expel

Celestra Series Book 6

Addison Moore

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http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/

Other 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)

Copyright © 2012 by Addison Moore

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either liv-

ing or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters

are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds al rights to

this work. It is il egal to reproduce this novel without written ex-

pressed consent from the author herself.

Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1—Death Throes

Chapter 2—Unimaginable Sorrow

Chapter 3—Appeal

Chapter 4—Time After Time

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Chapter 5—True Love’s Kiss

Chapter 6—Love Song

Chapter 7—Family Time

Chapter 8—Arrive Alive

Chapter 9—Just One Taste

Chapter 10—Never

Chapter 11—Sweet Release

Chapter 12—Home Sweet Home

Chapter 13—Put Your Hands on Me

Chapter 14—The Marriage Mirage

Chapter 15—Affair in the Air

Chapter 16—Down in Flames

Chapter 17—Strike Three

Chapter 18—Right Here, Right Now

Chapter 19—Love Hurts

Chapter 20—Logan

Chapter 21—Only You

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Chapter 22—Church on Time

Chapter 23—Out of My Head

Chapter 24—Forever

Chapter 25—The Psycho and Me

Chapter 26—Hel s Bel s

Chapter 27—Smooth Operator

Chapter 28—Mirror, Mirror

Chapter 29—Time of our Lives

Chapter 30—The List

Chapter 31—Ful Disclosure

Chapter 32—The Heart of the Matter

Chapter 33—Heartbreak

Chapter 34—Sit a Spel

Chapter 35—Marshal Arts

Chapter 36—The Bitch is Back

Chapter 37—The Boss of You

Chapter 38—Dance of the Butterfly

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Chapter 39—The Good Girlfriend

Chapter 40—Dinner with the Enemy

Chapter 41—Missing you

Chapter 42—The Deal

Chapter 43—I Ain’t Missing You at Al

Chapter 44—Hot Water

Chapter 45—The Letter

Chapter 46—Sing the Blues

Chapter 47—Table Talk

Chapter 48—Dance the Night Away

Chapter 49—Whiplash Love

Chapter 50—Bay of Pigs

Chapter 51—Get It on Like That

Chapter 52—Deus Ex Machina

Chapter 53—I Do?

Chapter 54—Body Snatcher

Chapter 55—Master Disaster

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Chapter 56—Love Shack

Chapter 57—Like A Lover’s Voice

Chapter 58—War Drums

Chapter 59—Trip the Lights Fantastic

Chapter 60—Home visit

Chapter 61—Mommy Dearest

Chapter 62—Cal to Arms

Chapter 63—Face of an Angel

Chapter 64—Treasures and Trinkets

Chapter 65—Silver and God

Chapter 66—Evil Incarnate

Chapter 67—It’s Raining Caskets

Chapter 68—Pink and Blue

Chapter 69—Man in the Mirror

Chapter 70—Vision Division

Chapter 71—Power Surge

Chapter 72—Oblivion Express

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Chapter 73—Torment in the Transfer

Chapter 74—White Wedding

Chapter 75—The Visit

Chapter 76—Icing on the Cake

Chapter 77—The Break Up

Chapter 78—Fake Love to Me

Chapter 79—Secret Love

Chapter 80—Dress You Up in My Love

Chapter 81—Promenade

Chapter 82—Promtastic

Chapter 83—Light Drive

Chapter 84—Confusion is Nothing New

Chapter 85—Safety Dance

Chapter 86—If You Don’t Know Me By Now

Chapter 87—Fal en Angel

Chapter 88—Body Language

Chapter 89—Eye Hate You

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Chapter 90—Borrowed Time

Chapter 91—Know the Enemy

Preface

Suffering is the nature of this world. It is the golden standard by which

al things are measured. It is not happiness that sets the bar, but agony.

Even happiness cannot be ful y recognized without the right measure

of misery to contrast its borders. Suffering magnifies hunger—

exhaustion—prods you to move when prosperity is just a dream out of

reach. It is the mortal twin of eternal hope. How you respond to its

touch molds you, shapes your future as it rains down oppression like

fire over your shoulders.

Deception. It laid over my world like a bruise, covered it so completely

I bought the lie that the shadow offered and found comfort nestled in

its thorny arms. I walked the trail it dusted with breadcrumbs, walked

into the slip noose it had skil ful y wove and dove off the cliff without

realizing—

wil ingly, with vigor.

Heartbreak. There is no bigger void, no darker shade of soot—no ache

more

unstoppable than that of a broken heart.

A heart in pieces can very much kil you—without love’s healing touch,

you wil

surely die.

They say time heals al wounds.

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They lied.

Chapter 1

Death Throes

Rain fal s like tears from heaven over the dirt lot behind the bowling al

ey.

Logan lies to my right with his eyes wide open, gaping up at the sky

pouring down its wrath like it didn’t even matter—Gage to my left with

a blood-soaked shirt, same dead stare, no affect, no response. I crawl

up on my knees and pul both their hands into my chest. I can’t lose

Logan and Gage—it’s unimaginable—unacceptable. I look back down

at the pink wash on my arms. Blood—my Celestra blood.

“Oh, God.” I pat the ground for an errant piece of glass. Without hesit-

ating I pick up a shard, give one clean slice clear up to my elbow and

run the crimson seam along Gage’s perfect lips. Before I can offer my

lifeblood to Logan a voice cal s from the outline of darkness, just shy of

the forest.

“Skyla!”

I look back and see a familiar frame, the glint of blonde hair. It’s

Logan.

“Help me,” I plead.

He speeds over and fal s on his knees beside me.

“Skyla, you have to come with me,” there’s an urgency in Logan’s voice

I haven’t heard before. He’s wearing the same clothes from tonight.

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This is where he came while I was at the dance. He knew.

A series of screams erupt as the bowling al ey begins to drain. Cries of,

oh my God and call 911 fil the field.

Logan yanks me up. I falter on my feet as he pul s me into the forest.

“Let go!” I try to head back, but he cages me in with his arms. “Nev! ” I

cry out for Nevermore.

“You have to trust me, Skyla. Everything depends on this moment.”

“I can’t leave! You’re both dying.”

“Death does come,” Logan anchors me with a dark expression. “You’l

be signing both our death certificates if you don’t come now—you

might be anyway.”

“Just do it!” A female voice bleats out from behind. I catch a glimpse of

her—it’s like looking in a mirror—it’s me.

“I have to help him. He’s going to die.” I look back at Gage lying in the

mud—blood pooling around his body, glossy as tar.

“He does die,” she shouts.

The ground trembles. An army of overgrown wolves with tails as long

as leashes race into the dirt lot at bionic speeds. Green eyes that glow

like lanterns light up the field. They awaken the forest with their men-

acing growls.

A series of unearthly screams erupt as the crowd from the bowling al

ey disperses.

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“What’s happening?” I trip over a branch, backing away from the

scene. “Nev!” I cry out for Nevermore again, but he doesn’t come.

Sirens cut through in the distance.

“We need to go.” Logan hooks me in tight by the waist. “We need to

leave right now.” He grabs a hold of the girl behind him.

“We can’t change anything in the past,” I roar the words into his face,

struggling to break free.

“Skyla,” Logan pul s his lips along my neck—lines a fire of passion with

his hot breath up to my ear, “we’re not going to the past.” I look over at

the carnage as a group of wild beasts circle the two of them. A growling

lone wolf pounces onto Gage, causing blood to spurt out of his mouth

three feet high.

“Gage,” I scream, as the world begins to fade.

“Gage is staring death in the face, Skyla,” Logan whispers. “And in a

moment—you wil , too.”

***

There is no greater hope than that of life and life unstoppable. It is

death, in al of its inordinate timing that afflicts our world, turns it into

a ticking bomb ready to rock our existence whenever it feels the need.

It shatters through me. Al of my bones reduce to broken shards, cut

me from the inside as we sail through the watery depths of time.

I have never moved forward, never seen what the twisted hands of fate

have waiting for me outside the visions Marshal has imparted, the few

I’ve had of my own, vague as they were. This is a venue I’ve yet to ex-

perience. Although my pedigree al ows for such maneuvers, it would

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be impossible for me to partake without the supervising spirit Logan

procured. His wanderlust, his self-proclaimed ideology of our love

projected him into the future to do God knows what. Whatever it is,

whatever waits for me on the other side of this curtain of darkness, I’m

not sure I’m ready to see it, face it, accept it as gospel.

When traveling to the past you can rest assured you wil always find a

concrete truth, some stamp of reality that you can depend on, recog-

nize. But it’s the comfort of knowing our lives have long since moved

on that you can wrap around, secure as a blanket. You may not like

where you’ve landed, but you have the assurance you’ve made it past

the event because that juncture in time has already seen and dismissed

you.

Even if the residue of your actions color your present, you need not

fear where you’ve already been.

We race through a tunnel of darkness. Strong oppressive winds howl

over us. A pinhole of light emerges in the distance as we speed towards

its il umination, pul ing us into its safe haven like gliding along a pol-

ished stone.

“Skyla,” Logan breathes directly into my ear, wraps his arms around

me like a very tight coil. “I love you.” I nod into him. Touch my palm to

his beautiful face and try to break a smile, fighting tears that want to

destroy the moment.

I don’t know why I came, what good I could possibly do, while both he

and Gage lie in the mud back at the bowling al ey, exasperating them-

selves as they cling to life. That’s where I need to be. Coming here was

a misstep, the highest form of neglect, and now there is no undoing it.

“I need to get back,” I lament.

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He shakes his head, presses out a smile that blooms from grief.

“Tel her what to do!” The old me rattles Logan by the shirt in a panic.

“She’l know,” Logan doesn’t take his eyes off me.

His features soften, nothing but his love for me radiating from within.

He touches the side of my face soft as feathers, brushes back my hair

as the light expands around us, bright as sunshine, if you were stand-

ing on the surface of that great and resolute star.

His smile grows, his eyes tel me he’s always loved me, always wil . He

leans in and grazes his lips over mine. Logan is alive under the guise of

our love. It pulsates through his veins buoyant and hopeful.

He delivers a kiss that spans the markers of time, sends a pleasure fil

ed quiver through me that annunciates the fact my feelings for him

live, that my affection for him trembles inside me like a coward, afraid

to own it, touch it, feel it.

A light so terribly bril iant envelops the three of us, dissolves us in its

silent blaze. My eyes begin to adjust to the surroundings as I squint

my way into this new reality. There’s something vaguely familiar about

the bleached floors, the glossy white wal s, the patina of blue that

drapes the vicinity.

“Skyla,” Logan’s voice is forced, tunnel-like with the distinct tail end of

an echo.

I turn to find him ashen, vaporizing.

“Logan!” I snatch at his arms, swat at his person—swipe right through

him as though he were less than air. “What’s happening?”

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“Skyla,” he points up behind me. “I love you.” His voice trails in a

whisper—his body evaporates into an anemic blue fog.

“Logan?” I spin around in a panic.

A wal of glass tubes fil s the expanse—bodies suspended in a sterile

blue liquid stretch out for miles. I recognize this place ful y—the

Transfer.

“Where are we?” The old me asks, her voice giving away the fact she’s

visibly shaken.

I don’t answer—don’t move, forget to exhale. I just stare up at the al

too familiar face of a beautiful boy floating in his deathly slumber.

It’s my sweet friend, my love—Logan.

Chapter 2

Unimaginable Sorrow

In al honesty, I thought the primal scream that ejaculated from my vo-

cal cords had the capability to shatter every glass coffin in the facility.

In al honesty, I was trying to wake myself from this horrible night-

mare, and I couldn’t even do that to the doppelganger with me, who

actual y is, physical y someplace sleeping.

I fal to my knees and take him in. Logan—my Logan, slumbering in his

watery grave. I press my hand against the cool of the glass, feel the

sting against my flesh. If only the glass, the keeping solution, were the

only barriers that separated Logan and me, but I know the chasm runs

deeper, that it’s far more complex than any physical barrier.

So this is why Logan brought me down here, why he swept me away to

the future, to pul him out of the Transfer, arrange a resurrection, land

him on the planet one more time.

“You have to help him.” Sleeping Skyla kneels beside me, rubs my

shoulder as I press my face into my palms and sob for the boy I love.

Everything in me aches to have him back, to speak to him as I explode

with grief on a cel ular level. Such an unending sorrow—and for what?

His mortality nothing more than a casualty of Marshal ’s quick-

handed punishment. And, God—what about Gage?

“What happened to Gage?” I snap at the startled version of myself.

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“Who’s Gage?” She looks genuinely perplexed.

I jump to my feet and take Logan in. Locked in a wet suit, his body en-

tombed in the thick cobalt liquid.

“The other boy with dark hair. He was lying on the ground.” I take a

breath, looking across at myself. It makes me dizzy. My head fil s with

a strange sensation as though I have the power to knock myself out

just by speaking with my twin from another dimension. “I thought you

said he was dead?” I rattle her by the shoulders. “But you meant

Logan,” I whisper. “Dear God what if Gage is, too?” She looks around

the floor for a body.

“Not here,” I squeeze my eyes shut with frustration, “back in the lot.” A

part of me wants to slap her a few good times—set her straight on

everything she’l ever need to know, but Logan was right, I never re-

member my freaking dreams.

“I didn’t see him.” She cowers as if I were about to unleash a combat-

ive strike. “Logan’s gone,” her voice breaks. She leans into him, lays

her face into the glass as silent tears rol down her cheek.

“Oh my, God, you love him,” I whisper.

Of course, I love him. I felt such a strong connection with Logan when

we first met, and now I know why. Al those indescribable yearnings

defused my feelings for Gage by default. It makes perfect sense. Logan

is a minefield of deception. It’s like he orchestrated our meeting from

the beginning. But I could never real y blame him when I feel so

strongly in return. There are no accidents in my life, no coincidences,

no blind love at first sight. Logan has been haunting my dreams,

chiseling out neuro pathways into my brain by way of his extrater-

restrial beauty long before I set foot on Paragon.

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“I’l always love him,” her fingers strum over the tube creating a haunt-

ing rhythm. “I’m going to be with him forever.”

“You’re going to be with Gage,” I correct. No sense in stringing along

delusions.

“No, I’m not.” Her eyes spring wide with defiance. “I’m not going to be

with this Gage person. I’m going to be with Logan. I’m going to be

Mrs.

Logan Oliver,” she knifes the words through the air to prove her point.

Al that attitude—the posturing, the I’l -cut-you velocity in which she

determines her speech, I remind myself a lot of Mia.

“He’s been brainwashing you,” I say lackluster because I know its not

true. I know she believes it with al her heart because deep inside I do,

too. “You’l love Gage, not straight away, but he’s amazing.” I wipe the

tears off my face, taste the salty brine reserved just for Logan. “Come

on,” I take her by the hand and speed us towards the exit.

“So, like, are we stuck here?”

Shit! I hadn’t even considered that horrific scenario.

“I don’t know.” I look around in hopes of spotting an ever-evaporating

Logan—even in his partial y dissolved state I’d take him, breathe him

in, swal ow him down just to have him with me. “Marshal ?” I listen to

my voice echo through the chamber in triplicate, with no answer.

“Who’s Logan’s supervising spirit?” I cut into her with an unmerciful

stare. She’s my only hope in figuring out who or what that might be,

and, unfortunately, I’m pretty sure she’s clueless.

“The invisible one?”

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“Yes, the invisible one.” Hope rips through me like a flare. I pause, tak-

ing her in with her wild tangle of hair, her slightly sunburned skin,

freckled from hours logged at the beach. We had a heat wave one

January, an unseasonable roast. I remember that year. Dad drove us

to the ocean every night to watch the colorful sunsets. God’s art, he cal

ed it. He was right. I saw those bold, red, L.A. night skies behind my

lids for years after he died. I clung to those fiery spectacles, those

memories of the four of us huddled together in the sand as if they were

the last bits of my father I would ever have. Savored them, drank them

down like a divine elixir. Until, of course, I figured out how to go back

and visit him.

“I don’t know who it is,” she pants, struggling to keep up with me.

“Logan says it’s not important for me to know. He says it just helps us

get places, like a car.”

I give a wry smile. Sounds like Logan’s analogy.

I wonder if sleeping Skyla knows she in fact was the transportation

station, not the supervising spirit. The only thing the supervising spirit

was capable of was launching them into the abysmal future with the

apparent inability to bring us back—very not funny Logan.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Her face grows haggard with

worry.

“You are going to wake up,” I pick up my pace and speed out into the

elongated corridors of the Transfer. “And I’m going to find Ezrina.”

***

Sleeping Skyla bobs along, continues to pepper me with annoying

questions about the future, al of which I artful y avoid as I bolt down

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the expansive corridors of the Transfer, shouting, Ezrina and Marshal ,

in turn, like some demented vocal exercise.

“Who are these people? Wil they save Logan?”

“One of them kil ed Logan,” I want to add, and the other wil almost kil

you, but don’t.

A rush of adrenaline surges through me just thinking of how violently

Logan and Gage were mowed down, by of al things, the Mustang. And

what about Gage? I stop abruptly, clamp my hand over my mouth

paralyzed by the thought of poor sweet Gage lying in a casket.

A murky figure materializes down the hal . I recognize that permanent

mischievous grin, those cuttingly handsome features that could rescue

him from almost any situation, this, of course, being the exception.

“There’s the devil,” I say, racing towards Marshal . I know for a fact he

said recompense was due to Logan, that the one who pierced his side

with the spirit sword was due for a severe method of payback. Of

course he’s capable of kil ing Logan. He had me kil Kate by decapitat-

ing her with my ski. Conveniently, of course, everything looks like a

freaking accident—an unfortunate act, seemingly doled out by

someone else.

Just as I’m about to knock into him ful force, an errant thought floats

through my mind as I envision another possibility—Chloe driving the

Mustang, white gloves cradling the steering wheel, escaping on her

knees into the forest like the coward she is.

I don’t let the bout of insanity interfere with the pressing need to

strangle Marshal . Even if Chloe did run them over, Marshal had his

hand in it. I’d bet my life on the fact he orchestrated the entire

event—applauded as it al went down.

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I give a forceful shove into his chest and send him flying back a good

ten feet, staggering to regain his balance.

“Do you see this?” He addresses the old me from over my shoulder.

“You, my Love, wil pursue me with a desolate passion that can only be

satisfied with a kiss from these lips.” He strides over and caresses her

cheek.

Her face ignites in a silent plea for him to extend his touch—rife with

disappointment when he releases.

“Don’t you have school tomorrow?” I ask her, annoyed. “Do me a fa-

vor, wake up and take a deep lungful of that L.A. smog. You don’t be-

long here.” I give her a hard look hoping she’l evaporate back into her

dreams.

“Skyla,” Marshal reprimands. “There is a guest in our midst, and yet

you treat her with such disrespect.” He shakes his head, mockingly.

“You did this!” I push him hard. “You kil ed Logan!” It comes out

childish, intermingled with tears.

“Do refrain from battery. I disdain being assaulted as much as I do

having a minor organ slivered with a blade.”

“So you’re threatening me now?” I stab him in the chest with my fin-

ger. “I don’t need you, Marshal . You are nothing but a murderer, a

lowlife who kil s people and laughs over their grave because you are

incapable of giving a damn!”

“Watch your language,” he seethes. “I am not in the mood,” he gives a

sharp look. “Ask the question burgeoning on your tongue. Let’s move

this conversation into the past along with the Pretty Oliver and his de-

sire to procure you for himself.” A startled laugh rattles through my

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chest. “Why? So you can threaten me? So you can tel me you’l bring

Logan back under one circumstance? Let me guess, the magic porthole

to that resurrection miracle lies directly in my pants.” I turn to the be-

wildered version of myself.

“That’s right, memorize his face. He steals your freedom,” I roar. “He

pins you against the wal and laughs when you need him most.”

“Skyla,” Marshal ’s voice spikes with shock.

“It’s true,” I yel into him. “I hate you for using me to kil Kate, and I

hate you for kil ing Logan!”

“And Jock Strap? Dare you inquire about his fate?”

“Gage,” I breathe his name in less than a whisper.

“What if I told you I’ve done away with them both? Spared you the

trouble of having to choose, whittled down your options to one.”

“As in the one standing before me?” A fire brews in me. He kil ed

Logan, and he kil ed Gage. Holy freaking shit. Marshal is a madman.

I’ve been duped and now they’re both dead.

I close my eyes as the building sways beneath my feet. The world gyr-

ates in time with my pulsating anger.

I hawk back a generous reserve of phlegm and cover Marshal ’s face

with the bubbling brew.

He recoils, lets out a series of gurgling groans as he wipes himself

clean with the back of his arm.

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“Enough,” he barks. “You have sealed your fate, Ms. Messenger. Mark

my words, you wil rue this day, lament it in tears. You wil come to me

on your knees sobbing, begging for forgiveness. But I wil tel you now

and I wil tel you then, you are on your own, Skyla. What becomes of

this mess is upon your shoulders.” He spins on his heels and strides

down the hal at a decent clip. He lets out a powerful roar before disap-

pearing into a bal of fire.

A spear of terror barrels through me. I have a feeling I’ve just opened a

Pandora’s box of nightmares and I’m about to witness every vile thing

fly into my life.

Al unholy hel is about to unleash, and I’m sure Marshal wil be quite

surprised to see that I’m going to do my best to lob it al in his

direction.

Although, I have the very distinct feeling it’l come back to me twice as

hard.

It always does.

Chapter 3

Appeal

“You real y pissed him off good.” This younger, simpler version of my-

self bounces on her feet like it’s a good thing.

“Yeah, wel , I don’t need you reminding me.” I blow out a breath.

“Ezrina?”

“Who’s this Ezrina chick?” she asks, examining a fistful of her long

spiral curls for split ends.

“She hacks off your arm in a couple of years. She’s not that bad,

though,” I shrug before unleashing another powerhouse blood curd-

ling cry that rattles the Transfer like a skeleton.

“You scared the crap out of me!” The old me seizes in panic and begins

to evaporate.

“No, wait, don’t leave!” I try grabbing a hold of her, but my fingers flex

right through. I don’t care if she is annoying. I’d rather be here with

my annoying self than suffer through the Transfer alone. Besides, it’s

not like she was going to remember any of this psychotic dream in the

morning.

She evaporates completely, leaving a wal of crushing silence in her

wake.

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I wish it were a dream, but I know better. This disaster is concretely

embedded in my life and the departed life of my dear friend Logan—I

can’t even stomach the thought of Gage not being here.

A wild shag of flaming hair appears before me so close I can smel the

scent of something burning, a foul odor layered just beneath the

smoke.

“Ezrina!” I grip her by the shoulders. A jolt sizzles through me, alive

and vibrant, like the shock from an electric fence. It knocks me back-

wards a good couple feet, and I hold myself from the horror of her

touch. Good grief, not only did the Justice Al iance disfigure her

beauty, they turned her into a livewire, literal y. And al because of the

love she had for her people. At least that’s Nevermore’s version. My

mother, the judge, might have a very different tale to tel .

“Ezrina, you have to help me. Logan, he’s in the tube—I need him

back. I…I love him.” Maybe if I paint us as star-crossed lovers, maybe

then she’l sympathize and give him back to me, untouched, unharmed

by Marshal and his assault with a deadly weapon. Besides, I do love

Logan.

Here, in this cavernous den of insanity, it seems safe to confess that to

myself.

Her lips pul into a line, comely as a blood let. Her eyes light up like

fire.

“I need him,” I pant. I can see she’s beginning to cave, considering if

only for a moment to do this very unlikely deed for me. “I’l do any-

thing to have him back. I’l work for you. I’l hack through dozens of

bodies, prep a thousand corpses for those watery graves,” then an idea

comes. “I’l reunite you with Nev.”

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Her entire person flickers with hope before she sags into her hel bent

fury and growls into me.

She stalks off down the hal in the direction of the body farm without so

much as a response.

“I beg of you,” I get down on my knees and waddle forward in an effort

to keep pace. “I’l sacrifice anything. Name your price. I swear I’l do it. I

have to have him. I can’t live without Logan.” I mean every word as it

wails from my lungs.

“Anything,” she purrs, pausing just shy of the colossal room housing a

bevy of Count corpses. “Live in my body, carry out my punishment,” it

speeds out of her an unearthly echo like she’s rehearsed it, dreamed it

a thousand times.

Crap. That is so not what I meant by anything.

When I teased Gage a few weeks back about fal ing in love with Ezrina,

never in a mil ion years did I even remotely think it would be a

possibility.

“You are fal acy’s child,” she turns on her heels, disappearing into the

blue room.

I jump to my feet and rush to her side. I’ve already given Marshal the

big F.U. I can’t lose Ezrina.

The air is warm, unnatural y thick. It’s downright tropical in here with

its sky blue reflection. It reminds me of Gage and the beautiful way I

feel when he looks at me with those eyes kissed by God.

“Don’t placate me with stale promises, Skyla,” she gravels. “You can

never give me the freedom I truly desire.”

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“Freedom?” It rattles out of me. “I’l give you freedom, I swear it.”

“Swear?” She picks up a clipboard and looks it over with a mild

amusement on my part.

“My mother—she can do this. She’s on the Justice Al iance and the De-

cision Council and who the hel knows what other committees she’s af-

filiated with,” I spasm into her. “I’m going to win the faction war, and

I’l preside over the councils. I’l veto every lousy decision while it’s stil a

gleam in their uninformed eyes. And, believe me when I say, I’m going

to right al of the fucking wrongs.” My father’s memory flashes through

me like a hot, searing wind.

She studies me with great intensity before getting back to the frazzled

hieroglyphics scrawled out on the chart in front of her.

“You have no power,” she says it low, just above a whisper. “Desire

without authority is futile.”

“You can’t just leave him in there to rot,” I slap my hand over the clip-

board. I wil destroy every psychotic effort she’s undertaken in the

name of science if she doesn’t comply.

“It’s entirely up to the Counts. He’s one of their own, of which you are

not.”

“No, they won’t rescue him. Please, I need him now, today, whatever

the hel day that is. I beg of you, Ezrina,” I col apse at her feet. “Do this

for me. I wil give you what you desire. I promise.” It departs from me

desolate as a last desperate plea.

“A promise means an entirely different thing to those of us who are no

longer human.”

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“I am so aware,” I nod feverishly. “It’s a covenant,” I’m quick to relay

Marshal ’s words. “I’l be entering into a covenant with you. Name your

price.” A lone tear jerks down the side of my face.

Her bloodshot eyes look up at the oppressive expanse of the ceiling.

Ezrina has been trapped in the Transfer for hundreds of years. I know

what she’s about to ask, she’d be insane not to.

“Your mother,” she gives a long blink as though just uttering those

words disturbed her. “Arrange another hearing,” she spears me with

her disdain. “I want Heathcliff present.”

“Heathcliff? Is he the guy with the eye patch?” Oh, wait, that was

Rothel o. Um, one of Marshal ’s lookalikes? “Oh!” It comes to me.

“Nevermore?” I take in a breath. “Heathcliff,” I touch my lips when I

say it. “He’l be there.” I nod. “You’l get your meeting with Nev—Heath-

cliff by your side.”

“Supreme,” she wrings her hands together as though this were a mani-

acal maneuver on her behalf. She speeds me over to the tank that

holds beautiful Logan’s body. It takes my breath away just being near

him.

“It’s going to be OK,” I say it directly to him as though he could hear.

“And, Ezrina?” I stand back and watch as she twists a nozzle at the

base of the tube and the liquid begins to mysteriously drain.

“Speak.” She doesn’t look up while waiting for the fluid to ful y

dissipate.

“If, by the off chance, I can’t get my mother to agree to another trial,” I

start.

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“We swap bodies,” she says it matter of fact, tips the glass tube on its

side and slips Logan out onto a gurney before wheeling him towards

the next room.

“I never agreed to that,” I pant, keeping pace.

“Then your lover doesn’t live, does he, Skyla?” She stops midflight,

pins me with al of her evil, awaiting my approval.

My lover. I bathe in the words as though they were true, as though

they could be and I wanted them to be in every single way.

I cut her a look, cold as a corpse in the mortuary.

“He lives, Ezrina. I’l move heaven and earth to get you that trial.”

Her lips curl into an unnatural smile. She gazes down at Logan, his

skin tinted grayish blue, his lips black with death.

“The honor is yours,” she instructs.

“Kiss him?” This is fast becoming a warped fairytale.

“Breathe, Skyla. Give breath to the one you love.”

I graze his face with my fingertips, cold and slippery, lips like rubber.

“Logan.” I lean over, place my mouth gently over his, pinch off his

nose and dive in with a lungful of al my love.

I’ve just made a deal with Ezrina, and I have no idea if I can keep it.

But al that matters is that I have Logan back. He’l be with me again if

only for a while.

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I give another hard push into his lungs before I’m enraptured with his

touch and give way to a desperate kiss.

I need him to win the faction war—hel , I need Logan for far more per-

sonal reasons. I hope he appreciates his newfound lease on life. The

price may have cost me everything.

I think I may have just sold my soul to Ezrina.

I’m pretty sure I did—but I’m damn sure Logan was worth it.

Chapter 4

Time After Time

Ezrina instructs me to race out of the Transfer towards the cliff adja-

cent to the haunted mansion that Marshal held me in during my quasi

capture last month. Her instructions sounded perfectly sane and ac-

ceptable when she spouted them off while wheeling Logan into the

chop shop.

Run at top speed into the base of the cliff—she insisted that was the

portal back into my world. Funny thing is, my world is a pretty broad

definition of where I might land. Technical y I could end up in China

or the Netherlands. Two completely different and wonderful places,

I’m sure, but miles away from where I belong. And, hello? What the

hel kind of lunacy is it to run into a granite wal ? Since when does

charging into a solid surface ever sound like a good idea?

The dark shingled roof of the mansion glints under a pale limestone

moon as I pick up speed. A cluster of freaky looking dead people in

eighteen-century attire roam the streets with their eerie cackles, their

strange buzzing speech. I try to ignore the fact they’ve amassed along

the roadside as I parade my insanity. Instead, I center my focus on the

ever-expanding cliff, and accelerate.

It draws near with its dark wingspan, wide as the ocean.

Crap!

This is so going to hurt real y, real y bad if it doesn’t work.

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A wild thought darts through me—what if this is al some ingenious

way to kil me? What if Ezrina’s resurrection efforts include yours truly,

and she jumps into my broken bag of bones as her take-two entrance

into the world?

God—I’m going to knock myself out and wake up as Ezrina. Or

worse—never wake up again.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” It bumps out of me. It’s coming. The wal of

granite swoops in like a buzzard in flight. It’s going to take me down,

initiate me into the afterlife, and forever I’l be forced to tel people I

died by way of self-inflicted stupidity.

I let out a ferocious scream as I barrel towards destiny—connect with

the God-breathed rock—and push right through it. An intense

vibration

—that tuning fork feeling comes over me, envelops me like a mist. My

muscles struggle to move, my legs retard in their effort to run. It’s fu-

tile, like trying to move underwater, slow and lethargic.

A burst of light emerges. I fly forward with the charge of gravity laying

over me, heavy as lead, and do a faceplant into a nest of pea gravel.

I land on a murky shore with fog so thick the only sign of the ocean is

the salty spray prickling over me. I get up and trip over a branch, try to

gain my bearings as I maneuver over rocks and land face down on a

bed of jagged stones. A sharp sting initiates over the side of my cheek

as I pant and gasp, take in the familiar scents and sounds around me.

Paragon.

I rake the pads of my fingers soft along my jaw and glance down at the

crimson stain. The sound of waves speeding in my direction catches

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my attention. I look up in time to see a wal of water baptize me with its

glory, refresh me from my stint in the Transfer. I wish it could wash

away the memory of Logan in that tube, the thought of Gage in a

grave.

I look up to see a cliff side I’ve long since come to memorize. The im-

possible winding road to the top—the cypress trees that dot the path

with their bare roots dangling exposed, holding on just to survive, it al

feels like home. I know how those suspended roots feel. Without

Logan and Gage I’m on a precipice. I can’t do this life without them.

“Devil’s Peak,” I pant, saturated from my impromptu bath in the

Pacific.

I struggle to my feet and begin the slow meandering plod uphil .

“I’m going to see Gage,” I murmur as I crest the top and land in the

barren parking lot.

Perfect. The one time I happen to need a ride there’s not a soul

around. This place is usual y littered with at least a handful of people

from East and West High. And for sure I would have broken my per-

sonal rule of never asking anyone from East for anything since they’re

assholes in general. But assholes aside, I’m broken and desperate, and

I need to find Gage.

The sky morphs into one long shadow. The cool evening air gives rise

as the ground clouds start rol ing in from the sea.

God, what I’ve landed myself here so far into the future—everyone I

know has long since died? That’s so terrible I can’t even stand to think

about it. I should never have told Marshal off. Already I’m feeling the

urge to beg his forgiveness—crawl al the way to his horse ranch and

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offer to lick the stables clean if he’l forget I ever evicted my spit in his

eye.

A truck races down the highway, and I raise an arm in an effort to

garner its attention. I trip over a rock and land hard on my right palm,

flattening a plant in the process. A horrific pain rips through my arm,

my fingers spasm and burn like I’ve just stoked a fire with my bare

hand.

I let out a scream that glorifies the abilities of vocal cords everywhere.

I scream for Logan and for Gage in one long frustrated howl to some-

how clue the universe in on the fact that I’ve final y had enough of the

torment, enough of the pain both emotional and physical.

A monster truck zooms towards me at ful throttle, stopping in haste

just shy of my knees, which surprises me because I ful y expected it to

run me over. That’s because I ful y expect Marshal to turn me into

road kil sooner than later. So, I’m rather pleasantly surprised when a

red-faced El is Harrison appears beside me, that is until he begins un-

zipping his pants.

“Relax, I know how to treat Stinging Nettle,” he shouts.

Then it hits me—what he’s about to do, and it’s like we’re in synch, El

is and I.

He stares down at my stretched taut skin, my purple bloated fingers

and gasps.

“Shit! Hold stil ,” he commands.

Instinctively I hold out my swol en hand and look away just as the

flesh is exposed from under his boxers. I feel the warm liquid spear

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over my hand and actual y begin to quel the pain before another bout

of prickling torture runs up through my arm.

“Get in, I’l take you to the hospital.” Dr. El is zips up his jeans after re-

lieving himself on my person.

He helps me into his truck by way of a not so graceful push that lands

me headfirst into the driver’s seat. I pop back up and he buckles me in

like a perfect gentleman as if he didn’t just piss al over the hand I rely

on to do just about everything. I catch a glimpse of myself in the

reflection—

bloodied face, hair frizzed out like Ezrina.

Perfect. I’m morphing already.

“Where the hel have you been?” He looks me over wild-eyed as he fish-

tails out of the parking lot.

“I’m happy to see you, too,” I’m quick to reply. “You ever piss on me

again, you’re a dead man.” I punctuate the threat with a wince as un-

real pain shoots up my bloated flesh. “Where’s Gage?” I cry out the

words knowing ful wel they’re embedded in a pain al their own.

Gage’s perfect face imprints itself before me like a silent etch, a tattoo

on the lens of my eyes that I could never get rid of, wouldn’t want to if

I were able.

“You don’t know?” His brows form a sharp V.

“Tel me he’s alive,” I blink back tears in rapid succession.

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“You’ve been gone for two effing weeks, Messenger. Logan’s at some

clinic his uncle shipped him off to, and Gage—” he pauses, squinting

into the side of the road.

“Where’s Gage,” I breathe it out inaudible. Logan I could save, he was

a Count, a Celestra before that, but Gage—he’s a Levatio as susceptible

to mortality as any ful -blooded human.

The road elongates in front of us like a dark spool of ribbon that

chases an invisible horizon. The black evergreens of Paragon anchor

themselves into the side of the road, taunt me with their spear-like

branches, they already know what’s become of my love. I cut them a

hard look.

I’m so sick of the island and al of its secrets. It can al go to hel .

“Tel me, El is.”

“I’l let you see for yourself.”

Chapter 5

True Love’s Kiss

Paragon Hospital sits like a game piece erecting itself like an awkward

protrusion against the dense woods. The shadowed pines encompass it

like a garrison—wrap its arms around the infirmary, thick as a cloak. A

listless night grounds itself in reality as the crickets saw through si-

lence with their grating, monotonous song.

“So, I was thinking,” El is switches off the radio and picks up my good

hand. The sky blushes a severe shade of purple as a glimmer of stars

bloom their il uminations from behind the foggy curtain. “Since Logan

is in traction somewhere and Gage has temporarily, or wel , let’s face

it, permanently left the building, I think this might not be a bad time

to give you and me a shot.” He nods into his ludicrous epiphany before

dive-bombing my left hand with his lips.

“What do you mean left the building?” Before I can escalate over the

alarming possibilities, El is’ truck picks up speed and careens into an

overgrown fountain. It knocks the top tier off its base and sends it

crashing into the hood.

He flattens his palm against my chest as a protective measure. “You

OK?” Short stop technique in full effect.

I pry his fingers off my boobs. “I heard that,” I give him a dirty look

before opening the door and landing with a soft thud into a foot of ice

water.

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The hospital glows against the night sky like a glittering queen as if her

beauty held healing properties al its own.

I wade my way out of the fountain.

I’m going to see Gage.

At last.

***

It takes forever to convince a girl about Mia’s age to look him up in the

database and tel me he’s on the fifth floor, room 502.

I say the number over and over to myself like a hymn as I ride the

elevator.

I’m going to see Gage, be with him—touch him.

The wal s recede behind the glass as the floor pushes up with a soft

whoosh. My thoughts revert back to Logan. Ezrina forbid me to stay,

said if I witnessed the resurrection procedures it would unnecessarily

endanger me. She swore he would arrive alive sooner than later before

chasing me out of the Transfer herself.

A soft bel rings, and the doors pul open. I stride out into the long pale

hal and read the gilded numbers along the wal . It just so happens that

room 502 is directly in front of the nurse’s station. Three women gawk

at a giant red velvet cake, eager, with forks in hand. Looks like they’l

be busy for a while.

I tiptoe inside as quiet as my sopping wet shoes wil al ow and find a

series of sheets dividing up one giant room.

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A girl emerges from the far end. She dips into me and squints.

“Skyla?”

“Briel e!” I lunge into her with a deep ful -bodied hug. Her hair is dif-

ferent, brassier, blonder. “Where’s Gage?”

“He’s here.” She holds out my hands and examines me in horror.

“What the hel happened to you? Were you living in the woods or

something? I tried to cal , but they found your cel in the forest behind

the bowling al ey.”

“Oh, right,” I try to move past her.

“Chloe’s back there.” She darts a harsh look. “She’s been here for him

every single day since he was hit. How could you?”

“What?” I don’t know whether to shake her or bolt. “I didn’t do it, I

swear. I’d never in a mil ion years hurt Logan or Gage.” Wel maybe at

one time Logan, but al that’s different now.

“The cops are looking for you.” Her eyes bug out in appreciation of my

newly declared fugitive status. “You sure you don’t want to go to

Canada, change your name or something?”

“No,” I step past her and note the unmistakable bulge in her shirt. I al-

most forgot al about the baby Count she’s incubating, no thanks to

Drake.

“I have to warn you, it’s not pretty.”

“Oh God,” I cry, running down to the end of the depressive room. I slip

in through the curtain and find Chloe coiled like a serpent on a smal

vinyl couch.

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“Nurse!” she cries, bolting to her feet.

There he is—my dark prince with his ebony hair, perfect sharp fea-

tures buried under a tangle of medical devices.

I take a breath and hold it. It’s as if the universe skipped a heartbeat,

time stood stil and let me take him for one heavenly moment.

“Gage,” I make my way over to him. An entire network of tubes fil his

mouth, his nostrils—a corrugated plastic tube is inserted right through

his trachea. A machine that looks like a robot lights up in bril iant reds

and yel ows each time he breathes, depresses an exhausting sigh as it

forces him to exhale. “Oh my, God,” I gently lay my lips over his face,

feel the heat from his body far too hot to be safe. “He’s burning up,” I

try and cool him with the back of my good hand.

Chloe, who I hadn’t even noticed was missing, reappears from behind

the curtain with a nurse who looks as if she might double as a line-

backer on Sundays.

“The police are on their way,” Chloe assures me.

“Ma’am,” the nurse beats it out in haste, “I’l have to cal security if you

don’t step away from the patient.” Her thick lips are split on the bot-

tom near a fading green bruise. They let me know she’s not above get-

ting physical to remove me from the premises.

“Gage,” I lean in and whisper into his ear, brush my lips in a tender

line along his temple. “Gage, wake up. It’s me, Skyla.” I push a kiss in-

to the side of his face and linger against the stubble, taste the salt from

his skin and just glory in his presence.

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Voices begin to rumble outside the curtain—an entire army of foot-

steps draw near. The nurse yanks at the divider quick and harsh, elicit-

ing a violent scream as she throws back the curtain.

“Skyla!” I look up to see Mom and Tad, Barron and Emma al staring

back at me bewildered.

