage because of it. “I want to forfeit.” It comes from me sharp like a command. I’d lose the entire war just to have Gage in one piece.

“Look around you, Skyla.” Marshall nods just beyond my expansive wingspan. “Who would you wager victory lies with?”

I glance up and catch Ezrina and Nev exploding like ninjas over the cloud of blue that was unlucky enough to settle in their midst. The Counts fall like flies, evaporating before their bodies ever hit the ground.

“The final region is Ahava.” Marshall presses his gaze into me as if I should know what this means. “Only Celestra and Countenance bear the price of admission. Levatio returns.”

“He returns now?” I ask hopeful. “He can get help? He doesn’t have to wait?”

Marshall nods. “Immediately.”

I latch onto Marshall’s legs and shake him. “You better make sure he gets the help he needs or, so help me God, I will make your existence miserable.”

I dive down over Gage with kiss that says you’re going to make it.

I’d make love to him right here, bathing in his blood if I knew it would heal him, guarantee his survival.

“Let’s move to the porthole so we can get him home.” Logan tries to pull me up but I resist.

“Guard him,” I instruct Marshall.

A fresh swell of bodies fill the interim—unequivocally blue, unashamed, as they brandish their weapons. They light up with roars and cackles. The scent from the slaughter is their secret perfume. Men fall in the ruins behind me. A bullet flies through my right wing, then another and another until light and rain puncture through the disorganized pinpoints.

Logan shouts for me to get up and run, but I ignore his plea and hover over Gage. I flap my wings with an enormous effort and create a glorious blaze of illumination so infinitely blinding that it wouldn’t surprise me if the enemy were firing on itself in the confusion.

An iridescent warble interrupts the atmosphere across the way.

And there it is.

My entire body seizes.

The shimmering porthole to Ahava lures me over. The final stretch of my destiny calls me by my unspoken name. I pluck the defunct disc from the inside of my dress and the tiny tendrils give way to a sigh.

I drop to my knees one last time and kiss my sweet forever goodbye.

“This is for you, Gage,” I whisper.

Logan pulls me up and we run with fire in our bellies toward our final destination. This is for Gage. He squeezes my hand. It’s his ticket home. His lateral dimple inverts as he nods over to the arid space just out of reach. Are you ready to take down the Counts?

I heave the disc to the ground so hard it embeds itself into the soil.

“Every last one.”

Chapter 112

Right Here, Right Now

Ahava. My entire soul exhales with relief at the sight of its unsurpassed beauty.

A lavender glow, a subtle illumination of light surrounds me as the scenery fills in like a mural under the supervision of a skilled artist. The forest glitters in the distance, secluded with a fine layer of mist. The lake is as cool and blue as Gage and his captivating eyes—the falls are blocked off in tiers as they whisper out their mysterious hushed roars.

“Son of a bitch.” Chloe appears with a childlike innocence. She takes in the sight with laughter caught in her throat. “I’ve been here before.”

I glance around and Logan is gone, yet deep down inside, this doesn’t worry me. My wings have been restored, clean and light, not the burden they were in the last region. Here, they flow with an energy all their own, nothing more than a beautiful gift from my mother.

I scour the landscape for signs of Logan. My mouth opens to call to him, my jubilance every bit alive as Chloe’s.

A yellow mane—a large menacing face emerges from over the hillside and pounces in this direction. It has the body of a lion, the face of mutated man—a wild shag of hair outlines the creature in a disorganized halo. It ambushes us with a vengeance and Chloe wastes no time pushing me in its path.

I land on my back, crushing the cartilage that springs from my shoulder blades.

Logan leaps on the creature from out of nowhere and claws open its side. He flips it onto its back and it pauses from the struggle in that vulnerable state.

“Run,” he shouts.

I jump to my feet and buck as my wings burst out with a dull explosion.

The ground sways as I reach in the shrubbery for a stick to beat him off with.

“Damn it.” Logan grunts as he wrestles the creature. “Forget about me—get to the sword.” The beast mounts over him with the girth of a minivan and gives a thunderous growl. “Do it for us, Skyla.”

The arrogant lion picks Logan up with its mouth and jostles him from side to side. The air whips and whistles as Logan’s body snaps and bends in unnatural positions.

There is no us if Logan is dead. I need Logan alive and with me for the long haul.

I charge forward and latch onto its thrusting head. I dig my hands into its eyes, culling them out like I did to Pierce, like I’ve fantasized a million times doing to Chloe. It tries to shake me away, clawing at the back of my skull as I pluck them out one by one, enraging the beast into a sizzling tirade. It lets out a wild scream as if it were on fire, jumping spastic into the air. Its claws are embedded so deep inside Logan, it takes him along for the ride.

“No.” I cry as Logan lands hard on his back.

The creature twists off and scampers toward a crowd at the base of the hillside.

“Are you OK?” I crawl over to him and place my cheek over his.

Logan sits up with fresh blood rising from where he plucked out his wings.

“I’m fine,” he rasps, as his right eye swells in a sea of purple. “Chloe’s on her way.” He winces at the sacred falls that glow an eerie scarlet.

Logan rises and pulls me with him. He leads us through the woods near the periphery of the lake. It’s unnaturally quiet here, not a soul around, no one following from behind.

“You think it’s over? Someone got the sword?” The words bump out of me as I try to keep up.

“No. It waits for you.” He says it with such certainty that I believe him.

We come upon the falls and I wash the blood off my hands, washing myself anew in the water from this heavenly reserve. It’s hard to believe this is the lake, the exact place Logan got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife. It’s stunningly beautiful but Logan outshines the landscape. Logan is the star casting his light over a black velvet night.

I look up at him from under my lashes as we walk along. “I’m so humbled and proud of everything you’ve sacrificed for us, for Celestra.” It takes all of my strength not to latch onto him and weep.

We pause just shy of the sacred fall that houses the sword of the Master and Logan gazes at me with a look of rapture. He brings my hand to his lips and seals a kiss over my flesh that says I love you all on its own.

“I’m proud of you, too, Skyla.” A smile blooms on his lips and for a moment it’s just Logan and me as the world stands still. “It’s time,” he whispers.

Logan caresses my cheek, soft as a midnight breeze and I dip a kiss into the warmth of his palm.

This is the moment we’ve been waiting for, and now, it waits for us.

***

Logan leads us behind a curtain of water that shimmers every color of the rainbow. Ahava bathes in its beauty. The fresh scent of lilacs fills the air, reminiscent of my mother. It spells out love even in this horrible den of division among Nephilim brothers and sisters.

A cave-like structure opens up. The walls glow a strange pulsating crimson from deep within like a heartbeat.

We find Ellis and Chloe arguing at the entrance of the hollowed out earth. She grabs his elbow and throws him off balance while screaming in his face.

Logan speeds us over.

“What the hell?” I yank Ellis back to protect him from her insanity.

“You are blowing this.” She spits in his face, spraying me down in the process with her noxious brand of hatred.

“Blowing what?” I direct the question toward Ellis because I know damn well Chloe isn’t going to answer.

He wipes his face with his T-shirt and blinks into me as if seeing me for the very first time. “I can get the sword.” He touches his hand to my wings and shudders. “It’s mine if I want it. Three other guys already chickened out.”

“Chickened out?” I narrow my eyes into Chloe—I smell her mind games at work, nothing but mental strychnine at its finest. I’m not certain what makes Ellis so positive he can get the sword, when I’m pretty damn sure it waits for me.

“That’s right—all you need is this.” Ellis produces a shield from off the ground. It’s oval and as tall as Ellis himself. An emblem is carved into the muted silver, a dark huntsman with a sword in one hand. He rides a steely horse and its eyes shine like fire, something unintelligible lies inscribed over the image like a wreath.

Then I see it. In the distance behind Ellis, the cave opens to the sky and a tornado of fire twirls infinitely up in an inferno. The flames lick the air with their arrogant taunts, hungry for flesh to devour.

“Give it to Skyla.” Logan steadies his voice as if he were talking Ellis off a ledge.

“It’s mine.” Chloe doesn’t hesitate snatching it for herself and oddly Ellis doesn’t put up a fight.

The falls flush out in a fury before returning to their demure hush. My mother isn’t amused by Chloe’s call to action—either that or it’s my inattention to procure the glorified garbage can lid for myself that has her celestial tutu in a twist.

“What’s going on?” I direct it toward Ellis. “Why do I need the shield and what the hell are you doing with Chloe?”

“For the fire.” Ellis dips into me as if I should have known. I glance past his shoulder at the orange glow in the heart of the cave. It was the fire that gave it a crimson shimmer all along. “You need to get through it to get the sword.” He huffs, miffed at my lack of understanding. “I thought about doing it.” Ellis loses his gaze in the horizon. “I thought maybe once and for all I could get on my dad’s good side and stop being such a fuck up.”

“But you didn’t because you know this isn’t about you.” Logan’s chest heaves discreetly. He’s ready to pounce on either one of them if they try to dart for the flames. “You care about, Celestra, about Skyla. You want to do what’s right.”

“You’re not a fuck up, Ellis,” I say, taking him in like this, vulnerable and somber. “You’re a decent person. You know the difference between right and wrong, and you would never want people trapped in those tunnels.”

“It’s not right,” he’s says, snapping his head at attention. “But I can’t change any of it.”

“I will.” It speeds out of me with an authority I’ve yet to determine.

“Dream your schoolgirl dreams,” Chloe sings. She pulls a long silver sword from the back of the shield and I recognize it as a twin to the one she speared Logan and me with a few months back. “It’s come full circle, hasn’t it?” The blade ignites a dangerous shade of cobalt. “Me with the sword, you and Logan with your jaws on the floor because yet again you’re so perfectly screwed.”

Logan takes up my hand, low by our thighs.

I’m going after it, Skyla.

No. She’ll hack your head off before you get within two feet.

If anything happens, know that I love you. He gives a mournful smile. Tell Gage I’m sorry about everything I ever said—that I care about him, too.

“Shut up.” I grit it through my teeth as a veil of tears blurs my vision.

“I’ll do just that.” Chloe nods into the words that she knows damn well were meant for Logan. She turns her face to the fire and begins a slow walk toward her warped sense of destiny.

I’ll go in the fire and get the sword. If I don’t make it, I don’t want you to be heartbroken, Logan says with a dull ache. What we had was good. I’ll see you again one day. I promise.

I take up both his hands and pull him in. His light hair glints with flecks of gold. Each shaft glows alive with color just like my mother’s.

“Stop it,” I hiss just this side of a whisper. The fire snaps with intensity and sets my teeth on edge. “You’re going to be OK. We don’t have to go after the sword. We’ll find another way to help our people.”

I shake my head at the flames, disbelieving.

A damn fire. A damn fucking fire holds the sword hostage and I’m supposed to believe a shield is going to rectify the flames.

“And when the Fems and Counts take over?” Logan looks disappointed in my lack of enthusiasm at the thought of him jumping in a furnace to save the entire human race. “What do we do then? Sit back and watch the death toll climb? Watch our loved ones die because my life was so important?”

“It is important,” I snap. “It’s important to me because I love you.” The words pull out of my throat like a jagged blade.

“I love you, too, Skyla.” The smile melts from his lips.

“Then don’t do this.” I watch Chloe with my peripheral vision as she hedges ever so close to the flames. “I can’t live without you, Logan. Going into the past to say hello isn’t nearly enough to take away the sting. Trust me, I know this because of my father. I won’t live without you. I won’t do it.” I bullet out the words like a threat I intend on keeping.

“I doubt for a minute that Chloe has the balls to step in that fire,” he whispers, “but I do. I’ve already done it once by giving you to Gage.”

“To protect me.” I say it weak—ashamed of the fact I fell for Gage when I shouldn’t have.

“I don’t fault you for anything.” His dimple inverts. “I’ll use the shield. I’ll go in and get the sword and bring it to you. As long as it’s in your possession, it’s all that matters.”

“It’s treason—not to mention suicide.” I pull him in by the neck and press my forehead to his. It makes me dizzy like this with Logan, our lives on the razors edge of existence.

Logan is convinced he’s going to run with this fatal mission, and I’m one thousand percent sure there’s no way in hell I’ll let him.

Logan pushes in with a kiss. His lips detonate like a choir belting out hallelujah in the presence of God himself. This is love, right here in the valley of the shadow of death. Everything in me stirs for Logan. Every intimate yearning I’ve ever felt for him quickens as we get ready to battle the final enemy, ourselves.

He pulls back with a morbid expression. “I’m not fighting you, Skyla.”

A roar rises from over the hillside. It sounds as if hoards of people are on their way and soon the fire will be alive with bodies trying to procure the prize.

“I’m fighting you,” I say, moving past him. “If anyone dives into that fire today, it’s going to be me.”

He glides past me toward the flames while the scent of damp earth and smoke fills our senses. The falls hiss to our right as I hasten to follow him toward the orange flicker.

“Ellis!” Logan jerks his thumb behind him. “Hold Skyla,” he barks out the order with unmitigated aggression. He doesn’t waste a moment before tackling Chloe to the ground and the shield fumbles just beyond her grasp.

I charge over to retrieve it and Ellis goes in for the block, wrapping his arms around me stable as tree trunks.

“Move!” I struggle to free myself from his grasp.

“Oliver said no. By the way you are effing hot with wings, dude.”

“Would you shut up?” I give a hard bite over his wrist. I can feel the stubble on his forearm rubbing against my tongue because obviously he shaves. It’s like every male on the planet is ashamed to be a mammal.

“Shit!” Ellis extricates his injured limb, still securing me tight with the other.

Chloe and Logan wrestle and grunt. It looks primal, carnal—an all-out war of the sexes with Logan trying to edge her near a bluff on the other side of the flames. Something in my subconscious claws at me to scream, don’t hurt Chloe, and this alarms me on an unnatural level.

“It’s infinite,” Ellis whispers near my temple.