“Gage!” I urge him to open his eyes, but nothing.

“Get that girl away from my son!” Emma shouts as the four of them

storm me like a wal of riot police.

“Gage, it’s me,” I plead. “I love you so much,” my voice breaks, “please

hear me.” Chloe scoffs at my efforts as she eyes the growing dis-

gruntled crowd of friends and relations with a secret smile.

“Where in the hel have you been?” Tad, my stepfather, booms. He

comes up from behind and buckles my arms around my back like a

common criminal. To hell with explanations, let’s see her try and

sidestep her way out of this one.

“I swear I wasn’t driving the car.” I struggle to break free from the arm

bar he has me in and stomp on his shoes like I’m trying to kil a spider.

“Let go of her,” Mom pushes Tad hard in the shoulder.

“Not on your life!” he crows. “I suppose you’d like to take her home

and coddle her, make her some nice hot cocoa, warm her jammies in

the dryer, wel those days are over, Lizbeth. If there’s one thing I’m not

doing, it’s harboring a fugitive.”

“I’m not a fugitive, I swear.” I manage to free my arms. “I wasn’t driv-

ing the car that night. I think Chloe was.” It slips out of me so fast I

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don’t have time to process the fact the accused is standing less than

ten feet away.

A col ective gasp rivals the decibel level on Gage’s breathing machine.

Al six pair of eyes settle over me with serious looks of disapproval.

“That girl,” Tad pokes a finger in her direction, “has held vigil by this

poor kid’s bedside the entire time you’ve been out on the lamb. She

has displayed nothing but her undying devotion to him. And, if I had

to venture which one of you were his girlfriend, I would peg her a

thousand times over.”

I’d like to peg Chloe a thousand times over—with long rusted nails.

“Skyla,” Mom leans in with apprehension as if she’s about to talk me

off the ledge of a building. “Let Gage be. We need to take you some-

where.” The whites of her eyes sparkle like shards.

“No,” I shake my head. “I won’t leave.” I lay my check against his

burning flesh, press in another quick kiss and savor the brine of his

skin. I would die before I left Gage again.

“He’s in a coma, Skyla,” Mom tries to coax me away with the soothing

tone of her voice. That may have worked when I was three and throw-

ing a fit over a toy in the grocery store, but she could breathe fire and I

would maintain my position—burn alive just to be near Gage. “He

can’t hear you. He doesn’t even know you’re in the room.”

I take in a breath and forget to let go.

Dear God.

44/632

“We need to go for a little drive.” Tad steers me to the foot of the bed

by the shoulders, forcing me to plow my feet as I move along.

A soft groan emits from behind.

“It’s Gage!” Briel e screeches.

Gage gives a series of monosyl able moans, and the room erupts in

cheers.

“It’s you, Skyla,” Briel e beams a smile over at me. “It was true love’s

kiss,” she cuts a hard look to Chloe.

The room floods with doctors and nurses fiddling with the nozzles and

hoses attached to his body.

“Go to him,” Emma yanks me free from Tad’s stranglehold and forces

me through the tangle of bodies. “Kiss him again, Skyla. Tel him you’re

home.”

And I do.

Chapter 6

Love Song

I hold Gage by the hand—comb his hair with my fingers, just the two

of us alone in the peaceful quiet of his room.

The doctor surmised it was beneficial for Gage to spend time with me,

said I was medicine for his ailing soul.

Gage is severely injured, and I am the panacea. I give a dry smile at the

horrific beauty of it al .

A large window sits behind him backlit by the stadium lights coming

off the parking structure. The precipitation il uminates as it presses its

fingers against the window as if the fog itself were checking to see if he

were OK.

Skyla. His voice comes through low and resonant in my mind.

“Gage!” I whisper with an aching elation I had never known before.

“I’m right here, sweetie. I love you so much. I swear it wasn’t me driv-

ing,” I sniff hard at the prospect of the idea even infiltrating his mind.

Who knows what the hel Chloe’s been loading his subconscious with

the past fourteen days? It’s freaking February according to the wal

calendar.

I know.

46/632

“Oh good—you mean the I didn’t hit you part, right? Because I was

standing right there with you. Of course, you know, I love you.” He

gives a slight nod and winces at the effort.

Logan?

“He’s,” I don’t have it in me to tel him the truth—that Logan died and

that he’s at Ezrina’s mercy, “on the mend. He’s going to be OK.” He

gives my hand a slight squeeze.

And you?

“I’m right here. I won’t leave. I promise.”

Mom comes back in with a forlorn expression. “Sorry, Skyla.” Her rus-

set hair looks a darker shade of crimson than I remember. “I’m afraid

the police were notified you’re back. They’re waiting to talk to you

down at the precinct.”

“I won’t leave.” I tighten my grip around his fingers and settle my face

next to his.

Go, he encourages. Come back when you’re able. I’m not going any-

where. It’ll give me something to look forward to.

“I’l be with him,” Emma peers in and heads on over. She eases me off

the side of the bed and replaces my hand with hers.

“I could hear him,” I whisper.

Her eyes widen with delight.

“Ride with Barron,” she insists before looking up at my mother. “Bar-

ron would like to drive Skyla over if you don’t mind.”

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“It’s probably best,” Mom sweeps her hand out the door, “my husband

is spiraling out of control.” I wait until Mom clears the curtain before

resting my fingers along the underbel y of his arm.

Tell my Mom I’m getting stronger—that I love her but I need you here

with me, too.

I relay the message to an exhausted Emma. She relaxes her arms over

me in a ful encompassing hug.

I’m so glad you’re back, Skyla, she says.

“Thank you—so am I.”

***

I had never been in Dr. Oliver’s car before. Sedan, blue, it holds the

scent of lemon polish, and the leather seat is slippery as oil. The head

of a toy clown dangles from the rearview mirror by a silver thread

hooked onto its hat. It’s creepy—weird, even.

A light rain peppers us as we drive the dark streets of Paragon. Some-

how El is has managed to remove his truck from the fountain, prob-

ably took off without reporting the incident.

“Skyla, tel me everything from the beginning.” Dr. Oliver adjusts him-

self in the seat as we maneuver out onto the main highway. “You were

at the bowling al ey,” he motions for me to continue.

“We were behind the bowling al ey, we were having an argument,”

God, I hate reliving that night.

“Who was having an argument?” His hair flashes a bril iant pearl color

as a streetlight combs over him.

48/632

“Gage and Logan, then I stepped in. Logan’s been doing some shady

stuff on his light drives.” I real y don’t want to get into the fact I had

Logan’s Celestra powers revoked by way of my otherworldly familial

connections which, in turn, caused Logan to retrieve me from my

dreams to help him move from one dimension to another. And, I’m

not entirely sure if Dr. O is aware of the fact Logan has a supervising

spirit on payrol . “So, this car started up and charged us. Logan pushed

me out of the way, and he and Gage were struck several times.”

“That much I know.” He depresses into a frown. “Who was driving?”

“Nobody was driving, at least not from what I can tel . But anyway—I

total y think it was Chloe. So, then, as I’m freaking out over the two of

them lying on the ground I hear this voice, and it’s Logan,” I tel him

about the old me and the Transfer and how Ezrina said she’d take care

of the rest.

“Thank heavens. I had no idea what would become of him after Arson

Kragger retrieved his body from the morgue.”

“Arson Kragger?” He’s the wicked father of the Kragger crew, two of

which are no longer with us.

“It’s nothing unusual. He picks up Count corpses quite regularly. I’ve

been dealing with him since I started the mortuary. But back to Logan,

how are we going to find him?” He looks visibly upset, wel , mostly

angry in a bizarre relieved sort of way.

“I don’t know,” I rack my brain for some kind of temporal answer, “but

I ended up at the base of Devil’s Peak when I came back.”

“Devil’s Peak,” he abruptly pul s to the side of the road and brings the

car to a forceful stop. A pair of headlights pul in from behind—I recog-

nize the minivan as belonging to Mom and Tad.

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“Thank you, Skyla.” He pats my knee. “Thank you for saving my broth-

er and for saving my son.”

“I didn’t save Gage,” I sweep the floor with remorse. He’s stil unable to

open his eyes—move or breathe on his own.

“You woke him. If we can get Logan today, we’l have the three of you

back in the span of twenty-four hours. Now that would be a miracle.”

He offers a repressed smile. “I’m headed to look for Logan. Don’t

worry about the police. Emma and I won’t be pressing charges. I’m

sure Gage wil give a statement when he’s able, should the state decide

to proceed.”

I open the door and step out into the saline night baptized with fresh

mist from the ocean.

“If you find him, please cal me.”

“Of course.” He looks down and his eyes widen with horror. “Good

Lord, what happened to your hand?” He leans over and examines it.

“Stinging Nettle.”

“I’l be by later to bring you something for that.”

“Thank you.” I shut the door and hop into the minivan with Mom and

Tad.

“What the hel was that about?” Tad erupts as I secure my seatbelt.

“There was some news of Logan, and he needed to tend to it.” It’s true.

“Judas Priest,” Tad throws a hand into the air as he glides back onto

the road. “You hear that, Lizbeth? That trauma center they shipped

50/632

him off to probably phoned to let him know that the poor guy kicked

the bucket.”

“Tad.” Mom spikes in agitation.

“He just dropped your kid off on the side of the road. He practical y

booted her out of a moving vehicle. Read between the lines, Lizbeth.

This is an e-mer-gency.” He turns in his seat, momentarily swerving

into oncoming traffic. “And you,” he pokes a finger in my direction.

“Never, ever, leave the scene of a crime. You got that? You don’t clip a

bunch of people on a night you aren’t even supposed to be out of the

house and then go off on a two-week vacay with God knows who.” He

resettles his grip over the wheel before turning to my mother. “She’s

probably got another boy-toy tucked away someplace she keeps handy

for these breaks from reality she’s prone to taking.”

“Skyla was not on a vacation, and there is no one for her but Gage,”

Mom defends me with a tone I’m not used to hearing her invoke in

Tad’s presence—for sure not aimed at him. “Skyla, explain yourself. I

want the truth.” Yeah right, the truth. “Um, so, I was stuck in some

whitewashed prison with a witch, and I couldn’t get out for two

weeks.” Almost the truth, nevertheless it was al I could come up with

since I’m emotional y spent.

“See that?” Tad slashes the air with his hand. “Fairytales. Witches and

warlocks, ooh, I’m scared,” he wiggles his fingers. “Is it working on

you yet, Lizbeth? Have you crapped your pants with worry? Because

she sure spins a good yarn, I’l give her that.” He pounds the dash to

annunciate his point.

Mom sags into her seat as we pul into the station.

I’m betting there’s a certain detective Edinger just waiting to interrog-

ate me.

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The only one crapping her pants around here is me.

***

“Skyla,” Demetri Edinger, the Fem who kil ed my father gives a side-

ways smile that looks evil in every way. “So nice to see you’re safe.” He

pul s his lips further into an unconvincing smile. “I hear you have a

tendency to run away, but I want to assure you that there is nothing to

be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid,” I openly glare at him. “I’l never fear you, Demetri.”

“Skyla Laurel Messenger,” Mom’s eyes bulge the size of eggs.

When the time comes to name my children I’l have to remember that

the middle name is only to be invoked as a curse—a moniker-inspired

expletive, if you wil . I’l be sure to search high and low for a power

name with maximum I’m-so-pissed-off-at-you-right-now impact. For

sure nothing pansy like Laurel. The soft syl ables alone betray the in-

justice in Mom’s tone. I never take that name seriously. It sounds like

a song, makes me want to play with unicorns and bake cupcakes.

“Forgive her, detective. She has no regard for authority whatsoever,”

Tad is quick to kiss the ass of the man who’s trying to steal his wife.

“She’s a loose cannon. Odd things fly out of her mouth without warn-

ing. It’s an aftereffect from the recreational pharmaceuticals she

dabbles in from time to time.” He says it with authority as if there

were medical evidence to support his theory.

The only thing that could possibly be an aftereffect of recreational

pharmaceuticals is my mother’s marriage to him. That would explain

everything. One day Mom is going to sober up and start using again

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from the sheer horror of what she’s managed to legal y chain herself

to.

Demetri leads us to a back room. He sits before me like a shadowed

wal and asks an endless list of questions which I answer to the best of

my ability without ever actual y eluding to the truth. Sometimes you

have to tel people what you want them to believe and nothing more.

I’m sure the word lying would fit nicely in there somewhere, but I’m

more interested in making my way back to Gage sans an extended stay

in the psychiatric unit than gab on about time travel and Ezrina, al-

though, ironical y, Demetri would believe me.

“Where did you sleep, Skyla?” Demetri sounds bored, fatigued from

dispensing the inquisition.

“I slept in the woods and ate berries.” I thrash him with al of the

hatred I can muster. I’ve already kil ed him in my mind at least six dif-

ferent times while I’ve been seated. I imagine his head exploding over

the wal s like a giant pumpkin—detonating like a powerhouse—noth-

ing but orange, stringy guts dangling from the ceiling.

“You don’t look malnourished.” He blinks a dul smile.

“I found a goat by a large flat stone in the middle of a clearing, you

know the one,” I say, accusingly. I watch as he flinches, enjoy the

rhythm of his irritation. “I sacrificed it for my hunger. Stripped it of its

flesh and put it over a fire,” I envision myself doing that to Demetri. “It

satisfied me.” Come to think of it, his head is the size of a pumpkin. If

he was my father, I’d clearly be malformed. Sometimes nature knows

best and doesn’t al ow people like him to procreate. But, then again, it

has its genetic hiccups—look what happened with Tad. And obviously

Mom’s incessant drug abuse has confused her into procreating with

him.

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“Skyla, that’s disgusting,” Mom shivers from the goat visual, but

secretly I think she picked up on the fact I accidental y imagined her

procreating with her nuptial mishap.

“Relax, Lizbeth, she’s lying,” Tad informs. “It’s her favorite hobby.”

A strangled tension crops up between the two of them. You could light

a match, and the room would explode from the animosity between Tad

and my mother.

Demetri reaches over and picks up my mother’s hand.

“You know, Lizbeth.” He bears into her eyes with those dishonest orbs.

“Under these kinds of circumstances being there for your child emo-

tional y is the most important thing and that’s what you’re doing.

That’s what you always do because you are an exceptional mother.”

And he is exceptional bul shitter.

I look over to Tad who’s busy staring down Demetri.

This isn’t going to end wel .

This Fem is going to steal my mother right from under Tad’s nose if he

doesn’t step up his game.

And, for once, I think I’m rooting for Tad—just barely.

“See you soon, Skyla,” Demetri rises.

“For what?”

“Community service,” he inhales, expanding his chest wide as a brick

house.

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Oh that’s right, the pot bust consequence.

He nods. “We’re going to restore my grandfather’s estate to its former

glory.”

I stare into him curiously. How can a Fem have any sort of family

history?

I wonder.

Chapter 7

Family Time

The windows of the Landon house are adorned with pink and red

hearts. I burst through the door, leaving Mom and Tad to finish the

little talk they started after we left the station and continue in a heated

manner as they walk up the driveway. It was like a broken record with

Mom defending my behavior, Tad condemning me, and the two of

them ignoring the fact I was right there in the vehicle able bodied and

listening.

As if the fighting behind me weren’t bad enough, I can hear Mia and

Melissa going at it ful steam in the family room.

“What is going on?” I spring up on them just as they move into each

other’s faces.

“Stay out of this, Skyla,” Melissa snaps.

OK, so real y, I sort of expected to be tackled with hugs and perhaps

for them to tel me how much they missed me like they did the last

time I disappeared. Heck, I’d even settle for a where the hell have you

been, but nothing.

“The next time I catch you with anything that belongs to me, I wil

slingshot your ass across the Pacific!” Melissa stabs a finger into Mia’s

chest.

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What the heck is this about? Just as I’m about to ask, Holden waltzes

in the room and jars me into vocal paralysis—only it’s not Holden, it’s

Ethan. I hope.

“Hel o,” I say, fol owing him into the kitchen.

He grunts while retrieving a soda from the fridge.

“You the runaway?” He cracks it open and takes a swig.

God, he even acts like Holden.

“I guess that would be me.” I lean in secretively, “I know what

happened to you.” He sets the can down hard onto the counter and

dril s into me with those strange Holden eyes. Funny because I never

knew Holden before when he was actual y himself, and now that Ethan

is back in his right body, I stil see Holden.

“We’l talk later.” His voice is softer, his shoulders not stretched back

taut like a jackass looking for fight. Maybe this new incarnation of

Ethan real y is the new and improved version.

“For sure,” I say.

“Let go,” Melissa snaps. I turn in time to catch my sisters in a tug of

war over a silver purse. Mom steps in and snatches it from both their

clutches.

“That’s enough,” she shouts. “I’m sick and tired of al this fighting. I’ve

had it with the two of you.” I’ve never seen Mom so dislodged from her

sanity before.

Melissa snatches the bag from Mom’s fingers.

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“I believe this is mine, Liz bitch,” she barks the malformed moniker in

my mother’s face.

“Take it back!” Mia screams.

Tad lets out a whistle that makes Sprinkles the rat dog run for cover

beneath the dining room table. He claps his hands over his head three

times and cal s for Drake.

“Family meeting,” he makes a series of circles in the air with his finger

before pointing over to the couch. “Al of you, and I mean now!” Mia

and Melissa sit on opposing couches. Drake sails down and high fives

me before sitting at the bar as if I had merely stepped out for a shift at

the bowling al ey.

“I said here,” Tad barks, and Drake comes over between Ethan and

me. “A lot of stuff has happened to this family as of late. Ethan, you’ve

proved yourself a changed young man, I appreciate the effort. Drake,

you and Briel e…” He throws his hand into the air without finishing

the thought.

“Mia and Melissa, for God’s sake, you used to get along better than sis-

ters, and now look at you! Fighting over boys? Who cares about boys?”

Tad chokes out the words.

It’s about that stupid Armistead kid, I can smel him a mile away. If

he’s anything like his sister, he’s a bad freaking seed.

“Skyla’s back,” he continues, “and before she’s formal y charged with

yet another homicide, a few things are going to change around here.

For one, your mother and I wil be around the house a little more often

because we no longer have to babysit that linebacker your sister tried

to force feed her Michelins.”

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“Skyla did not run anybody over,” Mom screeches out, exasperated.

“And would you please stop referring to Gage as that linebacker? We

were at the hospital to show our support for the Olivers. Thank God,

Gage is going to be al right.”

“He needs me there,” I interject. “The doctor said I was like some mir-

acle drug.” It takes everything in me not to bolt out the door. I noticed

that freaking Mustang is parked high on the driveway. I suppose Tad

wanted the monument of Chloe’s psychotic behavior for the cash value

after al .

“Oh, you’ve got a side effect on people.” Tad glares at me. “I think what

this family needs is some serious alone time together.” Alone?

“Your mother and I propose we take some time just the,” Tad conducts

a not so silent headcount, “seven of us.”

“We should go to New York,” Mia beams.

“We should go to Paris,” Melissa glowers over at her. “You always

think so smal .”

“You’re right,” Mia snipes. “I was thinking real y smal when I took on

your dumb last name. Mom, I’m changing my name back.”

“Whoa,” Mom fans her arms out like a referee. “Nobody is going to

New York or Paris, or changing their names. We are al keeping our

own identities and staying put. You can’t just flip it on and off like a

light switch. You’re a Landon, Mia.” I knew she’d regret it.

“So, are we going to Seattle?” I ask. Honestly, I just need for them to

pinpoint a venue so I can properly plan my escape. There is no way in

hel I’m leaving Gage even for a minute. No locale on the planet is luc-

rative enough to drag me away.

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“Nope,” Tad twists. “We’re staying right here on Paragon.”

“It’s a stay-cation,” Mom offers a placid smile that springs up as quick

as it dies down.

“Great.” This is so freaking stupid, but I don’t dare cal them out on it. I

think in al of their absurdity they actual y stumbled onto something

that borders on bril iant.

“That’s right,” Tad nods, rather proud of the not so big reveal. “We’l be

enjoying the great outdoors right here on the island.”

“Camping?” Mia crawls up on the couch as though Tad just unleashed

a venomous snake into the room. “I don’t do camping.”

“You do now,” Tad informs her. “Next weekend.”

“That’s Valentine’s Day,” Melissa is quick to snip. “The school has a

dance.”

“OK, we’l fit it in the fol owing weekend. Consider yourselves warned,”

Tad squawks.

There’s a knock at the door that rattles through the house, abrasive as

gunfire.

“We’re a damn family, and it’s about time we start acting like one,”

Tad storms off towards the entry. “Skyla, it’s for you.” Chapter 8

Arrive Alive

I prattle down the hal expecting to see Briel e, Dr. Oliver, or even

Chloe’s menacing mug, but this—Logan’s beautiful face is unimagin-

ably the best thing I could have ever hoped for.

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“Logan!” I jump into his arms and let him twirl me as he takes in my

scent, kisses my neck, my cheeks, the spontaneous shower of tears on

my face. The misty night air dusts a circle of approval over our

shoulders, cool as a damp towel. His blonde hair glints under the sil-

ver dol ar moon.

His sharp features trap light and shadow with their perfection, spel ing

out the fact he’s a modern day Adonis. “You’re back, you’re real y

back.”

“Come in,” Mom urges, pul ing us inside by the elbow.

“My dad wanted me to give you this,” Logan hands me a tube of white

ointment.

“Perfect, thank you.” I give him a puzzled look. Dr. Oliver is Logan’s

uncle, wel , technical y his brother, but for practical purposes he’s not.

“I was thinking about taking Skyla out,” he nods into Mom. “You

know, hang out, catch up.” Mom and Tad just stand there stupefied by

this viral—alert, and very much alive-looking Logan.

“So what happened?” Tad washes over him with suspicion. “I thought

you were at death’s door, you look perfectly fine.” His voice drags as

though he were somehow implying that the Oliver’s had purposeful y

deceived him about Logan’s condition.

“Ship shape.” Logan taps his chest. “Just needed a tune up. Hey, they

ever catch the bastard that ran me over?” He needles into Tad trying to

maintain his sarcasm.

Shit.

Logan must have real y hit his head in the wrong place.

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“You know what?” I take up his hand and jump in front of him. “I

would love to go out with you. Maybe get a bite? And we can see Gage

after.” Logan gives a reluctant smile.

“Don’t stay out late. Tomorrow is school.” Mom hands me one of Mia’s

jackets before I speed down the porch with Logan.

I have Logan and Gage back, real and in person. I was so afraid that I

would lose them both—that everything we built together would be re-

duced to memories, useless as pressed flowers.

I pause just shy of his truck and wrap my arms around him, brush my

lips against his beating chest.

The world has righted itself. I can see and feel everything, and

everything around me spel s love.

***

Logan barrels us down the road at breakneck speeds.

“Slow down. I’m pretty sure Ezrina’s not in the mood for another res-

toration project tonight.” I don’t bother tel ing him about my deal with

the hostess with the mostess corpses. Or, how, she’l be wearing my

body like the latest fashion in just a little while if I don’t arrange a do-

over with the fab four that comprise the Justice Al iance.

“So, where do I normal y take you?” He tweaks my knee and gives a

little wink.

“What’s wrong?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

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“My head’s al clouded over. I can’t hold a thought more than two

seconds.” He glowers into the long blank silence of the road. “I’l need

you to fil in a few blanks for me.”

“Let’s go see Gage. We can both fil in the blanks for you.”

“We’l see him right after, but for now, lets do something just you and

me.”

“You wanna go to the bowling al ey? We can probably see Briel e.”

“I was thinking somewhere a little more private. Black Forest?” He

hums along to the radio, turning up the volume.

“No, way. I hate that place. Let’s go to the bowling al ey. You know, re-

visit the scene of the crime.” And, real y, I wouldn’t mind seeing Bree.

“Suit yourself.” He drives us down the highway until we hit the dilap-

idating rectangle that is the bowling al ey.

“Watch this,” he skips over the easement that leads into the parking

lot and bumps over a series of smal boulders that act as landscaping.

“Hey!” I shout, jostling about, snatching away at the dashboard, trying

to keep from knocking into the window. He speeds us around the

building to the dirt lot where the Mustang knocked the life out of him

and comes just shy of hitting the trunk of an evergreen. “Shit!” I pant.

“You almost smacked into that thing. And, by the way, the tree would

have total y won. Don’t joke around like that.” The last thing I need is

a head injury. A metal halo dril ed into my skul isn’t exactly a girl’s ac-

cessory of choice for Valentine’s Day.

“Who says I’m joking?” He sobers quickly, kil ing the ignition. “I’m go-

ing to start living life to the ful est. No more of this ambling around

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not enjoying myself, bul shit.” He gives a dry laugh. “Come here,” he

says, swiveling his arms up my sweater. “I believe I owe you a proper

thank you.”

“I believe you do,” I push his hands back down. “But not like that.”

He pul s me in by the back of my neck and indulges in an unwelcome

kiss by way of his meandering tongue.

Before I can push him away, the radio ignites in one loud blast, and I

snatch my hands up over my ears to stop the noise.

“Crap,” Logan switches it off. “Must have hit it with my knee.”

“I think we should go see Gage.” For sure being alone with Logan is

not a good idea. I believe his thril to live campaign is being solely run

by his penis. “So, we should drive to the hospital, like now.”

“He’s stil in there, huh?” He shakes his head at the thought. “You

should wake him up with some of that Celestra magic, perk him right

up.”

“I didn’t even think of that. You’re a genius.” I push him gently in the

shoulder. “I’m sorry about having your powers revoked.” I say it so low

I’m not even sure he heard.

He stares off in a daze as though he were just remembering this reality

himself.

“Shit,” he mutters. “No, it’s OK.” He takes in a hard breath. “There are

so many other things that make life worth living.” He starts up the

truck, dazed by the revelation, and heads back out onto the black ex-

panse of highway that drifts unknowably in both directions.

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“What happened when you died Logan? What did you see?”

He swal ows hard, stil lost, gazing at the road ahead.

Logan looks fatigued, worn out underneath this jubilant demeanor.

Death has discolored the world for him. I hope he gets his bearings,

retrieves whatever it is he might have lost. I hope death didn’t come in

and rob him of who he truly is deep down inside.

“It wasn’t good, Skyla,” his voice wobbles. “Nothing good waits for

you. We need to live it up right now. This is al it’s ever going to be for

us.”

“Did you end up in the transport?” Marshal took me there once. A

Jasper cave with angels ready to send you up or down, no in-between.

He nods. “Pushed me back down to earth. And believe you me I’m glad

to be here. I real y owe you one.” I give a little laugh as we pul into the

parking lot of the hospital.

“You don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad you’re back.” I lean over and

hug him for a very long time, take in his scent, and feel his body rise

and fal with each breath he takes.

Having Logan back is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Chapter 9

Just One Taste

At the hospital, the ornery nurses let me know by way of their aggress-

ive snarls, their barking reprimands, that it’s past visiting hours—that

I can’t see Gage. I wait until they distract themselves by way of a newly

discovered box of chocolate I bought at the gift shop and covertly

landed on their desk before sneaking in.

Logan volunteered to wait in the truck to give Gage and me some

much-needed privacy, which I total y appreciate. I let him know I

wouldn’t have minded if he went in and said hel o, hung out, but he

insisted.

“Hi,” I whisper. A thin vanil a blanket conforms perfectly over his body

giving the il usion he’s a marble statue from the chest down.

Gage smiles, his eyes are open just barely, exposing bloodshot bruises

with blue sirens dotting the middle. He leans up looking very much

like his old self.

I round out the bed and crawl beside him.

Gage takes a breath, sans the tubes. He lowers the volume on the bas-

ketbal game and pats me over. He looks sleepy, but radiates his love

for me, expresses it with every cel of his body.

“Throat hurts,” he rasps out the words, brushing his lips over my

cheek with a minty kiss. His skin holds the sharp scent of soap, his

66/632

hair stil wet from the shower. God, I hope it was a shower, not some

buxom bombshel of a nurse helping him with a sponge bath.

“I won’t stay long.” I scoot in tight next to him.

Please, stay long—all night in fact. He kneads into my bare arm with

his fingers, traces a line up to my shoulder before letting his hand fal

back onto the bed from fatigue . I can’t speak.

“Lucky for you, you don’t have to,” I press out a soft smile. “Logan is

back.”

My dad told me. Said he’s real happy to be here.

“Yeah, wel , I guess death does that to a person. He’s al hopped up on

life now.” Thank you.

“Don’t thank me yet.” I glance over at a pair of smal metal scissors

next to the comb and toothbrush on the end table. I pick them up and

slit a smal line up the side of my wrist, a safe distance from the blue

veins that protrude from my skin like roadways on a map. A fragile

seam of blood rises to the surface, cresting until it forms a wave of

crimson over my pale flesh.

“Skyla,” his voice breaks my name in two equal parts. No, he protests,

closing his lids as if holding back tears.

“Yes. I want you home, healed and healthy. I want to go to Rockaway

Point with you, rol around on the black sand and log some serious

time under that coral tree.”

You remember? His dimples go off like sirens.

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“Are you kidding? I’ve grafted every one of the memories we’ve created

over my heart. I remember everything about you and me.” I trace out

his features with the pad of my finger. “And I want to go snorkeling

with you again, watch as you make the butterfly room light up—find a

hotel room that we can cal our own.”

His brows twitch in amusement. He sears me with a seductive look

without trying.

“So, if you want to get cracking on any of those good things you’re go-

ing to need to get better, fast.” I hold my wrist up to him like an

offering.

He takes my hand and gently pushes my flesh up against his mouth,

seals his lips over the wound and kisses it. Gage closes his eyes and in-

dulges in a few good drags. It feels sensual, sexual in nature—desire

coupled with pain.

“I thought you were dead,” I whisper, my voice warbling on the verge

of tears. “Logan took me away to the Transfer then he disappeared. I

thought I’d never get back to you.”

I’m not dead. A shadow digs into his left cheek. I must have dreamed

a thousand dreams about you these past two weeks. The curve of a

naughty smile brims on his lips.

“Al things delicious, I suspect.”

I dreamed of a future with you. We were in school, private college, on

a neighboring island. It was just you and me. He strokes the side of

my face with the back of his hand, washes his eyes over me with a mix-

ture of sadness and anticipation.

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“You think it was a vision?” I soak in his sad earnest gaze. I love the

way he makes me feel when he absorbs me through those powerful

lenses, like he’s appreciating an exotic painting from afar wondering

what it would be like to crawl inside the canvas— a starving man hov-

ering over a hot meal and al he’s al owed to do is take in the aroma.

I know some of them were. We are magic, Skyla. We have everything

to live for. His features harden, his mind draws a wal of concrete so

high and thick, I could never penetrate into that deep abyss.

“You saw something else?”

Nothing new. Just affirmations of things I’ve seen before.

“Anything you’d like to share?” I take a slow drawn breath—already I

know the answer.

I’m tired, Skyla.

“I can cut my finger,” I offer.

He shakes his head, picks up my finger and kisses it before replacing it

into the safety of his own warm hand.

I’d split my entire body in half if I thought it would make Gage better.

He looks up at me with surprise, breaks out into a slow spreading

smile.

I know you would, Skyla. That’s why I love you.

***

69/632

The next morning I’m beyond exhausted. I drive the Mustang to

school—the Mustang that has a distinct Gage shaped dent in the fend-

er from trying to snuff the life out of both Oliver boys at once. I

thought maybe I could forgive the orange chunk of metal for being a

part of the malfeasance that took place that night, especial y since I

know for darn sure it wasn’t the poor car’s fault, but truthful y I hate it

just a little bit for being responsible even if it was on a rudimentary

level.

Just looking out the windshield forces me to see that night take place

like a transparency overlaid on top of the world. Logan and Gage with

their statue white faces—the look of horror on Gage that I had seen

once before by way of Marshal ’s visionary kisses.

During second period it takes al of my effort to keep myself conscious.

“Ms. Messenger, are you here to acquire numeric knowledge or drift in

a dream?” Marshal knocks on his desk to further ral y my attention.

“Dream—I mean learn,” I say, straightening in my seat. I stay alert

long enough to observe as he cascades a repetitive cloud of numbers

and letters across the board in a nonsensical sequence, try to listen as

he thunders through his explanation.

“Problems one through five,” he instructs the class before seating him-

self on the edge of his desk. Marshal watches me, his lingering gaze

drifts to my right, and he closes his eyes.

Oh, Skyla, he says it ful with disappointment.

I arch my brows at him before indulging in the inevitable and putting

my head down onto the desk.

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If he’s not elaborating I’m not biting—that’s the thing with Marshal ,

he always wants a bite. The more flesh to dig his teeth into, the better.

Long night?

I give a quick thumbs up. Actual y that’s not why I’m tired. I didn’t

stay out too late at the hospital, partial y because Logan was waiting in

the parking lot. I was up al night listening to Mia and Melissa lob in-

sults at one another through our paper-thin wal s. Usual y I’m immune

to their midnight murmurings, but once their lexicon became vitriol-

ic—laced with bitch and asshole, then, of course, I perked up to atten-

tion. I’ve made a mental note that the wal s are akin to tattletales for

the next time Gage comes over. I bet the girls have been logging each

time he sneaks into my bedroom and are holding onto that info for

some supreme form of blackmail. Anyway, they hate each other now.

And apparently my mother is pretty high on Melissa’s shit-list be-

cause, once again, she addressed her as Lizbitch during breakfast and

no one said squat. If that’s what Mom and Tad are letting fly around

Landon manner, I’d like to come up with my own version of abase-

ment and humiliation tailor made for Taddy dearest.

Rumor has it an archeological dig at the Edinger estate is in your fu-

ture. Marshal shifts. Care to trade in soggy soil for some time at the

ranch? Say the word. I’ll have it arranged within the hour.

“Price is too high,” I say, lifting my head just a notch.

Crap. I just said that out-freaking-loud.

The bel dril s its high-pitched wail into my skul , rattles my brain

around until foaming at the mouth feels like a real possibility. People

are too busy shoving books into their backpacks to properly dissect my

newfound verbal insanity, and, I suppose for this, I should be

thankful.

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A dark figure hovers over me, shadows the world on the other side of

my eyelids. I open groggily to find Chloe in al her dark splendor, sharp

and beautiful as a rusted out tack. You need a Tetanus shot just to give

her a hug.

“I hear Gage is wel .” Chloe offers her signature scowl.

The lights flicker as thunder erupts outside, corrugates the classroom

with its howling roar.

“What in the hel are you doing here?” For a moment I consider the fact

I’m having a bad dream, some kind of hal ucination that you’re rewar-

ded with after not enough sleep. I’m shocked to see her standing on

West Paragon’s soil as though she were never kicked out in the first

place.

“The sword wasn’t mine. I was able to prove there was no way I lugged

that thing to school, nor did I plan on stabbing you in the gut with it.

I’ve been back for a solid week.” She glances up at Marshal and gives

the slight curve of a smile.

No sulking, Marshal reprimands, pretending to clear the clutter off his

desk. You know full well you didn’t fulfill your end of the agreement.

Sometimes I real y hate Marshal . I should teach them both a lesson

and do my best rendition of a batshit ape—lob furniture around and

accidently fracture Chloe’s spinal cord, rip her vertebrae out one by

one just for the fun of it. I could always plead insanity. I’ve practical y

got Dr.

Booth in my back pocket. I think.

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“Yeah, wel , Gage is better.” I pul my stuff together and stand. “You

were driving the car that night, weren’t you?” Her smile dissipates.

“You think I would do that to my dear friend Gage? What kind of mon-

ster do you think I am?”

“The kind that kil ed my father, kil ed Ethan, kil ed Emerson.” I pul

back a finger as I log each name. “Yes, Chloe, I do think you’re that

kind of monster. A murderous monster who happens to be lost in a

perpetual jealous rage over the fact the boy you love doesn’t love you

back. Get over it.” I cinch my backpack over my shoulder. “But then

you’re incapable of getting over it, aren’t you?” Her features contort as

I speed out the door.

Logan holds up a hand and high fives me in the hal on my way towards

the stairwel . I should tel Logan that Gage wants to see him, tel him

how much better Gage is after just one taste of my Celestra fortified

goodness. I pivot on my heels and catch Logan pul ing Chloe off into

an alcove.

My stomach does a hard rol , burns hot with its own version of a jeal-

ous rage.

I bet that’s Chloe’s new game. Knife me in the back by dating Logan.

If Logan ever gets back together with Chloe, I would total y die.

I suppose that’s how Chloe feels about Gage.

Chapter 10

Never

“Hey!” Briel e shrieks during nutrition. “Look at you! I saw Logan this

morning. Did you see him?” She clutches onto me with a rocking hug.

“Look at you,” I take in a sharp breath trying not to look horrified by

the fact her stomach is shooting out like a torpedo in her tight knit

sweater. It rises and fal s dramatical y with each breath she takes,

smacking me in the boobs on the upswing. It’s like one of those games

at the amusement park where you strike the hammer and the bal

spikes to hit a bel . I feel like I might be handed a giant stuffed panda

at any moment.

“I know. It’s funny, right? I look deformed.” She brushes cookie

crumbs off her newfound shelf.

“This coming from the girl who thought it was perfectly acceptable to

wear a bel y dress to the winter formal? You look fine.” She real y does,

considering her condition. I’m stil not sure where Briel e and I stand.

She never did fess up to being a Count until I cal ed her out on it, not

to mention the fact she thought it was cute when I showed up to the

sacrificial stone as the promised lamb herself. And don’t get me star-

ted on the fact Chloe paid her a solid grand to be my bestie. At the

least I think she owes me some serious cold hard cash for pretending

to be hers, wel , I am her friend but that’s beside the point.

“Please—I’l be in a tent by prom.” She looks dejected just thinking of

the idea. “So, I’ve total y taken over at the bowling al ey. I don’t have

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you down for hours yet. Let me know when you’re ready. Hope you

don’t mind but I’ve been having Chloe pinch hit.”

“What?” Chloe is like a virus that hits you coming and going. I’d rather

eat dinner out of a public urinal than brush elbows with Chloe at work.

“I needed someone. There were three shifts to cover, and desperate

times cal for hiring desperate people. Besides, she was way mel ow

while you were gone.”

“That’s because I was gone and the fact she was able to hold a private

candlelight vigil next to Gage every night.” She was probably kissing

him, licking his face like a cat—groping him inappropriately.

“True, she went before and after work.”

“Wel , someone cal the Vatican. We’ve got a real freaking saint on our

hands.”

“I don’t want to upset you or anything, but she’s total y opened up to

me. You know, we used be good friends before she ditched me for the

bitch squad. I mean it’s not like we’re BFF’s now or anything, but she’s

talking to me again like a real person. Who knew Chloe Bishop had a

heart?”

“If she’s got a heart, it’s because she ate one for breakfast. Don’t let her

fool you. She’s a heartless, soul ess bitch that wil annihilate anything

and anyone who gets in her way.”

She gives a slow nod. “She may have mentioned the fact, she lives to

take you down.”

“I can’t real y take it personal y. She lives to take down anything that

stands in her way of Gage.” In fact, if I had to guess what she was

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doing on al those questionable light drives with El is, I’d venture to say

she was working on rearranging Gage’s genetic code to somehow in-

clude fal ing in love with her. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit to find

out she accidental y dismantled the universe in her impotent efforts at

procuring his affection.

One day Chloe is going to screw up gravity and turn us al into space

debris trying to crack the code to Gage Oliver’s heart. “Besides, I

nailed her to a wal .” An image of Logan’s film playing at the bowling

al ey runs through my tired brain. “There is no way she’s going to get

in the way of my relationship with Gage ever again.”

“I don’t know,” Briel e circles over me with a look of apprehension. “I’d

watch my back if I were you.”

“Chloe’s the one who’d better watch her back. If I get proof she took

down Logan and Gage, she’s going back to hel , and I’l make sure to

lock the door behind her this time.”

“Fighting words,” El is slings his arm around my shoulder. “Who’s go-

ing? And how’s your hand?”

“Never mind. I’m going to see Gage after school, and my hand is one

hundred percent.” I wiggle my urine free fingers.

The sky peels open. A flood of rain col apses over the awning we’re

huddled beneath. A violent spray of lightning bathes the world around

us with its unusual brand of daylight.

“Party Saturday at my house,” El is leans in as though this were a

breaking news update. “I might need to take a quick trip with my love

honey Friday night just to ensure a good time is had by al .” He bumps

into me when he says love honey, our new light driving safe word.

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“Saturday is Valentine’s Day!” Briel e hops when she says it. “I have

this whole romantic thing planned for me and Drake. We’re going to

the fal s to build a fire, if the weather doesn’t ruin things.”

“You can’t go to the fal s,” El is scoffs. “You have to come to my house.

I’m having a special event.”

“Brownie bake off?” I ask. That would explain the light drive. “Oh, and

no to Friday night.” I’m tiring of that whole routine of me taking him

back and losing my boyfriend in the process while al El is ever seems

to lose is a few lousy brain cel s.

“Better than a brownie bake off,” he assures. “You’l have to come over

and find out for yourselves. Trust me, no one is going to want to miss

this.”

“You’re hanging Chloe from a tree, and we’re al going to take turns

beating her with a basebal bat?” I ask, hopeful. The visual alone is

enough to brighten my day.

“Yeah,” his eyes bulge at the thought. “Something like that. Only there

won’t be any candy spil ing out when she final y cracks open, more like

snakes and rats.” He snarls into me. “Just be there. Don’t blow this

one off or you’l be sorry,” he warns. And with that, he treks off into the

storm.

***

The week goes on with its peculiar rhythm of school and my daily vis-

its to the hospital. I let Gage siphon off my fingers, feel his passion

grow as he indulges on the salty brine of my affection. His face glows a

rosy pink, his hair shines anew, black as the glossy feathers on Never-

more’s back. He looks al together splendid, nothing like the near

corpse he was that first day I found him intubated and attached to the

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animatronic robot that assisted with his breathing. I plan on satisfying

him with a lot more than what my bone marrow could ever offer once

they release him.

Thursday night after they evict me from the hospital, I nestle up on my

window seat and stare up at the hazy night sky. The storm has blown

over, and the white pristine breath of God once again finds a home on

Paragon, cradling us like a child with a flower before it mercilessly

plucks off the petals. Something malignant is brewing, there’s a sinis-

ter rush of excitement in the air. The evergreens attest to this as they

gloat in the wind. An unsettling feeling has plagued me ever since I left

the Transfer that day.

A gentle peck erupts on the other side of the glass. I jump back startled

to find Nevermore grazing at the window with the necrotic tip of his

beak. I rol out the casement and let him crouch inside.

“Hey, you.” I say, sealing out the roving fog. “I absolutely hate that you

have to live out there like some kind of animal.” I land my warm palm

over his back, stroke his feathers soft as a dream. He stands tal , regal.

Nevermore is an exceptional size even for a raven.

I am an animal. He twitches and shudders beneath me.

“Maybe,” I twirl my thumb over the top of his head. “But you were very

much human once upon a time. Isn’t that right— Heathcliff?” He lets

out an unexpected caw and sends me pressing my finger over my lips

in an effort to reprimand him.

“Tad wil snap your neck and prep you for the frying pan if he finds you

in here.” Ironic because he didn’t bother doing that to Gage when he

caught us in bed together. My father would have sawed him in half at

the waist for committing such a carnal crime even if it were total y

chaste. “I think Tad’s afraid of you.”

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He should be. I’ll peck his eye out if he tries imprisoning me again.

Now, back to subject at hand, Skyla—my name. Who dispensed such

worthless information?

“Your lady love,” I hold my breath a moment before fil ing him in on

the dirty terms of my agreement with Ezrina.

Skyla, it expels from him with great sadness, she’s resorted to trickery

in order procure a body for herself. She’s desperate to break out of

that prison cell of a carcass—the sentence she’s been handed is too

much for her to bear. Don’t you see? She realizes she’s asked the im-

possible. The Justice Alliance is in no manner going to entertain a

retrial.

“Are you sure?” I guess Ezrina lying to me to get what she wants isn’t

entirely outside the realm of possibility. God, she real y is like me.

“Anyway, lest you forget, my mother practical y runs the judicial circus

in the sky. This is a no-brainer. Of course she’s gonna help me out and

get you guys a new trial. That’s what nepotism is al about.”

Oh, so you think we’ve suffered out our punishments for the simple

fact we didn’t have the right familial relations? Oh, dear girl, don’t

you know by now that there are rules to comply with and that those

rules are set in stone?

“Let me guess—the word covenant is involved,” I sigh, annoyed. That’s

al Marshal ever gripes about is covenants and promises. You’d think

the infrastructure of the universe would come unhinged if people

didn’t do what they promised.

It is a covenant. There is no way to undo what the Justice Alliance

has deemed a worthy punishment. This is an eternal grievance, and

we must live to accept that. I myself realize those terms and Ezrina

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does as well. It looks to me like she took full advantage of the fact one

person in particular didn’t, my dear, and that person would be you.

I swal ow hard at the thought.

I’d better find a way to beat Ezrina at her own crooked game, or I’l be

hacking up corpses for a good long while.

Marshal blinks through my mind, and I push back the thought. He

said I was on my own, and judging by the pissed off expression on his

face while he was wiping my spit out of his eye, I’d say he meant it.

I’l have to get Ezrina a new trial myself.

And I don’t have a ray of hope to cling to.

Chapter 11

Sweet Release

Friday, everything feels gloriously normal again.

After school, a thick layer of snowy vapors swal ow up Paragon before

spitting us back out into the carnal reserve of daylight with harsh bit-

ing rain. Marshal completely ignored me during class. He acts as if

he’s relegated himself to simply being my math teacher. I secretly hate

the non-attention. I desperately miss the hypersexual bantering albeit

one-sided, but I’l never let on. I’l just get my community service

moved to the ranch ASAP and let him molest me with his eyes and

suggestive verbal assaults once I get there. It’s win-win.

Chloe runs us ragged during cheer while prepping us for the almighty

Al State competition coming up in April. It’s at the end of spring

break, and the school is invited to the Cain River campsite, al expenses

paid, in exchange for fixing up their dilapidated facilities. Which is

great because that means I’l be spending an entire week with Gage,

and, wel , technical y Chloe, but she’s beside the point per usual. Plus,

we can nix al of the cupcake drives and bikini carwashes Chloe had

mapped out to raise funds for our misadventure and focus on what

real y matters, spending time with Gage in a hotel room.

Logan struts over in a pair of saggy jeans that hang far below the waist

and threaten to fal off his person as he debuts his new swagger.

He’s unforgivably paired it with a skin tight shirt with the effigy of a

dragon imprinted on the front—red sequins sewn on as eyes.

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Holy crap. He looks like a complete douchebag, but I’m not going to

say anything. Or maybe I am.

“What’s with the scum wear?” I ask, stepping out of formation while

the bitch squad continues to gyrate around me. That’s al that’s left of

the team now, the bitch squad and me—another reason for me to re-

sent Drake for knocking up Briel e.

“You like?” He taps his chest, goril a style.

“No, I don’t like. Nobody likes.” Logan is real y making it easy for me

to get over him, and I’m not sure I like that either.

“You busy after this?”

“Yes, with Gage.” I’m surprised he even has to ask. “Can I have a ride?

My car sort of ran out of gas, had to hitch a ride with Briel e this

morning.”

“Messenger,” Chloe barks and motions for Logan to get the hel off the

field, “back in line.”

“Yeah, I’l give you a ride.” He crimps a frown. The slight look of hurt

lingers in his eyes.

Chloe yanks me into the team huddle.

“We need to start up Saturday practice. I’l need everyone here by

seven.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” I protest. “Some of us have places to go tomor-

row night.” I suppose al of us, since we’l most likely al be at El is’, but

more specifical y I’m talking about me and Gage.

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“In the morning, Messenger. Seven in the morning,” she screams it in

my face.

“Nice,” I say, wiping the saliva she just assaulted me with, off my

cheek.

“One more time!” She claps.

We start in on the routine for the Al State competition. I kick and

jump and put one thousand percent of my concentrated energy into

the effort. At the end of the routine I take leave of my senses long

enough to let Emily, Michel e, and Lexy hoist me into the air, hopeful

that I might land back into the safety of their arms the way I’m sup-

posed to and not impress myself into West Paragon’s field the way I

envision. Surprisingly, they swaddle me like a baby before ejecting me

to the ground in one piece. I look over to Logan for approval, a thumbs

up, a nod—but he’s too busy texting to notice.

A light drizzle starts in. The sky dims to pitch in an instant. Strangely

it feels and looks like midnight. The days on Paragon are often cut

short with a boil of black clouds—daylight seems something of a myth

in general. But just knowing I get to see Gage sets my heart on fire, fil s

me with an unquenchable light brighter than a nuclear blast on the

inside.

“If the weather’s crappy we’l meet in the gym.” Chloe claps, officiating

the fact practice is over, stil not sure why Ms. Richards lets her run the

show. “Good job, Messenger.”

Everything stops around me. Even Michel e looks up from her sleep

deprived stupor to gawk at Chloe in shock over her slip of the tongue.

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“Thank you,” I reply. Chloe is trying to lure me into quicksand. I can

see the snarl tugging at her lip, the tightrope she had to walk just to

get the words out in a level manner.

“Replicate the moves you somehow managed to pul off here today,

come April, and I won’t be compel ed to twist your head off for ruining

the championship.”

There’s the verbal venom I’ve grown accustomed to.

Emily steps into Lexy. “I’m doing couple’s pages tomorrow night at El

is’. You remember—mapping out your love life for the year and crap.”

It seems to be a private exchange, but I can’t help but overhear. I

would wash Emily’s underwear by hand if she wanted me to, just to

listen to the wacky shit capable of coming from of her mouth. I’m that

obsessed with her secret ability to draw out the future like a comic

strip.

“Oh, so Gage and I can get one, right?” I ask, inviting myself into the

conversation.

“You don’t need to be a real couple to do it, so sure.” She shrugs.

Chloe stil has everyone brainwashed into believing she and Gage are

the real deal. I hope Gage is able to attend El is’ party, even if it’s a

five-minute stint. I want to pul him into the center of the room with al

of West and East surrounding us and give him a big fat welcome home

kiss.

Wel , technical y I’m going to give him his welcome home kiss tonight.

It’s the F off Chloe kiss I’l be giving him tomorrow night and basical y

every other time I kiss him again in public. I stil can’t believe we’re fi-

nal y free from her evil clutches. The wicked witch of East may be back

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on campus from whence she came, but she’s forever barred from for-

cing Gage to spend time with her again.

“I want one,” Michel e insists. She pinches at the black unholy rose of

horrors Marshal gave her as a token of his strange affection.

“Sure,” Emily plucks at her short dark curls. It slithers around her fin-

ger like a thin black snake. “I’l do yours first, I real y don’t care.” Emily

has a warm way about her. She could easily be arranging our lineup

for the firing squad.

Lexy cuts her gaze across the field at Logan. “I want mine to be a little

more exciting than the one you gave me last year. I’d like to see more

Oliver this time, turn in my lonely-hearts club membership for a real

relationship, or a one-night stand. I’d definitely settle for a one-night

stand.”

“Me, too,” Michel e chimes in. She cocks her head over at Logan, who

motions for me to hurry. “I guess I wouldn’t mind more Oliver either.”

She lets go of the rose and licks her lips like a promise.

Looks like her infatuation with Marshal might be waning after al . I

can’t wait to share the news with him, but something tel s me I should

stay away. Bruising Marshal ’s ego is never a good idea. Neither is dis-

charging bodily fluids into his ocular region, but I’ve already done

that.

“See you in the morning,” I turn to walk off but Chloe catches me by

the elbow.

“Please tel Gage I’m glad he’s doing better.” There’s a hard glint in her

eye, a shard of her broken heart catches the reserve light of day and

signals me with her pain. And for the first time, my own heart breaks

just a little for Chloe.

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“I wil ,” I say.

“Oh, and, Skyla?” Her lips turn up at the edges. “I hope you enjoy your

evening tomorrow night—as Logan and I have both learned the hard

way, you never know when it wil be your last.”

Chapter 12

Home Sweet Home

Logan gives a NASCAR worthy performance al the way to the Oliver

house, jackknifing into the driveway—laughing like fiend while doing

so.

“Holy crap,” I scream. “Are you serious?” I stare at his hauntingly

beautiful face that has always been rivaled by his inner beauty—which

by the way he’s managed to destroy faster than a brushfire with al this

live for the now junk he’s fielding. “And what is up with you having a

pow-wow with Chloe? She fed me al this bul about how the two of you

real y know how to appreciate life because it can end at any moment,

crap.”

“It’s not crap, Skyla,” he says it disgruntled while kil ing the ignition.

“It’s true. And by the way,” he jostles his head side to side ful with sar-

casm, “you can’t pick my friends.” His gaze floats out the windshield

just beyond the forest. “Is that what you’ve been doing? Bossing me

the hel around?” He scoffs like it’s the last time that’l ever happen.

“No, I never boss you around. You broke up with me remember? You

were the one who suggested I date Gage to protect our relationship

from the Counts. You were the one who consistently kept quiet about

important things I should have known from the beginning like the fact

you were a Count yourself. It could be further deduced, that you my

friend, bossed me the hel around.”

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“Wow,” his chin pushes back a notch. “I, Logan Oliver, real y am an

ass.”

I give a little laugh. I might actual y grow to like this self-abasing ver-

sion of him.

“I agree,” I take up his hand. “I’l help you figure out who you are and

what’s going on. I’l carve some time out just for the two of us. You can

come up to the butterfly room or something.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He presses his lips to the back of my hand

quickly working his way up my arm with a string of aggressive pecks.

“Right,” I say, plucking myself free. “Let’s hurry and get those clothes

Gage needs because I’m dying to bring him home.”

“Yeah.” He relaxes his forearm over the top of his head completely dis-

interested. As of last night he hasn’t even seen Gage yet. “Go on, get

out,” he instructs. “Have my dad take you. I gotta run a quick errand.”

It’s pouring outside—an entire waterfal heaves itself from heaven. By

the time I hit the front door, I’m more thoroughly saturated than I

would have been if I jumped in the swimming pool.

The door swings open and I expect to find Emma or Dr. Oliver, but I

don’t—I find beautiful, glorious Gage.

“You’re home,” I say, stunned.

Gage glows. His smile shines, draws me in with those deep-wel ed

dimples, makes me want to dive inside of one and never come out.

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I wrap my arms around him careful as if he were made from eggshel s.

I’m deathly afraid I’m going to crush him, send him back to the hospit-

al by way of my intense affection for him.

You can’t crush me. I’m more than fine.

“You heard me.” I bite down on a smile. I haven’t given any blood to

Gage since Wednesday, and I thought for sure the effect would have

worn off by now. Not that I was miserly with my plasma, I

offered—God, I begged him to drink me down like a platelet slurpee

but he refused to suck me dry. He’s altruistic that way, and plus, he

prefers me alive unlike Pierce Kragger, Holden’s evil twin, who would

suck the marrow from my bones if I let him.

“And, you’re soaking.” He pul s me in and gives a brief look of irrita-

tion over my shoulder. “What’s up with Logan?”

“Said he had a quick errand to run.”

“Skyla!” Emma comes in and offers me a hug. “I’l get you a towel.”

“I’l lend her a pair of sweats,” Gage is quick to offer.

“Thank you,” I mouth, stil entranced by his ability to look so alarm-

ingly healthy and normal which for Gage translates into unstoppably

gorgeous.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Dr. Oliver pats me on the back. “Gage in-

sisted on surprising you. Where’s Logan?”

“He said he had something to take care of,” I say.

Dr. Oliver purses his lips. You can tel he wants to say something, but

he’s holding back.

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“Gage,” he starts in stern, “you’re not to overexert yourself. Your

teachers have supplied a smal amount of homework, but other than

that, I want you resting in bed until Monday. I’ve had you transferred

back to West.” He gives a devilish grin.

“You did?” I lunge at him with a hug. “Oh, Dr. Oliver, I love you! How

in the world did you pul that one off?”

“Chloe mentioned her parents petitioned the school and had her ex-

pulsion revoked,” He looks to Gage. “Soon as I heard that, I marched

right down to principal Rice’s office and demanded they let you in as

wel . Considering you were nowhere near the incident when it oc-

curred she agreed. No more weaponry at school,” he holds a stiff a fin-

ger in the air.

Gage holds his hand up like a boy scout. “Never, I swear.”

“And, for God’s sake, you mustn’t put yourself in a stressful situation.

You had severe pneumonia for the last eleven days. Your lungs are stil

weak. It can exacerbate at any given time.” He turns to me ful y.

“Skyla,” he says, with a seed of disappointment, “I trust you to leave

Gage out of any potential y stressful situations.” He presses his chin to

his chest, awaiting an answer.

“God, no. I would never do that. I mean I wil , you know, leave him

out.” I think everyone in the room knows ful wel stressful situations

and I seem to go hand in hand. This is going to be a chal enge of an

apocalyptic order.

Emma returns with a towel stil holding the heat from the dryer and

wraps it around my shoulder, warm as L.A. sunshine.

Dr. Oliver’s phone goes off and he casual y inspects it.

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“It’s Logan. He’s dropping his truck off at the shop—he’l need a ride.”

He looks up perplexed. “Second time this week.”

“I’l go with you,” Emma offers. “I have something at the cleaners that

needs to be picked up.”

“Let’s get you into some nice dry clothes,” Gage pul s me upstairs by

the hand.

It’s just going to be Gage and I, alone, for the first time in weeks.

Chapter 13

Put Your Hands on Me

Gage Oliver’s bedroom is spacious as a bal room—immaculate enough

to perform surgery in. Two of my bedrooms could easily fit inside, if

not three, and I could never be as organized as Gage.

The lights flicker—a violent rattle tests the durability of the glass as the

windows tremble.

“Wild weather,” I say as he kicks the door shut gently with his heel. He

pul s me in, fresh from the shower, his breath cool from toothpaste.

“I don’t want to talk about the weather,” his eyes darken with lust, and

he indulges in a kiss that stretches past eternity.

“I missed you so bad,” I shake my head, before pressing in another

round of searing kisses.

“Let’s get these wet clothes off before you end up with pneumonia.” He

lifts my sweater off and it fal s to the floor with a heavy splat. My skin

tingles as his hands glide up over my back in an effort to warm me.

A hard thrash of branches whip against the glass—sounds like a beat-

ing is taking place, like some horrific creature with exceptional y long

nails is trying to claw its way inside.

“I like hearing your thoughts,” he gives a dul smile, his eyes stil glazed

over with passion as he unbuttons my jeans.

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“Then you need more of my blood.” I would gladly give Gage an infu-

sion nightly if he wanted. Siphon off a pint and let him keep it in the

fridge for reserves.

“No,” he whispers, pul ing down my zipper. “I’m happy just being with

you. I would never take advantage of you like that. Like this maybe,”

he rides the zipper up playful y, “but not like that.”

“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me,” I say, covering his hand

and riding my zipper back down. “I want you to have it. It’s a gift.”

“Nope, won’t take it.” He kisses the tip of my nose.

“You could get yourself up,” I smile at the inflection, “to one hundred

percent. Fortify yourself in everyway—and as much as you try to hide

it, I noticed you had a limp.”

“That’s because I have a slight fracture on my pelvis.” His dimples in-

vert with the admission. “It’s nothing. Not bad enough for surgery.”

He nods over to a crutch in the corner. “I just need to keep the pres-

sure off or they threatened to re-break it.”

“What? That’s barbaric!”

“That’s how they fix it. Sometimes you need to break something to fix

it, let it heal the right way.” I blink into him stupefied by the profound

wisdom he’s just imparted. But, stil , not loving the analogy. I don’t

like the idea of anyone breaking Gage even if it is to fix him.

“Sometimes I feel that way,” it comes out far more maudlin than I

want it to. “Like Paragon is breaking me in order to heal me in al the

right places.” I think of my father and wonder if healing is ever pos-

sible when death is involved. Even if I can go back and see him, it’s not

quite the same.

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“Hope I’m not breaking you,” he gives a tender kiss to the base of my

neck.

“You could never break me. You’re rebuilding me from the inside out.

You heal me in every way.”

“And you quite literal y healed me.” He holds my gaze intently as he

says thank you with every parcel of his being.

Gage peels off my jeans. I step out of them cold and wet as he runs his

warm hands over my thighs.

“Let me start the shower for you—you’re freezing,” he heads into the

bathroom and the pipes squeak. “Sweats are in the first drawer to your

right if you want them.” He emerges, drips his gaze over me slow as

molasses. His face flushes with heat, burns the apples of his cheeks as

he gives the glimmer of a wicked smile.

I pul open the drawer by the window and the branch of an evergreen

gives a spastic wave as though it were trying to get my attention. I peer

outside for signs of Nevermore, Ezrina, or anything sinister, but al I

see is Logan’s letterman jacket, pooling with water in the dirt. So-

mething tel s me Logan won’t mind. He’s official y traded in his jock

wear for cock wear. I’m not even bringing up the topic of Logan

around Gage because that for sure is a stressful situation, not to men-

tion the fact Logan hasn’t even seen Gage this past week. It’s clear they

have very real issues even if Gage doesn’t seem to be aware of them.

And the last thing I want to do is put a damper on the moment be-

cause of Logan’s inability to maintain his manners.

“Shower’s ready,” Gage folds his arms across his chest and watches me

walk across the room, scantily clad. I try to maneuver my way over se-

ductively, instead my foot slips out to the side causing an unnatural

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and, might I add, unattractive gyration as I try to right myself. Gage

lets out a little laugh before reeling me in like a fish.

“I’l never be sexy. I’m nothing but an accident prone goofbal .”

“You’re the hottest accident prone goofbal I’ve ever met. And, I think

you’re damn sexy without even trying.” He rips a molten kiss off my

lips and walks me backwards into the bathroom. He hikes me up on

the sink and wraps my legs on either side of his hips. We lose

ourselves in a wild sea of kisses that inspire the lights to flicker like a

seizure until they final y give under the strain and go out al together.

Outside lightning sizzles its radical fluorescent blaze, thunder growls

its complaints. It’s as if a war rages on the other side of these wal s.

“The faction war,” I pul back, forcing Gage to trail kisses down my

neck. “When you and Logan were hit, I was shipped off to the ethereal

plane,” I pant.

“What?” He comes up for air, perplexed.

“I had one of the discs Marshal gave me, and I forfeited the region to

the Counts.”

“Why?”

“I needed to be with you. You were bleeding and Logan was dying.

There was no way I was going to fight without you.”

“Time would have froze,” he says it almost as an afterthought, then

shakes his head. “I would have done the same.” His cheek slides up on

the side. “It’s OK. We just need to be real y careful with those other

two discs. You have one with you?”

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“My jeans,” I motion back to his room.

“Hop in the shower, I’l hold onto it until you get out. I have a feeling

we should never be without it again.” I lean in—indulge in one last ex-

plorative kiss as though I were a cartographer mapping out the land-

scape of his mouth for the very first time. If there’s one thing I never

want to be without, it’s Gage.

He pushes me in by the smal of my back, rounds out his hands as low

as the sink wil al ow. He picks me up and I anchor myself around him

as he gives a gentle spin. It’s bliss like this kissing Gage like a carnival

ride. I never want this moment to end.

A loud clap of thunder detonates, rattling the windows, the house,

every infrastructure on the island, and I leap off Gage in a panic.

I may never have wanted that moment to end but it sure felt like

Mother Nature did.

More thunder, another fit of violent lightning.

I tremble into Gage.

I’m pretty certain it means something.

I’m just not sure what.

Chapter 14

The Marriage Mirage

In the morning, rain continues to pummel our world like a tidal wave

of grief. I don’t remember it ever raining like this back in L.A. If it did

it would be a newsworthy event with apocalyptic implications, but

here on Paragon nobody bats a lash. A river could form in the middle

of town, and the residents would simply take up pontoons.

Downstairs, Tad whistles away like he’s on top of the world, scrol ing

over paperwork from Althorpe, the marketing firm he works for—

volunteers at, whichever.

“Look at you,” my mother beams. “Early bird gets the worm.” It’s

weird to see the two of them happy for a change. I’m not sure I like her

happy with Tad, but I suppose it beats waking up and finding her cof-

fee klatching with Demetri, any day.

“I have cheer,” I swing open the fridge and pul out the OJ.

“Outside? In this weather?” Mom leaves her mouth open to punctuate

her disbelief.

“In the gym. Chloe’s a real dril sergeant about things like this. She’s

serious about bringing the Al State trophy back to West. Spring break

is just around the corner.”

“Oh no,” Tad shakes his head. “No more school outings where you

have the potential to boot someone into kingdom come.”

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“But it’s going to be amazing! Archery swimming, horseback riding—”

It’s a real tampon commercial.

“No,” he flat lines.

“Tad,” Mom swipes the smile she greeted me with just moments be-

fore completely off her face, “I thought we decided we weren’t going

there just yet.”

“What do you mean just yet?” Not that I want to revisit the fact I kil ed

Kate, like ever, even if it was an accident.

“Dr. Booth is coming next Tuesday,” Tad gets back to his musings.

“He’l detail it out for you then.”

“Great.” I like Dr. Booth. He’s Levatio like Gage. I’d let him detail out

just about anything for me. In fact, if he weren’t happily married, I’d

total y love to see him detail out a relationship with my mother.

The window behind Mom looks as if it’s melting from the early morn-

ing downpour. Mom reaches up, snatches the calendar off the wal ,

tosses it across the room at Tad like a Frisbee, grazing him in the

temple.

Geez. She’s pissed, and she’s not even hiding the fact. I don’t know

whether to be amused or frightened at the sorry state of their

relationship.

“See anything familiar slated for the near future?” She snaps.

Oh, I so know what this is about. Their first anniversary is coming up.

I’l never forget that day because I official y declared it I Hate Tad Lan-

don day.

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“New moon tonight,” he says it banal as though he were merely read-

ing off a grocery list, not at al like one Count informing another of the

next big sacrificial shindig to brighten up their weekend. I wonder who

the next altar meal wil be? Sprinkles?

“Not that,” she gives an audible huff of disappointment.

“Valentine’s Day?” His chin tucks back an inch. “What, are we teen-

agers? I already said I was taking you out to that Italian restaurant

Ethan bankrupt us at a few months back. I even got you one of those

candy hearts with the fril y lace thing glued around the box.” Boy, I’ve

met Fems that were more romantic just before they intended to rip my

flesh off and eat it.

“Wel , I’l be looking forward to that glued box o’ goodies,” Mom

doesn’t bother hiding the fact she’s miffed. “I’ve gotta go get ready. I’m

meeting Demetri for coffee. He wants my opinion on a box of antique

jewels that belonged to his grandparents. Skyla, he wanted me to relay

that you can start your community service whenever you feel emotion-

al y ready. He’s very understanding of the fact things haven’t been easy

for you lately.” She runs the cool of her hand over my cheek.

Things would have been a whole lot easier on me if he hadn’t kil ed my

father to begin with.

“Great.” I dig into my reserve of fake enthusiasm. “I’l start, like—” nev-

er. “Whenever I feel up to it.” Again—never.

“Oh, and,” she turns with a finger in the air, “Mr. Dudley is putting to-

gether a community garage sale to benefit a new nonprofit organiza-

tion he’s started cal ed Army of Angels. Al of the funds go straight into

the Community Center. Isn’t that terrific?”

“He’s an angel al right,” I can’t help but avert my eyes.

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“You can be sarcastic al you want,” she starts, “but he showered us

with concern while you were away. He went as far as saying he felt a

fondness for you that he didn’t share with other students. He real y

likes you, Skyla.”

“Oh, he does,” I affirm. He proves it every time he indulges in one of

his lust-driven kisses.

Mom exits the room to spiffy up for her rendezvous with Demetri I-kil

ed-your-father Edinger. I speed over to Tad and flip the calendar over

to the end of April and dart my finger on the death date of the Messen-

ger family.

“Your anniversary,” I refrain from punctuating the fact with the word,

moron.

“That’s the event coming up?” He swipes the calendar from me and

flips backwards. “That’s three ful months away.”

“It’s two, and she probably wants a real vacation out of it, not some

jaunt in the woods that requires an umbrel a and a bear trap.” Crap.

That’s real y what it’s going to be like if he hauls us off to the back-

woods of Paragon. And no TV or Wi-Fi? I’l be lucky if the Fems come

out to play.

I’l need them for basic entertainment.

“Vacations are overrated,” he gurgles out his protest.

“Some people think marriage is, too.” I didn’t want to go there, but he

forced me.

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“And you think your mother is one of those people.” He gives a nod of

disapproval.

I shrug. “We’l see how much attention she puts into her appearance

for her meeting with Detective Edinger. Wil she wear four-inch heels,

and a hot little dress in the middle of a category five hurricane? Or

downshift into who the hel cares what I look like mode because I’m

happily married to the man I love wardrobe? Her accouterments wil

reveal it al .” God, I hope Tad is picking up on my verbal cues because

I’m pretty sure this is the last time I’m going to do him a solid and give

ample relationship advice where he and my mother are concerned.

“Your mother loves me. She would marry me again in an instant.”

“Prove it.”

Chapter 15

Affair in the Air

By late afternoon the sky above Paragon had been scoured clean,

wiped in a thin slate of vanil a, nothing but a bevy of ghosts hovering

around Briel e and I as we make our way through the fog-laden mal .

Logan actual y gave me money right out of the safe at the bowling al ey

when I was done with my shift so I could, put gas in that damn car he

gave me.

“You notice anything funny about Logan lately?” I ask, fondling lacy

underwear from a bargain bin at the lingerie store. Briel e specifical y

came in looking for maternity lingerie which sounds a lot like an oxy-

moron but I don’t acknowledge that fact, just nod as she holds up a

strange knit creation that technical y you don’t even a need a stomach,

boobs, or crotch to wear.

“He’s stil hurting,” she says. “You know, from when you dumped him.”

“For the record I didn’t do the dumping.” I rattle a pair of black

panties in the air for no good reason.

“’Tis true my blonde love,” she dusts my face off with a pair of skivvies

so pink and innocent they can hardly justify their existence in this hot-

bed of immorality. “He told me himself yesterday. He took a wad of

cash and said he was going to make himself feel better.”

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“Mmm,” stil not buying it. “Anyway, I’m glad he’s back. But whoever

ran him over is stil out there.” I bite down on my lip. There has to be a

way to find out who did this. I bet I could get Marshal to fess up to it

for less than a kiss—not that I would. But I’d love to see Chloe do jail

time even if Marshal did use her as a pawn.

I spot Mom across the way, looking in a window at a men’s store. She’s

probably just getting back from Demetri’s.

“I’l be right back,” I say to Bree before whizzing out the door.

Mom adjusts herself in the reflection of the glass, wearing none other

than heels and a baby dol dress that exposes her long thin legs. Ha! I

so knew it. I bet Tad gagged on his oatmeal once she debuted her Lol-

ita costume. Heck, he might be sprawled out over the dining room

floor dead from a heart attack after he figured out that I was right for a

change.

Just as I’m about to shout over to her, she picks up her phone and

laughs into it.

“Did I leave something behind? Oh…of course I’l see you—anytime,

anywhere,” her voice carries across the vicinity.

God, she’s probably talking to Demetri. She’s way too jubilant to be

talking to Tad. Come to think of it. I don’t think Tad has ever made her

that happy.

“It’l have to be quick,” she continues, “I have dinner at seven. How do

I get there?” Gross. He’s probably giving her directions to some seedy

motel.

“I’m leaving right now,” she purrs and heads towards the parking lot.

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I rush back to the lingerie store.

“I have to go,” I hiss over at Briel e who holds a teddy over her bulging

midsection that screams wishful thinking.

“Go ahead. I just saw Michel e. I’l catch a ride with her.” She snatches

up a bra comprised of two giant pink hearts and grins.

“Oh, it’s you alright. I’l see you at El is’. And not in that, please.”

“Skyla?” she cal s after me. “Michel e mentioned she wanted to talk to

you.”

“I’l catch her later.”

What the hel does Michel e I-hate-your-guts Mil er want to talk to me

about on Valentine’s Day?

***

Thankful y my mother doesn’t get far. I’m able to fol ow the metal ic

blue minivan down miles of Paragon highway, and I’m careful to keep

six degrees of separation at al times. Of al the colors of the rainbow

Logan’s dad could have chosen for the Mustang, he chose an unset-

tling orange that’s about as subtle as a traffic cone even in Paragon’s

heavily misted environment. Maybe that’s why he chose it because it

was a safety issue.

God knows every time I see a fender bender on the side of the road

there’s at least one silver vehicle involved. So, I guess the justification

is there, but stil , it doesn’t al ow for blending into the scenery while

pursuing your mother on a slow speed chase to prove to yourself she’s

having an affair with your father’s kil er.

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Obviously, I need to take her back in time to see Dad again. Obviously,

the two of us need to sit her down and fil her in on a few facts about

the man who has my father’s blood on his hands, who isn’t even hu-

man by the way. Marrying Demetri would be a far greater offense than

marrying Tad could ever be. There must be some familial violation in-

volved when it comes to befriending your dead husband’s kil er.

Who knew Mom’s affair with Demetri would be the deciding factor

that makes me land square on Tad’s side of the fence—odd how life

works that way—finds enemies that make your adversaries feel like old

friends.

She takes a turn and goes down an unincorporated road that leads

past the fal s. I pul over and let her disappear beyond the horizon be-

fore I tail her. There’s nothing out here, certainly not any hotel. What

if she wasn’t on the phone with Demetri after al ? What if she’s got an-

other client who finds Lizbeth Landon too hot to handle? God, what if

he’s a serial kil er, and I’m about to rescue Mom from death’s

clutches? I speed up a little only to find her car already abandoned on

the side of the road.

The sky darkens, dusting the island with a lavender patina. I park and

get out, fol owing the trail of tiny holes she’s plowed in the dirt with

her heels al the way to an al -familiar clearing.

“Oh my, God,” I breathe the words. In the distance, I see a group of

people in long dark robes. The large flat stone of sacrifice in the

middle of the field shines like a dul ed out coin.

Mom laughs while a tal shadow of a man hands her a robe. She shakes

it out, examines it for a good long while. The man turns, darts a quick

look in my direction revealing his hooknose, coal black eyes.

There he is. Demetri the brainwasher.

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She throws the cloak over her dress, invoking a long hug from him as a

reward. I watch as her pale arms ride up and down his back like a pair

of withering lilies.

Mom pul s back and listens to whatever bul shit it is he’s feeding her

and laughs. Her voice echoes through the woods, the fattened clouds

that hover above aren’t enough to contain my mother’s newfound ela-

tion. Her echoing laughter bypasses the sky, enters into the strato-

sphere before shooting off into dark abysmal space.

She takes up his hand and dutiful y fal s in line at the unholy altar.

I wonder how much longer before he convinces her that I should be ly-

ing on the stone in front of them.

I wonder how much longer before he convinces my mother I should

disappear from their lives forever.

Chapter 16

Down in Flames

Later in the evening, I get dressed and head over to the Oliver’s house

without even trying to break up a raucous knock ‘em down drag out

fight between Mia and Melissa. Instead, I let Tad deal with the fal out

and don’t even bother offering up information when he asks a mil ion

times if any of us knows, where the hell our mother is because they’ve

got reservations, and he’ll be damned if he misses out on dinner

tonight.

I pul in next to Gage’s truck and kil the ignition, glancing at the raging

bash across the street. El is’ party is already in ful swing with bodies

mil ing around nine deep around the circumference of the house—odd

because usual y people are in it.

I make my way through the cool of night, up to the Oliver’s house,

shivering because I forgot my jacket just as Gage opens the door.

“Hey beautiful,” the words swim from his lips.

A pair of headlights pul into the driveway at an alarming speed. I jump

into Gage afraid there might be some reprisal of what happened be-

hind the bowling al ey, only it’s not the haunted Mustang heading in

our direction, it’s a giant white truck.

“Looks like Logan is home,” I say before diving into an I’m-so-happy-

you’re-alive slash Happy Valentine’s Day kiss with Gage. I love his

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mind-numbing kisses. I could easily spend an eternity in a lip lock

with him.

A branch fal s from the roof and hits him square on the head.

“Whoa,” Gage backs up, plucking leaves out his hair.

“Perfect timing,” I laugh, picking the stick up and waving it over our

heads like mistletoe.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs through a series of soft pecks.

“I was about to say the same.”

“Enough with the love fest,” Logan shouts from the driveway. “Come

check out my wheels.” Logan stands admiring his truck from a good

ten feet away so we join him. My mouth fal s open at the atrocity.

“What in the hel possessed you to do that?” Gage groans. Just looking

at the vandalism that’s taken place causes him physical pain, I can tel .

Giant red and yel ow flames expand across the breadth of Logan’s

truck. They look cartoonish, sil y and vulgar al at the same time.

“I’l second that,” I say. “What the hel got into you?”

A hurt look crosses Logan’s face before morphing back into the pissed

off expression he’s been sporting like a mask as of late.

“I mean it’s different,” I try to rectify the situation.

“Oh, it’s different,” Gage takes another step back. “Is this a joke? This

is a joke, right? These are stickers, or magnets.” He goes over and

starts picking at the paint.

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“The only joke I see around here is you,” he presses out a dry smile

and heads across the street to the party.

“He didn’t mean it,” I say.

“Of course, he meant it. Logan doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. He

just plays it off that way.”

***

We fol ow Logan across the street where El is’ house thumps into the

powder white night. Bodies swirl, disembodied laughter fil s the air,

and there are enough cars parked haphazard on the property to fil a

dealership.

I’m secretly looking forward to having a couple’s page done for Gage

and me.

We find Emily at the breakfast nook where she has already set up

shop. Her dark head is lowered, speaking with Briel e and Drake as

she dutiful y goes over paperwork with them as if she were explaining

a life insurance policy.

An aqua glow electrifies the backyard. I can see the pool outside the

window. A thick seam of vapors rise off the water, and people are actu-

al y jumping in, so I guess that means it’s heated.

El is walks by and I snatch him up by the elbow.

“Is that the big surprise? You heated the pool?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he nods as if it’s a given. As if pool heaters the

world over were traditional y fired up for just this occasion. “I thought

it’d be a nice surprise.”

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“It would have been a nicer surprise if you would have warned us. We

could have brought our bathing suits,” I say. Not that I would have.

Wel , maybe I would have.

“That’s half the fun, Messenger. No bathing suits. I’ve got three topless

girls from East winning the water-wrestling competition. Now are you

just going to stand there and let them take down our school like that?

Or are you going to get out there and do something about it?” His seri-

ous demeanor makes me want to smack him.

“She’s not saving the school with her body, El is,” Gage interjects.

“Relax, I’ve got you covered my ailing friend. I have one more slot

opened for judging—I was just on my way to offer you the position.

Just wait until the synchronized swimming portion of the evening.”

“No thanks,” Gage adjusts himself on his crutch. “I’m not into syn-

chronized swimming.”

“Neither am I,” El is assures, “But again, three girls from east, topless.”

“Geez,” I smack him hard in the gut. “You’re a pervert and so is anyone

watching.”

“Logan happily volunteered. In fact, he’s out there now holding down

the fort,” El is ticks his head towards the back. “It’s nice to have him

back. He’s always so uptight. It’s like he’s final y loosening up.”

“Yeah, like, a lot,” I marvel. Like unraveling at the seams, but I leave

that part out. I have a feeling discussing Logan and his bizarre behavi-

or wil set Gage back weeks in his recovery—hel his wardrobe alone is

enough to send the both of us into a fashion induced coma.

“Never mind that,” Gage points over at Briel e who’s bal ing.

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I speed over to her. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not working out like I thought.”

“What’s not working out?” I ask, taking the paper out of her hands. It’s

a mil ion little pictures of babies and furniture and a crooked looking

house, much like Emily’s own creepy family abode, and a bunch of

other crap that’s too difficult to decipher in this defused lighting.

“We’re headed for trouble,” she whines. “Our couple days could be

numbered.”

“That’s bul shit,” I say, trying to refute whatever Emily may have told

her. Although deep down inside we both know it’s not. Emily bats a

thousand with those pictures she hammers out. They have an uncanny

way of predicting the future. “I guess the good news is that there’s stil

a chance.”

Emily catches my eye sitting there alone with no new customer fil ing

the void so I pat Briel e on the back and push her off towards an agit-

ated looking Drake.

Just before I can pul Gage over to the breakfast nook, Chloe swoops in

and takes a seat. She doesn’t even acknowledge Gage. Who knew

Chloe would fal into submission so easily? And here I thought you

couldn’t keep a good bitch down.

Emily draws something up at dizzying speeds, turns over the paper

and continues her sketching spree—double-sided no less. Chloe has a

saga worthy love life in store for her this year. I wonder if this means

anything? If it fal s in line with the duplicity my mother is pul ing,

a.k.a. seeing men that don’t belong to you, or if it simply means Chloe

wil go through an entire line of suitors she blackmails into being with

her, probably the latter.

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“This is Ethan,” Emily starts.

Should we be listening? Gage asks, plucking at my hand.

Very much so, I assure.

“Remember,” Emily reprimands, “this is only for this year.” She pul s a

pencil from a plastic cup blooming with markers and uses it as a point-

er. “Your relationship goes somewhere with him. You have something

real here. It’s funny because I didn’t think you were that into him.” She

shrugs it off. “This is Logan.”

Shit.

“You are so going to piss off Michel e and Lexy, but not too much be-

cause he was on theirs, too.” What?

He is a free agent, Gage is quick to remind me.