“What’s infinite?”

“The cliff. I checked it out. I can still hear your thoughts. Isn’t that cool?”

Infinite? Perfect. We can dispose of her easily and enjoy her screams of terror as they bleat out for miles.

“You know what’s not cool?” I twist as far as my feathers will allow and knee him in the balls with bionic force. “That. Sorry, Ellis.” I pant as I dart into the heated pit. The lumpy texture of these walls looks familiar, it looks in every way like the jasper cave of the Transport and it makes me wonder if this is connected—if we’re all going to die from the sheer stupidity of being here.

Chloe pins Logan just feet from the drop-off, where blue sky dips to navy just beyond the edge—nothing in the horizon but a dismal abyss.

The shield lies unprotected, just shy of Chloe, and I carefully sidestep my way over, fearful she might slingshot Logan into oblivion if I startle her. I swoop in those last few feet and roll onto the metal sheet. I can feel the heat of the flames as the area swelters like a sauna. Up above the fire, the blackened sky lies over us like a bruise. A thick nest of lightning rotates over the area, crackling with familiar lavender tendrils.

The shield warms to my body. It strums an indescribable rhythm as if music itself had imploded into the most exquisite song.

Logan does a quick revolution and lands on top of Chloe. He gives an exhausted smile as he sits on her stomach. His chest expands and retracts from the effort.

“Ellis,” he calls.

Ellis goes over and scoops up Chloe’s wrists until he holds her secure, allowing Logan to pop up and come after me.

I shake my head. “I have to do this.”

“Then I’m doing it with you.” Logan picks up his pace with a mischievous smile. He tugs at the shield and draws me in.

“Come to me, Skyla.” His dimple presses in. His five o’clock shadow graces his features, he’s bloodied and dirty and gorgeous in this roughed up state of being.

“We did it.” I whisper as he inches toward my face.

His warm breath cascades over my cheek. His eyes light up like honey as they reflect the flames.

“I love you so much it hurts.” I say it low and hushed like a secret.

“Don’t let it hurt,” he rasps, fanning my cheek with his thumb. “I want you to enjoy my love. You have it all for eternity.”

“Happily ever after,” I whisper.

“Happily ever after.” He seals the words over my lips.

Logan crashes over me with a fit of passion as we explode into something far more holy and right than the fire that swirls before us. We consummate something beautiful with our heated kisses, something special, written in code with our hearts. This is the intertwining of our souls right here in Ahava. We had done it. We conquered the region—beat the Counts at their own game. This was it—the moment of our making. Right here. Right now.

“Move!” Chloe barks.

Chloe stands with her knees bent, extending her sword as Ellis struggles to rise from the ground.

“What the?” Before I can finish the thought Chloe lunges past Logan and dives the knife into my left shoulder.

She plucks it out and lunges at me again, and Logan intercepts her deadly intent. A seam of blood rises over his palms as he catches the blade in his hands.

I dart past the two of them with the cumbersome shield and step close to the fire.

“Ellis.” Logan calls as he tries to subdue Chloe but Ellis lies bloodied on the ground, drifting in and out of consciousness.

The flames call me with their white glittering teeth, the seductive half-smile of its crimson lips. Its long blue tongue lashes over me as the heat in this small space magnifies with intensity. The blaze sears over me like a fever and bids me to move no farther.

“I can’t.” I’m so ashamed of my admission—although the idea of letting down a legion of people, the poor souls held captive in the tunnels, paralyzes me from stepping away.

Logan covers me like a sheath from Chloe and her wild bayonet. The fire snaps and bites at my skin, searing and painful as it pinches me with its haunting rhythm.

“Give me the shield and no one gets hurt.” Chloe demands while wielding the blade in our direction.

“Not happening.” Logan snipes.

I spin around, open my mouth to tell him I’m unable, that I’m too big of a coward to melt in the inferno, but I catch the look of glee on Chloe’s face and reconsider.

“Skyla, go in if you’re ready,” Logan coaxes. “I’ve got your back. You’re safe with the shield. Nothing can hurt you.”

The flames spew their wrath. They snap and roar to life as though they begged to differ.

I push the shield into the fire and the metal heats up like a conduit, scalding to the touch.

“I can’t do it.” I’m grieved by my own confession.

“Let me, Skyla,” Chloe places the sword by her side and takes a step forward. “Let me do this for you. This has all been a lie and I’ve been fighting for Celestra the entire time. It was nothing but a ruse to trick the Counts. Logan…” She shifts her attention to him. “I pledged to the Counts for the same reason you did, to gain footing for our people. I may not like Skyla, but we’re in this together. Let me get the sword. The first thing I’m going to do is free those innocent souls in the tunnels. It’s been my plan all along. I have an aunt down there, on my father’s side. I miss her. I’m her only hope.”

“Don’t believe her.” Logan is quick to discredit Chloe’s bid for camaraderie. “She’s got a deal worked out if she wins.” He turns back to look at me. His face illuminates a holy righteousness that beckons me to follow him into death if need be.

“Believe me, Skyla,” she howls from behind. “It’s all true.”

Chloe leans in and grabs a hold of the shield and we struggle for ownership of the behemoth sheath. Logan gives her one clean shove and knocks her face first into the wall. She staggers to her feet as a seam of blood curves over her cheek.

“Let’s go.” Logan presses in a kiss as he hedges us toward the fire. I love you, Skyla Messenger, more than the heavens love the sun and the moon.

“You bastard.” Chloe charges and swings her dagger in an exaggerated half circle.

Logan freezes long after the knife makes its way back to Chloe’s side—her face locked up with wonder.

His arms fall limp. A rim of blood explodes at his neck before he collapses to the ground.

Then I see it. Logan’s head lying to my left, his body slumped on its side, spilling a river of blood warm over my feet.

“Fuck!” Ellis shouts, clamping his hands to his ears.

Chloe pants, still holding the illuminated blade, her face seized in horror at the sight of her own misgiving.

I freeze. Everything in me goes numb. The fire, the sword, the shield—it could all go to hell. I fall to my knees and touch my fingers to Logan’s precious face.

I can’t breathe. None of this is real. It can’t be.

My chest heaves with tears as I run my fingers through his silken hair.

Ellis comes over and tries to pull me up by the shoulder, but I flinch him away while piecing Logan together like a puzzle. I lay his head neatly over his severed neck and start in on an aching cry that sirens through me, alive and biting, stronger than any pain I’ve ever felt. This was every dose of poison Marshall had ever administered, my father’s death, and the prospect of Gage as the enemy all rolled into one. The unthinkable happened. Logan had his second chance at life and now all hope was lost.

His eyes are half open as if he could see me through his lashes. His beautiful lips still parted, ready to offer me his special brand of love.

“Give me the sword.” My voice trembles as the words stream out of me.

“No.” She pulls it in as it loses its ethereal glow.

“I won’t hurt you,” I whisper the lie, never taking my eyes from the first boy I ever loved.

“Thinking of joining him in Paradise?” She punctuates it with a spark of laughter. “Fat chance.” She pitches the metal spear over the ledge like a javelin. “There’s no way in hell I’m giving you the easy way out.” She yanks the shield from underneath me, twisting Logan’s legs in the process. “I wouldn’t want to deny you the pleasure of watching me win the grand prize.”

“You’re so sick.” I glance back down and brush my fingers over Logan’s face. He loved me. He was ready to walk through a fire—sacrifice one man for all. There was no one greater than Logan. “The sword means nothing if you get it.”

A dark shadow stains the entry. “If she gives it to me, it means everything.” Demetri strolls in with a somber expression. “It’s time someone goes in, Skyla—time to get the reward in full.”

I revert my gaze back to Logan, reach over and gently close his beautiful eyes for all eternity—touch his lips with my fingers one last time. This was pain in acres—a nuclear detonation of agony searing over my soul.

The ground trembles, and for a moment, I’m hopeful it’s Logan stirring back to life. Instead, a shadow falls over me and I look up, startled by what I see.

Gage—looming and beautiful—with giant feathered wings.

Chapter 113

Destiny Calling

“Gage.” I fall into a hard embrace. Tears heave out of me and cascade over Logan like a mournful shower.

Demetri shouts as Chloe hedges toward the flames with the shield extended a good foot from her body, but I could care less. Things have fallen to pieces and all I want is Logan back.

“I know,” Gage whispers. “It’s OK.”

“It’s not OK. Logan is…” I can’t bring myself to formulate words that might even suggest he were gone for good. I pull him down until we’re kneeling beside Logan’s lifeless body. “Do something Gage—we have to do something right fucking now!”

“You know I would do anything for him.” The words echo from his lips, hollow and distal as if he were just a dream, some manifestation of my broken mind.

Chloe takes a breath as she skirts the flames and I proceed to ignore her. Instead, my eyes widen at the feathered appendages towering over Gage.

“What’s going on? Why are you here?” I run my hand over the soft plumes rising over his shoulders. “Why—why do you have wings?” A new fear grips me, and this time, it’s all for Gage.

“I talked to your Mom,” he says it plain. “Told her I wanted to help.”

“You’re neither Count nor Celestra and she let you in?” It makes me wonder if my mother was breaking the rules or if this implies something else altogether.

“Welcome to the party.” Chloe demands his attention as she sways by the fire. She gazes out at him with anticipation, her desperation as transparent as it is pitiful. Chloe wants to cover him with her love the way the sky lies over Paragon, thick and smothering. But Gage doesn’t bother glancing in her direction.

“I’m here now, Skyla. That’s all that matters.” He touches his hand to Logan’s forehead as if he were checking for a fever.

“In all of the other regions when a person died they would evaporate.” I pause to look up at Gage. “But Logan’s still here—he’s still with us.” I hold my breath, hoping he’ll run with the idea and tell me everything will work out, that Logan didn’t evaporate for a reason.

“I’ve come to take him, Skyla.” His wings expand in a clap of thunder, holding a bolder shade of blue than my own. He gives a peaceful smile and his skin ignites a molten gold from the inside. “I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure Logan can see the sun again, breathe air in his lungs—that he can love you.” The smile melts from his face. “You made him whole, happy. You’re all he ever wanted.”

I run my fingers over Gage’s beautiful face, and a current passes through me, soft and soothing like the strum of a guitar.

“What’s happening?” I can hardly get the words out as my mind riffles through the short list of possibilities.

“I love you, Skyla.” It thunders from him, deep and unrecognizable. His eyes ignite like a tempest. They rage like the tumultuous sea just before a storm. “Get the sword and come home to me.” He leans in and blesses me with a sublime kiss as we hover over Logan.

“Home?”

Gage presses out a smile as he transforms into a molten being, glowing like bronze set in a furnace. He lays his hands over Logan and they begin to disintegrate.

“Wait!” I snatch at the empty void in their wake. They’ve both disappeared to nothing—evaporated, simple as a vapor.

I glance up at the nest of lightning, above the inferno, as if it might tell me emphatically if what I fear is true.

“Dude…” Ellis whispers, his face bleached white as stone.

Chloe steps forward. The evil gleam in her eye is sharp as the tip of a knife.

“Lost them both in a single night?” Her teeth glitter as she revels in my misery. “Pity.”

It takes everything in me to rise to my feet, my plumes ruffling out like sheets.

This is heartbreak, a knife in my existence that can never be extracted. I feel the aftereffects of Chloe’s sword with each breath I take, knowing Logan is no longer with me—that Chloe’s blade may have taken out Gage as well. Truly only eternity waits for me now.

Demetri stands at attention with his hands behind his back.

“I’m deeply sorry for your loss.” His voice resonates low and even. I look right at him, and innately, I know he’s telling the truth.

“Were you sorry when you burned my father?” I don’t wait for a response. I walk over to Chloe, mechanical and stiff. She holds the shield high over the fire with her eyes pinched shut, but she doesn’t have the guts to enter. Chloe is a coward of the highest order. She exhales into her defeat and lowers the metal sheet to inspect the wicked flames.

“I bet it’ll hurt like hell,” I say, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, taunting her to do it. A part of me wants to witness Chloe Bishop writhing in the blaze.

“Not with the shield,” she whispers.

“Especially with the shield,” I counter.

A riot of voices clamber from the mouth of the entry.

“They’re here.” Chloe glances over in a panic.

The voices escalate with aggression as a wall of animated flesh surges just shy of the opening. They’re going to take it. Someone will lay victory for the Counts—God knows it won’t be for Celestra. Logan wouldn’t have wanted it this way. He would want me to fight, but I’m numb from the trauma of it all and Chloe is right. The only thing I want to do now is join Logan in Paradise—God forbid I find Gage there, too. I can’t bring myself to believe it, any of it.

Demetri waves his hand over the entrance to the cave and the mob blurs to nothing.

“Two minutes—I’ll hold them no more,” he says, donning his signature wicked scowl. “Go on, Skyla.” He gives a depreciative nod. “Retrieve what’s rightfully yours.”

“Skyla?” Chloe harps with disbelief.

I don’t wait for either of them to realize his error—instead I yank the shield from Chloe’s grasp.

“You wish,” she hisses, knocking me down toward the flames and my right arm falls through the fire. A gut-wrenching cry expels from my lips as I cradle it in pain. I glance down at the seared pink flesh, my blackened hair at the tips. This is how my father died. The horrific surprise of the fire, the inextinguishable blaze.

I jump to my feet and lunge at her as she ducks behind Ellis, the shield tucked behind her cowardly back.

“You’ll never do it.” I try to step around him but he blocks her with his body. “You can’t stand the thought of burning.” I hold up my arm and reveal the crimson beads dotting the surface. “Move.” I bite the air with my command, but Ellis doesn’t budge. “I said, move!” I scream.

“Less than a minute,” Demetri vocalizes from the vaporous wall of the entry. “In the event you need this…” He pulls a sword from a sheath strapped around his hip and holds it to the light—long and svelte—it lights up a miraculous shade of cerulean that you could bottle and sell to the sky. He lowers the blade and glides it across the floor, landing the handle just shy of my feet.