“He’s hot and heavy with you for a while then it’s cold turkey right

around here.” She points off to some timeline I’m not privy to. “Same

with Lex and Michel e. It looks like he gets pretty serious with

someone else and shuts the rest of you down, but you continue with

Ethan, and I see this for the rest of the school year.”

Chloe gives a heavy look in our direction. She leans into Em and whis-

pers. Emily nods and whispers back, bringing a smile to Chloe’s face.

Obviously it’s about Gage.

Gage is the soil in which she buried her heart. Chloe waits for spring-

time, for the sun to warm over it, for a good shower of my bloodshed

to fertilize her efforts. She’s insane if she thinks anything is ever going

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to bloom out of that rancid maggot pit that lies buried in her chest.

Devastation, maybe, but that’s al that wil ever come from there.

You better not make Chloe’s year, I say, yanking Gage by the fingers.

“I’l be too busy making yours,” he leans on his crutch and kisses me ful

on the mouth, causing the room and al of its interruptions to melt

away.

“Next,” Emily beeps it out, obtrusive as an air horn.

I scoot in next to her, and Gage takes a load off his aching leg in the

seat across from us. Emily stares at me banal y as though she were

reading a newspaper printed across my forehead.

“You sure you want him here for this?” She flicks a finger towards

Gage.

“Yes.” I ful y expect to see an entire page cluttered up with nothing but

our love—hearts and rainbows, a unicorn or two with our names tat-

tooed on its rear in a giant fril y heart. Gage, on the other hand, looks

like he’s ready for a nap, like just walking across the street has proven

to be too big of a physical chal enge.

Emily zigzags her way at top speed across the front and back of the

thick parchment set in front of her.

“So you can interpret the things you draw?” I’l have to beg her to tel

me in detail what that freaky body art she scribbled over me this last

winter meant.

“Sometimes,” she says it bored as if she was fine with it either way. If it

were me, I’d total y want to know what the hel my haunted drawings

were trying to say.

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Emily continues to spit out microscopic scenes across the page before

coming abruptly to a halt.

See? Easy as pie. Gage and I are so utterly predictable in our happily

ever after, it took less than ten seconds for her to whip it out.

She reaches over and grabs another sheet.

“What the heck are you doing?” I spit it out in a panic.

“Ran out of room.” She darts around the page before flipping that too,

over. To my horror she picks up another sheet and continues without

missing a freaking beat.

“Looks like a lot of loving going on,” my toes curl when I say it. Truth-

ful y, I’m regretting this big time. The last thing in the world I want to

see is that I, in any way, veer from Gage in the next year.

“Um, you know, I think we’l get going now.” I try to stand, but she

yanks me back down.

“You have Gage, you can relax. But these other two, they’re not,” she

shakes her head, “something’s different about them. This one’s not hu-

man, you’re not like into some freaky shit, like dogs, right?”

She pegged it—dogs of the celestial variety.

I shake my head, quick and nervous.

“I don’t know what’s up with these two. I’m not even sure this one’s

human,” she says before looking up at Gage. “You’ve got some serious

competition from a lion and a, wel , I don’t know what the hel that is,

some prehistoric velociraptor with wings.”

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“Great,” Gage arches his brows like he knows exactly who they are.

Obviously Logan is the lion and Marshal is the prehistoric demon-

looking creature. Gage gets up to make room for the next boyfriend

awaiting the relational guil otine. Not that our session with Em was

punctuated with a blade to the neck. Gage and I are impervious to fail-

ing. He has nothing in the world to worry about.

“Thanks Emily,” I whisper. “Can you save these for me?”

She gives a knowing nod before flicking me away.

Wel , that didn’t go so bad. Didn’t go so great, either.

A shoulder bumps me from behind. I twist to get through the merging

crowd only to find myself face to face with my second least favorite

Kragger, Holden’s not so long lost fraternal twin.

Crap.

“Guess who’s got regular scheduled visits with a social worker?” Pierce

leans his face into mine. His hot beer breath rakes against my cheek.

“And a lawyer who tel s me things don’t look too damn good for me.”

He spits as he grates the words out.

Nat steps between us, al beady eyed and pissed like she might kick my

ass if the situation warrants it. Her curls are embalmed in dried out

hair gel, her eyes outlined like an obscene raccoon.

“I’m not in control of the state,” I say. “I don’t decide who they go

after.” Or apparently take down. Personal y I’m rooting for the state.

Even if Pierce didn’t knock a dozen people unconscious, or spin Nat in

the air like a pizza that day last fal , doesn’t mean he should have

gnawed on my neck in the cemetery or any other venue he chose to

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suck my body dry. Besides, if he’s not incarcerated soon, I might have

to do something drastic the next time he tries siphoning the lifeblood

from my veins, like kil him.

Pierce leans over Nat. The two of them glower at me as if I had just set

their children on fire.

“I’m in control of me.” Pierce blasts his ethanol in my direction as he

continues his verbal badgering. “I decide who I go after.” He thrusts a

piece of paper at me, and knocks me off balance.

Gage pushes him back a good ten feet without hesitating.

Nat runs over to help scoop Pierce off the floor as the crowd filters

between us.

I unfurl the note. Cease and desist. Legal action against my parents?

This is horrible.

I stuff the letter into my purse.

“Let’s go outside,” I spin us towards the exit in the event Pierce feels

obligated to return the favor, only, for Gage, a shove like that might ac-

tual y crack his hip in half and give him pneumonia. I might have to

adjust my to-do list and move kil ing Pierce up to a priority position.

There is no way in hel I’m going to let Gage end up in the hospital

again.

I can see Logan from the patio helping some girl take off her sweater

before pushing her into the pool. He’s no lion—he’s human al right.

A hot rol of nausea explodes in my stomach.

“I can’t stand this,” I say, ushering us into the yard.

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I’m going to end Logan’s hunger for attention. Smack some sense into

him, make him aware of the fashion felonies he’s been committing, not

to mention the ones he’s about to perpetrate with his flesh.

“You should probably let Logan do his thing,” Gage says, pul ing me

back. The words escape from him slow, like a tire losing air. “Let him

go.”

“You’re right.” I place my hands on my hips, but real y I don’t want

Gage to hear me admit that I could never let go of Logan, let alone

watch him do his ludicrous thing especial y when that thing involves

publicly ogling topless girls from East.

The damp cool of night blows against me as I watch Logan’s hands

race around the bare waist of Carson Armistead, her hips sway seduct-

ively in rhythm to the music.

Jealousy rips through me like a fire line.

How the hel am I ever going to cut Logan Oliver out of my heart if my

heart keeps breaking at the thought of him with someone else?

Chapter 17

Strike Three

Chloe stops me cold on my way to push Logan into the pool. “I bet it

guts you like a rusted knife knowing that Logan has recovered from his

severe case of Skyla fever,” she hacks out each word with glee.

I choose to ignore her, a tactic I should employ more often when deal-

ing with Chloe in general.

Heated or not, he needs to log some serious time away from the push

up bra brigade storming in his direction. Obviously his brain is in mal-

function mode. That blue toxin Ezrina dipped him in eroded al of his

good character, his sound judgment, and, yes, his slight obsession for

me seems to have dissipated as wel .

Logan jumps up on an ice chest and cups his hands around his mouth.

“The line starts here!” He jumps down and twirls the next recipient of

his attention like a bal erina.

My mouth fal s open as he gyrates his hips over hers inspiring her to

do the same. An entire row of girls magical y crop up to have their

clothes peeled from their bodies by Logan himself. It’s sickening.

“This isn’t Logan. This isn’t what he’s about.” I say, trying to push my

way around Chloe. It’s high time someone remind him he doesn’t need

to assert himself as the head of the stripping committee.

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“Face it,” she seethes, “the green eyed monster has you by the bal s

Messenger. You can’t stand the fact he’s moved on—that the Skyla-

shaped scales have fal en from his eyes, and he can see you for the

loser you real y are.”

“I’ve got a license to thril ,” Logan pushes into a scantily clad Carson,

and holy freaking shit—they are total y rutting. Logan’s douchebag

jeans are about ready to slide right off his person. I can’t stand to look

so I bury my face in Gage’s chest.

“Some people’s kids,” he says, not even flinching at Logan’s poor im-

personation of an officer of the law, which is proof positive he’s

boarded a train for imbecile-vil e.

“He’s gone insane,” I say, shaking. “Do something.”

“This is exactly what he was like before you came to Paragon. Noth-

ing’s changed.” Gage assures me.

“He’s over you,” Chloe laughs. “Hurt much?”

I look past her shoulder as he gets on his knees and unbuckles Car-

son’s pants. He pul s them down with one swift tug and bites into the

panties riding high on her hip.

“That’s it.” I push past Chloe, muddle my way through a throng of

overeager girls fil ing the interim and final y break through the crowd.

I yank him off his knees by the back of his shirt.

“Whoa,” Logan throws his hands in the air, “looks like Skyla, here,

wants her turn right now.” He reaches for my waist and peels off my

sweater quick as a magician. Before I know it, I’m standing there in my

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black lace bra in front of East and West, a gloating Chloe, and a very

pissed off Gage.

“Stop,” I scream like a siren before snatching back my top.

Gage knocks him backwards a few good feet. “What the hel has gotten

into you?” I like this side of Gage—kick some ass first, ask questions

later.

“You trying to start a war, dude?” Logan glares at him, gone is the

spirited playboy who’s been arousing girls poolside for the past half

hour.

“I’m trying to figure out what the hel to do with you,” Gage counters.

Logan steps into Gage, digs a finger in his chest. “You can start by get-

ting the fuck out of my way.”

“You know,” Gage winces into his annoyance, “you haven’t even

bothered with a hel o since you’ve been back.”

“Oh, I haven’t?” Logan makes light of the fact. “You poor, fragile thing.

Have you been spurned by my lack of attention? Please, al ow me to

give you a physical token of my undying devotion.” Logan backs up his

arm and wal ops Gage right in the stomach, sends him skidding across

the sopping wet cement.

I let out a viral scream. “He had internal injuries!” I shout into Logan’s

face.

I use al of my Celestra induced anger and send him sailing into the

deep end of the pool. Logan lies at the bottom of the plaster like a

crime scene cutout before resurfacing with a roar.

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“Gage!” I push Chloe off his person. “Are you OK? You want me to get

your dad? Take you to the hospital?”

“I’m fine,” he squints as he rises. “Let’s get out of here.”

I hand Gage his crutch, and we head out the side gate.

“That’s it. He’s done. No more Logan in my life,” I announce as we

hobble down the driveway. “First he dresses like he’s auditioning for

the part of doofus on a reality show, not to mention the graffiti he’s in-

flicted on his poor truck—then he hits you? Obviously, he’s undergone

a serious head injury. You can’t tel me Logan was always a grade A

asshole.”

Gage pauses to catch his breath before we cross the street.

“No, not usual y. But, then again, he’s been pretty messed up after

breaking up with you. You’re his first serious heartache.” Gage holds

his sympathy out like a chalice. He swil s it around, beckoning me to

take just one sip. “Sometimes heartbreak real y screws with your head.

Imagine if we were with different people, wouldn’t you hate that?”

Chloe rips through my mind. “God, yes.” Truth is, I’d more than wig

out. “Actual y that’s an unbearable thought.” I hold my breath until I

can effectively chase the idea out of my head. It’s too painful to con-

sider a world without Gage. But, then again, a world with this new ver-

sion of Logan isn’t so fantastic either.

“You’l get used to it.” Gage squeezes my hand and dispenses a shy

smile. “Time wil heal that ache, Skyla, but you have to set him free. Let

him do what he has to do,” he depresses a sigh. “Who knows? You

might even want him to see other girls—root for him.” My blood boils

at the thought. It’s seriously doubtful I’l be rooting for Logan to get in

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another girl’s pants, although Gage does paint a rosy picture of this fic-

titious future.

“I guess anything’s possible,” I placate him with a short-lived smile.

“You wanna go inside and watch a movie?” There’s a natural seduction

about him. I’d watch him brush his teeth if he asked me to. “I sorta

gotta lay down.”

“I’d love to lay down with you.”

“Lamest Valentine’s ever, right?” His dimples ignite without a smile.

“Lying next to my boyfriend and watching a movie, and said boyfriend

happens to be you?” I slip my arm around his waist. “Best Valentine’s

ever, I swear.”

I pul him into a kiss as fierce and wide as the ocean.

Everything in me aches for Gage.

“Let’s go inside,” I bite down on the implications.

“Let’s.”

***

It took over an hour for us to break into the house. His key broke off in

the lock and I had to climb through the laundry room window that was

half as narrow as it needed to be, getting myself securely lodged in

opening. Final y Emma and Barron came home and used their key to

the backdoor to get inside. They helped pluck me free after rubbing my

hips down with lard from a red box Emma found lurking in the back of

the fridge.

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Lard.

I change into a pair of his sweats and gingerly crawl up next to him,

nestled in the center of the bed. The movie begins. A soft grey flicker

ignites the room as I twirl my fingers through his slick, glossy hair.

Gage is exhausted, already sleeping gently at my side. The movie plays

on but I watch Gage, so beautiful y alive. I couldn’t breathe when I

thought he might have died. I can’t imagine life without him. And here

he is. I place my head over his chest, relax over him and pretend ten

years have passed, that we’re long married and Gage is my husband.

I wake to find another hour has slipped by. I lean in and give a careful

kiss to his cheek and tiptoe out quietly.

Across the street, the party is stil pumping. A pink glow il uminates

unnatural y from the back of El is’ house and it prompts me to head

straight over to see what in the hel is up now. Logan has probably rup-

tured a dozen implants fondling al the mammary glands that flung

themselves at him. I bet that’s liquid oozing out of at least a dozen sil-

icone prosthetics, clouding up the water.

I bump into Michel e who’s on her way out with some boy, and to my

horror the boy in question is the breast man himself, Logan.

“Where are you two going?” I ask curt.

“I’ve been meaning to tel you,” Michel e points up at her bare neck,

“took your advice.” Marshal ’s rose—it’s missing. I give a private smile.

“Feel better?”

“Tons,” she leans in. “Best part—I’ve got Logan back,” she marvels.

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“Yeah, wel , about that,” I snatch him forward. “I’ve got to finish

something first.” Chapter 18

Right Here, Right Now

OK—so, pissing off Michel e Mil er on the first day of our questionable

road to friendship probably wasn’t the brightest idea given her sanity

is in the process of being restored. But, nevertheless, I’m with Logan

and we’re driving off into the blank of night so I can fil him in on al

sorts of facts about himself, such as, contrary to his behavior, he real y

is not an ass.

“Where should we go?” I ask. I’ve been driving for a half hour solid,

and he looks as though he’s about to nod off.

Who would have guessed that I’d put both Oliver boys to sleep on

Valentine’s Day?

“Fal s.” He points over to the backlit sign, so I pul into the dirt lot

overlooking the lake.

A smattering of rowboats are strewn about the glittering pool of black.

An entire constel ation of stars speckle the water with their hazy re-

flection, quel ing the sound of the fal s with an auspicious calm.

Couples sit knee to knee, others with arms and legs lassoed around

one another, lips pul ed together as one. The entire setting is undeni-

ably romantic.

“Let’s go.” He ejects himself from the car before I can properly protest.

It was going to be one thing to sit in the car and discuss Logan’s prick-

like behavior, it’s entirely another hopping in a boat with him, depend-

ing on the warmth of his body to keep me from freezing to death.

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I’m guessing Gage wil be less than impressed to learn where his girl-

friend has managed to land herself on this night in particular and with

the perpetrator who assaulted him just hours before.

I chase after him in the virginal night, a puff of fog dances over the

moist ground as my feet disrupt the mist that hugs the soil. My shoes

snag on crushed reeds, my ankles turn on the unsteady landscape, re-

tarding my ability to keep up with him. It’s too dark to navigate the

terrain. It feels as though I’m about to fal down a very steep staircase

with every move I make.

“Wait!” I shout. My voice echoes off the embankment, disrupting the

sentimental atmosphere people are busy etching into their memories.

Girls are like that—cataloging holidays, anniversaries, birthdays—al

relationship milestones deep into our memory bank. We could tel you

exactly how we spent most of those occasions down to what we were

wearing. We stain our conscious with the vivid details of sight and

sound and scent, even what the goofbal with us had on and whether or

not he looked like a moron.

The sound of rushing water intensifies as I draw closer to the lake. It

blankets over my voice and tempers my anxious shouts for Logan to

slow down.

“Logan!” I catch up to him at the waterline, panting from the sprint.

He plucks a boat from out of a marsh and slips it onto shore. Rust rises

up on the paltry vessel’s side, a thick blanket of algae covers the bot-

tom. Makes it look like a living thing, the leaf of some exotic plant you

could crawl inside and float in.

“Come on, I’l row us out.”

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I don’t think twice, just hop in like a trained circus poodle. I’m ex-

hausted, and at this point, the thought of taking a seat sounds far too

inviting to pass up. I’d sit on a Fem’s lap if the situation presented

itself.

The stars shine in al their glory through an ethereal haze that il umin-

ates a rich shade of blue, and I wonder if this has anything to do with

the Counts but shrug it off because it’s Valentine’s and magical things

abound on this celebratory commercialized span of twenty-four hours.

Logan rows us off to the quiet end of the lake, away from the other

couples seeking privacy behind the fal s. Briel e and Drake are some-

where out there, or Drake and Emily, either way, Drake’s car is in the

lot.

“You real y saved my ass.” He expels a sigh, and an entire smoky-river

emits from his nostrils.

“About that—” I start.

He pul s me forward until I’m sitting on his lap.

“Um, excuse me?” I try to rise, but he warms my arms with his hands,

tempers my shivers by leaning me close to his chest.

The romantic implications of it al hit me, and suddenly I feel a tre-

mendous amount of guilt for boarding this vessel. Of course, I’l have to

confess al this to Gage come morning. I’m sure that won’t be stress in-

ducing in any way to hear his girlfriend spent ode-to-couples day sit-

ting in her ex-boyfriend’s lap.

I hop off his knees and land next to him, trying to hide the fact I can’t

control my shiver. I’m here to help him, not help myself to him.

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I should feel heroic over the fact I’m saving Logan from an impending,

and rather permanent, douchebag status that he’s bravely frontiering.

This is high school after al , once you determine your social standing,

it sticks with you for life. Ten years from now when everyone’s waxing

nostalgic for al things West Paragon I’d hate for people to think of

Logan, and the next thing that rol s off their tongue to be, he was such

a douchebag. It’s like a prison sentence he’d wear for life.

“OK,” I rol my head back onto his shoulder and he lands a soft kiss on

each of my eyelids. “What was that for?” I panic.

Confession—the fact Logan peppered my face with kisses is going to

guarantee a setback for both Gage’s health and the health of our

relationship.

“I’m showing you my appreciation,” Logan tries seducing me with his

citrine bedroom eyes. “I’m alive—breathing right now, al because of

you. I hate dead. Being dead sucks.”

“Yeah, we’ve already determined that, and, by the way, you’re wel-

come. Don’t feel like you owe me anything because you’ve done so

much for me with the Mustang, the insurance, the job— bail. Let’s cal

it even.” OK, so I should probably offer to pay him back, but that’s not

an acute issue at the moment.

Logan maneuvers the boat between a thicket of reeds tal as a person.

The strong scent of rosemary perfumes the air with a fragrant howl as

a choir of crickets destroy the silence with its chirping symphony. I

close my eyes a moment—let the world vanish to cinders beneath my

newly christened lids.

“I don’t think we’re even,” he whispers, dragging a fire line down the

side of my neck with his lips.

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“Whoa,” I straighten in an effort to stave him off, causing the tiny craft

to wobble. “You know,” I push my shoulder into his face to deflect his

unwanted affections, “you’ve been acting more than a little strange

since you’ve come back. I know you mentioned the live for today stuff

and you’re real y stoked about having a new lease on life, but let’s cal a

spade a spade—you’re about to go down in the history of West as a

total jackass supreme.”

“Probably,” he says, slinking his hands up the back of my sweater and

offering a spontaneous massage.

Sadly, I delay in deflecting those particular efforts because, for one, his

hands are oven hot, and two, the massage feels rather necessary at this

point.

I give a few involuntary moans as I point over the tops of my

shoulders, and Logan is quick to accommodate.

“Recognizing the fact you’re an asshole is a great start,” I pluck his

arms free from under my sweater since he accidental y on purpose just

unhooked my bra, but I don’t cal him on it. “So, the old you was kind

and courteous, and would never in a mil ion years juggle the breasts of

three girls at once.”

A quick bout of laughter escapes him.

“I’m here to live, Skyla. I’m a guy. We were born to juggle,

snuggle—you name it. Besides, what fun is being Logan Oliver if I can’t

enjoy a breast or two?” His hand crawls up my front like a tarantula.

“Logan!” I bat him away.

“Come on, Skyla.” In one swift move he knocks me back and lands on

top of me with his ful weight, “Let me give you a proper thank you.

128/632

Show you how wel al the essential parts are functioning.”

“Again, no need for a thank you or a demonstration,” I try to wrestle

his hands from gliding back up my sweater, but it’s proving to be a fu-

tile effort. And judging by the rock hard bulge in his jeans, everything’s

in ful working order, that, or he’s smuggled a root beer bottle on

board.

Logan pushes his lips over mine, crushes me with his chest as he

fiddles with the buckle on his jeans.

“Stop! I can’t breathe.” God—I’m going to have to use my Celestra

strength just to get out of this mass tangle of flesh. The strange part is,

he hasn’t had one single thought. He’s either put a moratorium on

thinking, or the Mustang caused a mass exodus of brain cel s. Chloe’s

power-mower skil s have turned Logan into a classic jock airhead rife

with hypersexual tendencies.

Logan doesn’t stop. He reaches up my sweater, lands himself on

second base without the proper invitation.

“Let go right now,” I seethe, “or I wil go ninja al over your ass.”

But he doesn’t listen. He’s al hot and bothered, twisting and writhing

over me, too busy suctioning his lips to my flesh to hear me. I try to

slap him out of his lust-inspired stupor, but nothing.

Logan squeezes and gropes like he’s testing produce at the grocery

store. I hone in al of my pissed off glory and knee him hard in the bal

s.

I think I’ve just successful y reduced the odds of him procreating with

his newfound asshole genes, down to nil.

129/632

Logan rol s off into a fetal position, choking on his pain.

I yank an oar off the side mount, spike it into the water in an effort to

get back to dry land, and the boat starts on a sideways spin.

“I’m sorry, Skyla.” He thrusts himself on top of me.

In an effort to scoot the hel away, I accidental y launch my upper torso

into the water. I manage to hook my knees over the side of the alumin-

um structure to halt myself from fal ing in completely. Water rushes

in, fil s my ears with the soft sound of effervescence. Giant bubbles

prick my face as I let out an underwater scream from the icy shock.

My arms flail as I try to surface for a breath. Logan reaches down and

grabs a hold of my hair at the base of my neck. My left leg ejects into

the water as the boat gyrates wildly. Logan locks his hand over the

back of my head. My arms flail in histrionics, my legs kick out—can’t

breathe.

My nostrils burn from taking in a blast of frozen liquid.

“Stupid bitch,” he grunts, pushing my other leg over the side.

It occurs to me as I sputter and twirl my way to the surface that just

maybe Logan wasn’t helping me up—just maybe he was holding me

down, throwing me overboard.

I come up and pinch my nose, spit several times as I continue to gasp

for air. Logan thrusts the oar in my direction with a violent swing, and

I manage to duck before he decapitates me with the effort.

“Stop pissing around, Skyla,” he disrupts the night with an unnatural

aggression.

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I swim over to shore, climb over moss-covered rocks turning my ankle

in the process.

“Skyla?” He cal s, but I don’t answer.

I run like hel to the Mustang and give a NASCAR worthy performance

the hel away from Logan Oliver.

Chapter 19

Love Hurts

I’m so thankful Mom and Tad are stil not back from their Valentine’s

misadventure. I loathed the thought of having to render an explana-

tion as to why I’m sopping wet, not to mention the fact my face is red

and swol en from sobbing over the idea Logan Oliver real y is a jack-

ass. I’l just have to learn to live with the fact he’s moral y bankrupt and

virtual y irredeemable.

I catch a glimpse of the horror that is me in the hal way mirror. I have

the lake’s equivalent of seaweed woven throughout my hair, and I’m

ten times more pathetic looking than previously imagined. A nice hot

shower is in order before I map out my revenge on said jackass, but as

I’m about to head upstairs, the steady rhythm of hiccups captures my

attention.

I spy Mia crumpled on the couch in the family room pumping some

serious heartache into a pil ow, and I race on over.

“What happened?” I ask lower than a whisper, ignoring the fact she

might parrot the question in my direction.

“Gabriel danced with Melissa al night.”

“That’s because he’s an ass,” I say it sweetly, pushing the perspiration-

soaked hair from off her forehead.

132/632

I just want to run to the freezer and grab a pint of chocolate peanut

butter ice cream and spend the rest of the night watching chick flicks

with my sister, but I have to wash the bodily fluids of Logan the pred-

ator off my person first.

“Look,” I wag her by the chin. “I’l run up, take a quick shower, then

maybe we can watch a movie and eat ice cream.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it.”

“Tad says al you ever do is lie, that we shouldn’t trust you.” Her fea-

tures soften with disappointment. Mia accepts every word from Tad’s

lips as gospel. That’s what the hel is wrong with this family—they keep

listening to Tad.

“Tad is just another ass like Gabriel Armistead.” And Logan Oliver.

Real y I should educate both her and Melissa on Chloe’s faux maxim

she espoused at winter formal, chicks before dicks and all that good

stuff. Plus they’re sisters, there must be some deeper code of ethics

when dating and relations are involved. Logan and Gage dart through

my mind. That ended badly.

I give her a heartfelt hug, feel her hot cheek rub up alongside mine and

savor the moment. When Mia was little she used to inundate me with

hugs, beg for them like they were candy. Once Melissa came along, the

only body part she wanted to shower me with was her middle finger.

This is the Mia I miss—sweet, achingly sweet and vulnerable, Mia.

“I love you, Mia,” I whisper. “I’l be right back. I promise.”

***

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I can’t get into a scalding hot shower fast enough. I lock my door and

push the dresser over a notch out of habit, pul out a pair of sweats that

happen to be my own for a change. Soon I’m going to have an entire

pile of laundry that belongs to Gage. Of course, I’l wash it for him, fold

it—

spray it down with my perfume before I give it back.

How am I ever going to tel Gage about what happened tonight without

stressing him out into a coma? Of course he’s going to get pneumo-

nia— double pneumonia along with a triple coronary. It’l be a miracle

if I don’t finish him off before prom.

Logan is on a determined path toward assault charges, or

worse—manslaughter, judging by the way he held my head underwa-

ter. I shudder recal ing the words that flew from his lips. He’s become

unrecognizable, a beast, a monster. Maybe that’s why you should nev-

er bring people back from the dead. Look at Chloe? And Holden? Both

your textbook assholes and probably Ethan, too, I just haven’t had

time to analyze him properly.

On my way to the bathroom, a strange arrangement of jewelry catches

my attention. Two of my necklaces form a large silver heart, set over

my laptop.

Great.

Mia and Melissa must have been fishing around in my jewelry box

again. I flip up the magazine that hides the third disc Marshal gave

me.

Clearly I’l have to put this in a location Mia and Melissa would never

think to look, lest I wake up one morning and find it strapped around

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one of their necks. I flip the coin in the air and catch it. The wal safe in

the butterfly room is the best place for this.

I head into the shower. I don’t even wait for the water to heat up be-

fore jumping in and lathering up with enough soap to remove the lake

slime off my body.

Logan and his misguided behavior run through my mind. Obviously

serious brain damage has occurred. How can I be mad at him? He

could never be so cruel or heartless. This is devastating. Maybe I can

talk to Ezrina? I bet she has some elixir somewhere that can repair the

damage, and he’l be back to his sweet self in no time. Although—if I

continue to let him act like a monkey with his bal s on fire, it might be

a great way for me to final y get over him. It might be the only way.

I let the water run over my shoulders, a little too hot, for a little too

long. Unexpected tears mix into the fold. For some reason these four

smoky wal s are the only place it feels safe to admit that I stil have very

strong feelings for old Logan. I don’t care what Chloe or even Gage try

to feed me about him, I know sweet sensitive Logan wasn’t a figment

of my imagination. I cherished the way he would drink me in with

those glowing amber eyes, the way he soothed me with his calm, even

tone—his vibrant kisses, each with a life of its own. Was I truly so

blind in love that I couldn’t see him for the person he real y was?

There is no way he could have always been so horrible. It’s just not

possible.

Our short time together runs through my mind like a silent movie. The

first moment we met, our first time at the fal s, battling Fems, him tak-

ing me under his wing and training me—how he let me go to protect

me. An entire wal of tears gush from me, warm and salty rivaling the

water pouring over my shoulders for attention. I give in and mourn

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Logan, the old version that I would die to have back. I miss his easy

ways, the constant assurance of his love.

I miss it. I miss the way Logan Oliver loved me.

I turn off the water and wrap the towel around my damp flesh, get out

and stare at my soft impression in the foggy mirror. I’m too numb to

move, too warped from the heartache of losing the lover of my heart,

to face a moment—an entire future without him.

A letter begins to form on the glass. The letter S, then K, then, Y- L - A.

“Go to hel , Holden.” Holden Kragger is going to try to officiate this as

the worse Valentine’s ever, but I won’t let him.

Another set of letters form beneath my name. L -O – G – A - N.

Logan? Was I mumbling Logan’s name in the shower? God—what if

Holden, the not so friendly ghost, has harvested the power to read

minds?

Just as I’m about to smear his efforts, a heart emerges, enwreathing

both our names.

“Skyla,” a soft voice whispers, “I love you more than the heavens love

the sun and the moon.” A soft blue light il uminates the bathroom

from behind.

I turn around and find a familiar lovely face staring back at me.

Logan.

Chapter 20

Logan

“Oh my, God,” I breathe.

Logan and his pale perfection, his transparent blue features staring

back at me with a clear look of wonder and agony rol ed into one.

“If you’re here, then who—” I take in a quick breath, not wil ing to vo-

lunteer the information myself.

“Holden,” his voice emits a ghostly whisper.

I let out a little whimper. I’ve screwed up before, turned perfectly good

things into a pile of shit quicker than a vapor can mingle with the at-

mosphere, but this, this was of a scope and magnitude that left little

room for anything but the unhinging of my jaw. This would perman-

ently reside as the innermost deepest mistake I have ever made.

Marshal blinks through my mind. He said I was on my own. He could

have averted this tragedy from the beginning if I had only restrained

myself from blinding him with sputum.

“That wasn’t you on the boat tonight,” I huff a smal laugh, ful with

relief.

He shakes his head.

“When Gisel e comes—” I don’t want to imply he’s not good enough in

his transparent state, but, “wel , she looks in every way human.” His

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cheeks fil with color, flesh converges over his velum features, and he

appears ful y formed in jeans and t-shirt.

“Logan,” I jump up and hug him, losing my towel in the process. I

knead my hands into the hard flesh of his arms, pat him down like a

criminal, run my fingers over his face, trace the outline of his smile,

before kissing him ful on the mouth soft and lingering—so sad—so

happy.

He pul s back and takes me in, holding my gaze with his hypnotic

sense of being.

“Um,” he points down never letting his gaze wander south of my chin.

“Oh, right,” I reach over and grab my robe, wrap it tight around my

body, and lead him out to the bedroom. “I can’t believe you’re here. I

mean I didn’t know you weren’t here, here. Oh my, God.” I cup my

hand over my mouth. “He’s destroying you.” A loud rattle on the other

side of the wal inspires me to drag Logan up to the butterfly room for

privacy.

Logan pul s me in next to him as we settle on the black glittering floor,

the galaxy at our feet. He drops a long forlorn kiss on top of my head

and sighs.

“I knew something was wrong,” I say it low, ashamed that I wasn’t

aware from the beginning.

“I’ve missed you with an indescribable ache, Skyla.” He bears into me

with those resolute eyes that testify to his words. “You and me,” he sw-

al ows hard, “we’re right together. I see it clearer now than ever

before.”

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A spark ignites in me. Deep inside I know this to be true. I don’t un-

derstand it, I’m not sure I want to. This never-ending anguish, this

never-ending misery, it carries on its sad refrain deep in my soul,

haunts me. But now he’s dead and stil nothing seems simple.

“What are we going to do about this?” I cradle his perfectly warm

hands—hold them careful y as if they had morphed into a newborn.

“You can’t let on that you know its Holden.”

“Why? I hate Holden.”

“You need to kil him,” it comes out sharp. “If you confront him, you’l

ruin the element of surprise.”

“Kil ?” It comes out weak. “I can’t kil you. Let Gage kil you, or better

yet— your uncle.” I find the prospect of me snuffing the life out of

Logan Oliver in any incarnation highly improbable.

“We’l figure it out. Speaking of Gage.” He takes in a deep breath as if

Gage’s own state of being were almost as chal enging as his.

“Dr. Oliver doesn’t want me to stress him out.” I bite down on my lip.

“I know. He needs to finish healing.” Logan stares at our conjoined

fingers, picks up my hand and bumps his lips over my knuckles. “What

happened at the lake?” His voice trembles with anger.

“Were you there?”

“There was a binding spirit around the vicinity. I could only get as far

as the parking lot.”

“He was rounding out second base when I kneed him in the bal s.”

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“Good girl,” he tugs at my hand. “Sorry about that,” it depresses out of

him. The line on his cheek where I cut him sags, and I reach over and

trace the hard ridge of flesh with my finger.

“You’re here. You feel so real. This isn’t fake. Why can’t you live like

this? We can have Holden shipped off to prison for impersonating

you.”

“It doesn’t work like that. This is a temporal form. I can’t live my life

like this, and I won’t stand for Holden tearing down my existence just

to satisfy his every itch.”

More like satisfy every bitch.

“Can others see you?” I squeeze his hand.

“Only if I al ow them.”

“Maybe you should show yourself to Holden. He can drop dead of a

heart attack, and you can have your body back.” I’m only half-kidding.

“I have a feeling he doesn’t scare so easy.” Logan’s jaw goes rigid.

“He’s already drained the bowling al ey of three night drops.”

“Probably sponsoring that lousy wardrobe of his. Did you see what he

did to your truck?” Logan gives a slow blink of dissatisfaction. “I’m

more concerned with what he plans on doing with every girl on the is-

land, starting with you.” Holden scoffed at being Ethan, no wonder he

was kissing my feet with gratitude when he turned up in Logan’s body.

It’s like graduating from a paddleboat to a cruise ship. He was prob-

ably trying to do me a favor by sleeping with me first, before hitting

the bevy of bathing beauties waiting for him back at El is’. I’ve got to

stop him from defiling Logan’s body.

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“Skyla,” Logan gives a devilish smile, “we’re holding hands. I can hear

you.”

“Did you get your powers back?” I’m hopeful. Right about now I’m

sorry for every lousy thing I’ve ever done to Logan.

“No. It comes with the territory. I’ve been hanging out with Gisel e.

She taught me a few tricks.”

“Gisel e—she wanted to come and spend time with the family, then

you guys…”

“She told me,” Logan flexes a sad smile. “I’m hoping I could come,

too.”

“You don’t need an invitation. Besides, if we’re lucky Holden wil be

dead by midnight.” I start to rise, and he pul s me gently down, lands

me back on the floor with a soft thud.

“It’s not that easy. We can’t have any external injuries. I don’t have Ce-

lestra capabilities. It’s going to be difficult explaining why I’m alive if

the entire left side of my head is bashed in.”

“Right, we need to do this with no one around, total y covert ops. I’l

drown him or poison him, something that won’t leave any marks, and

when he kicks the bucket you can, you know, zoom right back in.”

His lips pul into a bleak line.

“It’s not that easy, is it?”

He shakes his head.

A sense of dread overtakes me. “We need Marshal , don’t we?”

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He gives a weak nod.

Just freaking great.

Chapter 21

Only You

Clouds lay over the morning, hard like sedimentary rocks with period-

ic layering in every shade of grey. A waxy film douses the outside

world with just enough fog to soften the hard edges of the pines, the

needle-like protrusions of the stil bald maples.

I sweep a quick glance at the forest outside my window for signs of

Nevermore, but avail nothing in my search. Instead, I dress for church

in a bright red angora sweater two sizes too smal that gives the il usion

my breasts are about to hulk their way out into the world—a pair of

skinny jeans and heels. Real y I could wear sweats and no one would

bat a lash. Paragon Presbyterian tries its best to emulate the Christian

casual trend that’s been assaulting the religion of late. No shirt, no

shoes, no problem—plus there’s a makeshift Starbucks and donut buf-

fet at the rear. Soon they’l be serving mojitos and oysters as a ploy to

get people to go forth and be fruitful.

Gage sent a text saying he couldn’t make it this morning. Said he was

stil sore from the body piercing Logan tried inflicting on him, thought

he’d lay low. I’m total y going over after and hanging out with

him—that is, after I pummel Marshal with pleas to help me get Logan

back into the right body, thus the breasty red sweater and high heeled

embel ishments.

Downstairs, I find the entire family amassed in various levels of un-

dress. Mia and Melissa are both so ripely pissed at this fragile hour it

hardly seems possible.

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Mia! The movie.

Crap.

“Mia,” I go over with my arms spread wide and attempt to hug her, but

she ducks, successful y evading the maneuver.

“Back off.” She holds up a spatula as if she were about to cut out my

liver.

“I total y fel asleep,” I press my hand against my chest. I’m actual y tel

ing the truth for once. Logan stayed for a good long while, and I fel

asleep in his arms. He said he’d stay the night, but babysitting Holden

was his newfound responsibility. Nevertheless, I official y hold the title

of worst sister ever.

“You fel asleep?” She charges me with a serious look of doubt. “I went

up to your room and the door was locked,” she leans accusingly, “so I

picked it. Then it was jammed, so I had to push my way in. But guess

what? You weren’t in your bed. You weren’t in the bathroom.” She

bores into me a look of concentrated revenge, or hatred, real y it could

go either way. “I heard voices in that secret room of yours.” She walks

over and flips the pancakes already singed on one side. I swear I think

I see Marshal ’s effigy on one, but I’m quick to glance away and not

stray from the emotional trauma at hand. “I got the message,” she

hisses. “Plus it was Valentine’s Day, so I would have done the same.”

She bats me away with the kitchen tool in her hand.

“So you’re real y not mad at me?” I find this doubtful.

She shakes her head while breaking off a piece of pancake and popping

it in her mouth.

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“Thank you!” I go over and hug her by the shoulders. “I’l take you to

the mal or something.”

“Movies. I plan on having a date in the near future,” she whispers, eye-

ing Melissa at the table from over my shoulder. “Maybe next Tuesday

if I’m lucky.”

“That’s a school night.”

“It’s five dol ar Tuesday, plus this isn’t serious enough yet for a Friday

or a Saturday.” She shakes her head annoyed like I should be aware of

the hierarchy of date nights.

“So who’s the date with?” Now that Melissa has saddled herself with

the demonic Armistead spawn, I don’t real y mind the idea of Mia see-

ing a boy, or two or twelve.

“Gabriel Armistead,” she whispers, licking the syrup off her finger.

“What?” I hiss. “I thought you were bal ing your eyes out over him last

night because he was such a jerk?”

“Who’s a jerk?” Mom comes in wafting of expensive perfume, already

dressed in a long navy skirt and white ruffled blouse. Her feet are

pressed into heels that rival my own, both of which could double as

circus stilts.

“Skyla,” Mia doesn’t miss a beat before walking off with a plate of

flapjacks.

“Looks like the gang’s al here,” Tad howls.

If Tad would emote just a smidge of sarcasm when he says stupid stuff

like that it might make me respect him just a little bit more.

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“Alrighty then.” Mom dons an over-processed smile as she heads to

the kitchen table, motioning for the rest of us to do the same.

“Your mother and I have news.” Tad invokes an authoritative baritone,

exclusive to imbeciles and stepfathers, as he hovers over the lot of us.

I, for one, hope this has nothing to do with either procreation or recre-

ation. Two concepts that I’m loathe to entertain with the Landon

bunch.

I take a seat in between Ethan and Drake at the bar, in not-so-eager

anticipation of the announcement.

“You’re final y having a baby!” Mia shouts it out like they’ve been de-

priving us of the honor of knowing for months.

“Not yet sweetie,” Mom corrects. “Last night, Tad and I came to a very

serious decision that wil affect al of you in the near future.” Dear God,

they’re getting a divorce.

Tad real y fucked up good this time.

“Let it be known, that only a mere twelve hours ago,” Tad pauses,

threading his arm through my mother’s, “I asked this beautiful woman

to once again become my blushing bride—and she said yes.”

Nothing but dead silence from the peanut gal ery. None of us are al

that thril ed with this rather dramatic bit of non-news.

“That’s it?” Melissa barks. I think they’ve actual y managed to offend

her. “You’re already married.”

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“I know, sweetie.” Mom uses her sugarcoated tone to reconcile the fact

she’s capable of making the same mistake twice. “And you’re al going

to be in the wedding— again.”