I swipe it from the ground. I remember what happened the last time I accepted a gift from my father’s killer. It cost me a region but now none of that mattered. If it backfired, I would welcome it. With death as my new friend, there were no true errors.

The blade shines like nobility. It looks like a perfectly good sword, feels like one, too. I could kill Chloe or it could kill me. Either way, I would win. One of us would die today, that’s the way I would arrange it in the end.

I motion for Ellis to step aside but he shakes his head with a nervous fervor.

“Get out of my mother fucking way.” I say it low, staggering each word as if it were its own sentence.

Ellis takes a breath. He holds out his hands like he were trying to settle a schoolyard fight. “I can’t.”

“You’re going to die if you don’t move.” I have very little sympathy left for anyone who stands between me and that monster.

Ellis’s right arm dangles unnaturally, the lower half reduced to a bloodied glove. “You made me promise to never let you hurt Chloe.”

I’m so sick of that diatribe I want to shove the blade down my own throat for convincing the world of its false value.

“I’m going to hurt you, Ellis, if you don’t move.” I swing into his midsection and stop just shy of eviscerating him. God—what was I thinking running around telling everyone to keep Chloe safe from my clutches? And now she’s taken the two most important people from me, and life will forever be a shadow of its former self. “I would never say that, Ellis. It wasn’t me. It was Fem or that witch that cowers behind you. I would never in a million years not want to off Chloe.” The image of me trying to help her in region eleven comes back to haunt me. Marshall healed her in my stupid honor.

“Thirty seconds,” Demetri shouts his icy warning.

“Ellis, damn it!” The words burn as I belt them from my lungs.

He ticks his head. “I’m sort of seeing, Chloe.”

There it is.

“You’ve always had bad taste in girls,” I spew the words out with venom. “Move before I knife you, Harrison. I may or may not bring you back for a second spin on the planet.” And Logan and Gage can never return. I hate Chloe with everything in me. “Move!”

“No.” Ellis steps forward and raises his hands as if he means business.

I cut the air like swinging a baseball bat and slice clean through his midsection with one swift blow.

Ellis glances down at the bloodied line expanding around his middle then looks up with a sense of dread.

“Oh, God.” I take in a sharp breath and stagger at what just happened. In my madness to kill Chloe I hurt Ellis instead.

Ellis falls to my feet in two equal parts, his eyes fixed up on me in horror.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. Chloe drove a stake right through my heart, and in my delirium, I hurt others.

Chloe looks to the fire then to the shield. She hesitates a moment before lifting the metal sheet in the air and tossing it into the flames. The precious alloy detonates. It explodes with a loud clap of thunder as it disintegrates in the caustic whirlpool. There’s no way in hell it was going to protect us. It was all a lie.

There it is. Everything is done. All hope is gone. Logan, Gage, and Ellis—they cared deeply about me, they wanted to help and now they were all dead. Loving me has proved to be the worst curse of all.

Marshall appears in his velum form that I haven’t seen in so long. He blesses me with a dull smile, one that bleeds condolence. Not even his magnificent presence can quell this pain. Nothing this life offers could comfort me with my friends forever gone, my heart right there with them.

“I’m going to do it.” The words swim out in a sea of chaos. I step in toward the open flames and the heat blisters the apples of my cheeks.

“I’ll push you.” Chloe sings the words like a necrotic poem.

Marshall moves in behind me. His wings widen like a sheath as he protects me like he always does.

I force my right foot to take another step.

I’m going to burn and the thought disables me from my heroic effort.

“What’s the matter, Skyla?” Chloe taunts. “The idea of your skin melting off not working so much for you? Face it, Messenger. Nothing can survive that fire.”

“Only gold.” Demetri sounds off.

Chloe gleams a wicked smile, delighted to be front and center, present at my final hour.

“What did you say?” I dart a look to Demetri. He stands with his shoulders back, chin up as his haughty eyes give a long blink of admission.

“Only gold, Skyla,” he resonates from afar. “Only pure gold.”

I look up at Marshall and quiver. Had this been what my father was preparing me for? And here I was to memorize those words, and it was Demetri who brought my father’s eternal wisdom back to me.

“I’m as pure as gold,” I whisper.

“You’re as pure as gold.” Marshall nods before bowing down and landing a kiss on my cheek.

The fire explodes in a fit of wicked growls. I turn to face it, to face my destiny and wonder how I’ll ever survive those flames.

“Will I live, Marshall?” I gaze up at him with a pleading expression.

He closes his eyes and gives the slightest hint of discouraging news.

I glare into the fire with a new resolve.

I won’t let myself rest in peace—not before I fall on the sword of the Master. I’ll crawl to it in my dissolving state if I have to. I’ll do something right. Celestra and Sectors will prosper. The people in the tunnels will still have hope. If that were the sum total of my life, it would have been worth the misery.

My left foot touches the last bit of soil—the next step changes everything.

My life comes to me in jags. I see myself as an infant in my mother’s arms, her face a mirror of the one I would wear. All of the good times I shared with my father crumble before me like a house of cards. I see Lizbeth, then Tad, my new family—the view of Paragon from the ferry. Logan and Gage in the bowling alley with Brielle by my side. I see Logan lying over me on Ellis’s pool table as his kisses render me under his “ever after” spell right there, right then. Gage and his sea of delicious love—his incurable ache for all of my heart. He’s always had it. Always will. One memory after another—a carousel of kisses, the indescribable yearning—they swarm faster and faster until all I see are the crimson waves of the flames, calling me, luring me with their prickling fingers deep into the fire.

Submerged within the blaze, I see them—resplendent and beautiful—Logan and Gage, Ellis behind them. They hold out their hands for me to join them in the blue heart of the flames. An apparition envelops each of them, Logan as the lion, Gage as an eagle, and Ellis an ox.

My feet move.

Falling in love is a lot like death. It chooses you. It decides the moment and the chain of events that will preclude the precise intersection of life in which it occurs. It uses you—treats you as though you were malleable in its warm hands. It doesn’t bother to ask if you want it or need it, just fills the gaping hole of destiny’s design.

Love. My world bloomed with its beautiful never-ending ache. I would give all of my blood to my enemies to have it completely—if I knew it would satisfy them—if I could live without it. But I know the resolution. I knew the end of the story before it ever began. I have chosen love. And now, I will surely die.

This is the moment in my life for love and for death. Fate had intertwined the two, bereaved of any mercy. The architecture of my being, my infrastructure, was built for this very moment. The pillars of my life had been established long ago—the blueprint written in my bloodlines.

Marshall chants over me—such a pretty song to die to.

“I’m as pure as gold,” I whisper.

For Logan and Gage who both fought so hard—for Celestra—I step boldly into the flames.

Thank you for reading TOXIC Part Two. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or your point of purchase. Look for ELYSIAN the final book in the Celestra Series, coming 2013!

The Following is an extended preview of Addison Moore’s new series:

Ephemeral (The Countenance)

Ephemeral

The Countenance Book 1

by Addison Moore

Copyright © 2012 by Addison Moore

addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com

Cover by Addison Moore Publishing

Interior art by Regina Wamba

Editors: Amy Eye, Sarah Oaklief

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

Books by Addison Moore

Ethereal

(Celestra Series Book 1)

Tremble

(Celestra Series Book 2)

Burn

(Celestra Series Book 3)

Wicked

(Celestra Series Book 4)

Vex

(Celestra Series Book 5)

Expel

(Celestra Series Book 6)

Toxic Part One

(Celestra Series Book 7)

Toxic Part Two

(Celestra Series Book 7)

Ephemeral

(The Countenance)

For my husband and children.

You inspire me every day.

Preface

I used to believe in things, in people, in places, and names—concrete forms of life that end at some point in the unknowable future. I used to believe memories were infallible—that they could never collapse around you like a house of cards or burn to cinders before ever touching the ground.

People vanish all the time. Other people. You hear about it on the news, see their smiling faces staring back at you on milk cartons—their pictures plastered around town like wanted posters. But it was a world within a world, and you innately knew this could never really happen.

I used to believe in death. I used to believe once they put you in that box and tucked you away for one very long night, it was finished. The sunlight, fresh air, a warm embrace, they would never be yours again. It was the final vanishing act—your curtain pulled down and covering your casket. That was the day it would all start anew. Staring into the face of God, awaiting your final judgment.

But I was wrong about everything.

I had my name, my life, and my eternal judgment revoked in one passing hour at the hands of madmen who share my bloodlines.

They took everything but my memory. They tried and failed, and now I’m nothing more than a liability—a spark in a bed of dried timber, waiting to unleash an inferno. I don’t know how long I can go before they stop me or if they even care.

I used to believe so easily, and now I strain the most insignificant details from each passing day as if they were poison.

I know one solid truth. Everything about this new world is a lie.

I’m going to infiltrate their ranks—dismantle their kingdom—take them down until they all vanish, evaporate like smoke from the planet. I plan to erase any memory of them as if they had never happened.

Or I’ll die trying.

And I just might.

1

In Memory of Me

In the grand scheme of things, you’ll be dead a lot longer than you’ll ever be alive.

I marinate in that truth, baste in the beauty of its wisdom while peering out at the dull emerald world. I fumble through dense woods with roots that race across the forest floor like wild, petrified snakes. Wisps of lamp-lit fog twist throughout the narrow trails as gnarled branches coil around the evergreens.

Something stirs from behind, disrupts the silence with the heavy crush of leaves. I jump—startled, as though waking from a very bad dream. My chest thumps in rhythm to the pounding in my head.

“Hello?” I call out.

I try to remember how I got here. The last solid memory I have is driving to my boyfriend Tucker’s house to rip him a new one for sleeping with Megan Bartlett, a girl I know from volleyball. I was distracted with rage, the light turned green, and I never saw the other car coming. Then the crash—I remember kissing the windshield as I bristled through it at a horrific velocity.

A groan emits from the branches—more rattling.

My feet crush over a bed of dried maple leaves, filling in the haunting void of silence.

A hard thud lands square behind me, and I turn slow on my heels.

It would have been understandable to see a deer, a bear, or even another human being. But this…

A whimper gets caught in my throat and drowns out the idea of a scream. My heart seizes and I freeze.

It’s a man—a thing, his grey skin decomposed beyond recognition, exposing dried muscle over bone, one eye missing, teeth all but gone.

It staggers forward, slashing the air with a violent swing.

I start in on a full-blown sprint, trip over an errant branch and land hard on my chest.

It comes at me—falls on its knees beside me omitting a sharp putrid stench. I let out a gurgled cry—twist and claw, scampering to my feet.

Its crooked fingers tear my sweater, easy as shredding paper.

I bolt deeper into the thicket. The forest gyrates, turns into a viridian kaleidoscope as I fumble through a dizzying maze of branches.

Loud guttural moans vibrate throughout the woods. I can feel its footsteps seconds behind. The forest darkens. The fog presses in and coats my throat with its oily haze.

Panic enlivens me. Adrenaline courses through my veins creating a heartbeat in my ears.

None of this is real—this is hell—a trapdoor within a nightmare.

My breathing quickens and my head starts to spin as I navigate the spindles, the heavily shadowed woods.

My mother once said most people are prone to run through this world blind. I remember her words and the soft mannerism in which she spoke them as I stumble from branch to branch, ripping a hole in my jeans, and losing my jacket on the offshoot of a pine.

The creature gains speed, touches me. It grazes over my hair with its necrotic fingertips. I race blindly through the woods, pushing past the pain searing through my skull. My foot catches on a root and I crash to the ground with finality.

I glance back, fully expecting to find the decaying body, the stench of death, but instead I see a boy my age—a look of surprise ripe on his face. He pulls me to safety behind the trunk of a pine and then lunges at the monster. He plucks a knife from his back pocket and wrestles the decrepit beast as it latches onto his face.

I pick up a loose branch and give a hard jab at the creature’s groin. It gives a soft gurgle as if laughing at my efforts.

A rock the size of a football catches my eye. I hoist it off the ground and lob it at the tangle of flesh rolling around in front of me.

It hits the boy on the side of the head, and he lets out an agonizing groan.

Shit!

He flips the creature and lands it hard on its back. Its face holds a lavender hue, blue lips, unnatural bumps and lesions over its cheek and decomposed forehead.

The boy pummels its malformed face. He digs his knife into the eye of the beast, over and over until it ceases to writhe beneath him.

He jumps up and cleans his blade against the soft trunk of a maple with two easy swipes.

The creature sizzles. Its ragged clothes engulf in flames quick as a grassfire before extinguishing in a ball of smoke.

“What’s happening?” I pant.

“Don’t you know?” He replaces the knife in his back pocket. The hard line of his jaw pops as he suppresses a smile. “They’re biodegradable.” A rumble of laughter trembles out of him. He comes over and cradles the side of my face with his open palm, observes me as though he were a doctor. “You okay?” A stream of light falls over him, amplifying the fact he’s alarmingly handsome: tall with sandy hair and eyes the color of a lifeless sky.

“I’m fine.” I want to say. I don’t know where the hell I am, but I think there are more pressing matters than my lack of topographical orientation. “What was that?”

His brows knit together. He leans in to inspect me, skeptical that I even had to ask.

“What’s your name?” he asks, wiping the dirt off his jeans.

“Laken Stewart.” I grab him by the arm—feel his warm flesh come to life beneath my fingers. “Where am I?” I’ve never been a hundred miles from where I was born. Hell, I’ve never left Kansas. For sure, I’ve never seen a forest this dense, let alone barreled through it with my life on the line.

“Ephemeral.” He dips into me with his gaze. “Connecticut,” he adds with a touch of sarcasm.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper in fright. “I think I’m lost.” I touch my fingers to my temple as an explosion of pain rips through me.

“Laken!”

In the distance a woman shouts my name.

“Looks like you’ve just been found.” He offers a reserved smile and holds my gaze a little longer than necessary before turning away.

There’s something intoxicating about this stranger, this earthly savior of mine, and a part of me wants to discover everything about him.

“Wait.” I catch him by the elbow. “What was that thing?”

He doesn’t say a word, just gazes at me perplexed and sorrowful.

“Laken?” The female voice spikes with agitation.

“I’d better go.” He takes a full step back. “Nice to meet you.”

“You saved me,” I say. He walks off into the fog until he disappears like an apparition. “Hey—what’s your name?” I shout after him, but he’s already vanished.

“Laken?” A raven-haired woman dressed in a power suit and heels snatches me by the wrist. “You need to keep out of the woods.” The words stream out of her like a death rattle. “Do you understand?” Her hair is slicked back in a knot, reflecting blue highlights as she moves. Her face is unearthly pale, her skin thin as paper, and I can see a track of blue veins around her eyes.

“Who are you?” I pull my hand back.

“It’s me, Laken—Ms. Paxton.” She offers a short-lived smile. “You need to get back to campus.” Her chest rises violently as she struggles to catch her breath. “Never venture outside of the academy.”

She guides me out of the oppressive forest onto a red brick path that rolls out toward a monolithic series of ivy-covered buildings. The landscape opens up in a fog-kissed world. Relief as wide as the ocean fills me as I escape those woods. I glance back into the curtain of darkness—the evergreens stand tall as a mountain, black as iron, and a shiver of fear grips me.

“Your uncle requested you meet up with your brother tonight.”

“My brother?” Fletcher died over a year ago, along with Wes, the only boy I ever loved. They drank their way into oblivion before taking a fatal swim in the lake.

“Yes, your brother.” It strangles out of her. “Do you think this is funny?”

“No.” I rub my arms. “I—”

She shoves a yellow student card at me. “You dropped this on your little jaunt in the woods.”

Laken Anderson—right face, wrong name. Issue date September 4th. Junior, Ephemeral Academy.

“Ephemeral.” I test the word out on my tongue. I stare at the student card, confused as to what it might mean.

“You’re a resident in Austen House.” Her lips twist with pride as if she procured the living quarters for me herself. “I realize how overwhelming your first day must be. Your sister is the dorm mother. She’s been waiting to orient you all afternoon.”

“My sister?” I have two. Jen is studying abroad her second year of college, and Lacey. The epicenter of Lacey’s world is plundering all my free time to help plan for her epic tenth birthday party. I love Lacey. I couldn’t love her more if I had her myself.

“Jen—your sister, Jen.” Ms. Paxton nods in frustration. Her eyes widen with horror as she circles over me with an epiphany. “I have to go.” She darts down the road in the opposite direction.

“Wait!” I call out as she evaporates in the evening shadows.

I don’t have a brother anymore.

I don’t have an uncle.

My mother is a drunk, and my sister, Jen, left the country first chance she got. I’m from Cider Plains, Kansas. I live in a dilapidated bungalow that belonged to my grandmother, which is haunted by her pissed-off ghost and the curse she bestowed upon us before she hung herself from the rafters.

My last name is Stewart, not Anderson. After I shot through the windshield, a tall radiant being declared it was not my time. He placed a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt over my face and submerged me back onto the planet.

I know for a fact I died on July 13th, the day before my cheating boyfriend’s seventeenth birthday. According to this I.D., two calendar months have dissolved without my knowledge. Here I am—same body, different name.

All I really want to know is what the hell is going on.

2

Remember

It was easy to find Austen House. Every one of these haunted establishments has its moniker framed right out front in large gilded letters. I step through the dark glossy door and land before a pretty blonde situated in the entry behind a vast mahogany desk. She turns to the side, laughing into her cell, completely unaware of my presence.

I take in the sights—try to decipher the murmurs of the girls seated on a sofa in the distance. The interior drips with chandeliers, brass posts on the stairwell, cloistered walls paneled in dark wood with a heavy gloss veneer.

The blonde wraps her finger around her hair like a habit. She hoists one leg up on the desk, exposing a sable riding boot with three gold buckles running down the side. They look expensive, soft as butter, and I resist the urge to touch them and confirm my theory. A paisley silk scarf in bold blues and reds is wrapped tight around her neck like a noose. It gives her a polished touch I’ve never seen on anyone outside of a magazine. She twirls her milky hair, giggles into the receiver while expertly ignoring my presence. It makes me question whether or not I’m really here, if I had become invisible at some point between the forest and the entry.

“Hello?” I try to control my panting, still out of breath from the long walk over. “Um, I’m looking for my sister, Jen.” I feel ridiculous even saying it. Unless I’ve just materialized on a cruise ship, sailing the Mediterranean, I doubt a family reunion is in the works. Jen is safely tucked away on a semester at sea, sipping margaritas and testing out her broken Spanglish on unsuspecting crewmen.

A waterfall of platinum hair falls over her left eye, so straight and glossy you could see your reflection in it if you wanted.

“I have to go.” She sighs into the phone and gives her seat a hard swivel.

“You can finish. Really, it’s okay, I’ll just—”

“Shut up, Laken.” Her hair vibrates like guitar strings plucked by skillful fingers. I could lose myself staring into the hair of this stranger who somehow knows my name.

I sway on my feet still dizzy from appearing in the forest from out of thin air.

“Late as usual.” She gets up and motions for me to follow.

I’m pretty sure I should be insulted—that this banter should register on some intimate familial level, but it doesn’t. Although, oddly, her frustration with me feels genuine, like she’s known me for years and this is her automatic response when she sees me.

I’ve never seen anyone like her before who holds such razor-sharp beauty in real life. It’s jarring and makes me want to run to a mirror and catalog all of my flaws as though each one were an evil trait all their own.

“Hey, um…” A breath gets caught in my throat. “How did you know my name?”

She turns to inspect me and gives a disbelieving blink. “Look, I’m a little pissed right now. I couldn’t get the classes I wanted, and I only have one with Blaine. Turns out Trinity U is a nightmare to navigate—so I’m not up for your twisted bullshit.” She moves on ahead. “And would you hurry? I want to leave already.” She leads us down the dark paneled entry with molded wood patterned like a chocolate bar.

A trail of perfume bleeds behind her, sweet honeysuckle with a touch of ginger. I take it in, solid as a memory. It makes me trust her, makes me want to follow her just about anywhere to inhale the familiar scent of a warm spring day on the plains.

She’s wearing a short-cabled dress that stops mid-thigh. It looks provocative with her boots well past her knees. My own wardrobe is comprised mainly of jeans and sweatshirts, and most all of those are hand-me-downs, the rest are thrift store treasures. I glance down at the inky corduroys I’m wearing, the black pointed shoes on my feet. I have no recollection of these, and it alarms me.

“So, what’s your name?” I ask. Should I feel the need to abuse it, I’ll need to know it.

She pauses to gawk at me with an incredulous look. “Jenevieve.” It rolls harsh off her tongue and she bears her teeth as she says it. “Look, I don’t know what the heck you’re up to, or if you’re just trying to make me throw you off the balcony, but since it’s your first day, I’m going to tell you kindly to knock this shit off.” She pauses just shy of an enormous staircase, taking me in with her stone blue eyes. “Where the hell were you—and why do you have a forest growing out of your ear?” She plucks a sprig of pine needles from my hair. “I talked to Jones. He wants to get together with the three of us, Saturday.”

“Jones?” If she hadn’t referenced him as a male, I would have assumed we were blocking out a precious chunk of weekend to scan the carpet for the residue of all things illegal.

“I’ll drive,” she says, leading me up the vast sweeping stairwell. As we near the top, it affords me an eagle-eye view of the facility—a large room sits below along with a roaring fireplace the size of a single-car garage. A smattering of girls sit nestled with their laptops on L shaped couches. One of them convulses into her keyboard with an intensity that borders on intimacy. It looks sexual the way she strokes the keys, biting down a secretive smile.

Upstairs, Austen House is dark, heavily lined with navy embossed wallpaper that presses out in repetitive rows of paisley and diamonds. My mind warps the images until all I see are faces, devilish grimaces staring back at me, each one locked in a silent scream.

“Fletcher almost killed me the last time we drove together.” She flips her hair over her shoulder like a white silk scarf. “Fair warning, don’t get in a moving vehicle with him at the helm.”

“Fletcher?” Dear God. This is some warped dream—nightmare—easily this is a nightmare because it started out with a hostile corpse. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Jenevieve turned around and took a bite right out of my neck.

“Yes, Fletcher.” She looks simultaneously surprised and horrified at my ability to maintain stupid. “Our brother.” She’s so expressly pissed it looks as if she’s about to swallow her tongue. “Jones wanted me to tell you to find Fletch tonight and, you know, meet people so you won’t be such a loner—or do stupid things like you did at Rycroft.”

“Fletcher’s our brother?” That happens to be my brother’s name, or at least it was while he was living. And Jenevieve is my sister’s formal name, although, this imposter is clearly the wrong Jen. My sister has dark hair and electric blue eyes. We hardly look related unlike this faux relative who stands before me befuddled. In fact, nuJen and I share the same nose, the same pale eyes, maybe even look more like sisters than the one I share a genetic bond with, sans the supermodel jackpot I’ve yet to cash in on.

“Our brother…” I pause, still not over the fact she knew Fletcher’s name. I don’t know what’s going on, but I have a feeling I’m about to meet yet another Stewart family knockoff.

Fake Jen opens the door to my new room. It’s clean and dull with the same satanic wallpaper from the hall peeking out from behind the bookshelves. Two twin mattresses are pushed against opposing walls with a mahogany desk next to each.

Three statuesque girls welcome me by way of hard looks and scoffs that suggest I reek of excrement or rotting corpses. Come to think of it, both are a possibility.

“Kresley Fisher, Grayson Evans.” Jen points at two girls lying side by side on a navy quilt with white flowers embroidered in dizzying patterns, their feet sunk in ditches over the pillow.

The dark-haired one, Kresley, shoots a look of venom at me with her sharp almond eyes as though I were solely responsible for the slaughter of a thousand baby whales. She’s beautiful in a hypnotic kind of way. Her toxic brand of beauty is mixed with equal parts of viciousness and vixen with a dash of entitlement thrown in for good measure. The haughty look in her eye assures me there will be no friendship brewing here in the near or distant future. Judging people is my fatal flaw, but when you bat a thousand, it’s a little hard to stop.

The other girl, Grayson, has long hair much like my own with the exception it’s devoid of any color that I could accurately put my finger on. In fact, there isn’t a single hue found in all of nature that holds that brindle, velum, ash disaster. A dark line of roots erects itself from her scalp a clear inch, contrasting itself so harshly it looks artful in its own way. She crimps her lips, taking me in. She holds a sharper beauty than Kresley, looking less menacing in general, but you can tell the venomous nature is one in the same. It lingers to her like a patina that coats her from the inside. You can see her malevolence plain as the beauty on her face.

“This is your roommate, Casper Masterson.” Jen flicks a finger toward the girl at the desk, painting her fingernails a dark glossy crimson—dragon’s blood red.

I give a wry smile. I used to sit for hours and watch Wes, my long-dead boyfriend, run his brushes over canvas. I would give names to the colors he mixed onto the palate. It was spellbinding, watching him stir through a rainbow of his own invention. For Christmas, I was going to make a set of brushes for him with my own hair. The art supply store in town said they would do it, but Christmas came and went without Wes. He had been in the ground three full months before that day. I miss Wes with an aching passion. Maybe they’ll have a fake version of him here, too. But there could never be another Wes. When he died he took all of the color out of the world with him.

“Hello,” Casper offers, but doesn’t look up from her long methodical strokes. It sounds sarcastic, like a threat. Her short bleached hair spikes at the top, a contrast to her delicate features and soft round lips.

Life can’t be easy with a name like Casper. I suppose Kresley and Grayson aren’t too far off on the moniker punching bag—neither am I come to think of it.

“Be nice to Laken,” Jen reprimands before turning to me. “I get off at ten. I’m staying at Lowery’s if you need me.” She arches her brows before leaving as though speaking some silent sisterly language that said, try to get along.

I think both faux Jen and I know that getting along with these girls is doubtful.

I exhale a huge breath I hadn’t notice I was holding and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look like crap and death rolled into one—ironic because if you throw a reanimated cadaver into the mix it’s a frightfully accurate description.

“Which bed is mine?” I ask Casper, the girl busying herself with dragon’s blood. What the hell am I saying, which bed is mine? I need to get home, to the right state, the right universe—but deep inside I’m certain if I just shut my eyes I’ll magically turn up there anyway.

“Other bed,” she grunts.

I assume she means the one farthest from her person, which makes me want to evict the two girls lounging on it with their feet molesting my new pillow. Although I doubt they’d listen, and the last thing I need today is an ass kicking. Even though I’m partially tempted to administer one myself, the idea is more exhausting than it is exhilarating at the moment. All I really want to do is sleep—see if I can wake up in a state I actually belong in.

“Do you guys have a phone I can borrow?” I ask no one in particular. I need to tell my mother I had the misfortune of a drive-by drugging or a hammer to the back of the head because clearly I’m suffering from psychological turmoil. Nevertheless, the words, “Laken phone home” reverberate in the back of my mind.

“Nope,” Kresley says it bored without looking up. Her dark hair creates a curtain over her features, but I can see the curve of a wicked smile flexing at my expense.

She stretches her long golden limbs like a cat and sears me with a sideways glance as if my presence alone offended her. “Don’t ever let me wear heather grey,” she seethes to her bedmate.

“I know, right?” The plastic-haired Grayson rolls over to pick up a brush off the floor, and a round orb of flesh spills out the side of her tank top.

Holy shit.