Actual y, this is pseudo great news. As long as Tad is stil in the picture

that means whatever the hel was going on with Demetri is long over.

Unless, of course, it’s al some elaborate effort to throw us off track.

That would be a strange cover for an affair—remarrying your hus-

band—it reeks of ingenious Fem inspired deception.

“Our one year wedding anniversary is coming up, and we thought

what better way to celebrate than to renew our vows?” Tad nods into

the idea.

“Of course, we’l keep it simple, just family in the backyard,” Mom

beams like this is going to make her year.

“Briel e wil have to come,” Drake says.

“Oh, and Gage,” I add.

“I’m bringing Gabriel,” Melissa raises a brow in Mia’s direction.

“Who’s Gabriel?” Tad straightens. “Look, this is already getting out of

hand.”

“It’s just a few extra people.” Mom is sharp in her rebuttal.

“You’re right,” Tad loses a little color. “We’l just throw a few more hot

dogs on the gril .” Hot dogs?

And planning a wedding? Is Tad truly so clueless that he doesn’t real-

ize a wedding is one of the most stressful events in a girl’s life? He’s

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insane if he thinks they’l survive this couples catastrophe. He might as

wel have handed her divorce papers last night, signed and

sealed—traded his wedding band in for cash at the pawn shop on the

way home.

Nobody says a word to fil in Tad’s moronic void. Instead, Mom pushes

out a feeble attempt at a smile and ends up with an uncertain look on

her face.

I have a feeling that wil be one of the nicer sentiments she shares with

him in the upcoming weeks.

I have a feeling Tad and Lizbeth Landon are about to go down in

flames.

Chapter 22

Church on Time

I drive the Mustang out onto the strangled stretch of highway that

knifes through Paragon proper. Between the dark shadows of the

pines I can see the pounding surf, the hard white spray of the sea sift

through the fog.

Mia insists on riding along. I’ve already warned her she needs to hitch

a ride back with Mom and Tad. She doesn’t say a word about last night

or her plans to do a relationship takedown with Gabriel Armistead. In-

stead, as soon as we hit the church foyer, she bolts into a group of kids

her own age—more precisely over to a golden haired boy with a per-

petual smile, who stands a head above the rest a.k.a. the perpetrator in

question who’s messing with my sisters.

“A little young for you, wouldn’t you agree?” Demetri hovers over my

shoulder wearing a black hat, trench coat to match. He plucks the fe-

dora off his head and offers a hideous grin.

Before I can answer, Mom pops up beside me.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she tips her chest in as she says it.

“I was just about to invite Skyla to my grandfather’s estate. Why don’t

you accompany her, Lizbeth? I’m afraid I may not have made the best

impression. She seems to be having some hesitancy regarding her

community service.”

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“I would love to see your grandfather’s estate!” Her eyes spring wide

like twin lanterns. “Name the time and day.” She wiggles with delight

as if he just asked her to prom.

“Any day this week that you’re available. I’m subject to your schedule.

You have my number. Just give me a cal when you’re in the neighbor-

hood.” He redirects his attention to me at a lethargic pace. He’s relish-

ing this, I can tel . “Skyla, I have a feeling you and I are going to get

along just fine.”

That’s funny—I have the distinct feeling we’re not.

I give a courteous nod before ducking into the sanctuary.

Faux Logan is sitting in our usual spot, leaning into Chloe as she whis-

pers toxic sweet nothings into his ear.

Figures. She’s probably been coaching him on al things Logan since

day one.

Briel e comes in and we take a seat together.

“Hey,” she scoots in until our shoulders touch. “Heads up, my mom is

super pissed at your mom.”

“What?” I look over to where Mom is carrying on a deep and meaning-

ful conversation with Demetri and her breasts.

Darla, Briel e’s mom, joins in on the fun. It looks natural, not at al

catty or aggressive.

“What’s she pissed about?”

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“She says al your mom cares about is you,” she huffs as though this

were an outrage.

“So?”

“So? I’m the one having her grandchild. My mom wants me to go to

that special clinic you went to when everyone thought you were

knocked up. My mom said your family could care less if I gave birth

out in a field with the help of a drunk ranch hand and a rusted out

hoe.”

“That’s not true,” I swivel around in search for Drake. He’s the one

who should be putting out this hormonal fire, not me. I spy him near

the back, where both he and Ethan vie for Emily’s attention. I turn to

look back at mom. “She’s real y happy about the baby.” In al honesty, I

don’t think I’ve heard her mention it once.

“Oh, good. I’l let my mom know. She can cal off the lawyer.”

“The what?” The last thing Mom and Tad need is some serious legal

drama playing out. That’s precisely why I haven’t presented them with

the cease and desist letter Pierce inflicted me with.

I look back over at the three of them. Both Mom and Darla glare in our

direction. If I didn’t know better I’d swear they were both honing their

hate-fil ed laser stares right at me.

“Looks like your Mom is real y ticked,” I whisper.

“Yeah, wel , she’s not your biggest fan right now. She thinks your par-

ents favor you over Drake, but I’l set her straight.” Ironic, how the only

one not scowling in my direction is Demetri—only I don’t find it ironic

at al .

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He offers a maniacal smile exclusive to vil ains and heinous Fems the

world over.

He’s screwing with Mom, and he’s screwing with Darla.

I bet if he has his way, he’l burn the whole lot of us to the ground, the

way he did my father.

***

After church I make a beeline over to Marshal ’s quaint ten thousand

foot abode.

A strange wind picks up, jostles the branches of the Juniper trees,

makes them wave their branches quick and spasmodic. It’s unnatural,

unearthly…

“Logan?” I whisper to myself. I bet that was him, scratching against

the window that night in Gage’s bedroom, he probably set out his let-

terman jacket for me to see, broke the key off in the lock when Gage

and I wanted to be alone, christened us with a fal en branch in the

middle of a kiss.

I huff a laugh.

El is and the fountain, Holden kissing me in the truck and the music

exploding in our ears that first night he came back—that was al Logan

trying his hardest to preserve his love for me.

I return my focus to the road as I pul into Marshal ’s expansive drive-

way. I thought for sure I’d see him at church this morning. I just as-

sumed there was some law that stipulated he, rise and shine, and give

God his glory, glory each and every Sunday.

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I give three solid knocks at the door and wait before jiggling the knob

trying to let myself in. It’s cold outside, the kind of chil that knifes

through each layer of clothing easy as butter.

The door swings open and I gasp at the sight of him.

“Marshal ?”

“Ms. Messenger.” His skin is il uminated bright as a glow stick, as if he

overslept in a radioactive tanning bed.

If he can’t control the bizarre condition then I completely understand

the reason he sequestered himself from public view. A florescent

facade would certainly be fodder for gossip amongst the congregation.

He escorts us deep into his living room.

“I didn’t see you at church today,” I say, in lieu of firing off a half a

dozen sarcastic remarks about his phosphorescent skin condition.

“Feeling high and mighty are we? I gave accounting at the throne,” he

growls, “thus the unearthly bril iance. I dare say I’ve trumped you in al

matters spiritual, this day and every other. What can I help you with?”

“I think you know,” a marked irritation spikes in me. I don’t appreci-

ate the never-ending supply of head games Marshal indulges in.

“Clue me in, Love. I’m rather irritated at the moment.” His hair gleams

like gold floss, his chiseled features blush a burnished bronze.

Marshal could kil with his razor sharp looks—only he decided to use a

car.

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“You did this to Logan.” I go to push him in the chest, and he catches

me by the wrist.

“Enough with the childish antics,” he reprimands, tossing my hand

back. “I’ve spent the last interim of my existence defending you.”

“Defending me? To who?”

“The Sector al iance, your mother— God himself,” he seethes.

My heart lurches.

I thought I was the pissed off one in this conversation, obviously I’m

sadly mistaken.

Marshal launches his fist into the piano, causing a magnificent explo-

sion of sound. The entire framework splinters and lands the piano in

pieces on the ground as if a bomb went off.

“Hey! I liked that thing,” I shout, trying to inject a little semblance of

sanity into the moment.

Marshal glares at the damaged instrument, and, as if in obedience, it

magical y rights itself and returns to its black lacquered splendor.

OK—if that was a show of prowess to make me aware of who exactly it

is I’m messing with, he’s got my undivided attention.

“Why were you defending me?” My entire demeanor softens. I touch

his cheek, marveling at his radiance, and he storms off in the other

direction.

“You surrendered region one in less than five minutes!” His voice

booms in a fit of rage. “It’s obvious we’re going to have to conduct a

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strict level of combat training. I’l start by dril ing into you something

you seem to be lacking—a commitment for the cause.”

“Logan and Gage—”

He cuts me off, “Your hormonal overdrive has placed us in jeopardy.”

“They were dying!” I roar.

“Precisely why they weren’t brought into the offensive.” He gives a

long blink. “Skyla, out of love I gave you the discs—to your mother’s

protest I gave you those life saving sensors. She wanted you caged in

each battle like a corporeal beast. Do you understand what I’m tel ing

you?”

“No,” I take a step back, alarmed at his anger-induced passion. “I real

y don’t.”

“Skyla, you were in no mortal danger. No matter how long the battle

would have waged you would have been returned to the exact time in

the evening from which you were taken. There was no point in squan-

dering the disc let alone handing the Fems victory on a platter.” He

glares. “They’re beyond recognition, what with al of the spiritual high

fives—ego’s the size of smal planets.” He spears me with his copper

eyes. “To say there is rampant disappointment in the celestial sphere

over your actions, would be modest. Of course, the blame has been

pinned square on my shoulders.” He straightens, looking out the win-

dow at the corral in the distance.

“Why you?”

“I afforded you the opportunity,” he whispers it in shame. “If it weren’t

for me you would have fought like the warrior you were born to be.

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I’ve taken what could have been your greatest moment and reduced it

to nothing short of an act of cowardice.”

“It wasn’t cowardice. It was love,” I correct. “I love Logan and Gage.

I’d give up the entire universe for them.”

“Congratulations, Skyla,” Marshal pins me with a glacial stare. “You

just may have.” Chapter 23

Out of My Head

I head straight over to Gage after Marshal ’s spectacular meltdown.

I’ve never seen him so livid. A storm has moved in. The rain outside fal

s in long teardrop spears, pressing themselves against the foggy win-

dow of Gage’s bedroom.

I snuggle into Gage as we watch an old movie that I actual y saw in the

theatre with my father a bazil ion years ago. I miss my father with an

irrepressible sadness. It’s his unjust murder that drives me to win the

faction war, to put the Counts and Fems and any other demonic form

of being in its place for what they’ve done to him.

Gage dips a kiss down over my eyebrow as he pul s me closer to him.

“We need to plan a serious Valentine’s do-over,” he punctuates the

idea by circling his thumb on the inside of my palm.

“You’re on.” I flatten my lips against his and just lay there, listening to

the sound of his breathing, taking in his clean scent.

“So where did you leave things with Dudley?” He looks at me with

great intensity from one eye to the other. The slight veil of fear and

jealousy lurks in his question.

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“That was it,” I say, looking around the room for signs of Logan. I told

Gage al about my visit to Marshal ’s. So much happened that I forgot

to bring up Logan’s bodily debacle—the reason I went there to begin

with. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” he lets out a breath. “Looks like I would have been better

off dying and letting the Counts resurrect me,” he finishes it off with a

deep guttural cough.

“Don’t you ever say that,” I run my hand up his sweatshirt and lay my

palm against his hot stomach. Not only do I not want to hear about

Gage’s death wish, he wouldn’t qualify in terms of a resurrection.

I make lazy figure eights on his skin and feel his muscles contract and

spasm as I trickle over them. “I can’t believe we’re free of you know

who.” I don’t dare say Chloe’s name out loud in the event she’s got

Fem operatives on patrol in the vicinity.

“You and me both. We can final y focus on one another and nothing

else.” Gage gives a searing kiss, branded by his love. “By the way,” he

pul s back and examines me with a placid smile, “she cal ed today.”

“Oh?” I push up on my elbow. Something tel s me Chloe is about to in-

ject her pointy shoe right into my rear in a big way. Trying to keep

Chloe out of our lives is like trying to put out a fire with gasoline, soon-

er or later our world is going to blow. I can feel it deep in my bones. In

fact, Chloe Bishop would make a gasoline fire seem like a welcome re-

prieve from her wrath. There is real y no comparing her wickedness.

“I guess she’s been working at the bowling al ey while we’ve been dis-

posed.” He bites down as if he’s keeping something from me.

“Briel e mentioned it.” Crap, I bet she’s done some amazing business

move like tying the pizza kitchen to every lunch program on the island,

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and now the bowling al ey is going to make mil ions al thanks to her

stroke of genius.

“Yeah,” he gives a soft cough, sounds like pennies rattling away at the

bottom of his lungs. “Did Briel e happen to mention Logan’s been

helping himself to the safe and that payrol and bil s haven’t been paid

this month?” I pluck my hand out of his shirt.

“Oh my, God.” Logan is going to lose the bowling al ey no thanks to

Holden and his dumbass buffoonery. “We need to sit him down and

have an intervention. I mean, I’m al for living life to the ful est, but

he’s got this whole live it up thing ass backwards. He’s going to end up

in such major debt, the next death wish around here wil be his.” Al-

though, knowing Holden, somehow I find this doubtful. I’m sure he

has no problem running both his new business and new body into the

ground. Forget debt, he’l have the clap by the time prom rol s

around—flesh eating clap. “Did Chloe mention anything else?”

He shakes his head.

She’s such a kiss up. I could have told Gage those things, but I didn’t

want to stress him out. It looks like I’m going to have a one on one

with my least favorite nemesis, clue her in on the fact she’s going to

land Gage in the hospital. If she cares anything at al about him, she’l

stay the hel away. Like that would ever happen. Chloe’s going to keep

up the good little snitch routine as long as she thinks it’l score some

major brownie points with my future husband.

I take in a breath and look up at Gage.

“You’re quiet,” he eyes me with suspicion. “I’m sorry I brought her

up.”

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“No, it’s OK. I’m glad you did. It made me realize something

important.”

“What’s that?” His dimples depress in a smile al their own. He coils a

lock of my hair around his finger with great care as he awaits my

answer.

“How special you are to me. How we’re going to spend the rest of our

lives together.” I draw him a map with my kisses rather than expend

any more energy on words that could never do what lies ahead for us,

justice. Gage runs his hands up the back of my sweater, swivels around

to the front with one long hot stroke. He lifts his shirt and lays his bare

stomach over mine. A sharp bite of heat bisects my insides and I moan

from the pleasure of his touch.

Gage is my future and Chloe’s past. It’s about time I clued her in on

those two facts.

***

Later, as I get into the Mustang to head home, I text Chloe to arrange a

tête-à-tête and lo and behold, horror of al horrors, she texts back that

she’s at my freaking house. Probably crop dusting my bedroom with

strychnine at this very moment.

I race down the solvent streets of Paragon, through the beginnings of a

major downpour and bolt into the house, out of breath and soaking

wet.

“Skyla!” My mother pauses at the kitchen counter and gasps at my ap-

pearance. Her fingers freeze midflight with a slice of pizza in her

hands.

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I find Chloe seated beside Ethan at the island. Next to them, Briel e

and Drake wolf down their lunch, as if al is wel in Landon manner.

Looks like the queen of al bitches is conquering new territory.

“What’s going on?” I speed over to the four of them.

“You’l have to excuse Skyla,” Tad shouts over to Chloe. “She’s prone to

rude spontaneous outbursts.”

“Oh, I’m wel aware.” Chloe doesn’t miss a beat.

“Get your own,” Ethan shields his pizza as if I were about to swipe it

right out of his mouth. I bet it’s a kneejerk reaction to the lifestyle he

indulged in while living on the streets. Little does he know, the mon-

ster that knifed him sits dutiful y by his side, and she’d be happy to

steal more than the artery blocker he’s about to inhale.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I yank him up by the elbow and drag

him out to the hal .

“What?” He shakes me loose, genuinely perturbed. “Make it quick. I’m

starved.”

“Why is Chloe here?” God, I hope he says something logical that might

official y warrant her presence, like an unforeseen yet, oh so necessary,

assassination.

“She’s hanging out. I kind of like her.” He looks past my shoulder back

into the family room.

I pul him deeper into the hal by force.

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“Are you out of your mind? She disemboweled you to further her own

personal agenda. She thinks of everything and everyone as an object to

get what she wants. Nothing good is going to come of this. Chloe is

nothing more than a parasite,” I say that last part a little louder than

intended.

“I have a plan.” He darts into me deliberately with his beady Landon

eyes, and for a split second he looks like Drake’s evil twin.

“To do what? Blackmail her? Drink her blood? I’ve heard it al before

none of it works. She’s an unstoppable force of destruction.”

“I’m going to date her,” he blinks into his admission.

“What?” I screech. Ethan Landon is proving to be an entire stack of

stupid.

“She’s total y into me.” He shrugs, clearly flattered by Chloe’s sobering

lies. For one, Ethan looks nothing like Gage, and for two, stil not Gage.

“What about Emily?” I ask, grasping for straws.

“She’s OK. But she doesn’t quite dovetail into my agenda the way

Chloe does.”

“What agenda?”

He walks back into the kitchen, leaving me hanging.

I fol ow him back and grab a plate, slap a piece of pizza on it with the

cheese sliding off.

“How’s Gage feeling?” Mom asks while shouldering into Tad as though

she didn’t log time with Demetri at the barbaric stone of sacrifice.

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Chloe twitches when she says his name. She might get thrown into a

ful -blown seizure if we actual y conduct an entire conversation about

him. On second thought…

“Gage is fine. He’s feeling better. We’re going to get together later this

week and have a Valentine’s do-over.” I watch Chloe as I take a seat at

the table, a safe distance away. She lowers her lids before glinting back

up at me with those torches of fire. Messing with Chloe like this is like

soaring too close to the sun. It might feel good for a moment but be-

fore you realize it you’ve reduced yourself to ashes.

“That’s nice,” Chloe chokes the words out. “I was thinking,” she clears

her throat. The protective hedge glimmers prideful around her neck. It

conforms to the hil s and val eys of her throat as if it were contemplat-

ing strangulation. Now that would be an irony I could appreciate. “I

think we should have a get together this Saturday, at my house.” She

says that last part as though she were setting out a trap. “You know,

just couples.” She lowers her lids seductively over at Ethan when she

says it.

Gag me.

Hang me.

Send me to Ezrina’s so she can detach me limb by limb rather than

watch this monstrosity unfold. Clearly the one with an evil agenda

here is Chloe, not Ethan. If his idea of taking out revenge on someone

is dating them, clearly he is Tad’s begotten, yet slightly forgotten,

seed. Hey, maybe that’s why Tad married my mother? Revenge.

“That’s great!” Briel e beams. “I so need a do-over Valentine’s, too. I

ended up puking al night and leaving early while Drake here, saw a

late movie with Emily,” she says her name with an acidic tongue.

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“Drake?” I gape at him. How could he? But I thought I saw his car at

the fal s? But that would mean…

“What?” He over dramatizes a shrug. “It was a coincidence. We were

at the theatre at the same time, that’s al .” Drake seems to suffer from

the same dumbass disorder that his father and brother before him, do.

I look over Tad and Mom making googly eyes at each other and try not

to hurl my cheeseless pizza at them.

“What about our camping trip?” I look to the two of them to save

Ethan from the atrocity of date night with Chloe. There’s no way in hel

Gage and I are going.

“Canceled.” Mom shivers when she says it as if she herself had just

staved off some grievous horror, which she total y did. “Besides, I have

an appointment at the clinic, and if the weather is this nasty, we might

have to pul an overnighter,” she coos into Tad.

OK. I’ve had enough repulsion to suppress my appetite for the rest of

my natural life.

An ebony lacquered bracelet dangles from Mom’s wrist. It harnesses

my attention with a gold symbol emblazoned on the side.

“Nice bracelet,” I say, ful with suspicion.

“You like it?” She runs her fingers over it, twists it repetitively. Her

cheeks brighten a lively shade of crimson. “I picked it up at the mal .”

“You said you found it in a parking lot.” Tad postures himself away

from her with a serious look of doubt.

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“Yes,” Mom straightens in her seat. “I found it in the parking lot at the

mal , so technical y I picked it up there.” She squints into the infinity

symbol gleaming under the light.

Tad presses out a look of relief just knowing his hard earned dol ars

weren’t spent on something foolish like bejeweling his wife.

I have a feeling she picked it up al right, right out Demetri’s evil paws.

The infinity symbol gleams, the gold floss is lit up like fire from the

lights above.

Infinity. I bet Demetri real y does want to live and rule forever, crush

Marshal and the rest of the Sectors with the heel of his cloven hoof for

an infinity.

Something surges in me, and I feel protective towards Marshal , the

entire human race.

To hel with Demetri and his fantasies.

The only infinite thing he’l have to look forward to, is my wrath.

Chapter 24

Forever

After school on Monday, under a smooth charcoal sky, Gage an-

nounces he has a surprise for me.

I climb into his truck and watch Paragon glide by in a whirl of viridian

and sage, an entire kaleidoscope of dark green glory parades past us at

dizzying speeds. That’s what it felt like traveling into the future, the

push of the world exploding in one dark blur, wrapped safe in Logan’s

arms as we waited with bated breath for some new revelation. That’s

what it’s like right now with Gage, although miles safer, and without

the prospect of death staring me in the face once we arrive to our des-

tination. At least I hope.

Nevermore glides over us as though he were leading the way. I wonder

if Nev could protect me from Ezrina? If he would want to?

I take Gage up by the hand. Going anywhere with him is heaven.

Gage picked me up for school for the first time in ages this morning.

Everything feels normal again, right—everything except for the fact

that Logan is real y dead, but I push that away for now. It’s far too

painful to contend with.

“So where we going?” I admire him from an arms’ length. He’s got on a

leather jacket, the scarf his mother knit for Christmas sits nestled

around his neck. The stubble on his cheeks has fil ed in, giving him

that outdoorsy appeal which I find dangerously hot. I’m not sure I like

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him looking like he could start a forest fire, especial y not with Chloe

haunting the corridors of West, even if she is spraying Ethan openly

with her venomous pheromones.

“Consider yourself official y kidnapped,” it rumbles out of him in one

husky growl. His lips turn up as he steals a quick glance.

“It sounds like you’re being a very bad boy.” I reach over and run my

fingers through his hair, touch the freshly shorn bristle against the

back of his neck, smooth in one direction, sharp as a cats tongue in the

other.

He gives an impish grin and points over the steering wheel before

making the turn.

“Rockaway!” I bounce in my seat. I’ve been dying to come back ever

since we shared a special moment here, and I official y declared it our

place. The beauty of the landscape alone takes my breath away.

We park close to the succulent covered path that spreads its swol en

leaves towards shore. I jump out of the truck, pluck my shoes off and

race into the midnight colored sand. “This is amazing!” I shout up over

the deafening waves, my feet sinking in the cold grit beneath me.

Gage tweaks his brows. A seductive smile plays on his lips as he tosses

a thick blanket over his shoulder. He swoops in on me like an eagle

darting for prey, scoops me up in his arms and sinks a kiss on my lips

before breaking out into his signature kil er grin.

“Put me down,” I protest. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” God forbid

I’m the reason Gage ends up supine in a hospital bed.

“No way,” he trots us down the beach towards an ancient coral tree

with a wingspan that stretches out for what feels like miles. Its bright

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red trumpets dance against the ashen sky, taunting it with the blush of

a sunset that Paragon may never know or see.

Gage lands me soft on the ground before laying out the blanket.

“For you.” He pats a seat beside him, and I hop dutiful y across from

him.

Gage leans in and indulges me on the pleasure of his mouth, drowns

out the waves, the wind, the rattle of leaves up above until al I hear is

his erratic breathing, his heart racing over mine.

“Boy,” I whisper, “I think you’re setting the record for best Valentine’s

do-over, ever.” Chloe errantly wafts through my mind. She’s become

the tick feeding off the blood supply of our love.

“I try,” he huffs a little laugh. “Actual y,” he picks up both my hands,

“you make it very easy.” He dril s into me with his iridescent gaze and

everything in me surrenders.

I love you, madly, I smile into him as I say it.

Gage tilts his head, doesn’t respond. He twists his lips as though he

were about to say something.

“You didn’t hear me.” I can’t hide my disappointment.

“I can’t hear you,” he confesses it soft as an apology.

“I’l give you more blood. You’l heal faster—you’l be Celestra for a time,

like me.” Being Celestra has been mostly a curse, but the benefit of go-

ing back and seeing my father makes every heartache tolerable. I’d

walk a burning tightrope each day just to see my father’s smiling face,

some days I have.

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“No,” he shakes his head, taking me in with his unwavering heavy

gaze. “I would never hurt you or take advantage of you that way. I’m

healing fine, I promise. I’m OK.”

Gage gets on his knees and digs around his pocket.

“Protection?” I ask playful y. As much as I’d love to give myself ful y to

Gage, the idea stil scares the hel out of me. Ironic, since I can battle

Fems, work side by side with Ezrina, and live under Tad’s tyranny, and

yet I freeze solid as a statue at the thought of lying naked under the

covers with my boyfriend. It’s what comes after that has me afraid.

What wil become of the old us, and who wil this new us be. I’m sure

Gage wil be more than happy to walk me through it when the time is

right.

“You’re close. It starts with P.” His dimples twitch. “Present,” he says,

pul ing his hand out of his jeans in a closed fist. “Close your eyes.” I do

as I’m told—giddy at the thought of what it might be. Gage gives the

best gifts. He gave me his class ring, which I stil wear faithful y on a

chain, never, ever taking it off. He gave me the sweetest bracelet for

Christmas. I love it so much I don’t even care that I’ve snagged just

about every sweater I own with it. I’d gladly trade my entire wardrobe

for any token of Gage’s affection.

“OK, open.” He exudes a serene grin as he holds his hand out.

A simple silver band sits nestled in his palm. There’s a blue heart set in

the middle of the ring the exact same hue as his eyes, and I’m instantly

in love.

“Gage,” I gasp. “It’s beautiful!”

“Skyla,” he breathes my name in a broken whisper.

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Oh my, God.

I think Gage is about to propose. This is huge, monumental even. I

should total y get my phone out and record this or something.

A gust of wind kicks up the sand, slapping it against our flesh like a

thousand pressing pins.

Gage nudges the blanket out from underneath us and hooks it onto a

pair of adjacent tree limbs, building a cozy fort for the two of us. Just

enough light filters in, creating the perfect romantic environment.

Mother nature may have wanted us to abdicate the throne of our love,

but we overcame the obstacle just the way we always do.

“I love this ring,” I say, crawling into his lap.

“I had it engraved.” He glints it into the light.

“What does it say?” I’m dying to snatch it from him and squeeze it

with al my affection, but he holds it between the two of us like an

offering.

“It says,” he whispers, pul ing me in by the waist, “Gage loves Skyla,

Forever.” My heart melts when he says it.

He slips it over the ring finger of my left hand, smiles down at me with

heartfelt affection—a poem written on his lips.

“Is this a promise ring?” I pet it soft with my fingers. It’s so beautiful it

glows, just like Gage and his love for me.

“It’s, an, I’m-going-to-love-you-forever ring.” He bears into me in-

tently, lets me know he means it from the deepest part of him.

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I take in a breath and hold it.

Gage is going to love me forever. Tears filter to the surface, and I blink

them away, unaware of their origin, not wanting to delve too far into

my emotions to figure it out.

“I’m going to love you, forever, Gage,” I say it like a promise. I pul him

in and offer a kiss that resonates my feelings exactly. This is one com-

mitment I never intend on breaking.

Gage lies me down in the sand, lands over me gently without crushing

me with his ful weight. I giggle into him, happy to be here, be any-

where with Gage—our tongues intertwine in one lusty exchange. I

reach up under his shirt and run my hands over his firm body. I can

feel his heart race as his love pulsates in and out of his chest for me.

It’s going to be like this always—unfettered emotions, unbridled, pas-

sion. Something in this moment solidifies us, magical y transforms the

two of us into one spiritual entity. I can feel the bonding of our souls,

our destinies converging onto the same narrow path. We have our en-

tire lives to look forward to.

We linger in soft easy kisses that go on—forever.

Chapter 25

The Psycho and Me

That evening, long after Gage drops me off at home, Tad cages me in

the family room and paces the floors like an expectant father, waiting

for Dr. Booth to arrive.

“Relax, wil you?” My mother scolds, losing herself in her knitting. She

circles yarn around her finger aggressively, plucking miles off the

skein as she observes his odd behavior from the couch.

Melissa postures herself in defiance. “He’s just excited that the shrink

is on his way over to final y figure out what the hel ’s wrong with

Skyla,” she scoffs, bypassing us on the way to the kitchen.

Mia openly glares at me as if I represented everything that was defect-

ive with this family when we both know damn wel it’s Melissa she’s

pissed off at.

“Melissa,” my mother tries to disguise the disdain in her voice. I can

tel Mom has just about had it with the entire Landon lot. Although, if

the alternative is having us shack up with Demetri and trying to make

me cal him daddy, I’l cling to the Philistines of this household like a

life raft.

A bold knock explodes over the door, and moments later, Tad shep-

herds Dr. Booth into the room.

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“Skyla!” He comes over and shakes my hand. This will be interesting,

he nods into me as he says it.

“Please, sit,” Tad pul s a chair from the dining room table and speeds it

over. Obviously he has his hopes pinned on a speedy incarceration.

Bastard.

“Thank you,” Dr. Booth takes a seat across from me while Tad lingers

by his side like his own personal caddy.

“Can I get you a drink?” Tad bows slightly. “Some warm tea, perhaps?”

God, I hate it when Tad gets al overly nice. It oozes of fake affection.

Dr. Booth should incarcerate him for the sole purpose of trying to im-

personate a human.

“No, no, thank you.” Dr. Booth gives an uncomfortable smile before

redirecting his gaze. “Skyla, your family requested we have an inform-

al meeting to discuss the direction of your treatment.”

“Direction?” As in game over, I want to add, but don’t.

Mia and Melissa cower next to the refrigerator in hopes Mom and Tad

wil forget they’re in the vicinity, thereby eavesdropping with greater

efficiency. I don’t care. I don’t have a single thing to hide.

“It’s been brought to my attention, via your parents,” his gaze cuts

over to Tad, total y ratting out the parent in question. Ha! I love Dr.

Booth.

He’s so on my side. “That you have been blurting things out that don’t

necessarily lend themselves to the conversation.” He nods as though I

should acknowledge this on some level.

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“Only because, sometimes it’s necessary,” I give a curt nod back,

knowing ful wel he can decode the meaning. As a Celestra, part of the

deal is having lopsided conversations. It’s practical y an occupational

hazard.

Dr. Booth frowns. “I’m afraid in this society, it’s inevitable. We al have

a mishap or two.”

“Mishap or two?” Tad balks. He repositions himself to better fit in Dr.

Booth’s visual field. “She has outright lost her mind. The girl speaks

and answers people without the proper initiation. She’s fried her

brains out on al those il egal substances she’s been peddling. And,

don’t deny it, Lizbeth. You can’t deny the fact she was the center of a

drug bust a few weeks back and you and I are both lucky al they

wanted was a little community service. We could have lost our shirts if

that gravy train of hers didn’t step up and offer to post bail.” I huff a

laugh at the thought of Logan as my gravy train. And it so wasn’t my

pot, wel , technical y it was on my person, but stil .

“This is not a laughing matter, young lady,” Mom’s voice is sharp as an

arrow.

An angry growl of thunder goes off overhead and the lights blink on

and off.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I wasn’t trying to laugh. I’m nervous—and I

thought of something funny that happened at school today.” I don’t

know why I didn’t just tel them the truth—that I was laughing at

Logan as my gravy train. I suppose because it’s my kneejerk reaction

to run away from the truth whenever my mother is involved. Unfortu-

nately, I think I’ve rewired my brain into believing it’s OK to feed her a

steady stream of bul shit whenever possible. “I’m sorry that I spoke

out of turn,” I glare at Tad when I say it. “And I’m sorry about the pot

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bust.” The only thing I’m real y sorry about is my mother’s serious

misfortune of hooking up with Tad.

Another crackle of thunder rattles the house, shakes the windows

within an inch of their fortitude.

Tad waves off my apology. “It’s getting late. Perhaps this would be a

good time to introduce the new avenue of treatment.” Good God

they’re going to strap me to a metal gurney and blitz me with elec-

trodes. I’l be set on fire from the inside. I bet this has been Tad’s evil

plan al along.

“We would like to introduce a low dose of medication,” Dr. Booth in-

tercedes. “Something to take the edge off of everyday life—something

that might help you relax.”

“Like how relaxed?” I envision myself as a zombie, complete with fried

hair and missing teeth.

Dr. Booth shakes his head with a defeated look on his face as though

Tad strong-armed him into this.

“It’s a tranquilizer, Skyla,” Tad bel ows. “It’l make you feel high as a

kite. I’m sure you’l be clamoring for more the minute you feel the fab-

ulous side effects. And don’t get any big ideas like pushing the stuff for

profit. I’m picking up the ticket on this one with my own cold hard

cash.” Funny how fast his wal et flies open when it comes to doping me

with antipsychotics.

“Your mother and I wil be dispensing the medication ourselves.” Tad

folds his arms across his chest.

Perfect. I foresee an accidental overdose in my near future.

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“Mom, are you OK with this?” I’m shocked that she’s just sitting there

maneuvering those knitting needles as though she were training to

place for speed and agility in the knitting Olympics. I’d like to pluck

one of those slender spikes from her hands and impale Tad in the eye.

“You gave us no choice.” She ceases al movement abruptly, scowling

when she loses her place. She loops yarn around her finger in swift

hostile movements before continuing with the knitting offensive tak-

ing place in her lap. If she keeps this up, she’l disembowel herself

without the aid of Paragon’s own corpse practitioner—Chloe.

Dr. Booth hands Tad a prescription before rising to his feet.

“Can I have a word with you in private?” I ask, ushering the good doc-

tor to the entry.

I open the door and we step out into the icy night air, the awning just

barely covering us from the downpour that’s unleashed itself over the

island.

“I’m sorry, Skyla. He left me no choice. He threatened to have my

practice overrun with state regulators. It was the least I could do to get

him off my back.”

“What about the zombie pil s?” I bounce on my toes in a panic.

“I’l cal tomorrow and ask your mother to bring the bottle down to my

office for inspection. I’m a stickler for accuracy.” He winks. “I’l replace

the medication with a placebo, they’l be none the wiser.”

“You’re a genius!” I jump up and hug him.

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“No more one-sided conversations young lady. And stay away from il

egal substances.” He flicks his wrist and his umbrel a blooms in one gi-

ant burst.

“I have a perfectly good explanation for that,” I say.

“You always do,” he gives a sly smile before disappearing behind a cur-

tain of water.

Thank God I’ve got Dr. Booth on my side. If he were real y the staunch

asshole Tad wishes he were, zombie state or not—I’d be locked up for

good.

Skyla.

A voice echoes through the rain, carries unnatural y like the long chord

of cymbal with its perpetual steady sizzle.

I don’t need a face, an effigy or even a shadow to place the voice. I

know exactly who that is.

I jump into the house and lock the door.

It’s the last person in the world I want to see tonight—Ezrina.

Chapter 26

Hel s Bel s

Who knew Tad would run out to an al night pharmacy and get the pre-

scription fil ed? Who knew that he and my mother would stand guard

and watch as I ingest the tiny white disaster?

The next morning, I sit in Marshal class nodding off intermittently. I

stare off into space while batting away the army of bugs crawling over

my skin, which come to think of it, may not actual y exist.

The bel final y rings, dismissing me from my misery. Marshal cal s me

to the front with his voice reverberating in an unnatural echo. I assure

Gage it’s fine, and he kindly waits outside the door.

“What?” The word pul s like cotton from my lips.

“I have a bone to pick with you.” He tosses the stack of homework he’s

just col ected onto his desk and half of the papers fal into the hungry

mouth of the trashcan below. I want to giggle at his impotent effort,

but al I can afford is a moan that gets stuck in my throat.

“What?” I ask lazily. It seems to be the only word left in my lexicon

thanks to Tad and his eat-your-brain-cel s-for-breakfast stupid idea of

a pil .

“I ran into a certain someone at the Transfer who gave me the most

curious bit of news.” He folds his arms in disappointment.

“Ezrina?” Normal y I wouldn’t accommodate him with the truth.

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God! What if one of the side effects of this horse tranquilizer is losing

the ability to bend the truth? Bending the truth is my specialty. This

pil is like Kryptonite to me.

He gives a curt nod. “She informed me that you entered into a—”

“Covenant,” I cut him off.

“And you gave your—”

“Word,” it comes out lethargic, and I give a slow and refractive nod

like al those stoners at El is’ parties.

“And now you’re going to have to—” he generously motions for me to

finish.

“Learn my lesson,” I say, rather proud of my spontaneous

confessional.

“You haven’t learned a thing from dealing with Holden the first time.

You don’t make promises to just any creature that happens to be the

vicinity. Remember, Skyla, you are a little higher than a human, noth-

ing more. You certainly lack the ability to gift Ezrina with what you’ve

promised.”

“My mother does,” I say, ful y aware of the fact I’ve screwed up royal y.

“In the event you haven’t noted, your mother isn’t synonymous in any

way with mercy. It’s not her specialty. You, my friend, are digging your

own grave. The only tragedy being, you won’t have the privilege of

curling up and dying. You’l live forever in the body of a misshapen

hag. Does this please you?”

I shake my head.

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“And I suppose the Pretty Oliver has already exposed you to the fact

you’l be needing my services to procure a new body.”

“He doesn’t want a new body. He wants the old one.” I gasp at the

thought of another metaphysical mix-up.

“You, my love, are in what they like to cal , here on earth, a hole,” he

reprimands. “I suppose it won’t take you long to make yet another idle

promise concerning your flesh.”

“I guess you know me.” My words fal to the floor and crash around my

feet in shame.

“There’s only one problem.” He lifts my chin with the tip of his finger.

“What?” It fires off like an echo.

“I’m no longer accepting the offer as payment.” He picks up his coffee

and begins to head out of the room. “Enjoy the afternoon, Ms.

Messenger.”

***

After another bliss-fil ed day at school with Gage, my mother informs

me we’re headed to Demetri’s to acquaint ourselves with the premises

before I officiate my community service.

Al of the euphoria I felt hours earlier has dissipated at the thought of

exploring the Fem frontier with my mother and the evil pinhead trying

to lure her into his lair.

“He’s giving us the grand tour.” My mother beams as we round out the

long roads of Paragon Estates that stretch out like a yawn.

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This is much farther down in the Estates than I’ve ever been before.

“He must be loaded,” I muse.

As the property lines expand, so do the habitats of the rich and infam-

ous. Giant, sprawling estates that make Marshal ’s multilevel expanse

feel impossibly humble, the acreage itself altogether restrictive for a

horse ranch.

“Here it is,” her voice escalates with glee as she pul s onto a paver

stone path that travels through a smal forest hedging up on either side.

“Have you been here before?” Real y it’s an innocent question. But the

fact my mother neither has an address or directions sprawled out in

front of her is an alarming indication of what that answer might be.

“Never.” Her eyes cut out the driver’s side window. “He said it was the

second driveway on the left once we passed the crossroads, and this

would be it.”

A giant wooden sign arches over the opening of the forest that reads

Edinger Estate with an infinity symbol cradled between the words. I

glance over to Mom’s arm where the glossy bangle happily hops as she

steers us into a circular driveway.

“Oh my, God!” Mom gasps when she sees the enormous structure.

“Holy shit!” I spike up in my seat not nearly as mesmerized as my

mother, but equal y taken aback.

It’s the freaking Transfer! The haunted mansion Marshal held me

hostage in. A replica. An original—who the hel knows?

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It takes everything in me not to knock my mother unconscious and

speed us back down the driveway.

Demetri steps out, dark and greedy for my mother’s affections. He

wears a carnal grin, nothing but lewd intentions written al over him.

Mom bolts from the car and into his arms like he was my father

incarnate.

Look at her.

She’s not even hiding the fact she’s into him. And what exactly is it she

sees in him? He’s like the second coming of Rasputin if not the first.

“Hel o, Skyla, welcome,” Demetri greets me as I stretch my legs.

It feels more like some dysfunctional family reunion, definitely not like

the beginning of any public restitution that’s supposed to be taking

place. I rove my eyes over the structure, the entry, the balcony above.

The giant white dwel ing is identical to the one in the Transfer, and for

a brief moment I’m not entirely convinced we’re on Paragon anymore.

“I am in love with this place!” My mother radiates with pleasure. De-

metri’s arm remains slung low around her waist as she twists and

turns, drinking it al in.

“It could have been yours,” he offers.

I choke at the thought of him trying to suck my mother in with real es-

tate. Sure, Tad may be currency deficient, but at least he…he’s…oh,

crap.