I have never seen a body like that before. Not that I make a habit of inspecting other women’s wares, but this is something that falls under the category of a factual oddity, or “Quick, get Guinness on the phone.” Her boobs expand over her chest like planets, painfully large and perfectly round like someone tucked a pair of volleyballs under her skin for safekeeping. For a brief second I think they may be tumors.

“Hate that color,” Grayson gags. “It’s pathetic. Makes people look like they crawled out of a convent.”

“I’m thinking about wearing orange this fall.” Kresley sits up and spins her long dark hair into a sloppy bun before shagging it out, exposing a waterfall of rich dark curls. “Like maybe a coat or a sweater.”

“Me, too.” Grayson rakes the brush through her creamy locks. “We should mix it with those red suede boots.”

Kresley scoffs at her with profane disapproval. You would think she had suggested they gut road kill and add it to their oatmeal for breakfast.

“Orange driving moccasins,” they say in unison before exploding in a fit of laughter.

I take them in with their perfect pouts, their flawless skin—their aggressive monstrous attitudes that rival that of the creature in the forest.

Dear God—I think they’re mocking me.

Who the hell has an entire conversation solely based on the color of their upcoming fall wardrobe? Who the hell has an upcoming fall wardrobe?

“So, um…” I clear my throat. “I think I need to find my brother. Fletcher?” It comes out pleading. I’m not sure why I’ve suddenly accepted this mission, but I know for damn sure I’m not sequestering myself in a room full of girls who bear an uncanny inward resemblance to the beast from the woods. I’d mention him, but in truth, I’m half afraid they’ll all start morphing into zombies. Nightmares are fickle that way.

Besides, if I linger here too much longer, I might be moved to do something heroic like venture into the closet and hang them all by way of sweaters in their least favorite colors. Murder doesn’t feel so illogical or illegal in this strange new world I’ve conjured up.

I’m probably in a coma somewhere. It’s never a good thing when you go through a windshield and end up in Connecticut on the other side. I bet if I think about it long enough, I’ll start controlling things, like catching their hair on fire, spontaneously dying their skin blue, or tangling up their underwire bras—and that will be a bigger problem for some than others.

Casper turns around. Her short pixie-like hair is peppered with a glittering effect that I can only further contribute to this alternate state of reality.

Freaking Tucker—mother-Tucker, I’ll think of a million of them before I make my way back home and strangle him with my bare hands for landing me on the other side of the looking glass.

I fully give myself permission to establish his name as the vilest profanity in this new world. If he hadn’t cheated with Megan Bartlett—hell, with the entire volleyball team—I wouldn’t be standing here contemplating a triple homicide.

“There’s a party at Henderson.” Casper, the pixie, frowns. “We’re leaving in ten if you can get ready.” She scales me with her eyes, appalled at my disheveled appearance.

“Who’s Henderson?” God, this is like the land of unfortunate names. Apparently, I’m really bad at casting my own nightmare, probably some effect of having a strange name myself.

“Henderson Hall, you know,” she says, snatching the brush from out Grayson’s hand, “where your brother lives.”

The two girls jump off the bed and stretch as though they’ve just been roused from a very long slumber.

“Wesley has a present for me tonight.” Kresley sways into her long bronzed legs when she says it. Her pale blue cutoffs glow against her fresh summer tan. “I think it’s going to be something big, like an engagement ring.”

“Good luck with that.” Casper averts her eyes at the thought.

“So,” Kresley says, walking over to me uncomfortably close, her chest heaving into mine, “make sure you meet up with Flynn.” Her pale green eyes are fascinating even if they are peppered with an unfounded amount of hatred toward me. “He’s Ephemeral’s official welcoming committee.” She bites down a smile. “Heard about what happened at Rycroft. Sounds like you might be teaching him a thing or two.”

She snatches Grayson by the elbow, and they drift out the door, leaving us in a wake of stilted silence as the mystery of her words swirl through my mind.

“What’s with Rycroft? And what did I do?” I ask pointblank. If it’s slanderous enough to span two campuses, I might as well be let in on the secret.

Casper rises and inspects me for a moment before depositing her brush on the counter.

“That’s for you to tell me,” she answers coyly as if she knows but wants the report firsthand—only, my brain has apparently malfunctioned and I can’t provide either of us with the salacious details. “The fake blonde is about as friendly as a pit bull.” She moves the conversation along. “I take that back, every pit bull I’ve ever met was way nicer than Grayson.” Her lips curve into a naughty smile.

“She’s a model, well, they both are, and they will remind you of this ad nauseam.” She dry heaves for effect. “Grayson has expanded her casting couch capabilities to land herself a role in some B movie that’s coming out, Power Position. Trust me,” she says, glancing at the ceiling, “it’ll be 3-D without the glasses. Prepare to lose an eye in the process.” She plops down on her bed and takes off her socks.

“Kresley is your standard miserable bitch. She’s got her head tucked so far up her ass, she actually believes the world should bow down to her just like daddy. Which is ironic since she’s the product of an affair between the housekeeper and her father the congressman. Her mother was deported, and she was sent to boarding school prison as soon as humanly possible.”

I freeze midflight to the bed. This is obviously some kind of mean girls trap. Sure she gave a satisfactory explanation why Grayson and Kresley think they make the world go round, but aren’t they besties? Weren’t they just bonding over sweaters the color of popsicles and red velvet knee-highs?

It makes no sense whatsoever to throw them under the bus—and to me of all people—someone she’s known less than five minutes. I suppose it’s my turn now to say all kinds of nasty things about them so she can call me out on it later and they can take turns stabbing me with their stilettos.

“Kresley is obsessed with her boyfriend, the water polo god,” she goes on unmitigated. Casper’s perfectly veneered teeth shine a brilliant white each time she moves her lips. It’s like she has a flashlight at the back of her mouth that automatically goes on when she opens it. “Kresley and Wesley.” She sticks her finger down her throat and pretends to gag before walking into the closet.

“Sounds like a bad limerick is about to erupt,” I say mostly to myself. “Look…” I step over to the threshold of the closet. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I don’t even know how the heck I got here.” It feels safe to confess this lunacy—own up to the fact I’m having a grand mal seizure of a hallucination. Clearly a sufficient amount of brain damage has already taken place. However, I’m pretty sure she won’t be too thrilled to find out she’s nothing more than a figment of my imagination so I decide to keep that part to myself for now.

She steps back out with a black pea coat tucked in the crook of her arm.

“What did you say?” She picks up a bottle of perfume and douses herself, front and back, up and down, like she’s masking the fact she hasn’t showered for weeks. The glass decanter in her hand fractures a rainbow of light across the walls with her frantic efforts. I take a seat on the bed as the room blooms with the scent of black tea and crushed juniper.

“I was just saying.” I hold back a sneeze. “I don’t know what’s going on. I got this I.D., and the first name is right, but I’m not Laken Anderson. My last name is Stewart.”

She swoops in swift as bat, clamps her hand over my mouth in one quick move. She studies me, circles me with her clear green eyes as if she were memorizing my features.

“Listen”—her breathing becomes erratic—“listen good.” She pushes her finger over my lips and holds it there a moment. “Go along with whatever they tell you. Pretend everything that happens is perfectly normal.” She nods as though I should agree. A slow spreading smile comes over her face as she breaks out into a full-blown cackle. It erupts from her like a victory.

“And what if I don’t?” Clearly everyone here is insane.

I can feel the bedding, smell the scent of unsweetened perfume—this is no dream. It’s obvious I’ve been kidnapped by some cult from Connecticut, and now my only hope of getting home is to play along with their boarding school games. I’ll be forced to wear orange and join some demonic sorority where everyone sports awkward epithets. I think I’d rather lube myself with butter, run naked through the haunted woods, opening up a buffet for the creatures that inhabit it and let them gnaw on my flesh until this whole nightmare is over.

“You will go along with it. You have no choice.” Her features narrow over mine as she studies me with a renewed interest.

“What the hell is going on?” I say each word like its own sentence. “What’s the penalty if I don’t play by the rules?”

Her eyes elongate like eggs, her lips press together, forming an anemic white line.

“You, dear Laken, will simply disappear.”

A rush of silence stops up my ears. The room spins from her dizzying words.

“I have to get out of here.” I push my way past her, and she snatches me by the wrist, quick as a thief. “My little sister, my mom—they’re going to be worried sick.”

“You can’t leave.” Her voice breaks when she says it. “They won’t let you.” There’s a desperation in her that pleads for me to understand.

“But this is all a lie.” A wave of unexpected tears rush to the surface, and I suppress the urge to bawl.

“I know it’s a lie,” she whispers. “I’m just like you. I remember everything.”

3

Forever

Casper leads me through a sea of dense ground clouds, along the twisted path toward Henderson Hall. We pass dozens of rectangular dorms, each window glows a bright orange hue as though a slow building fire burned in each one—smoldering, alive with licking flames.

This place—Ephemeral—it’s odd in nature, and I can’t put my finger on why. Outside of my obvious captivity, there’s something altogether off about the environment, the people.

A heavily shadowed forest lines the periphery. It towers over us, as though supervising our misery. Even the moon with its powder white glow seems to want in on the secrets—the mysteries these hallowed grounds hold—unknowable as ancient hieroglyphics.

“And another thing”—Casper takes a breath—“my brother, Flynn, is a junior like you.” She picks up her pace. “If you move, and you’re a female, you’re a viable option for his hormonal tendencies. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice guy—but I doubt he’s the one for you. So do you have a boyfriend? I guess the fallout from that whole Rycroft thing is enough to blow out any flame, right?”

Wrong, I want to say. Badly I want to let her in on the fact Rycroft probably doesn’t exist, but I’m not in the mood to debate reality, and I’m curious as hell to see this new improved version of my brother. God—what if he’s gorgeous, and I fall in lust with him? How sick would that be? A true testament to this budding insanity.

I inspect the foreign clothes I’ve donned. Casper introduced me to the left side of the closet, said everything there was shipped over from Rycroft where I did something so terrible they lobbed me clear over to their rival school to be rid of my shame.

“I had a boyfriend back home,” I whisper. I’m not particularly proud of my love story gone awry. “His name was Tucker. I was on my way to breakup with him when I got in an accident. Apparently, he and your brother have a lot in common.”

“Sorry.” She wrinkles her nose like she means it. “Guys can be such dicks sometimes. Did you love this Tucker guy?”

“I thought I did.” My chest cinches with the lie. “Actually, I loved someone else. A boy named Wes. We grew up together. He and my brother drowned in the lake near our house.” I pause just shy of filling her in on the gory details of Fletcher’s demise, how we found them facedown with the moon bathing them in gold, how my heart fractured that night—how it’s been irreparable ever since. “So what do you think is going on? What’s with the fake families?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice turns to gravel. A light breeze picks up and she tightens her coat around her waist. “Are you up on your angel mythology?”

“My what?”

She lets a group of cackling girls pass us by before pulling me off the brick path.

“They believe it.” She blinks in frustration. “They’re going to assume you do, too.”

“They believe what? And who are they?”

The dormitory towers over her, pulls her into its dark reserve by way of its nefarious shadow. It washes her features dull as soot, reducing her to nothing but a disembodied voice. The glowing whites of her eyes dissolve intermittently in the murky light.

“There are five factions of angelic beings that descend from the Nephilim.” She draws in so close I can feel her breath feathering across my cheek. “As far as I can tell, hybrid humans are the binding cord that holds this place together.” She pants into me with an uncalled for amount of energy like she just finished an Olympic worthy sprint. Her features darken, a layer of fear galvanizes beneath the surface as if she’s broken a sacred vow, and the price she’ll have to pay is far too high. “I’ll explain the rest later.” She leads us back onto the crimson path.

The moonlight sprays down and washes her in a gentle glow like a spotlight. I half expect some giant orb in the sky to drop an illuminated stairwell leading her up to the mother ship. It all feels possible, every absurd improbability as viable as the next.

“It’s going to be okay,” she assures. “I mean, they don’t abuse you here or anything.”

We come upon a gleaming brass sign that boastfully reads, Henderson Hall. The building glows with rosy pride. A silhouette of a couple lingers in the window directly above the entry. I’m mesmerized by the way the shadowed boy holds the hourglass girl, the way her head extends with laughter or passion—both.

You could write a story with the shadows that linger in each window. A part of me wants to sit on the lawn, nestle in the cool night dew, and do just that.

The thick scent of clove cigarettes billows from the corner of the building, making me wonder what kind of supervision Ephemeral Academy provides if kids are making out in bedrooms and smoking questionable narcotics right here on campus. I take in the cool, sweet scent of the cloves as if I were smoking them myself—close my eyes and pretend I’m anywhere but here.

Casper takes me by the hand and runs us up the porch. Music streams out of the opened doubled doors, pulsating through my chest with its disruptive rhythm. We maneuver our way through a thicket of bodies and into an expansive common room much like the one at Austen House.

“I don’t think we’re meant to be friends.” Her voice spikes over the music just enough so I can hear.

“Excuse me?” A prick of heat spears through me like some visceral, I told you so. I let Casper Masterson, whoever the hell she is, lure me into this teenage wasteland laden with Abercrombie models, and now I’m going to be drawn and quartered as she and the rest of the Ephemeralites pour on the public humiliation. Shit. I can smell the pig’s blood a mile away.

“Whoever they programmed to be your friend will find you,” she says. “I could tell by the way Kres and Grayson were ignoring you, they’re going to make your life miserable.”

Kresley and Grayson hating me was bound to happen in any world, in any dimension. That’s just your basic social economics. That bit of non-news could have been shared quickly and succinctly back at the room. She could have spared me the trip over the hills and through the woods only to find myself alone at some raging party populated with the very same assholes that were in my dorm.

“We can totally be friends in private.” She nods as if it’s a given.

Why does this relationship suddenly feel dirty and closet worthy? Actually, I’m fine with the whole I-can’t-really-be-seen-with-you-in-public social middle finger. I just need to hit the exit and catch my bearings, figure out an escape route out of this hellhole.

“They can’t really stop anything.” She punctuates “they” with air quotes. “I’ve tested the waters. I know for a fact they keep us on a very long leash.”

Perfect. I’ll be testing the validity of that theory as soon as I hop the first bus back to Kansas.

There’s something sincere about Casper, honest in nature. Something in me shifts, and I’m under her spell again.

“Who exactly are they?” I lean in as though Casper were about to deliver the secret to the universe while a blond boy behind her openly undresses me with his eyes. I can tell by his budding lewd smile, by the glossy lust-driven look in his eyes that his sex-ray vision is in full effect.

“I don’t know who they are.” She laughs. “See what I’m up against?” She spikes up like a lunatic and waves past my shoulder. “I gotta go. Just start walking around. Things will happen. They always do.” She darts across the room and jumps into a screaming hug with group of girls sporting matching spiked heels and skirts that barely make it past their underwear.

I step deeper into Henderson Hall and take in the crowd of jostling bodies, the scent of new clothes lays thick in the air like a toxin.

Things will happen.

“They always do,” I whisper.

The Harman Kardon speakers spew out varying levels of unrest at unfortunate decibels that leave me meandering slowly toward the exit. I’ve been to parties back home where the speakers shoot out crap as loud as a jet engine—stop up your ears for days from the ruptured capillaries alone. Mostly those were overblown, hyper-sexed parties rife with beer kegs and stoner circles. The cops rarely showed because no one really cared. They saw it as our moment in time, the building of our glory days and they relived theirs by way of not interrupting ours. It was a chain of stolen wishes, the dream of better days than those adulthood brought along, and they had no intention of baptizing us into the cruel world of bills and paychecks any sooner than necessary.

I circulate around the periphery, waiting for something to happen like Casper suggested. A walking carcass invasion—an entire busload of dead relatives filing in from the not-so-great beyond, it all seems possible. Who knows where this macabre merry-go-round could lead.

I glance around at the bevy of expensively dressed people. I’ve never witnessed so many kids who use wealth to leverage their social standing all at once. It’s like a piñata exploded and vomited Rolexes and diamond stud earrings. I’m half-worried a homegrown terrorist will attack to prove some political statement, narrowing in on the have and have-nots. These glossy bodies, these polished stones of society, walk around like sultans. Long scarves of expensive perfume mix with warm scented cologne, creating the kind of noxious cloud you would expect walking through the cosmetics department at the mall.

There’s something unnerving about being around so many financially privileged people in one confined space. It’s like harnessing the power of the atom, accidentally splitting it and nothing but coins falling out—stocks and bonds, foreign currencies flying around like a fiscal intergalactic shower.

Instinctually, I want to school them on the harsh realities of life, the unfairness that howls in the street at night, the destitute that freeze on park benches in winter. Here, you would never believe poverty existed—that getting a glass of water was the biggest daily burden for people on the other side of the planet.

A boy dances in the crowd like he’s having a cardiac episode. His jagged motions remind me of the not-so-welcome committee I ran into earlier in the haunted forest. I was so caught up on the fact Casper could remember her past that I forgot to mention my run-in with the undead—and the handsome boy who thought nothing of saving the day. He acted as if it were just another mundane task, banal as taking out the trash.

I turn in haste to look for Casper, and my head ignites with a flash migraine.

“Whoa!” A guy wearing a plain T-shirt and jeans pulls his drink out of my way. “Almost got you.” He holds out a hand. “Flynn—and you must be Rycroft Laken.” His mouth illuminates with an ultra-bright smile, the kind that says I know what you did last summer—and I’d like a demonstration.

I take his hand and gently grip his fingers, clammy, and cold at the tips. He’s tall and handsome in a frat boy sort of way, dark eyes, same ultra-light hair like Casper. It’s evident why the female population willingly puddles to his feet. His face is chiseled to perfection with a nose that looks as if the artist ran out of time to smooth out the edges. My old boss at the diner had a nose like that, and Mom called him Ski Jump right to his face. She knew just how to cradle people’s feelings with her barbed wire embrace.

Flynn doesn’t miss the opportunity to slip his hand around my back. There’s a warm way about him, although snakelike and predatory, but I’m starting to feel the powers of his seduction as he inebriates me with those deep mysterious eyes.

He reminds me a lot of Tucker. I slept with Tucker—twice. The thought rolls through my mind rancid, like remembering a nightmare. Tucker was a bad replacement for Wes. Wes was a god. How I ever thought I could love somebody else demonstrates how delusional I was after his death. Falling into Flynn for all the wrong reasons would be a repeat performance of what landed me through a windshield to begin with.

“Nice to meet you, Ephemeral Flynn.” I tilt my head, insinuating I know just as much about him.

“Hey!” A girl pops up by his side. “Carter.” She pushes her hand in my direction with an unstoppable enthusiasm. Her heart-shaped face is decorated with infectious dimples and tawny curls spring just above her shoulders. I can already tell she’s miles nicer than Casper and the silicon welcoming committee.

“Laken,” I say, giving her fingers a quick squeeze.

“You ever get sick of Casper the unfriendly ghost, come to my room—three doors down to the left.” She alternates holding up her left and right hand as if she’s not sure.

“I’ll find you.” Like she found me—by design. According to Casper’s theory anyway. It’s probably all bullshit like her reasoning for not being seen with me in public. Personally, I’m shocked she walked right into the room linked by my side. I bet the bitch brigade docked her social standing for that, downgrading her a couple rungs on the popularity ladder. Girls like that have always had the power to make me feel like I’m drifting through life with a severe case of social herpes—that I might unwittingly inflict my disease on them.

“So what do you think?” Carter shouts up over the pumping bass. “Are we lame compared to the insanity that abounds at Rycroft?” She drips the last part out with sarcasm.

“Oh, there’s plenty of insanity here,” I assure. No shortage, in fact. Speaking of which, I need to borrow a cell and phone home. I’m sure my mother will find my tale of hijinks and hilarity mildly amusing before quickly comparing it to the acid-dropping haze in her life also known as the seventies.

Carter pulls at one of her soft, round curls the exact color of honey. “Ephemeral’s sort of wild, too.” It comes out like a necrotic promise before she reaches over and takes a swig of Flynn’s drink without asking.

“Welcome to the land of pretentious names and assholes.” Flynn’s questionable douchebag status seems to solidify each time he opens his mouth. “You’re either one or the other.”

I’m feeling pretty secure in the fact most everyone here is a safe combination of both.

Carter laughs, exposing a row of perfectly filed-down teeth, far too straight to be natural. They adorn her mouth like miniature rows of sugar cubes.

I pan the room. The girls all sport long, glossy manes, bare faces that look as though they have never heard of makeup, let alone applied it, and yet they look immaculately beautiful, fresh from the runway with their long slender legs and arms like pulled taffy. Back home the girls hold more curves, wear false lashes that spring from their faces like wings and frost on makeup like spackle. They wear trendy clothes in bright colors picked out of used clothing bins without reservation. Here the clothes hold the strong the scent of a department store as if to testify to their newness, in an entire rainbow of khaki, bland as oatmeal. Every single person looks as though they belong in a Ralph Lauren ad, polished and buffed with brand new bills. This is wealth beyond recognition of anything my old world could comprehend, where I bought my makeup and shoes at the grocery store.

“Oh, look, it’s Fletch!” Carter waves across the room.

I follow her gaze past a tangle of limbs and bobbing heads—guys with backs the size of buildings. A familiar flame of light brown hair catches my eye.

“Holy crap,” I whisper as the room, the music, slows to a crawl. I catch a breath and forget to let go. “It really is Fletch,” I say, disbelieving. He’s wearing a dark blue flannel with one hand stuffed in his pocket, nursing a drink with the other. Grayson slouches next to him giggling in his ear. Her silicone spheres jet out like the Goodyear Blimp between them.

I take a step forward—then the world, the universe—everything freezes.

“Oh my God.” I breathe the words out like a dream.

A tall, handsome boy stands next to Fletch. His beautiful face and broad shoulders are familiar in every single way.

There he is—alive.

Wes.

He does a double take before abruptly halting his conversation. I hardly notice Kresley dutifully cemented by his side, her hand slithering up his back.

His eyes lock onto mine, his cheek slides up before he blooms into a knowing grin.

That dark hair, those green eyes the color of a maple leaf with the sun filtering through—I’ve memorized him. I’ve dreamed a thousand dreams about Wes, both in and out of my sleep.

The room warps and twists. It bends its entire existence in honor of our love. Death couldn’t hold us apart any longer. It had to rewrite the rules, resurrect us in tandem just to bring us to this moment, this perfect juncture in time.

I make my way over slow and lethargic, every muscle aches to be near his person. The voices around me grind down to demonic whispers.

The entire world was out of sync, and now we’re together again—Wes and I.

My heart bounces wild as I pick up pace.

I take a running leap and land on his waist, crash my lips over his—indulging in a searing kiss that says so much more than I’ve missed you. It transports us back to the heated plains, to the silence of a summer’s moon, and the scent of jasmine ripe in the air. Wes pushes deeper into me as a new reality swallows us whole.

Life brims around us.

We’re alive.

Wes and I.

4

A Kiss in Time

Of course there’s the off chance I really am dead, or perhaps this is one long disjointed nightmare, but far more important than the parameters of my being is the fact I have free roam of Wesley Parker’s mouth, something I thought was permanently out of the realm of possibility.

This insanity, this lust-filled exchange, charges me. It builds to an unstoppable force as waves of inexpressible bliss radiate from my being.

Wes thrusts his tongue over mine, dives in deeper and inhales into me as if he were parched and I was the water he so desperately needed to survive. He pulls back, suppressing a tiny laugh. I dip into the base of his neck, run my fingers through his thick hair. His cheeks look higher set, far more chiseled than I remember. Wes has an inherent nobility about him, true royalty among men. He commands a respect that calls for all of nature to bow to his beauty.

“Hello to you, too.” He lands me soft on the ground as two perfect dimples elongate on either side of his face.

“This is impossible,” I whisper.

“Nothing’s impossible, Laken.” He locks onto me with those emerald orbs and holds me by the waist. His hands ride up inside my sweater, warm my back with their wandering love, and I melt from the touch.

The room sways like a dream. The residue of that kiss leaves me dizzy with relief that somehow, some way, Wes is here again.

Kresley clears her throat, offers a look that suggests she might slit mine. Her long hair shields part of her face, her eyebrow winnows up like a hook before a genuine rage ignites in her.

“You are going to die,” she says it calm, slashing me to ribbons with her wicked glare. “Step the hell away from my boyfriend.” Her eyes hold the promise of a viral assault. “Now.”

This is Wesley? The Wesley she declared was going to do something asinine like propose to her by midnight?

“Relax.” Wes steps between the two of us like he were about to break up a fight. “Laken’s just toasted.” He presses his hand in the small of my back, and I relax into him as if we were the only two people in the room. I never thought I’d touch Wes again. Not in the flesh and for sure not on this unreasonable day. “She probably thought I was someone else.”

“I’m not toasted.” I look from him to the pissed off bikini model who has attached herself to his side. She traces his arm around my waist with a look of indignation. A smile tugs at my lips, but I ignore the desire to gloat. “Trust me,” I say to Wes. “I know exactly who you are and who I am.” I step into Kresley with her goddess-like features, perfect almond eyes, her in-your-face cleavage and jab a finger into the uni-bubble blossoming from her sweater. “Might I suggest you step the hell away? Because this just so happens to be my boyfriend.” If I’m going down in this dream, it’s going to be fighting for Wes.

She swallows a laugh and smolders. You can see the evil radiating from her like heat off a summer sidewalk.

“I don’t take too lightly to people trying to steal what’s mine,” she seethes.

“What’s mine?” I hold back a laugh.

Kresley is quickly becoming the cruel joke within this nightmare.

She leans in and whispers directly into my ear. “When I’m through, you’ll wish you never knew him. You’d better watch your back, bitch.”

I step away and inspect her. Her harsh glare, her wild temperament, Wesley could never love her, and if he does, clearly he’s insane.

“I can wield a pitchfork like a ninja.” I say it slow like singing a lullaby. “I could leave you bleeding for hours without hitting a single major artery. If you know what’s good, it’s you who’s going to back the hell off—bitch.” I emphasize the expletive for her benefit.

“Laken.” Wes steps in. His face lights up disbelieving, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. It wants to take over, but he holds it like a secret.

“Can we go outside?” I lean into him. “I think we need to talk.” Among other things I plan on doing with him to ensure I enjoy the rest of my psychotic stay.

“No,” she hisses, appalled at my audacity. “You cannot go outside or inside or to another damn planet with him.”

Funny, because it feels like I’ve just been transported to one.

She slings an arm around his waist, and for the first time the picture emerges that Wes and the she-monster might actually be a couple.

“Wesley Paxton is taken.” She laughs into me as if I were a joke—as if this were the stake she had prepared to thrust in my heart all along.

Wesley Paxton?

“Making friends?” Fletcher slaps me on the shoulder as if this were par for the course, as if I hadn’t cried a solid year for him and Wes. Fletch has the same caramel hair as me, same denim eyes and he doesn’t look a day over dead.

I latch on and hug him so tight I think I might actually kill him with the effort.

“Fletch, it’s really you.” Tears spring up unexpected and before I can get a grip I’m weeping over my not-so-dead brother’s shoulder. In all honesty we were never that close, but death has a strange way of making you like people just a little bit more.

“Shit,” he hisses, full with disappointment. “You’re tanked.”

“I’m not tanked.” I gape at my brother in awe. It’s him, not some replica, or close second. I’m actually standing in the same room with Fletch and Wes, and neither of them seems too overly concerned about that whole drowning in the lake thing. In fact, the last time we were in the same room together, they were getting tucked into their caskets for their eternal naps.