“She’s happily married,” I snipe. “Aren’t you, Mom?”

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“Of course, I am.” Mom offers an incensed look that ensures a verbal

assault once we get back in the car.

“I apologize, Skyla,” Demetri drops his arm to his side. “Your mother

and I are simply old friends, nothing more.”

“I just thought I’d throw out the obvious,” I shrug. “She’s very much in

love. In fact, she’s getting married to my stepfather again.” How she

could possibly stomach saying yes twice, I wil never know.

“Another wedding on the horizon?” He feigns enthusiasm as he mo-

tions for Mom to guide us up the stairs.

“Oh, it’s just our first anniversary is coming up, and we thought it

might be fun to renew the vows.” She brushes it off as if the idea were

childish to begin with.

“Where’s the venue?” He stops shy of opening the door.

“It’s just a little thing we’re doing in the backyard. You know, with a

weenie roast afterwards. No big deal. Of course, you’re invited.”

“Backyard? Sausages?” He scoffs, holding back a laugh. “I won’t hear

of it. Have it at the estate. I implore you to at least consider it.” Perfect.

Tad can never compete with Demetri now.

“Are you sure? I could never impose,” she bats away the thought.

He picks up her hand and presses his lips to the back, looks up at her

with those dark mysterious eyes that kil ed my father.

“You deserve al of the splendor and majesty life could afford on your

wedding day, Lizbeth. And I’m here to make sure you have it al .”

Splendor—majesty? I’m here to make sure you have it al ?

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Yeah, right.

Just friends my ass.

Chapter 27

Smooth Operator

Demetri leads us inside. Surprisingly, it looks a lot less Transfer, and a

lot homier in an opulent museum, art gal ery—safe house for Fems,

sort of way. Creamy marble floors, expansive ceilings, a double grand

staircase that sweeps up with intricate ironwork. An enormous chan-

delier sparkles overhead, dripping with crystal formed into long poin-

ted spears. Not one sign of the dearly departed, expending dated fash-

ions the way they do down under or wherever the hel the Transfer real

y is.

Demetri leads us through one giant expanse after another until we hit

a wal of windows that expose the glory of his paradise-like backyard.

An oversized pool sits adorned with fountains that splash heavenly

blue waters into oversized bowls made of stone.

Foliage and flowers I have never seen before crawl along either side of

the walk. A wal of roses leads into a maze of flora and fauna with

hedges twice as tal as a man. It’s al , right out of a storybook, and

knowing Demetri, it might, quite literal y, be. He’s a freaking mental-

ist. He’s probably been inventorying my mother’s brain for her idea of

the perfect abode and produced it on command in an attempt to fur-

ther lure her into his chamber.

“Would you look at this?” My mother groans with an ache I’ve never

heard her dispense before. Desire springs for al the things she can

grasp with her eyes. It’s doubtful she isn’t having remorse over

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marrying Tad at this very moment. The covetous hunger in her sug-

gests she’d flag down the first divorce lawyer that crosses our path and

have that wedding with Demetri come April.

“Shal we?” He holds the door open to the back for us.

A heavenly scent of exotic blossoms greets us—so sickly sweet is the

aroma of their nectar, I swear, there must be calories involved. A spray

of pink open-faced flowers I’ve never seen before dots the delicate

black ivy—an entire gazebo covered with lavender wisteria demands

our attention off the back. This is nothing short of spectacular, a

breathtaking horticulture wonder.

Forget my mother’s wedding—I want to marry Gage right here in this

perfect paradise. I play with the ring he gave me that symbolizes our

forever brand of love and wander away from my mother and Demetri

who have become embroiled in their own conversation regarding lob-

ster, filet mignon and other things that wil most likely take Tad out of

the wedding equation rather swiftly and permanently.

I had never even thought of what my wedding to Gage might be like,

outside of that courthouse vision he had. It would seem that part

already came true after my court hearing when the judge stared Gage

in the face and told him to kiss his bride, a.k.a. me, but I know for a

fact, deep in my heart, that I’l be marrying Gage one day.

I hate that this is Demetri’s grandfather’s estate but it doesn’t stop me

from getting lost in the fantasy of walking down a petal-strewn path

and straight into…

“Logan?” I squint into the bushes and see a blue velum form in his

likeness before he fil s in completely. He’s leaning against a boxwood

hedge, and gives a quiet smile, so I go over. “Hey!” I wrap my arms

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around him and press into a deep warm hug. “You feel so, real.” He in-

hales sharply into my neck as his chest rumbles with laughter.

“So do you,” he pul s back and smiles with his eyes bearing into mine.

“After the accident, the first time I saw you—it felt like a dream, like

you were the ghost.”

I take in a breath at the idea. “What’s it like?” I lean in and relax

against his chest, wanting to hear al of the details about what lies

beyond.

“I’m not sure. I opted out of paradise. It’s not my time, so I don’t have

to go.”

“Are you in the Soulennium?” I’m completely fascinated by whatever

Logan has to say. I’ve never been dead but I have been to the Soulenni-

um, once with Marshal , and once with Gisel e and my mother.

“That’s exactly where I am.” His brows crease. “Never mind, I don’t

want to know how you know about the Soulennium. What’s going on?”

He twitches his head towards Demetri, so I fil him in.

“Also, I want to tel Gage about you.” I look down at my ring and sniff.

Logan picks up my hand and rubs his thumb over the sparkling sap-

phire. His lips twist with mournful agony. You could fil every black

hole in the universe with the sadness exuding from the two of us.

“Why do I love you?” I catch his gaze and hold it. If I could only have

the answer to just one question, this might be the one.

“Do you love me?” Logan’s face is stone. He doesn’t bother to show me

his cards, just holds them, waits for me to purge my emotions so he

can pick and choose the ones he wants to keep.

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“You know I do,” it comes out depleted as I lead us deeper into the

labyrinth the shrubbery provides.

Try not to sound so enthused, he says, picking up my hand. A wal of

silence springs up between us, a serenity so threatening it looks to

topple right over our heads.

What I really mean is why didn’t I fall in love with Gage first. Is it be-

cause you met me in my dreams? I fell in love with you then. I could

tell by the look in my eyes I loved you. I’m specifical y talking about

the old me back in L.A., the one Logan thought it was a good idea to

use as a mode of inter-dimensional transportation.

I don’t know why, he stares into the ground as we slow to a meander-

ing pace. But I’m not sorry you do.

You said you knew something, I stop to look into his eyes. You said

you knew the end and that I should save something for you in here. I

place my fingers over my chest.

Logan careful y plucks my hand off, rounds his gaze over my features

as though he were absorbing me into his cel ular structure.

I only know one thing. It’s amazing, Skyla. He buries a smile into the

side of his cheek. But it doesn’t tell me whether or not we’ll be

together

—if we’ll be happy.

Tell me.

Logan doesn’t answer, just gives a long blink as if wishing he could.

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I stare down at the ring Gage gave me—caress it from the underbel y

with my thumb. How could I be so careless to fal in love with two

people?

You weren’t careless. Logan squeezes my hand.

I always forget you’re listening and say the stupidest things. I fight

off the tears that want to come.

Logan presses out an easy grin, causing the line in the side of his face

to invert.

There is a purpose, Skyla. If it’s one thing I’ve learned while I’ve been

away from my body, it’s that everything happens for a reason. I

know you love Gage, he tips his forehead into me, but, he gives a de-

pressed sigh , I’m sorry, Skyla. After the faction war, I’m not going to

stand around with my hands in my pockets. A new war is going to

begin. And I won’t give in until I win. That’s the only war I care

about—the one for your heart.

“Skyla!” My mother cal s. “Time to go inside.”

“Come with me,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. I can’t get in. There’s a binding spirit. I‘ve

already tried. I’d better go see what Holden is up to, he whispers, pul

ing me into a soft kiss on the cheek. Be safe. And with that he evapor-

ates, makes me wonder if he were simply a delusion al along.

I see my mother up ahead with her neck bent in laughter over

something moronic that expel ed from Demetri.

How can I judge my mother so harshly when my own heart lies in two

distinct places?

Chapter 28

Mirror, Mirror

Under the watchful eye of my mother, I enter into the gothic estate.

Demetri carries on ceaseless chatter with his Lizbeth as though I were

never born, as though Tad and the rest of the universe no longer exis-

ted under the timber of this colossal roof.

We had entered into a world which was governed by Demetri’s special

ruling, and I have the distinct feeling he’s slowly amputating Tad from

my mother’s life until he final y chooses to dispose of him. It’s simply a

detail that has yet to work itself out.

“Skyla,” Demetri waves his hand in the air like an il usionist, and for a

moment I’m convinced I’l evaporate just the way Logan did. “Feel free

to explore. Upstairs, the attic, the basement, nothing’s off limits. I’d

love for you to familiarize yourself with the premises.” He grazes out a

toothless grin. “Go ahead, I’ve nothing to hide.”

His last sentence spurs me upstairs fast and furious without even

thinking through the possibilities. There could be an entire herd of

Fems relaxing, watching a bal game up there—enjoying a rousing

game of foosbal . Ezrina could be wielding her battleaxe waiting to do

a flesh swap, or an entirely new batch of freaky things I’ve yet to learn

about, nevertheless, off I traipse to the second story.

A series of elongated hal s quarter the top of the estate. I choose the

one with a soft blue light glowing in the distance. I bet he’s got his very

own glass casket, complete with Ezrina’s homemade keeping solution

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that juices the Counts into existence each time one of them pops off

unexpectedly. This I’ve gotta see.

I speed down the hal and approach a huge archway, pausing just shy

of the entry and peer inside.

It’s a…library?

A giant overgrown lava lamp sits in the corner. It stretches from floor

to ceiling with three blobs of aquamarine goo lethargical y oozing to-

wards the surface.

That’s it? That’s the big unearthly reveal?

I step inside and peruse Demetri’s reading selections, old classics,

probably first print runs worth mil ions. Leather-bound spines gleam

with gilded lettering, line an entire third of the room. Another series of

clothbound books run the distance around the lower circumference.

They show their age, faded and disintegrating along the hard lined

seams. Their lowbrow consumable status, cowers in the recesses of the

heavily shelved unit. If you hadn’t seen them dancing around the peri-

phery you might never know they were present and accounted for.

I make my way deeper into the room. A leather-tufted sectional com-

plete with animal print throw pil ows adorn the lower portion of the

room.

I have to admit, that as far as home libraries go, this one’s a stunner, a

praiseworthy relic of literary recognition that would set any scholar

agog with affection for the infinity of resources. I run my fingers

against the spines at random in the event the wal decides to spin and

expose a secret room, but nothing. I reach the end of the aisle and a

glimmer of light catches my attention.

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“Crap,” I whisper.

At the base of the long wal of bookshelves is a narrow entry about a

foot wide leading to yet another room. An entire corner of the wal is

missing leaving a gaping hole in its absence. It’s brightly lit inside. It

looks rather unassuming from what I can tel with yet another section-

al, a circular glass coffee table, so I turn sideways and squeeze my way

inside without hesitation.

I look up and startle at the horrific sight above me. Instinctual y I close

my eyes and let out a scream that sears my throat with its invasive

barb.

Each wal is lined with mounted creatures, lions with distinctly human-

like faces, oversized cat’s with tourmaline stones set as eyes, a bearlike

animal with ivory fangs that drip down to his throat.

I’ve seen these things before, not in my nightmares but in my waking

hours, during my flesh-bearing tournament with Fems. It’s a catalog of

al the otherworldly creatures I’ve seen and some I’ve yet to encounter.

I bolt for the exit and smash into a wal .

It’s gone!

I pat the stone lined corner from where I entered only to find it sealed

over.

“Shit!” A part of me isn’t that worried. My mother is here after al , and

there’s no way she’d leave without me. Unless, of course, she thought I

ran away again, or worse, she’s in on this horror.

I spin on my heels and walk along the border of the room, nothing but

shelves upon shelves of strange col ectables. Pewter beasts that I’m

unable to classify sit in various poses with ruby cut eyes, an entire

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section of glass orbs with what looks like real fire burning on the in-

side. They’re fascinating. I want to pick one up, but I know better.

They probably have the capability to launch me clear into another di-

mension, into a real fire. Or who knows? I might spontaneously com-

bust. I bypass the temptation and meander from shelf to shelf inspect-

ing an odd col ection of prehistoric toys, long metal-pronged objects

that look as if they might double as barbaric torture devices.

Pictures. An entire shelf devoted to candid shots of people doing

mundane things, walking, brushing their hair, a crowd lost in

conversation.

Odd. It’s as though none of them were aware they were the subject of

the photographer’s interest. It feels like an invasion of privacy just

glancing at the gilded frames that encapsulate them. One in the back

captures my attention. It’s a girl with an al too familiar profile— me. I

reach over and extricate it, careful not to knock down any of the

frames in the process.

It was taken of me at school. I can see the effigy of Cerberus painted

on the wal in the distance. I have a look of wonder on my face, my

right hand hitched up on my shoulder securing my backpack.

Oh God.

I remember this day.

I place the picture down as though it were a snake.

That was the night the clown Fem chased me through the dirt lot and

the forest exploded into a bal of fire. These pictures—they must be

taken right before a Fem attack.

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“What in the hel ?” I back away not wanting to inspect them any

further.

I move along until I’m greeted by a long oval mirror, perched high on

the metal leg of a bird. I catch a glimpse of myself. I look exhausted,

my hair frizzing, bal ooning up in the back from the weather. My face

twitches unnatural y in the reflection, winces and blinks unexpectedly.

I know damn wel I didn’t just do that.

There’s something about this mirror—I reach forward to press against

the glass and my fingers never cool to the touch, just push right

through. I pul out reflexively before indulging one more time and glid-

ing my entire arm into the strange expanse. It feels warm in there,

moist.

“Must we learn each lesson the hard way?” A male voice booms from

behind.

I extract my arm and jump around in one fel swoop, total y expecting

to see a lion faced Fem, or an over grown cat, but I don’t.

“Marshal !” I speed over and wrap my arms tight around him. My

heart pounds fierce as a prison riot while I bury my head into his

chest. I hadn’t realized how afraid I was until this very moment. “Get

me out of here. This place is horrible.”

“Shh.” He digs his hand into the back of my hair, patting my back in

an effort to quel my fear.

“What is this place?” I look up at him. One thing is for sure, Marshal

has the ability to make me feel safe even in a room ful of mounted

Fems.

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“It’s a trophy room, Skyla.” He pul s a bleak smile. “Might I suggest

you forget you’ve ever set foot in here, and please, for the love of al

things holy, stay away from that thing,” he nods in the direction of the

mirror.

“What is it?” I pul him with me towards our deceiving reflections. “It’s

like us, only it’s not.” I point up at myself. “Look my face is twitching,

so is yours, and I can—” I attempt to stick my hand in it, and Marshal

snatches it back.

“I’m apprised of al it is capable of.” Marshal stands behind me and

wraps his arms around my waist securing me from doing anything

foolish like dipping myself into the mirror again.

“Tel me, I want to know al about it.” I stare at it in wonder as our re-

flections move in snatches. We warp and pop as though we were

watching images of ourselves on old depreciated film.

“I gifted this to him,” he sighs. “It was a peace offering after the last re-

volution—an olive branch of sorts. I thought we might forge a brother-

hood with the Fems.”

“I thought they were your subordinates?”

“They very much are for the time being. I wanted them to know I

would make an effort to step over the old boundaries they found dis-

satisfying and treat them as equals. It didn’t work.” He glowers into

his reflection as though he were scolding himself.

“Where does the mirror lead? What kinds of powers does it have?”

“That, dear Skyla,” Marshal nods into his reflection while increasing

his grip on me. It feels as if I’m a child, and Marshal is trying to stop

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me from peering over a very steep cliff. “That, my love, is the Realm of

Possibilities.”

“The Realm of Possibilities,” I let the words rol off my tongue. “What

happens there?”

“Everything.” He breathes it into my ear like a temptation. Marshal is

the serpent, and I am Eve, hungry for the gift of knowledge.

“It is good,” his breath dances across my cheek. “And, it is evil.”

“What happens if I go inside?”

“Ask them,” Marshal wands his hand over the multitude of dead Fems

mounted up above.

I think I have my answer.

Chapter 29

Time of our Lives

The next morning something stirs in our world. Misery wafts on the

horizon like a bitter perfume. Its scent precludes the lot of us but

nature gives rise to the caveat.

A scarlet sky—the dense bushy evergreens pressing into one another

fighting for space on the island’s rocky shore. It was as if alarms were

going off al around us. Our world was infiltrated with warning bel s,

one sounding off after another. But al I could comprehend was the joy

of holding Gage freely throughout the hal s and sprawling lawns at

West. The fact my boyfriend was able to shower me with kisses before

and after class, in front of the student body at large without having to

fear that my life would be swept from under me was unadulterated

bliss.

At school, Gage sits behind me, protective and faithful during second

period, as Marshal goes off on a tangent about the revolution of math-

ematics. He espouses its glorious riches dating back since the begin-

ning of the time, the mathematical wonders of nature, the golden spir-

al ratio.

He passes around a nautilus shel . It’s soft, smooth inside, glows a

beautiful iridescent, it contrasts the gnarled outer layer that’s been ex-

posed to the harsh elements of the sea. I pass it back to Gage, bite

down a smile because he eclipses the glory of the nautilus shel as it

vies for attention as one of God’s greatest creations.

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I spin back around and my mind drifts back to Demetri’s hal of hor-

rors, rife with celestial based felonies. I just can’t excavate from my

mind the things I saw at Demetri’s haunted estate. The strange car-

casses staged al over the secret room. Marshal had to walk me through

a wal just to return me to the library from where I came. I wonder

what my mother would think of Demetri if she knew what those

framed pictures meant—how far out of her skin she would freak out if

she ever laid eyes on the atrocities hanging just below his ceiling?

It turns out Demetri wants me to help him catalogue his grandfather’s

belongings. There was talk of a donation to a local museum that helps

preserve the history of Paragon. It was my mother’s suggestion and

Demetri flinched when she said it. I suppose it’s doubtful he’l be part-

ing with his haunted devices anytime soon.

“Take Ms. Messenger for example,” Marshal ’s voice penetrates me, it

comes at me unnatural y invasive as though something perverse just

happened, and I was only mildly aware of it. “Algebra is a wonderful

tool that helps display the relationship between objects—even people.”

I shake my head slightly in an effort to thwart the oncoming assault.

If Marshal thinks turning Gage and I into some kind of twisted al

egory wil help my classmates master the art of relational studies, he

can forget it. Things are going too damn wel with Gage to ruin them

with Marshal ’s lewd and crude il ustrations.

“Mr. Harrison sits in front of Skyla, and Mr. Oliver charitably holds up

the rear, therefore the three of them have a relational value. Of course,

if you added Ms. Bishop to the mix who sits unprotected by such ro-

bust bookends you would devalue the relationship of the subjects in-

volved.” I cut my gaze over to Chloe without daring to move my head.

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Note to self, accost Marshal for inciting the cheer bot Pit Bul in my dir-

ection. Of course, her wrath should be centered on the culprit in ques-

tion, but Chloe’s instincts are skewed. It’s me she’s after. A storm

could rage, flood al of the roads, cut al power to the island for days,

and yet Chloe would have no problem laying the blame at my feet.

“Therefore, Ms. Bishop is the weaker unit in the relationship,” he con-

tinues to propagate, “altogether unfit for the cal ing and should be re-

moved from practice. I revert back to the original unit of three. They

have the proper connection that empowers them to do al things.” The

bel rings. The entire class stares up at Marshal with blank faces un-

aware of the contextual meaning of his parable. I get it. Chloe needs to

be removed. Then Gage, El is, and I wil prosper in the faction war—we

have been empowered to do al things.

“Mr. Oliver, may I see you a moment?” Marshal cal s out while busying

himself at the desk.

I walk over with Gage, stil adjusting my backpack, my heart beating

erratic over what irresponsible verbiage Marshal might decide to spout

off next.

“Yes?” Gage flexes his dimples without trying.

“The dimwit, with whom you reside, has decided to abandon his schol-

astic efforts.” Marshal doesn’t bother decoding his speech. “I’m in-

forming you of this grievance so you can knock some sense into him

before I review the matter with your parents. I’m afraid academic pro-

bation is a real possibility. Are you aware of the implications?”

“No footbal ,” Gage nods into him. “Got it. Appreciate you letting me

know.”

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We head for the door. Leave it to Holden to so consummately screw

everything up. Logan wil be lucky to be on the sidelines let alone on

the field come next fal .

“Ms. Messenger?” Marshal flicks a finger for me to return.

I backtrack sans Gage who is wise to Marshal ’s private conversational

schemes by now.

“What?” I hiss. I’m stil completely perturbed at the idea of having to

deal with a stabby Ms. Bishop for the rest of the day—if only it were a

day. I have a feeling this punishment is going to transcend the rest of

my life.

“I’ve had a vision.” He doesn’t bother to look up from adjusting his

briefcase.

“No thank you,” I say. I’ve sworn off Marshal ’s lips for an eternity. I

spin Gage’s forever ring on my finger, feel the pleasurable pul as it

warms over my skin.

“You’re attending a gathering Saturday night.” He looks up and smiles.

“I’l be home that evening should you need my services.”

“Why would I need your services?” I seal my mouth shut because I’m

not going to fal for his lip trickery anymore. “What kind of trouble am

I getting into?”

“Past tense, Skyla.” He straightens a stack of papers. “I’ve no clue what

trouble awaits you, but I’ve been informed you’ve already done

everything you’l be drawn and quartered for.” He spears me with great

intensity. “I’l be up late should you desire my company.”

“No, thank you. I’l be with Gage.”

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I walk out the door.

I’m going to do everything in my power not to run to Marshal

Saturday night.

I glide my arm around Gage, and we walk down the hal like a couple.

It’s heaven like this.

Skyla and Gage, forever.

***

At lunch, Gage and I watch with our mouths on the floor as faux Logan

embeds himself in a group of girls while doing his best El is imperson-

ation. Only he’s not acting like El is, he’s acting like Holden—exactly

who I wish he wasn’t.

“He’s real y back to his old self,” Gage muses resting his head against

mine. He keeps al uding to the fact Logan was a real ass-wipe prior to

his relationship with me.

“What are you talking about?” And what is Holden doing out of class?

Logan doesn’t have lunch this hour. He has A lunch and Gage and I

have B.

“He’s back in the game, on the hunt, the prowl. It’s his element. He

thrives in estrogen laced environments.”

“What?” If Logan were real y here, there would be no way he would act

like that. I look around the vicinity because I’m wil ing to bet he is in

fact here, dying of embarrassment. No pun intended.

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“Hey, guys.” Briel e plops a tray laden with the cafeteria’s interpreta-

tion of edible fare out on the table. There is no way Briel e is going to

be able to consume al that food. It hardly seems possible anyone is

capable of such an excessive digestive feat.

“Hard left,” Gage whispers in my ear.

I look over and see Drake extricating a stream of stupid from his lips,

lobbing his nonsensical words in Emily’s direction. What in the hel is

wrong with him?

Ethan and Chloe stride by, and she comes to an abrupt stop at the

sight of us.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, Skyla,” she gives a shy smile.

Yeah, like kil ing my father, wrong foot.

“But it would real y mean a lot to me if you guys came to my house to-

morrow night. My parents are out of town and I’m cal ing in a pizza.”

She reaches back and touches Ethan’s cheek like a habit, “we’re pick-

ing up a movie and just hanging out—no big deal.” Ethan swoops his

hands around her waist, draws her in before kissing her soft on the

temple.

“I don’t know,” I say, backing further into Gage. “We sort of have

plans.” Not real y but we can manufacture them from thin air if we had

to.

“If you change your mind, the fun starts at seven,” she shrugs. “You

know where to find me.” Chloe doesn’t look at Gage once.

“They’l be there,” Ethan assures. “I’l make sure of it.” He winks over at

me as they take off.

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“Yeah, right.” I spin around and let Gage drape his arms over me. Let

him wash my lips with his magical kisses.

Tomorrow night is just for the two of us. We have final y hit our stride.

Gage and I are together, open and free right here at West. We have

both Chloe and Logan’s blessing, wel , Logan’s for a time, and Chloe’s

as long as there’s a prison sentence dangling over her head. But this

priceless moment, these sacred hours—they are just the beginning.

This is the time of our lives.

Chapter 30

The List

Saturday morning, long shards of darting rain fal slantways against

the window. It creates a sad drumming in our corner of the world.

Something about the rhythm, the unrelenting heartache embedded in

its Morse code makes me miss my father.

I head down to the kitchen, stil dizzy from waking up too early and

bump into a body.

Gah—it’s Chloe!

Her rumpled hair rises in the back, she’s wearing sweats and a flimsy

t-shirt that might as wel be wet because, freaking shit, I can see right

through it. I know for a fact she’s not wearing a bra.

“Your pencil erasers are showing,” I hiss.

“Is that anyway to speak to our guest?” Tad says, rather dismissively

while going over paperwork with Mom. In al honesty, I didn’t see them

there hovering over the table.

“Guest?” I balk. I had to sign a contract that I’l never breathe the same

air as a boy, and Chloe is here at this ungodly hour of the morning

with her breasts making an eye-popping debut as our guest?

Ethan wanders in with a severe case of bed head. He wraps an arm

around her waist offering a sloppy kiss before heading to the fridge.

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Briel e and Drake amble down looking equal y disheveled and outright

skank from a wild night’s romp.

“What the hel ?” It comes out just above a whisper.

“That reminds me,” Mom hops up and dispenses a fat white placebo

courtesy of Dr. Booth. “It’s just a trial, Skyla. I think I’m seeing an im-

provement already,” she says, winking in secret.

I’m stil suffering from my fatigue hangover coupled with the shock

and awe campaign launched by the Landon brothers, so I can’t even

begin to decode that wink she just gave.

“What’s that on your finger?” Mom’s mouth opens with surprise. “Is

that an engagement ring?”

“Actual y it’s—” I note the fact Chloe has stopped al movement and is

scuttling in my direction.

“It’s a forever ring.” The words swim from my lips like a dream.

“She’s lying, Lizbeth.” Tad takes a sip from his coffee, doesn’t even

bother looking up while delivering the barb.

“Why would I lie?” Tad’s idiocracy has final y stymied me.

“Why wouldn’t you,” Chloe says it low while picking up my finger and

inspecting the silver band, the blue eye of Gage staring right back at

her in the shape of a heart.

“I’l tel you why.” Tad holds up a yel ow legal pad and waves it in the

air. “Found this hidden beneath a stack of magazines on the coffee

table.”

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Stil no clue what the moron in question is railing about.

Am I in the right house? The right time zone? Because something is

way the hay off this morning in this corner of the universe.

“Listen to this, Lizbeth,” he begins. “It appears your daughter finds it

perfectly acceptable to one-up our wedding and plans to jockey herself

into the Paragon social limelight with a lavish affair just one week be-

fore our humble but meaningful event.” His face turns a strange shade

of pomegranate. I’m shocked at how genuinely pissed he seems. Eith-

er, A, Chloe planted that stack of bul shit or B—

“Those are my notes,” Mom snatches the legal pad from his stubby

little fingers. “I moved the wedding up, and I may have changed the

location.”

Or that.

“What?” Tad stands as if it were an outcry that my mother didn’t find

his backyard barbeque adequate enough to fulfil her romantic desires.

“We were going to get a new TV, and the whole family was going to

watch a basebal game.” He holds out his hands perplexed.

Doesn’t every girl dream of renewing her vows during the seventh in-

ning stretch?

“I know,” Mom shakes her head, “I know we said that, but Demetri

offered his estate, and I couldn’t say no. It’s amazing. It’s going to be

like a fairytale.” She bites down on her lip, and her eyes avert heaven-

ward as if she were watching the event unfold on the ceiling.

“Fairytale is right.” Tad takes back the legal pad and riffles through its

sunny pages. “Lobster? A seven tiered marzipan cake? Imported

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cheeses from around the world?” Tad’s head swivels like it might actu-

al y become detached.

“It’s my wish list,” she snipes.

Tad looks to Ethan and Drake for help. I don’t know why he doesn’t

buck up and give Mom a decent wedding. She wasn’t asking for the

Waldorf Astoria. In the least, he could have offered her a church and

taken us to an al you can eat buffet afterwards.

“We can’t afford this,” he spits it out forced like a geyser. “Have you

forgotten the al expenses paid vacation we’re giving these two next

weekend?” He points hard at Drake and Briel e. I’m sure he means a

visit to the obstetrics clinic Briel e strong-armed them into taking her

to. I shudder at the memory of my own trip there.

“Oh, Hon,” Mom’s voice reduces thick as molasses, “We don’t have to

pay for any of this. Demetri insisted. It’s his gift to the family.” She

goes over and wraps her arms around his waist, pecks a kiss on his

cheek. “This is going to be the thril of a lifetime.”

“As long as I get to be the groom,” Tad sneers over her shoulder.

He won’t if Demetri gets his way.

***

Chloe traps me in the hal before ushering me backwards into Ethan’s

room. I’d shout for Briel e to rescue me, but she’s entertaining every-

one with the tiny feet prodding from her bulbous stomach.

The bed is unmade. The air is stale, smel s of old socks and question-

able his and hers body odor.

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“Listen,” she says, sealing the door shut behind her. “I know we’ve got-

ten off to a rocky start.”

“Criminal offenses were committed,” I’m quick to remind her. “You’re

the sole reason my mother is in there planning to reenact the second

worse day of my life.” The first being my father’s death, but I’m so

melancholy this morning I might cry at the mention of him.

“No, I’m not responsible,” she shakes her head defiantly. “I’ve been

thinking about what you said, about the Sectors and the Fems pitting

us against each other, and it al became crystal clear. They wanted you

here. They used me. I was nothing but a pawn in a game of high stakes

manipulation. I swear it. I’m not shitting you. They need us both for

different reasons. I know the rules to the game,” she fingers the pro-

tective hedge around her neck absentmindedly before dropping her

hand back to her side. “They need us to fight the war because they’re

not al owed.”

“What?” It does make sense. I drop my gaze to the underwear strewn

around the floor. “I’l see what I can find out.” From Marshal , from my

mother, but I don’t tel Chloe that. “I think you might be right. Why

else couldn’t the Sectors and the Fems duke it out themselves? Why

would they need an army of half-breeds unless they weren’t al owed to

play the game?” I hate cal ing the faction war a game. Logan has

hinged our future upon it, so have I in a way.

“You notice anything strange about Logan?” She tilts her head into me

like we’re suddenly besties.

She knows.

“He’s not himself,” I whisper to see if she’l bite.

“That’s because he’s Holden Kragger.”

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She went there.

“Now what?” I can’t believe I’m talking to Chloe of al people about the

precious soul I’ve managed to displace.

Chloe lunges into me with her deathly black smile, her eyes reduced to

slits.

There’s something dangerous happening here and I can’t put my fin-

ger on it.

“I’ve assigned Michel e to him,” she confides.

“What?”

“Relax, she’s too into Dudley to do something stupid. That way Logan

keeps his flesh clean and free from al the hoes lined up to take advant-

age of the situation. Holden had a very specific thing for Michel e. He

about died when he told me they were going out. It’s al going as

planned.”

“How are we going to get Logan back?” We? Mother F—I’ve just drif-

ted past sanities horizon.

“I’l let you handle that. I’ve got enough blood on my hands.” She drops

a remorseful gaze to the floor before darting back into me with those

hard steely lasers. “Skyla, I don’t want you to say anything in return,

but I do want you to know I’m real y sorry about everything. I’m going

to hate myself until the day I die over the role I played in your father’s

death. And, I feel pretty terrible about keeping you and Gage apart,

too.” A single tear rol s over her cheek. “I think deep down inside I

wished Gage would have felt the same way about me. I thought given

enough time—enough of everything, that he would have loved me.”

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She swal ows hard, shaking her head. “But, I have that with Ethan

now. He worships me.” She presses her lips together.

The fact that al Chloe Bishop ever wanted was to be worshiped doesn’t

surprise me, but I doubt Ethan is the congregation she’s looking for.

A greedy deity like her wants love from a pure and holy being, one that

would qualify as a god himself and that just so happens to be my

boyfriend.

I nod into her.

“I begged Ethan’s forgiveness,” she continues. “He’s going to help us

with the faction war. He’s as pissed as I am.”

“Whose side are you on?” I know damn wel , where her al egiance lies.

She reaches over, picks up my hand and closes her eyes a moment.

I’m with the Sectors. There’s a hard glint in her eyes. We’re going to

get those bastards who are screwing with our lives for sport. I al-

ways defeat my enemies, Skyla. Nobody has the last laugh at my ex-

pense. God pity the poor souls who try and mess with me. They will

never see me coming. She wraps her arms around me tight. Truce?

I gaze down at her an undetermined length of time unable to appraise

the situation for what it real y might be. I’m not sure what I have to

lose.

I stil have Gage.

Truce, I say.

I’m hugging Chloe Bishop, and I’ve just agreed to a truce.

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Clearly, I’ve meandered into an alternate universe.

Chapter 31

Ful Disclosure

Gage and I drive over to Chloe’s house after pul ing a shift at the bowl-

ing al ey together. I love working with Gage—stealing a kiss in the of-

fice, the crazy noise infused kisses in the dark arcade, the cool linger-

ing of his lips in the walk-in freezer.

“Are you sure this is how you want to spend Saturday night?” He kil s

the engine, observing Chloe’s house through slotted lids as if it were a

looming threat.

Rain beats upon the windshield like a thousand tiny hands imploring

me to reconsider.

“I’m sure,” I whisper. “Besides, Ethan begged me to come so did Briel

e. Ethan’s got something up his sleeve. He’s not as quick to forgive as

Chloe believes.”

“And why are you?” Gage smoothes his thumb over my hand, lowers

his head until his brows sit low on his forehead like two ebony birds.

“I’m not,” I sigh. “I just,” I shrug. “I think deep down inside I want to

believe her. Everyone’s redeemable right? We al make mistakes, huge,

horrible mistakes and in the end when we wake up to what we’ve

done—most of us are sorry.”

“Chloe doesn’t have a heart, Skyla,” he presses into me with a kiss.

“And the fact yours is too big is the reason I love you most.” Gage and I

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consume ourselves in a sea of endless kisses. Time stretches out, loses

its grip on us, ushers us into something eternal that we were designed

for right from the beginning.

“I love you so much,” I whisper soft in his ear. “I don’t think I could

breathe without you.”

***

Inside, the Bishop home holds the scent of fresh baked cookies. The

dim lighting and consistent spasm of cackles give the night that El is-

esque feel.

It feels quasi-safe with Briel e and Drake here. Emily, Lexy, Michel e

and faux Logan add a certain air of comfort to the environment. The

rol cal of bitchiness is complete with Nat as the honorary member, and

Pierce, who has become as his namesake suggests, the constant thorn

in my side.

Michel e is joined at the hip with Logan which weirds me out because

despite being Holden, in nature, he’s stil staunchly locked in Logan’s

congenial framework. I know deep inside that in no way what Holden

does with Michel e reflects on Logan, but I can’t help but feel a stab of

jealousy at the same time. It looks like Chloe was right. Holden is a

lust slave to Michel e. He fol ows her around like a Golden Retriever,

happy to fetch her every need.

Pierce glares at me from across the room.

I’ve been carrying that stupid cease and desist letter around in my

purse to circumvent it from accidently landing in Mom and Tad’s

hands. Of course Pierce doesn’t want to go to juvy over the stupid shit

I accidental y did while hopped up on Michel e’s rose of terror, but

then, real y, neither do I.

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Holden pats him on the back as he makes his way into the kitchen. I’m

sure Pierce has been apprised of the fact his brother incarnate is in the

vicinity.

I think the entire Kragger clan owes me big time, and I don’t mean by

way of threatening legal action at every turn. Pierce should cease and

desist his presence from my life as a thank you even if Holden’s state

of being is temporal.

I pul Gage deeper into the family room, wrap my arms around his

waist and swoon into him dreamily. We’re here together at Chloe Bish-

op’s house of al places. It al worked out on its own. I didn’t have to

sleep with Marshal to get Chloe off our backs.

Of course, we could have done without the Mustang turning his in-

sides to pulp and kil ing Logan. I’m stil convinced Chloe was behind

the scene of that crime. Speaking of which, I haven’t heard Gage cough

al night. I bet he’s plenty recuperated for me to fil him in on the

bizarre turn of events regarding his dearly departed uncle slash cous-

in. I hate keeping secrets from Gage.

“Guess what?” I whisper into his ear.

He moans into me while massaging my back. It feels so good I can

melt into a puddle right here at his feet.

“I want to talk to you later about something super important,” I

breathe it hot in his ear.

“Does this super important topic require a hotel and protection?” A

devilish smile plays on his lips.

“No, but we could talk about that, too.” I tweak my brows.

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I press a heated kiss into Gage right here in Chloe Bishop’s living room

and miracle of al miracles I don’t end up with a knife in my back.

“Al right,” Ethan begins corral ing everyone into the family room.

“Let’s get this movie going before it gets too late.” God—he even

sounds like Tad.

“Brace yourselves girls,” Chloe warns as she makes her way over to the

entertainment unit. “It’s three glorious hours of battleships and tanks

—Ethan’s pick. He won the wrestling match.” An image of the two of

them going at it bounces through my mind. “Next time, I assure you,”

she continues, “the cover wil be pink, and there wil be hot shirtless

man-candy to drool over for two hours straight.”

“I’l give you some man-candy to drool over,” Ethan bumps her with his

hip.

Ethan and Chloe real y do look and act like a couple. They shared a

soda at dinner, and she ate his pizza crust. Now they’re nauseating us

with an awkward display of questionable kissing.

“I think he’s chewing on her,” Gage whispers.

“He is. But in his defense, one doesn’t get a whole lot of practice kiss-

ing when they’re dead.”

“Let’s do this,” Pierce barks, wrapping an arm around Nat.

I feel Kate’s absence most when Nat’s around. It infuriates me that

Marshal used me to do his dirty work. Chloe is right. We’re nothing

more than pawns on some giant celestial chessboard.

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Gage and I sit on the loveseat, squeezing in next to Briel e and Drake

while Chloe dims the lights.

The television in Chloe’s family room eats up an entire wal .

I have to say I’m impressed with this rather odd gathering. It’s sort of

a nice break from El is’ rambunctious affair with nary a red Solo cup in

sight, which most likely implies there won’t be any puking later with

the exception of maybe Briel e.

The TV blinks, and my smiling face pops up on the screen. A sappy

country song aggregates through the speakers and offensively begins

twanging in our ears.

“What the—” Before I can get the words out, Marshal ignites the

screen with his lips secured over mine.

Chloe glares in my direction. “This one’s for you, Gage.”

An entire montage of me kissing Marshal —kissing Logan enfolds.

Even El is is thrown into the mix with his pants down, me kneeling be-

fore him. Never mind the fact he was putting out the fire on my hand,

it looks entirely lewd from the angle the video was taken.

I’m frozen.

A stale breath is caught in my lungs that I may never let go. Gage sinks

limp into the seat beside me. I’m too afraid to look at him, to look at

anyone.

It goes on for an eternity.

Marshal and me, rol ing around on the bed at the Pine Pole Lodge—me

in my corset, his hands caressing my bare waist. Logan loving me at

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the bowling al ey, the house, the school—everywhere a lip-lock. The

lust written over the two of us could combust the room into flames.

The music comes to a roaring crescendo, the Mustang gyrates over-

looking Devil’s Peak.

Time feels as though it’s picking up speed. My stomach does a hot re-

volution because I know what’s coming.

The camera pans in a tight clear shot of Logan writhing over me, the

haunted dress Marshal gave me for the winter formal, bunched in a

mess around my hips. The passion on my face is undeniable. My lust

for Logan burns a hole through the air, electrifies the atmosphere until

the universe sizzles from our searing affection.

A stone sinks in my chest, obliterates my heart to nothing.

It’s over between Gage and me. What I’ve done is unforgivable.

I glance over at Chloe in disbelief. My sins recanted for everyone to

see. This was her plan, her pleasure.

She hid the blade in her tongue—in her deceit to lure me over.

I was the enemy, the feast, the sport—the entertainment.

And I never saw it coming.

Chapter 32

The Heart of the Matter

A stony silence fil s the room. The image of Logan covering my body

with his, burns bright for everyone to see. The color on the screen

melts to the hue of coffee grounds before a loud pop explodes, and

smoke rises from the back of the unit.

Logan.

He’s a little late, not to mention culpable for al this misery just as

much as Chloe. Of course, I’m the biggest perpetrator of al . Chloe may

have built the gal ows, but it was me who provided the rope with which

to hang myself. Al of my most personal misgivings splayed naked for

Gage to see.

My heart tries to pummel its way out of my chest—my flesh completely

numb as if it no longer wanted the job of covering such a whore of a

carcass. A Mack truck could run me over and I wouldn’t feel a

thing—hel , I might welcome it. I’d run in its path if given the

opportunity.