“All right.” Fletch yanks me back by the shirt. “You made your point. You’re the new girl—Rycroft rules, Ephemeral sucks. We get it. I’m taking you back to your room.”

“There’s no way I’m leaving without Wes.” A loose smile plays on my lips just this side of elation. It takes all of my self-control to stop from running my fingers over his face like a blind man, memorizing the landscape of his features by way of my lips.

You would think I declared war—pulled the pin on the grenade I’ve been lording over Kresley for years, the way the room dulls down to a whisper and all neighboring eyes narrow in on yours truly.

Kresley steps in. “You know what they say is a girl’s favorite subject at Rycroft?” She rolls her head, playing to the entire room. “Hoe and tell.”

An explosion of laughter erupts.

“Takes one to know one,” I fire back.

Her hand flies up unexpected. Kresley’s fingernails spike across my face at such an accelerated rate, it takes a few good seconds for the pain to register. Without warning, I land hard on my back with Kresley on top as she entombs me with her snake-like tresses. She kicks and growls, wraps my hair around her wrist like a rope and gives a series of wild tugs that hold the promise of bald patches by morning.

Wes plucks the screaming menace off my person as my head explodes in a ball of hot spasms. Fletch shouts something, but I’m in too much blinding pain to piece the words together. To say she launched the headache that had the power to kill all nine of my unassuming lives would be the understatement of the millennium.

“Let’s go,” Fletch barks, helping me to my feet. “We’re out of here.”

“I’m okay.” I dust off my thighs and right myself by holding onto his shoulder. If Wes isn’t going, neither am I. Although, I don’t dare verbalize that fact should Kresley’s unbridled passion to scalp me return with vigor.

Wes presses into me with a curious gaze, his face bleaches as he inspects my cheek. I’m spellbound by his thick lashes, the way his lips have filled in, red as pomegranates. Mom always said ruby lips were a sign of good health. And, dear God almighty, Wes is healthy, alive, and breathing in the very same room as me.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Wes glides his hand soft against my cheek and exposes a fresh seam of blood along his fingers. “I’ll walk you back.” He ticks his head toward the door.

It’s as if he doesn’t fully understand who I am to him—the things we’ve done or been through.

“It’s me, Wes.” I hold his gaze and something in him softens. His eyes round out as though he were seeing me for the very first time, as if he were on the cusp of remembering a dream just out of reach.

Wes wraps an arm around my shoulder. We stride past Kresley, in her bloodied fingernail glory, and don’t offer her so much as a glance.

We head for the door, and for the first time in over a year—it feels like I’m alive again.

Fletch follows Wes and I out onto the porch as the damp night air wraps around us like a pair of loving arms.

Two guys wearing matching navy jackets spring up out of nowhere and douse Fletch with a bright red liquid that holds the threat of a permanent stain. The boys melt into shadows around the corner, laughing while howling their victory into the velvet reserve.

“I think you were just assaulted by preppies,” I say, tapping his chest. Come to think of it, so was I.

“You got me!” he shouts after them, shaking off the excess fluid. “Damn pledges. I know you put them up to this.” He darts a finger at Wes. “I gotta run up and change. Do me a favor, get her to her room and butt a chair up against the damn door, so she can’t escape.” He turns to me. “Refrain from alcohol,” Fletch bemoans as if this solid plea were the bane of his existence. “You need a ride tomorrow?”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“Beach day.” He plucks at the T-shirt beneath his flannel. “I’ll be by at noon. Be ready. I’m director of activities—can’t be late.” His hair looks darker in this muted light, a richer shade of auburn. His ears peak back as I inspect him. Fletch always reminded me a little of an elf with his pointy ears. For a while I nickednamed him Elfy, but that ticked him off magnificently. Needless to say, after he knocked me around a bit, I let the nickname drop off the charts.

“I’ll be ready.” I press a hand against his chest and feel his heart thud up against my palm. I need to feel him one more time to assure myself he’s real. “Is Lacey here?” The thought hits me unexpected as a Mack truck. If we were all here, it would only make sense. Maybe you don’t need to die to land in this unfortunate version of Connecticut. Jen’s not dead—although technically, that’s not really Jen.

“Who?” He squints into me before making a face at Wes. “Get her some ice.” He shoots me a look before disappearing back into the sea of bodies.

“Great,” I say mostly to myself as I wipe my hand on my jeans.

“Let me run back and get you something for that cut.”

“No.” I grab a hold of his hand and interlock our fingers. “I don’t need anything. I just need you.”

He holds my gaze a moment unsure of what to make of this. “I’m pretty sure I’m not enough to slow down that swelling.” His chest rumbles with a gentle laugh. It begs me to press myself against it.

“I’m pretty sure you’re more than enough.”

Wes leads me off the porch and across an expansive lawn that glows blue under a low hanging moon.

“Nice,” I whisper.

“What’s nice?” Wes purrs, stroking my hair carful and slow like the fur of an untamed animal.

“This,” I say, waving my hand around at the landscape before pulling him in. “You. You’re nice, Wes.”

“I can’t believe she attacked you like that.” He presses out a deflated smile in lieu of an apology.

It takes everything in me not to drag him into the bushes, have my way with the boy I lost sleep over and fantasized about until the sun came up. I wept rivers thinking about those jade eyes, that mischievous smile. I died every day that Wes was held captive by the reaper.

Without hesitation I lean up on the balls of my feet and push in a kiss that could seduce a monk out of a vow of celibacy. I missed this. I missed getting lost in the heat of Wesley Parkers mouth more than I did just about anything else. Wes lets out a gut wrenching moan, indulging himself in something deeper and richer before pulling away.

“Whoa.” His lids stay closed long after he exhales the word. “Laken.” He glances back at the house and gives a depleted sigh. “I’m actually seeing someone.”

“Kresley?” It sails out from my lips, dumbfounded, even though I know this to be true.

“Yes.” His eyes enlarge as though this were a reality I should have long since realized.

“Are you in love with her?” If she thought shopping for engagement rings were a possibility, chances are, yes, he is in fact under her dubious spell. I stare at him in disbelief as he writhes in the moment as if it were too painful to answer. If he says yes, I’ll want to die all over.

“I don’t know about love.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder as we walk along the crest of a hill. Down below, the dorms lay out like the rectangular pieces from a game board, glinting against the black soulless hills like smoldering tinder. “I like her.”

My stomach comes to a sharp boil as I glance back at Henderson Hall.

Kresley’s wild interpretation of what might happen tonight comes back to me.

“Were you going to ask her to marry you?” I can barely choke out the words.

“No.” It speeds out of him like only the truth can. “In fact, I need to talk to her about that. I’ve been hearing rumors all week.”

“She mentioned you were going to give her something.” I try to brush it off. I can’t believe I’m here standing on the same side of the soil as Wesley Parker and we’re discussing his girlfriend of all things—and it isn’t me.

He digs into his pocket and fishes something out, holds it flat on his palm so I can see. It’s a small earring, just one, a cut diamond enwreathed in platinum.

“Found it in my room. She thought she lost it.”

I don’t even want to consider what she might have been doing in his room of all places. In the event Kresley bashing my head in didn’t drive home the point she was truly with Wes, the earring she left rolling around under his bed dealt the final blow.

“How’s your head?” He touches the pads of his fingers softly over my brow and winces.

“Hurts like hell.” Worse now that I have an inadvertent visual of what Kresley’s tanned limbs might look like wrapped around my boyfriend’s back.

His features dim to pitch. “I told your uncle they let you out too soon.”

“My uncle?”

“Yes.” He bounces into a soft nod, completely perplexed by my lack of common knowledge.

“Let me out of where?”

“The hospital.” He blinks into the sorry state of disrepair my brain has fallen in. “You slipped out of the old tree house. You got all sentimental when he said he was taking it down and flew through the floorboards as soon as you got up there. And evidently,” he whispers, “you’re still struggling with your memory.”

I study him for a moment. Casper used the word programmed earlier. She said there were people I belonged with and they would find me. I’m beginning to wonder if Wes is one of them. I hate to say it, but programmed sounds like the right word to describe everything about him, right down to his Lacoste sweater, his pale blue tie and dress shirt lurking beneath as if they were ashamed to be there.

“You don’t remember anything, do you, Wes?” The words fall like tears.

“Remember what?” He circles me with a look of confusion. There’s a level of concern brewing in his eyes that lets me know Kresley may not be my biggest obstacle, that one of us is wrong about the past and Wes is convinced it’s me.

“Why did she say your name was Wesley Paxton?” Confusion reverberates in me like an echo, amplifying my pain.

“Because it is.” He gives a decidedly worried look as if I just confessed to the slaughter of his entire family. “What did you think it was?”

“Parker.” I draw my arms tight around my waist. “I thought it was Wesley Parker.”

There are some moments you etch into your being, the ones that singe you, leave you emotionally jarred for either good or bad reasons, and for me it’s this one.

The moon showers over us with its feathery beams. The mist pools around us, threatening to whitewash the landscape, to steal Wes and make this strange new world disappear forever.

Wesley Parker might be standing here in front of me with God’s own breath in his lungs, but there’s favorable evidence he doesn’t remember a darn thing about who we used to be, Kansas, or the way his lips once covered mine like a habit.

“You felt something for me in there. I saw it in your eyes.” I don’t mean for it to come out as accusing as it does.

“Laken.” He petitions me with a sad affection. “I have a girlfriend, and you’re like a sister to me. We practically grew up together. I can’t—” He looks wild-eyed out at the horizon. “I can’t think of you that way.”

His words jag through me like a knife.

Tears lie just beneath the surface. One more power blow to my heart, and I’m going to end this nightmare by blubbering like a baby—that, or a knifing will ensue. I’d gladly gut Kresley for the fun of it.

“I don’t believe you.” It takes everything in me to push out those words.

Neither of us say anything—neither of us move. I can feel the heat radiating off his person, powerful as a furnace. He feels something, his lips might say no, but his eyes affirm everything I say is true. He sweeps over me and rubs his thumb against my cheek.

“Well then.” He licks his lips as though I were a meal. “Maybe I’m a liar.”

5

The Beach

In the morning I inspect the foreign landscape outside my bedroom window. Arid white billows swirl along the crimson path. A breeze from the forest shepherds the fog like an army of poltergeists through the sharp, rolling hills. They move lethargically north, rowing their ghostlike arms in some invisible race.

The world outside seems devoid of any color, with the exception of the emerald lawn that campaigns hard for my attention. It lays flat over the hills, thick as felt and makes me want to run barefoot through the curious carpet just to see if I end up somewhere altogether different.

The dull brick dormitories sit interspersed like giant chess pieces from a long forgotten game. Its players abandoned the effort, died, or found themselves in Kansas. It all seems probable, inevitable on some level.

“School is way up there.” Casper comes alongside me and points east.

“Yesterday, this woman with dark hair. She found me, told me to come to Austen House, said my sister would be here to greet me.”

“Ms. Paxton—school mistress. She can give a rat’s ass what we do. I think she’s seeing your uncle.”

“Interesting.”

Casper motions for me to tie her bathing suit, so I do. Her papery flesh reveals way too many ribs—vertebrae rise like dunes all the way up her back.

“I guess I’m meeting him this weekend.” I pause at the absurdity of going along with these people. “Wes told me that I fell out of a tree house—that I hit my head.”

“You hear it long enough, you’ll believe it.” She holds out her arm exposing a purple line that jags from her shoulder to her elbow. “Fell out the fifth floor window onto a glass platform. The woman posing as my mother swears it happened.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I ran through a glass slider back in Texas where I lived with my real family. I thought it was open, and it shattered. I cut my leg really bad, must’ve bled through.” She pulls a metallic two-piece from out of the drawer and dangles it in the air before tossing it at me. “Kresley gave it to me for my birthday,” she over annunciates the words. “I think it’d look really good on you.” She gives an impish grin. “It’s the perfect F.U.”

I examine its scant existence, the barely there bottom that would require both physical perfection and getting intimate with the business end of a razor.

A passive smile pulls on my lips. I think pissing off Kresley is my new favorite pastime.

Fletcher drives Carter, Grayson, and I through barren country roads as if he were dodging serious traffic at rush hour with the entire robot apocalypse in hot pursuit.

“Would you slow down?” I tug on my seatbelt to ensure its resilience in the inevitable event of a crash. “And what the hell’s with the swerving?” Fletch never drove so erratic back home. Must be something to do with the brain malfunction he’s operating under. Obviously, the masters of this universe rewired him for vehicular manslaughter charges in the not so distant future.

“Relax.” He dives in front of a white truck in the opposite lane before maneuvering back. “You gotta live a little. Have some fun.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to live a little longer.” An ironic statement, in and of itself. But still, I can’t help but feel like every windshield has it out for me, and Fletcher isn’t exactly helping the situation.

It takes over an hour to arrive at a beach called Kettles.

We get out and stretch our limbs, nimble as kittens. The fog has eaten away most of the shore, and the salty breeze licks at my bare skin. I take off my shoes and let my feet sink into the sand, soft as baby powder.

I have never been to the beach—sure, a lake, a stream, a river but I’ve never seen the ocean. I’ve spent months of my life in a swimming pool, but have never witnessed something so expansive, so majestic that pulls out forever in a span of royal blue. I marvel with an open sense of wonder at how regal it looks, how miraculous it is that the hard cobalt horizon is allowed to kiss the sky so brazenly.

I don’t dare confess I’ve never set my eyes on this magnificence. That I’ve never tasted salted air, thick as brine.