A horrible sting radiates through me, the laceration to my heart, too

much to bear.

Gage gets up, walks calmly out of the room as if he were going to the

kitchen, the bathroom. He hits the front porch so fast I can’t keep up

with him.

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“Gage!” I scream through the roaring downpour as I tap down the

stairs.

He turns to face me, al of the color has bleached from his skin. His

eyes are wide from the aftereffects of witnessing my indiscretions, wit-

nessing the manner in which I had been grinding our love down to

powder al along.

Chloe set up a minefield and walked our love right into it, but they

were my sins. I should have fought Marshal —held Logan at arm’s

length.

“It’s not what it looks like,” it comes out inaudible, unbelievable.

Rain fal s like acid, dissolves the meaning out of any sorry word I

could ever hope to utter. Even if those kisses from Marshal meant

nothing, why wasn’t I reporting the offense? And Logan? How do I

classify those kisses? As undesirable? Unwanted?

“I swear to you—I didn’t initiate any of that.” It pulses from me as a

desperate cry.

“You didn’t stop it.” The words spike into me like rusted hooks.

“Can we go somewhere? I—”

“No,” it speeds out of him without reservation, fil ed with an underly-

ing rage.

My fingers drift to the ring he gave me, the one engraved with our spe-

cial brand of forever love.

“I don’t deserve this,” I say, twirling it without the fortitude to take it

off.

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He spears me with his injured eyes, bears into me with a palpable

heartbreak that shatters the infrastructure of everything we stood on.

“Keep it.” His gaze lingers, heavy-laden with grief. The world wobbles

around us as we succumb to this unimaginable pain.

Gage makes his way over to his truck, takes off so quick a wal of water

ten feet high showers the road in his wake.

“Gage,” I fal to my knees. It’s hard to tel where the rain ends and the

tears begin. My chest heaves in spasms—loud guttural cries escape

from my throat. I cry—hard, bitter tears that I haven’t shed in such

abundance since I was a child—since the time of my father. This was a

new brand of heartache, the penalty for my sins too high a price that I

could ever hope to rectify.

I lie down in the middle of the street, let the rain consume me, cut into

my flesh with its punishing bites as I try to dissolve from the planet,

become my own universe. I am nothing—a detestable Sodom, begging

for the fire. I could only pray to burn to launder myself for Gage. Not

even an inferno could purify what I had become—filth and dross. The

rain could never cleanse the pain, the shame. I lost any chance of hap-

piness I could have ever hoped to have and sold it for a few stolen

kisses, visions that I never needed, never welcomed.

I broke both our hearts, forever.

***

With the strength of a lioness, Briel e peels me off Paragon’s pavement

and rol s me into her Jeep. She fil s me in on the cackling that went on

once I chased after Gage, lets me know they replayed it a good three

times on Chloe’s laptop for al to see, again and again.

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“How the hel did she get al that? She’s a fucking witch, that’s how.”

Briel e shakes with anger. You would think it was her heart that was

perforated with bul ets. “I’m so damn sick of Chloe cock-blocking you.

This is just another ploy to get Gage. It won’t work.” The jeep picks up

speed.

“Chloe is the human equivalent of a Dingo, only instead of stealing

your baby, she’s trying to steal your soul.” Something tel s me she

would steal my baby if she had the chance.

Briel e is panting with hatred for Chloe. Drake stayed behind. He

chose to stay with Emily. Perhaps that’s the true offense here, the reas-

on for her white-knuckle grip over the wheel, her death glare into the

blank open road.

“Do you hate me?” I ask. It comes out childlike.

I hate me. I don’t know why Briel e’s answer should reflect anything

different.

“What?” We swerve into oncoming traffic momentarily. “No. Why

would I hate you?” I hiccup, sniffling back the deluge of waterworks

stil trying to purge themselves from my system.

“You broke up with Logan a while ago, right?” she asks.

Before I can nod or get into her line of thinking, an old women on the

side of the road garners my attention. She wields an ax over the stump

of a tree, hacking at it without regard for the monsoon that’s dousing

her with its affections.

“You see that?” I ask, twisting my neck to get a better look as we speed

by.

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“See what?”

Ezrina.

“Nothing,” I say, taking in a quivering breath.

“So, Mr. Dudley,” she continues, “being with him is practical y a

graduation requirement. They don’t let you out of West unless he

sticks his tongue down your throat at least once. It’s not like you could

help yourself. He’s like a drug, one hit and he’s got you for life.”

“Right,” I say stupefied as the rain turns a putrid shade of red, douses

the windshield with its crimson splendor. Oh my, God—the sky is

bleeding. “Do you see that?”

“What?” Briel e angles into the road as if trying to make out a deer, or

possum.

It’s clear she’s not privy to same weather phenomenon that I am.

“I need to go to Dudley’s,” it speeds out of me. It takes everything in

me not to text Gage and beg for help, not that he’d give it—nor could I

blame him.

“Total y.” She lifts a hand in the air. “I swear, I get it.”

“Not for that,” I don’t bother defending myself. I’m sure Chloe wil have

the entire scene emblazoned in the school newspaper by Monday.

“Oh, sure,” she doesn’t sound convinced.

We drive another ten minutes before pul ing into his circular drive. I

speed out of the car, through the salty plasma gushing from the sky

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and storm his porch—pound my fists against the door, ferocious like a

riot.

Briel e takes off and I’m left alone, bloodied, in the dark.

A wal oping thump ignites just above my head, shakes the mahogany,

strong as an earthquake. I look up to find a newly embedded ax—the

handle protruding over me like a promise.

The porch light comes on. Marshal swings open the door and gives a

bleak smile.

The blood magical y fades from my clothes, and I’m simply soaking

wet, standing on his porch. Marshal plucks the ax from the door like it

were a daily occurrence, common as a wreath at Christmas.

Deep down inside I know nothing wil ever be normal again.

Chapter 33

Heartbreak

“I knew you’d come.” Marshal wraps an arm around my shoulder and

leads me to the couch where two cups of steaming tea sit

unsupervised.

“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? You said so,” I hiccup

the last part out in anger.

“No, Skyla.” His face catches the light and exposes his grief. “Al I knew

is that you would come to me brokenhearted.” Marshal encapsulates

me in his arms and I bleat out a stream of silent tears over his

shoulder until I can see his flesh il uminate from under his shirt. Not

even the pleasurable impulses that course through his body are

enough to quel this desperate ache. Marshal was an accomplice of

Chloe’s in the destruction of my forever. He could deny it with every

good intention, but he was the constant in that horrific display of my

affairs.

“Chloe,” he breathes her name over me like a curse.

Glimpses of what unfolded on that oversized TV shutter through my

mind. It’s my way of tel ing Marshal what happened, how I stabbed

Gage with a thousand deadly pixels of my own doing.

“I’m sorry, Love.” Marshal helps me to the sofa. He holds me for an

hour solid without placating me with sil y sentiments about how

everything wil work out, that al of this wil blow over and that Chloe wil

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die in a fiery car crash. Al of the assurances I long for are nul and void

from his lips tonight.

“I thought we were going to be friends,” I hiccup. “She’s an animal.”

“She should be caged,” he echoes.

“Ezrina, she’s after me,” I clutch onto the col ar of his dress shirt until

the buttons threaten to give way. “I saw her on the road. I need to see

my mother.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Then get Gisel e,” I take in a trembling lungful of Marshal ’s spiced

cologne. Gage, and his perfect angelic face pumps through me and I

start in on the tears again. I’ve plunged from a very steep cliff, and I

wil never recover.

I lose myself in the darkness of Marshal ’s chest.

This wound can never be rectified. I’ve kil ed everything we were by

pol uting the oxygen that desired to sustain us, choking out our love

with these lips I shared so freely.

Buried deep in the black world behind my lids, thoughts dissolve,

elongate, pul like taffy until sleep comes over me, welcome as a song.

I appear on a hil side, an unblemished sky, vapid and bland. Trees

spike up like a fortress, raven and sable—nature throwing out al the

wrong colors. I had taken everything that was right and perverted it. It

was only fair that it should fol ow me into my dreams.

Skyla, Logan trembles as he comes upon me, offers his platonic em-

brace before pul ing me in, wiping my tears away with the soft of his

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lips. Will you forgive me? His sincerity catches me off guard. Logan

who owned me, stil does, he wants to share the blame, dive into this

ocean of grief with me.

I don’t think fate knows what it’s doing. I shake my head, convinced

of this . I should never have fallen in love with you. It was a mistake.

There’s a reason for everything, Skyla. Logan is drained, bone tired.

Death has mopped the floor with him, made him drink down the dirty

water, and he’s had enough of it al , I can tel . Gage will understand.

Chloe portrayed you in the worst possible light.

It didn’t take much, I say.

I didn’t know about Dudley. He squints a sad smile before tilting his

head. I had no idea he was playing you every chance he could.

He was showing me—

He cuts me off. Visions, I know. Giselle filled me in.

There it was. My shame had spread over two dimensions, heaven and

earth knew of my offenses, how abhorrent I was to have let it happen

while Gage pined only for me. He loved me with everything—bore his

soul on paper, dreamed of my face before he even knew me. I bet he

wishes I would throw myself off Devil’s Peak and break my neck.

Gage made me feel safe. And now I was alone, as good as naked in a

forest ful of Fems. Nothing wil be right again. Gage is gone, our rela-

tionship as dead as Logan.

I struggle to wake, fight to open my eyes and when I do, I’m al alone

on my bed with the storm wailing its wrath outside my window.

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***

In the morning I awake to incessant knocking. For a fleeting moment I

think Gage has come to see me and bolt up out of my restless slumber.

“You going to church?” Mom appears from the other side of the door.

Her glossy hair lays over her shoulder, her lips ful y outlined and

colored in a dewy scarlet. I had never seen my mother pay such careful

attention to her appearance as I have of late.

“I’m not feeling so good,” it comes out hoarse.

She speeds over and checks my head for a fever. “You weren’t drinking

last night, were you?” Her anger comes out disguised as concern.

“No,” I fal back on the pil ow. Just drunk on sorrow, I want to say, but

don’t.

“The rest of us are headed out the door. If you need anything cal . I can

always stop by the store and pick something up.” There’s a sadness in

her eyes like maybe she knows. I’m sure Chloe has deposited a copy of

my infernal DVD on every doorstep on the island by now—uploaded it

to YouTube. Crap, I hadn’t even thought of that until now.

Mom leaves and clicks the door shut behind her.

I’m going to be alone.

Ezrina stalks the outer recesses of my mind, causing me to bolt up and

do a quick change. I need to see Gage. Apologize until the sun goes

down if I have to. I pause in the mirror, horrified at the girl staring

back at me, her face bloated with grief, eyes like bloodied tumors. In-

stead of giving my best to Gage, this malfeasance would be al I could

offer.

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I grab my purse, my keys and head out the door.

The brisk air slaps against my skin with its glacial bite, the sky washed

anew from the storm. The soft glow of fog, the gentle lamp-lit grey that

il uminates the island cuts into my tender eyes. It makes me wish I had

sunglasses. I’d gladly dip the world in washed tones of sepia.

Nevermore lands on the hood of the Mustang.

“Nev,” I groan, placing my hand over his back. The strong smel of

tailpipe emissions leftover from the minivan burn my nostrils.

Word has reached the Justice Alliance over your agreement with

Ezrina. He twitches his neck three times.

“Great,” I lack enthusiasm but mean it nevertheless.

Not great, Skyla. They’re annoyed at the prospect. Do nothing more

with the situation, I implore you with my life.

“OK, Heathcliff,” I whisper his name with human lips, a foreign sound

to him after hundreds of years.

Enough! His wings expand with fury. Why must you delve where you

don’t belong?

“I made a covenant. I belong here now. You and Ezrina, belong. Love

should always prosper. You can’t tel me otherwise.” Not under these

conditions, not with eternal damnation awaiting one and ceasing to

exist the reward for the other. Skyla, you are about to foolishly end

my days. Stand back from my life. Remove yourself before you cause

any more turmoil. I demand it.

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Nevermore bolts into the sky quick as a spiraling arrow. With amazing

pent up fury he screams into the quiet reserve, blackens the sky with

his pulsating wings.

Damn it al to hel .

It takes real talent to piss off a bird.

Soon I’l have to add blipping Nevermore out of existence to the grow-

ing list of things I’l never be able to forgive myself for.

Chapter 34

Sit a Spel

I give a series of spastic knocks at the Oliver’s door. God help me if

Holden opens it. Logan’s face or not, I’m going to clock him a good

one.

I’m in the mood to administer a serious beating, and the first imbecile

that gets in my way wil most likely reap the reward.

Emma pul s back the door with a semi-complacent smile on her face.

“Skyla,” she downgrades to less than a frown.

“I need to see Gage.”

“He’s not wel .” She folds her arms tight across her chest.

A pang of embarrassment envelops me. She must know what a horror

I’ve become to her son. How he’d rather eat dead rats for dinner than

see my face ever again.

“Can I come in?”

“No,” her lips droop with displeasure.

God, she real y hates me now.

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“Emma,” Dr. Oliver appears from behind, “of course you can come in,

Skyla. Join us in the living room if you don’t mind. Logan has com-

pany in the kitchen.”

I bypass Emma with a palpable discomfort. Michel e gives a slight

wave from the breakfast table with a deck of cards in her hand. She

looks bored. I like bored. The last thing I want is Holden fornicating

with anything that moves while occupying Logan’s mortal being, not

that I want him fornicating with Michel e. I’d strap a male version of a

chastity belt on him if I could.

Then, like some anomaly, I see Logan standing over Holden, and he

stretches back a smile.

I jump a little at the odd sight.

“Skyla?” Barron cal s for me, concerned.

“I’m right behind you.” I give a quick wave to the hologram hovering

in the kitchen, and he glides over to me with ease. I fol ow Barron and

Emma to the living room, safely away from Holden and Michel e.

Emma eyes me like I’m some kind of savage. It’s clear they know what

I’ve done to Gage, or at least she suspects as much. She probably has al

along. I bet you there was an I told you so involved when he came

home and branded me as the heartless bitch who used his heart as a

chew toy.

“Do you think I can go up and see him?” I ask, taking a seat on the

distal end of the sectional. Logan, cloaked in his invisibility, sits beside

me with his arms flexed over the sofa ready for the show.

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Barron shakes his head. “He stomped upstairs last night and locked

the door, says he’s not feeling wel and that we should leave him the hel

alone.”

I jerk when he says it.

“Why should we leave him the hel alone, Skyla?” Emma sits straight as

a pin. Her face set in a perpetual scowl. This is not going to end wel .

“I…wel , Chloe…there was this film, but it was fake, part of it was real.

It just looked bad.”

“English,” Emma snips.

“I sort of…I real y didn’t mean to…” Then it bleeds out of me. Marshal

and his true Sector identity, the steady stream of worthless visions,

Logan who surprised me with his kisses. How I never told Gage. How I

would have taken it al to the grave if I could have. How I suddenly

wish I were in one.

“This is what you did to him?” Emma exasperates herself just getting

the words out. “He loved you like he’s never loved anybody before.”

She circles me with her disappointment. “My nephew—you used him.”

“No,” I shake my head, “I swear, I never used anybody.”

“She didn’t use me,” Logan’s voice comes through, just barely audible.

“What was that?” Barron tilts his head in curiosity.

“She’s throwing her voice,” Emma narrows in on me, “like a ventrilo-

quist. Those Celestra are capable of any number of tricks.” She says

Celestra like it’s a dirty word.

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“It wasn’t me,” I say. In a minute I’m going to knock her out of my way

and go Celestra al over the door to Gage’s room until I gain entry.

“It was me.” Logan materializes, slowly.

A series of choking sounds emit from Emma’s throat while Barron

twists his lips at the curious site.

“Knew it,” Barron seethes. “Who’s the dim-wit taking up space in this

residence?”

“Holden Kragger,” I say it below a whisper. “Sorry.” I mouth that last

part only because I kil ed Holden to begin with.

“To the mortuary with him,” Barron tries to stand, but Emma pul s

him down by the elbow. “Hypothermia—we’l drown him to preserve

the tissue. We must reverse the situation.”

“You’re dead?” Emma’s face crumbles, contorts in a pinch of anguish

so sharp I have to look away from her grief. “You did this, Skyla?” She

asks breathless.

“No, I don’t know who did this. I swear, I was standing next to them

just before the Mustang hit.” I point over at Logan who has meta-

morphosized into his perfect coat of flesh.

“Travel back and find out,” she shouts the words at me.

God, why didn’t I think of that?

“I wil .”

“She can’t,” Logan corrects. “There’s a binding spirit. It was there that

night—stil is.”

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“Oh,” I reflect, “that’s why Nev couldn’t come. And the two of you

couldn’t push the car out of the way. But you traveled.” Just when

Logan is about to redeem himself, another shady action rears its ugly

head.

“I used my supervising spirit,” it comes out sober. “It’s of no use to me

now.”

“I know it was Chloe without a doubt,” I offer. “Marshal would never

have gone after Gage. You were the one who knifed him. It was you he

was after.”

“Logan!” Emma bounces in her seat.

The woman is going to have a cardiac episode if this conversation con-

tinues in this direction. She’s so freaked, you’d think Ezrina was in the

vicinity. Speaking of Ezrina…

“I need Gisel e immediately,” I say to Logan. If I don’t get that meeting

with my mother ASAP, I’m going to have a whole other set of prob-

lems, and for most of them, I’l be wielding an ax.

“Gisel e?” Emma whispers her name.

Everything stops in the room. I thought they knew. I thought—

Emma fal s into a comatose state as Barron fans her with a magazine. I

leave Logan to fil them in on the details and bolt up the stairs because

I’l be damned if I’ve come al the way to the Oliver’s house to not see

Gage.

***

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I traipse through the dark hal s painted a shade reminiscent of dried

blood. Not a seam of light beneath his door, not one sound to give

evidence of life beyond its border.

I press my cheek against the cool of the wood, pick up on the sweet

scent of his cologne and ride its intoxicating wave. I listen for foot-

steps, the television, but nothing. The wal of silence presses into me,

painful and crushing, so I give a gentle tap.

“Gage?” I love the sound of his name as it leaves my lips. Although un-

certain and broken, it’s a song I could listen to night after night.

“Gage?

Can I come in, please?”

I twist the knob, but it doesn’t give. I would go in uninvited, kiss his

bare feet, wash them in tears while begging forgiveness if he let me. I’d

knock down every wal on Paragon just to prove my affection for him.

“I love you,” I say. “I swear I do.” I rub my open palm over his door as

though it were his skin, press my lips in soft against the veneer.

“Forever.”

Chapter 35

Marshal Arts

Marshal sends a text and asks me to meet him at the West Shore, says

it’s most important, so I drive over stil reeling from the aftereffects of

a newly broken heart.

Marshal waves at me from the waterline as powder white sand dusts

his shins. He’s sporting a pair of inky blue swim trunks and nothing

else besides his immaculately chiseled body. My stomach lurches at

the sight of him, even at this distance Marshal is an amazing speci-

men, a testament to testosterone in general. He shines in al his glory

like an opulent shel , some exotic being that has washed up on shore.

It’s a wonder he hasn’t amassed a harem by now.

The island burns with a molten red sky. It climaxes with heated rain

that feels tropical in nature as it needles its aggression out over the

vicinity.

“I’m getting wet!” I hold out my hands and scream as I run down the

beach towards him.

“That’s entirely the point,” he shouts back. He darts a finger at me and

a sudden blast of frigid air hits my newly exposed skin. My clothes

have disappeared and I’m wearing a rather itsy bitsy, teeny weenie, yel

ow polka dot bikini.

“Very not funny,” I say, covering my girl parts in haste.

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“Very wel ,” he says, pointing over at me again and the two-piece is re-

placed with a modest navy one-piece. The rain softens its harsh bites

and reduces itself to a drizzle.

“Better,” I pant, landing beside him. “I’ve got news for you. It’s too

cold to swim.”

“Swim?” His eyes ignite in flames. “The amphibious exercises I’ve

planned for us hardly qualify as a leisurely swim. This is work, Skyla.

Intense training is about to commence and I suggest we begin by con-

firming our commitment with of a kiss.” He slides into a seductive grin

as he pul s me in by the waist. He’s morphed to the younger version of

himself, which weird’s me out, but I find it intoxicating and exciting al

the same time. It’s amazing to see him this way.

“No kiss, but I am committed—to the war. I assume that’s the topic of

conversation,” I say, plucking his arms off my waist.

“You assume correct.” He takes up my hand and walks us towards the

cool damp sand. An errant wave rides high on shore and covers our

feet with its bubbling reserve.

“So not going there!” I scream, running back a few good feet to get out

of the glacial line of fire. “I’m going to die in there. I’m a human re-

member? I need to maintain a body temperature, and anything below

zero takes me out of the running for this little thing cal ed life.”

“Don’t idle.” Marshal points next to him for me to return.

“I’m not your child. I don’t have to listen to you.”

The beginnings of a lewd grin twitch on his lips. “Oh, dear Skyla. I

would never even venture to think of you as such.” His chest expands

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as he takes me in. “Now, the first subject we’l cover is how to circum-

vent this little obstacle of heat loss you seem to be ruminating over.

Simply raise your body temperature to a comfortable level.”

“Oh, just like that?”

“Yes, just like that,” he huffs. “You’re a Celestra. You’re capable of vir-

tual y anything. You have yet to tap the depth of your capabilities.

Might I remind you, your mother is a Caelestis? If you can believe it,

you can do it. The limit to your possibilities lie within your own lack of

faith. Now,” he looks down at the far end of the beach where the waves

detonate over the boulders loud as a car crash. “Run to the point and

back, that should get your adrenaline surging.”

“Surging? For what? And I don’t have any shoes.”

A pair of bright orange running shoes encase my feet as soon as the

sentence sails from my lips.

“Satisfactory?” He tips his head into me. Marshal is alarmingly hand-

some. I’m not sure I should be alone with him considering my heart is

lying al over Paragon in pieces.

“Satisfactory,” I breathe.

“Good,” he pats me on the back. “You’re going to run, Skyla. Fast—us-

ing more strength and endurance than you’re used to exerting. When

you think you’re incapable of moving any quicker, immediately revert

the thought and believe you can. You should hit the point and return

to this very spot within ten seconds.”

“Ten seconds? The point’s, like, a mile away. It would take me an hour

to run there.”

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“Three quarters of a mile to be exact. And I’l generously extend to you

an extra second. You’l do it in eleven.”

“There are rocks,” I say, scanning the distal end of the point. “I can’t

run over those. I’l twist my ankles.”

“At the speed in which you’l be traveling you’l hardly skim the surface.

It’s just this side of flying. Of course, if you choose not to believe and

break faith in the middle of this experiment, yes, you’l twist more than

your ankles.” Gah! I’l kil myself playing his ludicrous war games.

“OK, so how do I go about—”

“Run!” Marshal doesn’t wait for me to finish my question. He roars

like a lion, powerful and fierce and, wel , let’s face it—for al practical

purposes I start running to get the hel away from him.

I run. It takes more than an extra large dose of delusions to tel myself I

can run faster, and oddly each time I do, my legs propel at bionic

speeds. The wind cuts across my face at such an accelerated rate it’s

impossible to inhale. I hit the point and turn back around. My feet

glide over the surface of the rocks, the sand—at one point I’m gliding

over water. I bubble with laughter as I knock both Marshal and myself

to the ground in an effort to slow down.

“Twelve seconds,” he whispers in my ear as we rol towards shore. He

pul s me on top of him and steadies me, looks into my face with those

twin brandy goblets he surmises the world through. “You were a vision

to behold. How does it feel?”

“Exhilarating,” I pant. I’d rol myself off, but I don’t have an ounce of

surplus strength left, and besides, Marshal strums through me with

his incredible feel good vibes and initiates a wel needed massage over

my already vibrating muscles.

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“I’m glad you think so. It’s time to begin the exercise.”

“What?” I slap him in the chest without meaning to. I’m sure Chloe wil

add this footage as a DVD extra, she’l have it playing from here to

eternity in every dimensional plane possible. Just the thought racks

me with guilt. My entire body aches for Gage and his kisses.

“The water, Skyla.” Marshal wraps his arms around me and rol s us

twice until the icy sting of the Pacific baptizes us with its precipitous

fire.

A scream gets locked in my throat and I can’t breathe from the shock

of the arctic jolt.

“Inhale,” he commands, carrying me out deeper until the water covers

his shoulders. “Demand your body to accommodate you. Rile yourself

up with fury, whatever it is that prompts you to initiate that Celesta re-

serve you seldom tap into.” Chloe and her maniacal video graphic

maneuver sail through my mind—the DVD of my own undoing. My

blood boils from the pure hatred I feel for her, for the situation she

highlighted last night for al to see. Mostly I’m angry at me for putting

myself in compromising situations with Logan and Marshal —like I

am now.

“We’re going under, Skyla.” There is not one note of pleasure on his

face. It’s as if he knows it’s a bad idea but he’s going to do it anyway.

“No,” I protest.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs.

And I do.

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Marshal wastes no time plunging us below the water, swimming us out

into the deep reserves, nothing but the black underbel y of the ocean

waiting to greet us.

I coil my arms and legs so tight around his body, I may have accidental

y fused our flesh together in an effort to believe I won’t slip off.

I’m going to leave and you’re going to swim back. Your clothes and

keys are waiting on shore.

“No!” Stupidly exhale most of my reserve and latch my hands around

his neck in an effort to strangle some sense into him.

Marshal pul s me in, places his lips over mine and expels a lungful of

blissful air into me. I take it in, quiver as it fil s me. I need Marshal to

survive in this watery graveyard. It’s reminiscent of the way we met

and I hope to God it’s not the way we say goodbye as I leave this plan-

et. Not that I wouldn’t see Marshal on the other side, but stil .

Don’t leave me, I beg, greedily taking the breath he offers and then

some.

Very well, he says. Swim us back. It’ll be more work for you, but

you’re more than capable.

I tighten my fingers around his neck in the event he decides to pul that

‘just believe’ crap, but he doesn’t.

And I swim.

I flex my entire body like a mermaid pul ing and dragging Marshal like

a corpse attached for the ride.

I can’t, I cry, arching my back in pain.

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You can and you must, he shouts into me.

I pul his lips over to mine but al I’m capable extracting from him is a

rather invasive kiss.

I need air! I dril into him. My lungs burn with fire. Inhaling my way

into kingdom come seems like a very real possibility.

No, Love. Swim, push yourself past your mortal abilities. Push deep-

er and harder. Swim as if your life depended upon it—the faction war

does. Push through the pain, Skyla.

I try to free myself from his grasp and bolt to the surface, but he holds

me down. In a fit of anger I tunnel us through a wal of water, an entire

school of fish, and tangle of seaweed until the surface and the sand

converge at an acute angle.

I yank us victoriously to the surface and inhale a blast of air that knifes

through my lungs like fire.

“You did it,” Marshal pants, embracing me. The glorious rhythm he

exudes chimes through my body like a soothing composition.

“I did it,” I say, trying to catch my breath. I rest my head on Marshal ’s

shoulder and close my eyes.

I did it.

If I could do this then I can do anything—except get Gage back.

I’m afraid no matter how hard I believe that may never come true.

Chapter 36

The Bitch is Back

The next morning Briel e offers me a ride to school but I refuse, on the

grounds I have to work after, and I checked the schedule—so does

Gage.

I spent al morning primping and plucking through a pile of sweaters

just to find the right one that might entice Gage to offer a slow blink in

my direction. It’s going to be impossible for him to ignore me because

he just so happens to be in al of my classes sans cheer, and, wel , he

has footbal practice, so technical y we’l be on the field at the same

time. I sense an accidental body slam coming on.

But Gage isn’t in first. So far, he hasn’t shown for second, either.

Chloe shares a laugh with El is before class as if she didn’t just grind

her heel into my heart, as if she didn’t witness Gage splatter across the

wal s from heartbreak.

“You need to watch your back Chloe,” I hiss, pul ing El is toward our

seats. “Hear the news?” I ask him as we situate ourselves.

“I saw the news. She hooked up the school. It’s gone viral. Hey,” he

leans in confused, “dude, I don’t even remember us being together.”

“Case in point, you should lay off the street drugs.”

The class filters in. I’m met with shocked expressions, judgmental

stares. Chloe has everyone believing I was with Dudley among others.

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And, ironical y, it’s Marshall they think I cheated on.

“Morning.” Marshal breezes in. Skyla. He glances behind me. I see

you maintain the power to attract celestial baggage. The Pretty One

pines for you dead or alive, how magnificent that must make you

feel. Do consider repaying his devotion—toss a flower out to sea, light

a candle in the window, commit to your specialty and make irration-

al promises that you have little intention on keeping—a sexual favor,

a body—

the standard fare.

I make a face at Marshal ’s factiousness. Only, I real y am going to find

Logan a body, and it just happens to be floating around right here on

campus.

“Hey,” Logan materializes in a watery form, lands in the seat behind

me without inciting so much as a breeze. As far as I can tel no one else

can see or hear him.

I tip my ear back to listen.

“Rumor has it the fal s are beautiful this time of year,” there’s a slight

flirtation in his tone. “I have news about your mother. Can we talk

after practice?” he asks.

“I have to work,” I whisper.

El is spins around and stares into me. Crimson explosions cover the

whites of his eyes like a film.

“You need a ride or something?” Clearly I’ve confused El is.

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I shake my head and motion for him to spin around again before Mar-

shal turns this into some kind of spectator sport.

“Ms. Messenger,” Marshal booms from the front. He leans against his

desk and folds his arms, content to be rol ing me around like a cat with

a bal of yarn. Little does he know I’ve long since unraveled. “Do feel

free to share your work schedule with the entire class. Have any dis-

counts you’d like to offer to drum up business? Perhaps a field trip to

the establishment is in order?” He doesn’t look amused.

I shake my head at the offer.

“Very wel , then,” Marshal busies himself passing out papers.

“Gotta go,” Logan whispers. “See you in the butterfly room tonight?”

I nod in anticipation. Obviously, Logan has arranged for me to see my

mother. He’s like the new liaison, or something. If I’m lucky, I’l get

Ezrina a new trial by midnight and get her off my back for good. Then

al I have to do is off Holden once again, but now since Dr. Oliver is ap-

prised of the situation, I’l be spared that gruesome assignment as wel .

Everything is going perfect. I twist in my seat to smile at Gage and

meet up with an empty chair.

Except that, that’s not going perfect at al .

Marshal looms over my chair sorting papers. I’ve been invited to din-

ner later this week.

“What on earth for?” I hiss.

Do stifle your excitement. Your mother is working on an ad cam-

paign for the humanitarian effort I’m putting out.

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“A garage sale does not a humanitarian effort make,” I whisper. Al-

though in Marshal ’s mind, it’s probably the equivalent. “What’s this

real y about?” Voices continue to escalate al around us, steady and

buzzing like a swarm of bees.

It’s a primitive form of revenue retrieval. Not to mention a strategy

of warfare. You do realize you could be transported at a moment’s

notice to the nether regions of the ethereal plane. You have a disc

with you I presume.

I shrink in my seat.

Looks like I’l be making a quick pit stop to the homestead before hit-

ting the bowling al ey. Second thought, I might just sneak out after

class.

Who would real y notice?

Marshal walks past me slow and determined, his eyes never leaving

mine.

Marshal , that’s who.

But he should be the last to care.

***

Rain beats down between classes. It’s so chaotic outside, people are

running up and down the walkways with backpacks flung over their

heads, trying to shield themselves from the assault. No one wil care

that I’m speeding out towards the parking lot. I can total y be late for

third. I’l just say I had to use the bathroom, for like a real y long time.

What teacher in their right mind is going to contest the fact that I was

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dealing with a faulty tampon or that I was temporarily crippled with

blinding cramps?

I speed home to find the minivan tucked high up on the driveway sig-

naling the fact Mom and Tad are on the premises. I’l have to be

covert—

in and out like a ghost.

There’s a disc hidden under a pile of clean underwear sitting on my

dresser, only the mental y disturbed would think to riffle through that.

The roof above the porch christens me with the water runoff, saturates

my jacket with its harsh cold sting. Sprinkles greets me in the entry as

I make my way inside. He spins in spastic circles with al of his hairless

fury. His tiny nails clatter against the tile, creating a ruckus that I sus-

pect wil send Mom sailing down the hal at any moment. Figures—he’s

a tattletale just like Mia. I give a quick scratch behind his ears and

slink upstairs.

Voices emanate from down the hal , so I scurry towards my room. God

forbid I hear moaning or Mom screaming Tad’s name out in contrived

ecstasy. Honestly, he could be strangling her, and I wouldn’t speed to

her rescue on the off chance of catching them in a compromising

position.

I pause just shy of my door. It almost sounds as if—freaking shit! The

murmurs are coming from my room.

I flatten my back against the wal and try my best to decipher the

conversation.

Mom giggles. I can hear her self-abasing tone as though she were

blatantly refusing a compliment.

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The deep baritone voice of a male vibrates through the wal s—then

laughter. That’s not Tad. I peer around the wal at the risk of getting

caught and spy a tal dark figure reaching his hand out to my mother’s

cheek. Demetri. Good God they’re getting it on right there in my

bedroom.

He’s probably infiltrated her head with some lie about it being a stupid

Count ritual, when both he and I know it’s nothing but a big F.U. to

my father and me.

I see the large silver disc protruding from the edge of the dresser, and

I reach up to try and snake it.

“You hear something?” Mom peeks behind his shoulder just as I duck

out of her line of vision.

“It’s just the rain,” he says. “Here, let’s close the window.”

I reach in blindly a second time and snatch at the disc victoriously,

scraping it against the dresser in the process.

I don’t wait for my mother to say anything or for Demetri to feed her

his steady stream of bul shit. I bolt for the Mustang as if I had just

robbed a bank.

I’m halfway to West again before I can even begin to wrap my head

around what just happened.

***

I sulk al day over the fact my mother has slid so easily into infidelity,

and that, I, as her adopted offspring, am doing so wel in that depart-

ment myself. Case in point, the love of my life didn’t bother to show up

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at school today because I wrung his heart out with exactly those

circumstances.

Just before cheer, I have the misfortune of bearing witness to a near x-

rated PDA between Chloe and my newest stepbrother. It sickens me to

watch Chloe paw al over Ethan. I haven’t had the initiative to confront

him yet, but I have a feeling he could care less about what his so-cal ed

girlfriend did to ruin my life.

The bel rings, merciful y ending their never-ending lip lock.

“OK, everyone lineup, I have a few new maneuvers I need to get across

today.” Chloe lets it out in one shril cry.

I watch her like a predator. I’m sure Chloe would love for me to pum-

mel her into the ground right here at West. Of course that would war-

rant a suspension, an expulsion, and I would never risk my scholastic

standing to take her down. I know for a fact she’s working a shift at the

bowling al ey tonight. I have a few maneuvers I’l be sharing with her

later, too.

We run through a couple of routines for the Al State competition be-

fore Ms. Richards blows the whistle and barks at us to break into

groups.

God—she real y looks like Ezrina today. Her sun burnt hair blows wild,

stands straight up every now and again, giving her that light socket ef-

fect that I’m pretty sure no woman goes after. Maybe I could arrange a

meeting between Ezrina and Ms. Richards? I mean, Ms. Richards is

her super great, great, whatever, and Ezrina did lament the fact she

never visits. But somehow I’m certain Ezrina would rather be united

with her Heathcliff—Nevermore. I can’t believe he went bal istic just

because I said his name. Having both Gage and Nevermore pissed at

me simultaneously feels like an apocalyptic worthy event.

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“Let’s go,” Chloe is al business, pul ing me off to the side so we can do

our doubles routine.

“No freaking way,” I yank my arm free.

“What’s the matter, Messenger? You didn’t think you were going to pul

that shit on him forever did you? You think Gage wants someone like

you? Someone who’s never met a penis she didn’t like?”

I strike her across the face so fast I need the sting on my palm to as-

sure me it happened.

“Nice.” She spits while rubbing her cheek. “My comfort comes from

the fact he’s already looking to me for consolation. Cal ed me three

times since Saturday. How about you, Skyla?” Her coal black hair en-

wreathes her face, makes her lips pop like cherry blossoms. “Oh, that’s

right.

He mentioned he was never going to speak with you again.”

I walk off the field—ignore Ms. Richards’ reprimand to get my rear

back there and hit the shower.

Getting back at Chloe is going to have to involve far more than just a

beating. I might have to consult my favorite Sector to delineate the

perfect path of wickedness to embark upon.

But even more than I feel the need to inflict eternal punishment on

Chloe—I crave Gage.

I need Gage and our forever back, or not even Chloe’s demise could

bring me pleasure.

There is no pleasure and no sun, no breath worth taking without him.

Chapter 37

The Boss of You

The cool crisp breeze of afternoon is replaced with air thick as tar.

Long black sheets of torrential promise stretch out overhead, ready to

pronounce their fury.

Afterschool, I race over to the bowling al ey, stil hopped up on adren-

aline after Chloe’s remark. The thought of her speaking with Gage

shreds my heart to ribbons. It elicits a groan wrenched from the deep-

est part of me just thinking about him fil ing her ear with his velvet

voice—if it’s true at al . I’ve learned my lesson. Trust Chloe and my en-

tire world blows apart.

In the bowling al ey I find Briel e on her phone with her feet up on the

table, head back, and laughing.

I make my way into the kitchen on the lookout for Gage. My heart

pumps like a horse at the gate, bucking and jumping with the anticipa-

tion of seeing him, but he’s not here. Instead, an older woman, a part

of Logan’s regular staff approaches me.

“My check didn’t clear,” she grunts, her face splotched unnatural y as

if she had given herself a raspberry facial. “You need to talk to your

boyfriend because if this goes on another week, he’s going to lose the

entire crew.” Her tiny eyes glisten with anger.

“I’l get right on it,” I say, knowing ful wel I’m impotent to provide.

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I find Holden in the office hunched over like a rock, pilfering the floor

safe.

“What the hel are you doing?” Honest to God, everything Holden

touches turns to shit. He’s helping himself to Logan’s stash like he’s a

bona fide premium access user.

He hops up without securing the lid and stuffs a wad of bil s in the

pouch of his sweatshirt, bypasses me without so much as a hel o.

I chase him out to the dining area and pul him back by the sleeve.

“I’m talking to you,” I say, spinning him on his heels.

“Don’t feel bad.” Chloe strides over—her face alive with the thril of

watching my life spiral out of control. “She accosted me during 6th.”

“What’s your problem?” He shakes himself loose.

I can tel Holden is trying his best not to act like a dick since the ques-

tion itself came out laced with a false sense of delicacy.

“You,” I say, digging into his pocket and waving the cash in front of his

face. “I’m taking over.”

“OK.” He shrugs, taking half the bil s away from me and shoving them

deep inside his jeans. “Have at it. See if I care.” Briel e walks over

wide-eyed with her mouth agape.

“I heard the checks aren’t clearing. How much are you overdrawn?” I

ask.

“He’s negative eighteen thousand,” Briel e pipes up. “Accounting’s sort

of my thing. Plus, I don’t mind snooping into people’s finances when

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the opportunity arises.” She shrugs into her admission. “And what the

hel is wrong with you?” She barks into Logan. “It’s like you’re a total y

different person.” There’s the distinct look of grief on her face.

“People change.” Holden blinks a smile. Creepy the way he genuinely

makes Logan, who has the face of a god, look like a total ass. Maybe

this was what I was anticipating, predicting in that hal ucinatory vision

a few months back after gobbling down Michel e’s demonic rose? “So,”

Holden writhes into me, “You and Gage are real y over, huh?”

I don’t reward his jackass behavior with an answer. Besides there’s no

way I’m going to admit to the fact Gage and I aren’t together. I’d soon-

er lick Chloe’s bare feet after she ran ten laps in the men’s restroom

than entertain that theory out loud.

“I was thinking you and me should give things another shot.” He

pinches my left boob.

Reflexively, I smack him in the nose with my purse. I’d consider doing

some serious reproductive harm, but since he’s not technical y ever go-

ing to reproduce with that body, I find it a pointless endeavor.

“Touch me again and I’l lop off your bal s,” my chest heaves into the

words.

“She wil ,” Chloe confirms. “She’s no stranger to detaching body

parts.”

“I am feeling stabby,” I poke him in the chest, “and bitchy, and al

around pissed off, so stay the hel away from that floor safe, and keep

your lobster claws to yourself.” Holden is proof positive that true

beauty comes from within.

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“That’s my safe.” His amber eyes glint with something familiar from a

faraway dream.

“Not anymore. You’re fired.” I turn on my heels to face Chloe. “You,

too!”

“Me?” She crooks a hand into her chest.

“Don’t even ask what you did.” I shake my head. “You are a liar,

everything about you is a lie. It drives you insane that you can’t have

the only thing in this world you want. Where’s Gage, Chloe? Is he by

your side?”