“Where you sitting?” Carter asks, following Fletch like an enamored puppy, which I think is really lame since she’s in a committed relationship. She mentioned her boyfriend, Jackson, couldn’t make it, but she didn’t seem too broken up about it. She openly flirted with Fletch in the car, which added to the nausea inspired from my brother’s rollercoaster driving skills. But despite all of Carter’s efforts, it was Grayson who held his attention. It was Grayson who blew up his ego the size of her implants with a steady stream of ill-conceived compliments. Honest to God, after a while, it was starting to sound like some strange demonic chant, oh, Fletch, you’re so good at, fill in the blank, quickly followed up by something to do with her modeling career. Come to think of it, it was totally more of a satirical observation. But still, poor Carter doesn’t have a cheating leg to stand on.

Fletcher hasn’t changed. He’s still the same fun loving moron he’s always been, in a cold distant way. It’s strange to think of him as gone, and now he’s here, or rather, I am. Death held him in a better light as far as my opinion of him went. For sure, now that I’m reminded of the fact he can so easily portray himself as an ass, solidifies the fact he’s merely my brother—not the superhero I let him morph into after he died. Besides, I like Fletch alive and slightly moronic rather than dead and spectacularly perfect.

A string of pelicans fly in a low V formation, ditching down toward the water before spiking back up into the pale butter sky. They look ancient—their anatomy so prehistoric, I’m not certain modern man was ever supposed to witness them in flight.

It makes me think of the sparrows in springtime. Small ebony darts, spearing through an unblemished country sky.

God—I miss home. I miss miles of golden fields, the small tattered house that holds the scent of refried oil—sweet Lacey’s million-dollar smile. I miss her tiny, plump hand embedded in mine. I wish I could bring her here, show her the God-inspired miracle of something so spectacular as the sea. But in this world there is no Lacey, and no Mom, and no real Jen. Wes and Fletch have whet my appetite to linger, but I know where I truly belong. The fact I haven’t called an airline—hell, Mom, just proves I’m far too willing to falter in this fictitious universe of my own creation. I just need one more moment with Wes, one last kiss before this entire counterfeit world unravels.

I watch the waves crash and melt into a creamy milkshake as they race up the sand.

In the distance, Wes emerges from the water like Poseidon rising from his throne. I pull forward like a magnet, forgetting to romanticize the cool sand between my toes, the baptism of the Atlantic spraying over my body in a perfect gentle mist. Instead, I zero in on the rush of foam pooling around his legs as if the mighty ocean were bowing to his feet.

Wes spots me and heads over in a sprint.

“You made it in one piece.” He shags out his hair, sprinkling me with the residue. “The way your brother drives, I thought for sure I’d have to backtrack and look for the wreckage.” Water beads over his perfect body, long and lean with muscles in all the right places. Dear God. Wesley Parker is heaven.

“Glad I survived,” I say, throwing my towel on the sand and dropping to my knees before him.

“Are you still here?” A voice comes from the other side as a clothing-deficient Kresley scowls back at me. She sports a complicated bathing suit that neither qualifies as a two-piece nor a one-piece since there’s an entire network of floss that connects the scant upper and lower portions—the bottom consists of a precariously small triangle with what looks like a G-string in the back.

“Yup, still here. Present and accounted for.” I try to sound chipper like she didn’t just piss me off. I predict she’ll have an eyeful of sand in less than ten seconds. The situation practically warrants an accidental spraying.

“I got a callback for that part,” she says it directly to Wes in an effort to cut me out of the conversation.

“Perfect.” He lands on the other side of me and smooths my towel out with a long stroke of his hand. There’s something sensual in the way he does it, and it makes my skin crave for him to replicate the effort. “That’s what you wanted.” He squints into the horizon, disinterested.

“That is what I wanted.” There’s a note of defeat in her voice as she looks over my body at him. “I always get what I want.” She needles me with her hatred—hotter and more lethal than anything the ball of fire spinning overhead could ever manufacture.

I don’t break away from her gaze. There’s no way I’m backing down to a power bitch like Kresley. I may not always get what I want, but for damn sure I’m getting Wes because he was mine to begin with.

“What about you, Laken?” She annunciates my name with unnecessary roughness. “You ever think of getting into acting?” It comes out forced, full of sarcasm as if to cast a spotlight on her own achievement rather than promote any hidden talent I might have.

“No,” I’m quick to initiate. “I don’t have time for rehab.”

“Be nice.” Wes rumbles a dry laugh.

He falls back on his elbows exposing tan skin stretched over rocks of rippling muscle, and I openly gawk at the perfection he’s become.

Wesley Parker has turned his body into a bona fide work of freaking art. I don’t remember the curves and crevices enunciated over his abdomen, the girth of his arms—legs as thick as tree trunks.

I peel off my sweater with knit holes the size of dimes and toss it to the side. I’ve gained a few curves myself while we’ve been apart. I pull back my shoulders hoping Wes will sit up and take notice in the most literal graphic manner.

His Adam’s apple rises and falls. His neck twitches as if he wants to look away but can’t afford the effort. Instead, Wes lingers. He drags his eyes across my flesh like he’s pulling lead weights.

“So was it painful?” Kresley leans into me with her lips parted, ready for war.

“I’ll bite.” I turn my face to the water. “What?”

“You know, the sex change.”

I dart a look to Wes. Swear to God, if that’s what this warped fantasy has concocted for me, I’m diving into that septic tank of algae and not coming up for air.

“Leave her alone,” Wes says it low as if she were a gnat he were tired of swatting. “You’re a beautiful girl, Laken.” He shakes out his T-shirt. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Kresley’s eyes widen, first with horror, then with the intent to carry out a felony.

I bask in the moment. Based on the not-so-veiled death threat contorting her features, I’ll be paying for Wesley’s proclamation of my beauty later. But no matter what she dishes out, it was worth every syllable.

“Hey!” Casper, my newfound roommate, bounces over and sinks into the sand. She bites down a laugh, relishing the fact Wes is overtly giving me a body-scan. “It’s two o’clock,” she says, knocking her foot into Kresley. “We need to go. Jen’s got a cooler in the back of her car.” She offers me a short-lived smile. “Kitchen duty follows us everywhere.”

“Shit.” Kresley stands and slips on a thin voile robe that dusts over her bottom. It leaves the rounded W of her flesh hanging out the back, and it looks more than slightly obscene. She stabs her feet into a pair of flip-flops, flicking sand in my direction as they trot toward the parking lot.

“Remind me to never get kitchen duty,” I say, dusting off my limbs from the peppered assault.

Wes presses out a devious smile. He licks his lips like he were mapping out what part of me he’d like a bite of first. I want to accuse him of seducing me, tell him that I don’t mind, that I want it, but my vocal cords are paralyzed by the sheer volume of his biceps.

“You wanna wash that off?” He offers.

There it is again, that lower register in his voice, as if he’s trying to lure me into the bushes. Not that Wes would ever need to lure me anywhere. I’m there at the ready. I’m pretty sure I’ll be taking advantage of him long before I rouse from this bitter realm.

“I think I got it.” I try to scour the sand off but it’s no use. I’m coated like a powdered donut.

“How about I throw you in?” His lips curve with devilish intent.

“I bet you’d love that.” I bow my lashes into him. “Throwing me into freezing water.” It has hypothermia written all over its glacial stare.

Wes jumps up and snatches at me, touches my bare stomach in one quick stroke.

“No you don’t!” I hop to my feet and take off as he chases me down the beach.

I can hear him thundering behind me, creating a heartbeat over the sand with every step he takes. Wes could make the earth quake with his looks alone. It’s a wonder the ground doesn’t open up and swallow him down from the sheer desire to have him for herself.

I hurdle a patch of knotgrass only to end up closer to the shore than anticipated. A soft bubbling laughter emits from deep inside my chest, happy to be here with Wes—happy to be anywhere with him. I haven’t felt joy like this in ages, not since before that horrible night they were found face down. I still remember the sky lit up like a flame from the ambulance, the fire truck—every faculty of authority too impotent to save.

He darts around, blocks my path and gives a slow spreading grin before picking me up and racing me into the shock of cold water.

“Wes!” I scream as a wave douses the two of us in one icy bite. It knocks him off his feet and lands us on the soggy soil below, the water no higher than my waist. “It’s freezing!” I shrill as my teeth give way to an uncontrollable chatter.

A bear trap clamping over my middle would have been more welcome.

“You’ll get used to it.” He staggers to his feet and pulls me out deeper until the water laps over our shoulders.

We swim up over the waves as they roll in, one after another. But I don’t pay attention to the ocean or the unblemished sky, the seaweed coiling around my ankle wanting to pull me down. Instead, I hone my effort in on the beautiful boy by my side, glistening like a long-forgotten jewel.

A part of me weighs heavy over the fact I’m still here. I should be racing home to Lacey. I should have made a bigger effort to find a phone and call my mother to let her know I’m still breathing, but I’m too far gone, too enamored with having Wes for just a few more hours. I’m half afraid if I do call my mother, it might unravel whatever miracle is taking place—cut short my time in this dreamland and yank me back into a pool of shattered glass. One thing’s for sure. I’m not in any hurry to break this spell.

I reach over and run the palm of my hand over his newly slicked hair. Wes has graduated from handsome to an extraterrestrial level of gorgeous that can’t be expressed with mere human words.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper.

“I’m right here.” He squints into me, his dark brows dip in a flirtatious manner.

I glance back at the shore. Everything has reduced to miniature, the people, the places, the fantasy of it all.

“So…” My chin trembles. “Did you give Kresley back the earring?” Really I want to know if he kissed her after she beat the crap out of me. Her reaction to the fact it wasn’t a proposal—if he loved her—that kind of damaging information could kill me for real.

“Yes, I gave it back.” He pans over me with a look of wonder as if he were hardly paying attention to the topic at hand. He looks spellbound, more than a little intrigued by what he sees. “She thought I was giving her a gift.” His forehead creases. “Kresley’s brain automatically reverts everything to cash and prizes.” He splashes a handful of water over his face, washing her away like a bad idea.

“Did you have your talk?”

“Kind of.” His eyes slit to shore. “Things got slightly derailed last night by way of you.”

My stomach explodes with heat. The idea of derailing his plans with anybody of the female persuasion pleases me.

“This isn’t who you are.” I run my fingers through the back of his hair—slick and glossy, so dark, the darkest black—the deepest part of the night sky couldn’t rival that beautiful color.

“Tell me who I am,” he says it playful, almost like a dare.

“You, my love, are Wesley Parker.” I mouth it fully as if some erotic fantasy were about to play out. “You live on your grandpa’s farm with your mom. You love painting more than anything—you mostly paint trees.”

“Trees?” He leans in. I can feel his warm breath rising over my cheek as the current presses us together.

“Because you know I love them.” I blush when I say it, locking our gaze with something just this side of a promise.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Tell me something about you, other than the things with the trees.” He gives a brilliant smile like he’s playing along with my insanity—only I get the feeling that deep down inside he really wants to know. He can’t hide his curiosity. It elongates like a spool, and I run with it.

“I love frozen grapes.” I bite down on my lip. “I have an aversion toward girls named Kresley.” It comes out far more truthful than it does playful. “I write silly things on the back of leaves and give them to you.” I don’t tell him that I wrote “I love you” a thousand times or that he was my everything or that he saved every leaf I’d ever given him in a box beside his bed—that I did the same with the ones he gave me. “You used to help me pick Maple leaves off the ground. We would measure them against our hands.” I spread my fingers out of the water as if to demonstrate.

“Whoa,” he says rather calm while eyeing a monstrous wave behind me. “Under.” He pulls me down by the waist, and my ears fill with the stillness of the ocean—nothing but the sound of air bubbles rising from my lips. His fingers press in just above my hips, and my insides tremble with pleasure.

It feels intimate like this. It feels right.

I wrap my arms and legs around his bare flesh tight as a coil. I’m so thirsty for Wes. Every cell in my body drinks down his touch as the wave sweeps softly overhead.

We pop back up to the surface, and I forget to let go.

Wes rumbles with a nervous laugh at our newfound position. I press my chest into him—let him feel the warmth from my body as I take in his.

“So, did you break up with her?” I’m not really interested in the answer. The girl on the shore, whatever her name was, however big her claim was to Wes, she’s already history—nothing more than a freckle on our existence.

Wes brightens and holds back a smile as though he heard every word.

“I may have.” He gives a little laugh, his chest rumbling over mine.

“Good.” My breathing becomes erratic. It’s bliss like this with Wes, my knees high over his back—my ankles interlocked, securing us together. I never want to get out of the water. “She’s not your type.” My heart picks up pace, delivering one blow after another from my chest to his.

The smile dissipates from his lips as his eyes magnetize to mine. It’s undeniable, this powerful, unbreakable bond—this love affair that spans two lifetimes. Death couldn’t keep us apart. I doubt Kresley, in all her wicked glory, could do much better.

“What’s my type?” It comes out breathless as his arms secure themselves over my back and he pushes me in ever so slightly.

“I am,” I say, edging my mouth toward his.

“Laken.” He breathes my name as if this were so utterly insane, so unforgivably impossible. “We shouldn’t.”

But his lips ache for a kiss.

Everything in him screams we should.

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Acknowledgements

Thank you to my precious family who supports me day in and day out by enabling me to immerse myself in my fantasies.

Big thank you to Amy Eye and Sarah Oaklief, who put up with far too many late night emails and pestering on my behalf. I love you both.

A super-huge thank you with a cherry on top to my readers. You make the adventures on Paragon a whole lot sweeter knowing I get to share them with you. You bless me far beyond words.

To Him who holds the world in the palm of His hands. To your name be the glory, and power, and honor, forever. I owe you everything.

About the Author

Addison Moore writes young adult fiction and romance. Previously she worked as a therapist on a locked psychiatric unit for nearly a decade. She resides on the West Coast with her husband, four wonderful children and two dogs where she eats too much chocolate and stays up way too late. When she's not writing, she's reading.

Feel free to visit her blog at: addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Addison-Moore/140192649382294 -

Twitter: twitter.com/Addison_Moore

Table of Contents

Title page

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Acknowledgements

About the Author