“As long as he’s not by yours, it’s just as good.” Her dark eyes linger

over me like gunpowder.

Chloe revels in my misery, gains strength from my pain. She watched

me go under like a ship taking in water. She was the storm pushing me

down. She wanted to hold Gage afterwards, tel him it would al be OK

as she cradled him in her poisonous embrace. Little did she know she

took him down too—drowned him first.

“I don’t need this job.” Her lids lower as if she were trying to seduce

me. “I’ve already got another one lined up.”

“I hope you’re scraping gum off the street with your teeth.” Of course

later I’l think of something far more offensive and to the point.

“I’m in charge of cataloging crap from detective Edinger’s estate. Isn’t

that where you’l be doing your community service?” Chloe twitches a

smile. “Say hel o to your new boss, Skyla.” She bites the air before

heading out the door.

Crap.

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Just, crap.

***

It’s a living miracle I arrive alive at Landon manor. The storm rages

overhead, shags its heavy precipitation out with aggressive uneven

bursts.

“Dinner is in the microwave,” Mom says from the couch.

Real y I just want some OJ and a nice hot shower, a chat with Logan in

the butterfly room regarding bank passwords and the possibility of

changing the combination to his floor safe. I plan on shutting Holden

out financial y, but I have no clue how I’m going to rectify his eighteen

thousand dol ar debt by week’s end. And Gage? How long do I let him

simmer down before I go bounty hunter and kidnap him for the sake

of our relationship?

I’l cyber stalk him tonight—text him nonstop until six in the morning

so he can see how freaking insane I am without him. He’l need a re-

straining order to keep me away and even then I won’t listen.

I pause a moment in the cool of the refrigerator. I can’t go on like this

without Gage. I don’t even care to appropriately devise my revenge

against Chloe. I just want him back so I can breathe again. For a mo-

ment I consider dropping to my knees in prayer, doing a faceplant in

the not so appetizing strange yel ow pie staring back at me. And,

oddly, it was baked in the tin we sometimes use as a dog dish.

“Stop fanning yourself with the fridge,” Tad snarls.

I head over to the microwave and pul out the plate Mom set aside for

me.

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“What is this?” I don’t mean to sound offensive, but real y I have no

clue how to categorize the mountainous glob set before me.

Drake walks by and retches for effect.

“It’s an asparagus and broccoli quiche with whole wheat crust—no salt.

Made it myself,” Mom beams. She gives a satisfied smile into her knit-

ting, assuring me she’s content serving up the questionable nutritional

offering. For Mom, cooking is more of a flaw than an attribute.

“It’s pretty cold up in my room. Was my window opened today?” I ask,

total y indifferent to the fact I haven’t been upstairs yet.

“Oh,” her eyes widen as if she were about to get caught with her hand

in Demetri’s cookie jar. Just the idea of her touching his anything sets

me on fire. “I had to go in and, um, grab some laundry. I might have

fiddled with it. Sorry about that.” Knew it!

What if she did the deed with him right there on my bed? I’m going to

have to burn everything. Although I seriously doubt Lizbeth Landon

did the nasty in her daughter’s bedroom while her husband was float-

ing around on the premises.

“Were you home al day?” I ask Tad for no good reason. He’s already

convinced I’ve fried my brain, so a whole slew of random questions

shouldn’t surprise him one bit.

“Nope.” He twists his lips while glossing over the paperwork fanned

out before him. “Had a meeting in town.” He looks towards my

mother.

“Guess what, Lizbeth? We no longer need to cal a cab whenever that

faulty minivan acts up,” he shouts. “Tomorrow afternoon a brand new

company car is rol ing off the ferry for yours truly.”

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“You’re kidding!” She stops spiking the air with her needles and jumps

to her feet.

“I wanted to surprise you, but Skyla, here, dragged it out of me.”

I abstain from correcting him.

“Best part?” He gives a greasy smile, “It’s F-R-E-E.”

“That’s my favorite word!” Mom rushes to his side.

“Mine, too,” he says, as they engage in an awkward open-mouth kiss.

Seriously? Eww.

“Guess what else?” He continues. “Althorpe is hosting its annual com-

pany dinner right here on the island. Al the big wigs and their families

wil be joining us in a couple weeks.”

“That’s great!” Mom shrieks as if we had just won the lottery. “And

family is invited? Even better!”

“I’m bringing Briel e,” Drake pipes up.

“I’m bringing Chloe,” Ethan says, stumbling over to the fridge.

“Of course, you can bring Gage, Skyla,” Mom nods as though it were a

given.

I give a weak smile and turn around.

I’m not bringing Gage because he hates me, and I’m pretty sure

Ethan’s not bringing Chloe because I would have kil ed her by then.

Chapter 38

Dance of the Butterfly

I shove Ethan around in the hal before trapping him in his bedroom,

knocking him back on the bed like a bowling pin.

“What the hel was that video exposeòn my love life about the other

night?”

“I had no clue she was going to do that. She’s a freaking nutcase.” He

leans over and combs his hair back in the mirror. “Besides, it pissed

me off. Makes me want to go after her even more.”

“It does?” I pause, stunned. “Like, as in go after and mate with her, or

go after and get rid of her?” I’m betting it’s the former. Placing my

hope in a Landon family male would be both foolish and dangerous.

“Getting rid of her.”

“Wel , good.” I’m pretty sure that the big dismissal wil take place after

he’s physical y through with her. He seems intent on rocking her world

—his bed—same difference.

“You should trust me,” he deadpans, because he knows I can’t. Hon-

estly, it’s al starting to sound a little canned, like he’s tel ing me

whatever it is he thinks I want to hear. I don’t like where this is going.

“I do,” I say without conviction. Why do I feel like I’m about to get

sucked into a wood chipper? “How are you going to get rid of her?”

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“I’m going to exterminate.” His expression darkens.

I don’t know that I want Chloe dead. After experiencing the non-final-

ity of it al with Holden, Logan, and Chloe herself, I’m not sure another

celestial piranha is what I’m after. Not that Logan is a piranha. He’s a

lion—a hot lion, albeit without any fur, or skin or bones at the

moment.

“So what’s the plan of action?” I’m tired of Ethan skirting the issue. If

he’s mapped out his strategy, I want in on the details. Second thought,

if the end result is manslaughter, I’d hate to go away for guilt by asso-

ciation. People go away al the time for stupid stuff like that. “Never

mind, I don’t want to know. Just make sure death is not involved.”

That’s too easy for Chloe. She needs a good life sentence of

misery—one without Gage preferably. That alone is a cruel and horrific

punishment much harsher than a quick trip to the transport. That

alone might kil her. Come to think of it, a life without Gage would kil

me, too.

***

I head upstairs and find Mia snooping around my drawers.

“Get out!” I shout. I don’t care if she is trying to piece together the per-

fect ensemble to steal Melissa’s boyfriend, I’m cranky and tired, and I

just want Gage to crawl in through the butterfly room and make

everything al right. He used to protect me from the Counts in my life,

and now he’s probably hoping they’l turn me into a salt-free quiche

and eat me for dinner. “How did it al go so wrong?” I didn’t mean to

say it out loud.

I crash on the bed and bury my head in the pil ow.

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“Hey, what’s the matter?” Mia comes over and gives one long scratch

down the center of my back. Her fingernails sizzle across my flesh, and

it actual y feels nice.

“Gage hates me,” I muffle into the foamy expanse.

“Gage?” She balks as though it were impossible.

I twist around and pul my pil ow into my chest, hug it as though it

were a body.

“Did you guys breakup?” Mia’s face lights up at the prospect of fresh

gossip.

“I guess we did, unofficial y. I wouldn’t know, he won’t speak to me.” I

don’t know why I’m sharing this with Mia of al people.

“What happened?”

“He caught me kissing Logan. It was an accident. I never meant to do

it.” My heart sags because outside of those kisses I stil have very real

feelings for Logan. “Do yourself a favor and fal in love with just one

boy.”

“I know, right?” She looks up at me with childlike innocence, reminds

me a lot of the Skyla I used to be—the one Logan made fal in love with

him by simply showing up in her dreams. “Plus, it means you’re a total

slut if you run around kissing other boys, just saying.”

“Logan, kissed me. I am not a slut.” What my heart feels and what my

body does are two different things. I tried giving everything to Gage,

wanted to, but in the end I just wasn’t ready. But now I’d run to him

naked in the middle of this viral downpour if he wanted me to, if he let

me.

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“And that teacher?” She narrows in on me suspiciously.

“He means nothing.” That’s not entirely true. I do feel some sort of

connection to Marshal , but it’s spiritual in nature—at least I’m pretty

sure.

Nevertheless, no more vision hunting through his upper orifice. I’m

done with that game.

“If I could only have Gage back,” I whisper, lost in a fog of despair.

“That’s how I feel, Skyla. Gabriel was mine, and Melissa stole him.”

“Are they a couple?” I’m horrified by this. They’re sisters. Talk about a

relationship kil er. Then again Logan and Gage stil sort of have one, or

at least they did until Holden showed up.

“He says he’s stil into me, but Melissa keeps inviting him to the

movies, the library, and he keeps going.”

“Sounds like an ass. You can do better.”

“I don’t want to do better. I want him back.”

I relax against the wal and consider this. Why shouldn’t Mia fight for

her man? Why should us Messenger girls sit back and let the boys we

love drift into the arms of other girls?

“Then you need to fight for him,” I start. “Be the first one to talk to

him at school, when you see Melissa cornering him, break up the

party. Al ’s fair in love and war, right? Ask him to the mal , the beach,

the fal s.” An image of me swimming in my bra and panties with Logan

last summer zips through my mind. “Wel , maybe not the fal s. Oh, I

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know! Ask him to the Althorpe dinner. Mom says we can bring dates,

and he could be yours.” I shrug into my genius.

“Thank you!” She leans in and hugs me before running into my closet.

“Get out,” I say.

“Oh, I am. I’m leaving through the butterfly room.”

“What?”

“Gabriel’s picking me up. We’re going for ice cream. And, before you

freak out—his sister is driving.” She climbs into the secret compart-

ment, and I fol ow her up.

“Mia!” I scold as she crawls into the attic and disappears. She doesn’t

answer. She’s already halfway to stealing her boyfriend back just like I

suggested.

It seems I’m only capable of somewhat competent ideas.

***

I curl up on the black sparkling floor of the butterfly room and wait for

Logan to come.

An easy slumber wraps its arms around me and ushers me into a rest-

ful languor. Dreams of Gage and Chloe walking along the beach hand

in hand devour me. They cut through me with anguish. I cal out his

name, but he doesn’t answer. He whispers to Chloe instead, and they

share a secret smile.

I startle awake as a pair of warm arms wrap themselves around me,

and I take in a sharp breath.

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“It’s just me.” Logan helps me sit up. I’m stil reeling from the spectacle

of imagining Gage and Chloe together as a couple. “How was your

day?” He gives a tired smile.

“I fired you,” I scratch at his stomach. “Chloe, too.” I raise my brows

rather proud of that one. “You wouldn’t happen to have eighteen thou-

sand dol ars lying around would you?”

“Is that what he took?” Logan’s jaw redefines pissed.

“That I know of,” I add. “Wil your uncle front the money?”

Logan shakes his head. “Don’t ask Barron. The mortuary is hurting

right now. I know for a fact he just pul ed money out of the house to

cover expenses. The last thing I want is for anyone to go bankrupt try-

ing to satiate Holden’s appetite for financial destruction.” He exhales a

lungful of air. “I guess I’l lose the bowling al ey.” He says it despondent

as if there were no other way.

“I’l try to help.” I squeeze his hand. “Don’t give up hope, promise?”

“I promise.” He leans in, touches his forehead to mine. “What’s going

on with Gage?”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m dead to him, too.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better.” Logan’s spirit is feather soft, rich with

an otherworldly understanding. As if in crossing over to death, he

gained a plethora of knowledge and wisdom. Logan always knew too

much to begin with and now he was in an intel ectual realm al his own.

“I want you and Gage to be happy. I know it sounds strange,” he

struggles to get the words out, “but I hope there’s a time for us. I think

there wil be.”

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“Does it go along with what you know?” I don’t mean for it to come out

as sharp as it does. Sometimes, I just wish I could wring Logan’s mind

out like a dishrag over my mouth—absorb al of his insights into our fu-

ture, to the future that I share with Gage, and see it from his bird’s eye

perspective.

“It does,” dejection flexes through him. “But I care about Gage, too. I

don’t want him upset, or heartbroken.” My insides twist at the con-

firmation that I broke Gage’s heart.

“Yes, he’s hurting, Skyla, but he’s healing, too. Just give him the time

he needs.”

“What if he needs forever?” How’s that for irony?

“He won’t,” Logan looks down upon his admission. “I’m sorry for the

pain you’re both going through, but, in truth, I can’t get past the idea

that you belong with anyone else.” His eyes graze over me with open

heartbreak. “With everything in me, Skyla, I swear it was you and me

who were meant to be together. I think of Gage, and I want to tear the

planet to pieces because I pushed you into him.” He drops his head

back, despondent.

“I swear on everything that is holy, it was supposed to be you and me.”

His voice ends on a threadbare whisper. Death has reduced him to less

than human, and I’ve reduced Logan to ashes, slashed him to pieces

with my incessant pining for Gage.

What do I say? How do I respond? Of course, I love Gage, but a very

real part of me understands exactly what Logan just said as though the

testimony had sailed from my own lips.

“Let’s get you back into your body,” I whisper, artful y choosing my

words.

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He gives a wry smile. “I talked to my uncle. He’s going to research the

most efficient way to off Holden and get me back without any dam-

aging effects.”

“I’l make sure Marshal gets you to where you’re supposed to be.”

“Not at the expense of your body, Skyla.”

“No, nothing like that, I swear.” I tug at his hand. “I miss you, Logan

Oliver.” I bring up his hand and plant a gentle kiss on his finger.

He gives a smile born of sadness. “I’ve been missing you for months,

Skyla Laurel Messenger,” Logan wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I

wish it were summer and we had just met. I’d do everything different.”

“You mean, Gage,” I sigh.

“I don’t think I could have stopped what the future holds, but, for sure,

it didn’t have to play out this way to get there. Yes, I mean Gage, I

mean us—Chloe.”

“How do you think Chloe was able to capture al of those precise mo-

ments? You know, me and you—me and Marshal .”

“And El is,” he leans in.

“That was the most innocent of al . He was peeing on my hand.”

Logan squints and shakes his head as if he wants me to spare the

details.

“Chloe got those pictures the same way I was able to create that film

we used to frame her,” he says. “Supervising spirit.”

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“Figures. Speaking of spirits, did you find Gisel e? Did you tel her I

desperately need to speak with my mother?”

“I did.” Logan tips his head down. “And Gisel e relayed the message.”

“That’s great!” I can’t wait to get Ezrina off my back. “What did my

mother say?”

“She said she doesn’t plan on seeing you again until after the faction

war. She said, no, Skyla.” Chapter 39

The Good Girlfriend

The week sweeps by in a torrent.

No sun, no warmth, no Gage.

Dr. Oliver pul ed him out of school temporarily so he could proceed

with home study, says his cough came back and that’s the best way to

keep him out of the hospital for now. I have a feeling I’m more than

slightly responsible for his convalescing condition, for his newfound

desire to pursue scholastic knowledge from the confines of his

bedroom.

I’ve been sending a steady stream of texts, a deluge of emails to Gage,

but nothing came of it. He doesn’t take my cal s, doesn’t respond to a

single mode of communication. I’m not sure how much longer I can

handle being cut out of his life like this.

I think tomorrow after my community torment at Demetri’s, I’l swing

by and see if I can at least get him to prove he’s stil fil ing his lungs

with air, that he’s stil on Paragon proper.

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“So you wanna go shopping and get some new gear for that dance next

week?” Briel e asks, lounging on my bed. Her bel y rises into the air

like an anthil .

“The Althorpe dinner?” I stop combing my hair midflight.

“Yeah, your mom says it’s formal. Like prom but with old people.”

“Charming. I think I’l pass on the spending spree. I’m trying to scrape

up everything I can to help Logan.” I’ve managed to amass a whopping

fifty-two dol ars and twelve cents.

I guess it didn’t suck quite enough that he was dead—he gets to watch

the business his father built kick the bucket, too.

“So, you talk to Gage?” She makes the transition with the utmost care.

“No, did you?” The thought of him using Briel e as a liaison has me

hopping over to the bed with excitement.

“He cal ed and asked me to cover his shifts.”

He speaks!

“Did he sound OK? Was he coughing? Did he ask about me?”

“Yes, no, and, unfortunately, no.”

“Oh.” I mean I’m thril ed that he’s not coughing up loose change, but

I’m devastated by how easy it is for him to live life without me. Having

Gage out of my world is like being thrust into permanent darkness. I’m

left groping around the landscape, hoping to find the smile that once

lit my universe. “I can’t stand that he hates me,” I lament.

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“He doesn’t hate you,” she scoffs. “Gage Oliver is incapable of such

mortal feats. He’s just pissed—more like devastated. You made him

feel like less than nothing. He was total y into you if you hadn’t no-

ticed.” It doesn’t come out mean the way she says it, just a simple ob-

servation. Al of it true.

“Briel e,” I lean back against the wal in defeat, “what makes a good

girlfriend?”

“A good girlfriend?” She contemplates this for a moment by twirling a

copper lock around her finger. “Someone who bakes cookies, gives

back rubs, laughs at al their stupid jokes—makes them feel like the

smartest person in the world.” I had never done any of those things. I

had never baked Gage cookies, and he baked me a cake for my birth-

day. He gave me countless shoulder massages, and I never once re-

turned the favor. Of course, Gage never told a stupid joke, and I would

never placate his genius because he just happens to be the smartest

person I know on the planet. But I would laugh at the simplest thing

that flew from his lips if I were ever presented with the opportunity

again.

It would be pure joy.

***

Friday evening Marshal arrives twenty minutes early for a dinner

party Mom threw together at the last minute. She had invited him so

they could finish the ad for his island-wide garbage sale that spans

time and distance, and, I’m pretty sure, dimensions.

I’m not certain what’s driving Marshal to encourage the good people of

Paragon to declutter their closets, but it’s safe to say, it has supernat-

ural consequences that might reach as far as my baby making station.

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“What is that glorious aroma?” He bows into Mom with a partial hug.

He’s either bending the truth and reflecting on the heavenly scent of

those burgers gril ed atop Mount Headless during ski week, or he out-

right has an olfactory defect. The house happens to smel like hot crap

on a sunny day.

“You like?” Mom gives a sultry wink before escorting him back to the

family room. Marshal wraps an arm around my waist, and I’m quick to

push away his efforts. “I’m pairing pan-fried calves liver with a nice

wheatgrass salad. I’m on this new health kick to get me into ultimate

prime procreating condition. You did know that Tad and I are trying,

right? I’m sorry if this is too much information.” She leans in feigning

embarrassment.

My mother doesn’t mind sharing with the free world the sorry state of

her uterus. I wouldn’t be surprised one bit if I were driving downtown

one day and came across a picture of her and Tad’s dehydrated baby

making parts splayed out on a bil board like some disturbing PSA.

“No, I wasn’t aware. But I wish you the best of luck in your donation to

humanity.” He winks playful y. “I look forward to blessing the world

with my own seed one day.”

Seed? Must we go there?

“Oh, you should have lots of children,” she’s quick with the reply.

“With a face like that I’m sure women are knocking down the door try-

ing to help you fil an entire school bus.”

“One would think,” he muses over at me.

“Anyway, I’m mostly vegetarian now,” Mom announces. There’s a

prideful undertone that suggests she’s embracing the anti-conformist

rebel ion sponsored by her journey to motherhood. Frankly, I’d prefer

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she wolf down a burger and fries. Normal y, my mother and Tad would

take turns scoffing at vegetarians. They thought the vegetable offens-

ive was nothing more than a wel -constructed ploy by foreign ad-

versaries to destroy the cattle industry. This bovine conspiracy was

further justified by Tad as yet another measure in taking down the fin-

ancial structure of this great country, which evidently relies solely on

sticking a cow’s ass in a grinder. “But there’s so much great protein in

calf’s liver, I thought why not?” She turns her palms out. “But I’m

strictly vegetarian otherwise. I steer clear of dead animal byproducts,”

she goes on to defend the mutiny of perhaps the last cohesion that

held she and Tad together. “The liver is amazingly rich in iron, and it’s

cheaper than dirt.”

“If only it were dirt,” I whisper. I’d rather eat dirt. Hel , I’d take it

straight from the cemetery—fresh off a casket.

“So, let’s see,” she opens her laptop and pounds on the keyboard.

“What would you like the ad to say?” I lean in. “How about, look at al

the crappy hobbies I wasn’t good at?” I offer, taking a seat at the

island.

“Skyla,” Mom sings my name in a tone that lets me know I’m pushing

it.

Marshal postures. “I’m thinking more—bring us your weary, your

downtrodden, your huddled masses of clutter,” he suggests.

“Hey, that’s snazzy.” Mom types away unwavering.

“That’s plagiarism.” I’m quick to discredit Marshal ’s undying genius.

It’s written on the Statue of Liberty, everybody knows that.

It’s not plagiarism if I were the one to suggest it to the author in the

first place, he gives a smirk.

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Mom hops up from the barstool. “Excuse me while I toss the dinner

rol s in the oven. They’re buckwheat,” she whispers into him as if

buckwheat were code for sinful y delicious. I’m afraid the entire dinner

is simply going to be sinful. If digesting infant mammal organs and a

salad made of weeds is the way to fuel your body to enhance reproduc-

tion, I’m pretty sure I’m out of the running for children.

Why so forlorn? Is Jock Strap still evading your efforts at

communication?

“Please don’t refer to Gage as Jock Strap,” I whisper. “I need an emer-

gency appointment with my mother. Can you arrange this?” Only if I

go with you.

“Done.”

Then it’s a date. He gives a wicked smile.

Unfortunately, I can’t swear off Marshal ’s efforts just yet, and this

type of behavior is precisely why Gage wil be eating vital organs and

buckwheat with another girl someday in an effort to procreate. But

with Ezrina eyeing my skin like her new favorite jacket, there’s not a

whole hel of a lot I can do about it.

It’s a date.

Chapter 40

Dinner with the Enemy

Chloe.

She sits at the table next to Ethan as though she were the newest Lan-

don family member. If Ethan’s twisted form of revenge is chaining

Chloe to himself for the rest of his natural days, I’m afraid the punish-

ment wil be his to bear. No human should put up with what Chloe has

to offer.

She’d release a rattlesnake into a newborn’s crib if she thought it

would bring Gage back to her. Ethan has it al backwards. Dating Chloe

is not a part of his revenge—it’s a part of hers.

“So, we need to start pul ing crap together for the kid,” Darla, Briel e’s

mother, artful y leads us into sparkling dinner conversation.

“Yes, a baby shower is definitely in order,” Mom lays a platter of

bovine toxin filters, evenly shriveled and singed before us.

The doorbel rings, and Mom frees herself from a conversation com-

prised mostly of caskets in lieu of bassinets and human remains as

rattles and teethers. Briel e has a warped sense of style when it comes

to the miniature Count brewing in her bel y.

“So,” Briel e starts, “I saw this thing on TV where you set up this

blowup kiddie pool and you have the baby right there in your living

room.

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How cool is that?” Her emerald eyes blink into me with amazement.

“Total y.” My stomach trembles with nervous laughter.

“Not in my living room,” Tad says it low, in an effort to keep off my

mother’s radar. God only knows this sounds like an idea my mother

would glom onto, heck she’d jump into the kiddie pool herself in hopes

of squeezing one out herself.

“Why not?” Marshal provokes. “It would be a gift to witness the mir-

acle of life blooming in the heart of your home. Think of al the memor-

ies you’ve yet to impress.”

I can’t even imagine the thought of my mother retching in pain in

some ridiculously smal swimming pool while trying to expel Tad’s evil

spawn from her body.

“The screaming, the bodily fluids sloshing onto the carpet,” Tad coun-

ters, “Why don’t we initiate these memories at your place? That way I

can feel al warm and fuzzy each time I drive by.”

Marshal ’s face drains of color. “Come to think of it, the bleeding and

screaming might be better fit elsewhere.” There will be bleeding and

screaming at the Landon home one day, Skyla. Do you believe this?

He gives a devious smile.

I reach down and touch his hand. Does it involve Tad?

Deliciously so. He nods into Tad and gives the impression he were ac-

quiescing to his wisdom.

Hmm, I don’t know if I like the word delicious mixing with the idea of

Tad bleeding and screaming. Sounds like a kitchen accident.

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“I think a home birth sounds fantastic,” Chloe pipes up. There’s a

strange gleam in her eye as if her fantasy of giving birth in a blow up

pool somehow involves Gage. “You could get shoulder rubs, and foot

rubs, and be catered to by the one you love right there in your living

room.” For sure it involves Gage. I could practical y see the cartoon

bubble over her head with my raven-haired boyfriend feeding her

grapes, wel , my sort of boyfriend.

I think Chloe is sadly mistaken regarding what real labor and delivery

is like. Back in L.A. they made us watch the Red Asphalt version of

childbirth, and it may as wel have been cal ed This Red Bloody Ass is

Your Boyfriend’s Fault.

It narrowed in on the true consequences of unprotected sex by way of

demonstrating how mindboggling elastic the female anatomy is. And

judging by the drawn out high-pitched wails, this experience was

neither brief nor painless. I’m pretty sure grapes and massages were

the last two things on that woman’s mind.

“Look who’s here?” Mom drags Demetri in by the hand.

“I was just dropping a key off for Skyla. I’m afraid I have an appoint-

ment tomorrow, and I won’t be able to let her in. I’ve left instruction

on the entry table. My secretary wil be arriving around noon.” He

tweaks Chloe on the top of the head when he says it.

Lovely.

“Won’t you join us?” Mom steers him over to her spot at the table next

to Tad and scoots in another seat from the kitchen quicker than he can

protest.

“I want to thank you for making my wife’s dreams come true,” Tad

gives a curt nod. “Weddings don’t come cheap you know.” Ironic. I

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thought everything came cheap with Tad. It was like the unexpected

bonus my mother got on her wedding day—an entire lifetime of frugal

living courtesy of the cheapasaurus himself.

“Not a problem.” Demetri blinks a smile. “I want nothing more than to

make al of your wife’s dreams come true.” I bet that includes in the

bedroom. I’m guessing if Tad thought he could save a buck on the

wedding night by letting Mom bunk with Demetri, he’d be tolerant of

the situation.

Demetri’s face blooms with a grin as if he heard.

I swear that cheesy smile never leaves his face. Someone should clue

him in on the fact that humans scowl once in a while—like I’m doing

now.

“I’l be hosting an inter-island bargain and barter in the next few

weeks,” Marshal glares into Demetri. “I don’t suppose you have any

long abandoned artifacts floating around you might want to be rid of.

You know, the odd trunk, vase—mirror,” Marshal pronounces vase,

voz and I crimp a smile at the old school drama of it al .

“I’l pilfer through the estate. I’m sure I can purge a col ectable or two.”

I place my fingers over Marshal ’s knee until he brings his hand over

mine.

It’s that haunted mirror you’re talking about, isn’t it? I ask.

Nothing irritates him more—with the exception of losing your mother

of course.

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I take in a sharp breath at the revelation. If Demetri is anything like

Chloe, he might just fil Tad’s stomach with a blade on his wedding day

and save a dol ar’s worth of that marzipan cake.

“Are you OK?” Mom mouths over to me.

“Oh, I was just thinking the food might get cold,” I whisper.

By the way, I squeeze his hand under the table. I need about eighteen

grand for the bowling alley—better make it an even twenty.

Looks like the bargain and barter begins tonight. I’m sure there are

far more interesting things you’re willing to part with. We’ll speak.

Tad rises and doles himself out a liberal helping, first, per his usual

custom.

I’m shocked to see Chloe indulging herself with the biggest liver of the

bunch and a big heap of shrubbery on the side. It looks downright of-

fensive. The golf greens alone are enough to make me retch. Al I can

think of is the times I’ve seen Sprinkles vomit up the grass out front

after realizing what the heck he just ingested.

“You know, Lizbeth,” Tad grinds the food in his mouth, “I’m going to

go out on a limb here—I don’t think we should be serving lawn clip-

pings as a side dish.”

I hate when I agree with Tad.

“Is it that bad?” Mom has mia culpa written al over her face.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Briel e douses it with ranch dressing and wolfs it

down before her taste buds can properly discern the offense.

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“This is grass?” Drake bounces in his seat.

“I’d rather smoke it.” Ethan pushes back his plate.

“A newborn’s liver always tastes fantastic,” Chloe gleams her mischiev-

ous smile as she takes another bite. It’s ful of toxins, pesticides, pois-

ons and yet, somehow, Chloe is enamored with its coagulated

goodness.

“God!” Darla takes her plate and Briel e’s, and dumps them back into

the serving platter. “I don’t know what the hel you eat in L.A., but here

on the island we tend to stray from cannibalistic tendencies. Ya’l get

your stuff,” she instructs half of the table. “I’ve got bacon next door.”

She rises with Briel e, Drake, and Ethan in tow.

“Oh, no! I promise it’s not human,” Mom bats her hands in the air in

an effort to wrangle them back into their seats. “It’s newborn calf.”

“Oh, Hon, we don’t do baby legs neither,” Darla knocks back the rest

of her wine before moving along. “But to each his own, right? What

doesn’t kil you, makes you stronger, hey?”

“Right,” Mom bites down on her lip as her face crumbles.

Chloe finishes up the last few bites. “Delicious,” she says, leaning into

Mom and Tad.

Figures. This meal was equipped with two of Chloe’s favorite things,

blood and poison.

“We’l get together soon to discuss details for that baby shower,” Darla

points over at Mom. “The little midget’s gonna have the best of

everything.” She waves before taking off with half the party.

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I’d join them, but I’d be remiss if Marshal and Demetri were to

provide a celestial showdown using Tad as a weapon, and I wasn’t

around to cheer.

“I have to make this up to everyone,” Mom shakes her head. “I’m invit-

ing al of you to the Althorpe company dinner next week. It’s formal,

but I promise, the culinary expertise of the chefs wil make it wel worth

the trouble.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Demetri zeros in on her like some

psychotic serial kil er. Clearly he is coveting his neighbor’s wife. Isn’t

there some cosmic code that cal s for a stoning during such offenses?

The thought of Demetri being taken out by a comet inspires a mild

sense of jubilation in me.

Tad leans in and examines him, waves his hand over Demetri’s face in

an effort to break the spel .

“Thank you for the invitation, Lizbeth,” Marshal intercedes. “I’d be

more than honored to be in the company of such wonderful people as

yourselves.”

“You never know,” Mom tilts a smile at him, “your Mrs. Right might be

lurking in the crowd that night.” Marshal gives a polite nod at the

thought as he caresses my hand beneath the table. I’m banking on it.

Chapter 41

Missing you

Long after midnight, the tiny prattle of raindrops sizzle along my win-

dow as I lie in bed tossing and turning. I pour over every memory that

Gage and I ever shared like some sort of morbid eulogy to our relation-

ship, always fal ing into the glaring hole of my deception. It’s destitute

to think there may never be another moment to add to the col ection.

That I had unwittingly already experienced the very last kiss he would

ever give me.

I send him a quick text.

I miss you ~S

I wait an hour for a response but nothing.

There’s a rattle in my closet, and I spike up in bed. It’s him!

I run my fingers through my hair and sit up in anticipation as a dark

shadow emerges tal and gangly, smel ing profusely of something

banned by the government. Its just El is.

“I gotta do a quick run, wanna come?” He sits at the edge of my bed

and bounces three times straight to pronounce his urgency.

“Yeah. Like you don’t need me,” I say, taking off my covers and step-

ping into my shoes, albeit from two different pairs. I’d change, but I’ve

found that PJs are perfectly acceptable attire for lurking in the bushes.

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“What’s the code?” Ever since a demonic Fem took over my likeness, I

thought we should have a password to affirm my identity.

“I’m supposed to ask you,” he says.

“Oh, right. How about we say it together, and that way I know it’s

you?”

He holds out his fingers and counts to three.

“Love honeys,” we say in unison. Our voices meld in rhythm. It sounds

pretty, like an old-fashioned song.

I take El is up by the hand and away we go.

***

It’s cool out this night—homecoming of years past. A thicket of fog lies

over the island, sealing us in its comfortable haze. Headlights trail

down the road, lighting up the world for a moment with their quiet il

umination before the void fil s in with shadows again.

“I’l be quick,” El is darts up the driveway high fiving a crowd of guys in

the stoner circle out front.

I must have landed us later than usual. I’m probably in the forest right

now hunting Chloe down with the spirit sword. A repressed smile

emerges at the thought. Chloe and her masterful destruction of my re-

lationship—she has no idea what I have planned for her—neither do I,

but those discretionary details don’t seem relevant at the moment.

A husky voice cal s out goodnight as it fast approaches.

It’s Gage!

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I take in his sturdy frame, recognize that signature hop to his step that

suggests he had a good time. God—I would give anything to love him

again.

“Excuse me!” I cal out, dashing out of the bushes in my pajamas and

mismatched shoes. OK, so, if I would have thought this through I

could be looking real y hot right now and not like some psychotic

pajama-wearing lunatic who’s playing fast and loose with time in an

effort to stalk my boyfriend. At least it’s not the pink PJs with images

of kittens in teacups wal papered al over. I look down and, to my sur-

prise, I’m mocked by both kittens and teacups alike. Perfect.

“I was just thinking about you.” There is not one note of anger, or sar-

casm in his tone as his gaze settles. Those hungry eyes burn for me,

and it takes everything in me not to bow in his presence. I’ve already

impressed myself on him in the past. “You wanna hang out?” He ends

the question with a rise of curiosity as he inspects my strange attire.

“I spilt something, and this was al I had,” I fan out my arms. “Yes, I

would very much love to hang out.” I stop just shy of attacking him

with a massive hug—accosting him with my lips.

“You want to drive down to Devil’s Peak?”

“No,” I practical y shout it at him. No driving. “I’m not in the mood for

a drive.” I shrug.

“OK. How about a movie? No one’s awake at my house,” he leans in

and his dimples explode with glory.

“That sounds perfect.”

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I privately laude El is’ genius al the way over to the Oliver’s living

room as Gage places in a DVD. I hold my breath as the movie gets

started in the event Chloe’s revenge spans time and space.

The movie cues up, the opening scene is peppered with a slow trickling

list of credits, and I exhale my anxiety. Gage sinks into the couch be-

side me and lays his arm just over my shoulders. I scoot in close to his

thigh, nuzzle against his neck and take in his sweet familiar scent.

“Is everything OK?” His mild sense of worry proliferates into an al out

look of concern.

Tears start to build, and I fight them off with a series of hard blinks.

I reach up and trace his lips with my finger. He bites down playful y

before pul ing it back up to his lips and kissing it softly.

It would be so easy for me to take advantage of him like this, knowing

ful wel he’d throw me out the door if he knew who I was, what future

Skyla had done to him. I lay my hand over his chest and take in his

features, broad and solid, every bit a god—if not more so—than Logan.

I let him come to me with his lips, cover me with the hot of his mouth

and indulge in a kiss that ignores the constraints of age and time—it

spel s out love and forever much better than any careless sentiment

that I could ever utter.

We spend the next hour in a playful tug of war with our tongues, his

hands hot on my waist, my thighs. I miss the pleasure of being with

Gage, even now while I’m with him lost in his kisses I openly yearn for

him. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this way, love this deep and

yet, ache with fathomless hurt at the same time.

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“Would you forgive me if I made a mistake?” I whisper it soft into his

ear as the movie drones on.

“Of course I would.” He reaches down and sweeps his thumb over my

cheek, wiping away tears I didn’t know existed. A part of me wants to

fil him in on who I real y am or who I wil be in his life one day—the

mistakes that wil put out the fire of our relationship and leave us chok-

ing on the smoke. “I doubt you could hurt a fly, but I’d forgive you of

anything.” His eyes spark with renewed lust for me.

I lean into his chest, close my eyes—rise and fal with his steady

breathing.

I’ve hurt you, Gage—and you haven’t forgiven me.

Chapter 42

The Deal

The dark clouds overhead, glide steady like the shadow of a very long

train, rol ing over Paragon.

I let myself into Demetri’s oversized McMansion and stumble into the

entry with nothing but the hol ow sound of my footsteps to greet me.

“Hel o, beautiful,” strums a soothing male voice.

I turn in fright to find an aura of blue, fil ing up the room with its

shimmering majesty.

“Logan,” I reprimand. “You gave me a freaking heart attack.”

He morphs into his fleshly version and offers an apologetic smile.

“I need a hug.” I wrap my arms around him. He feels real in every way,

solid and alive.

“They’ve moved me from the Soulennium.”

I pul back, trying to decode what this might mean.

“I’m a semi-permanent resident of the Transfer until I get my body

back— if I get my body back.”

“You wil ,” I assure, picking up Demetri’s twisted list of demands,

glossing over it before tossing it back from whence it came. “In fact,

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I’m going to tel Gage about you.” It’s part of the big plan I concocted to

manipulate Gage into committing vocal discourse with me. I’l simply

blurt out Logan is dead, and I’l have his ful attention. But, then again,

Holden has him masterful y pissed. Gage might actual y cheer if I told

him Logan was in a cadaverous state.

“You probably shouldn’t tel Gage until he’s finished his round of anti-

biotics. My uncle said he was very close to another internment at his

least favorite spa. Let him get better.” He presses out a weak smile.

“Can I take you somewhere later? Fal s maybe?” There’s an air of des-

peration in his voice—a hint of mourning for al we could have been.

“Sure. I heard Ethan and Chloe mention something about a party at

my house tonight,” I shrug. “It’s the last place I want to be.” Logan

blinks out of the room.

“Logan?” I step around the corner in the event he fel through the wal ,

or he’s spontaneously decided to engage in a game of hide and seek.

“I’ve banished him from my presence,” Marshal strides by as though it

were the norm for people to pop in and out of existence—and in De-

metri’s house of horrors, it just might be. “I’l be making an anonymous

deposit to the trol ing al ey nonprofit fund this Monday.”

“Trolling,” I parrot. Funny, and yet, so true. “Thanks! What do I owe

you? And I no longer pay in flesh.”

“I’l consider your time equal y as delicious. I’m holding a celestial boot

camp exclusively for you. We must prepare for battle, Love. Bring your

game as you would say. You’l need it.”

I fol ow him down the long expansive marble floors right into the cav-

ernous kitchen. Marshal pul s open the stainless fridge and bends into

the massive steel unit inspecting the offerings.

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“There’s someone who wants a word with you,” he muffles.

“My mother?” I spring up at the thought.

“No, Love.” He closes the refrigerator door and exposes a very toxical y

fueled Ezrina. “I’l leave you two to discuss the finer points of your

agreement, carry on.” And with that, he disappears.

“Trial,” Ezrina’s voice echoes. It vibrates through the miles of stainless

appliances that line the kitchen, trembles beneath my feet, electrocut-

ing my bones.

“Yes, I’m working on that,” I round out the large island in the center of

the room, slow and steady, as not to let on that I’m about to bolt.

From behind her back she produces a long handled knife the size of a

smal sword.

“Body,” her voice quivers as she speeds in my direction.

“No!” I hold up my hands in defense, ful y expecting her to slice off al

ten fingers in one clean sweep. In an aerobic worthy feat I manage to

jump to the back of the kitchen, caging myself in like a lumbering

beast.

Shit. I’m so freaking stupid.

“I swear, I’l be talking to my mother real soon,” I plead. “That job has

her horribly bogged down.” Real y? That’s the best I could come up

with? And is reminding Ezrina what my mother does for a living real y

the best idea? After al , it was my mother who cursed her to a life of

servitude.

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“But, I promise, I’l be speaking to her about your situation as soon as

possible.” A silver blade rotates through the air, enlarges in diameter

as it speeds in my direction. A hard thud bul ets through my left

shoulder. I stare down in disbelief at the protruding handle as a bloom

of heat radiates from my newfound wound.

I let out a whimper while staring at the metal tongue protruding from

my flesh.

“I swear?” Marshal manifests before me, extracting the knife with a

lack of delicacy. “I promise?” He balks, rinsing the blade before letting

it drop to the bottom of the sink. “Have you learned nothing about

dealing with spiritual beings? You don’t offer up a binding agreement

on a whim, Skyla.”

I inspect the vicinity behind him and note that Ezrina is gone.

“So now you tel me.” I press a white dishtowel against the crimson

geyser spouting from my body.

Marshal removes the towel and rubs his hand hard over the puncture.

It feels horrifical y painful and gratifying al at the same time.

“I’ve sealed you. I’l leave the pain as a reminder.”

There’s a rattle in the entry, female voices murmur and laugh.

“Your nemesis has arrived. Do refrain from lobbing cutlery at one an-

other. I’m afraid I’ve other affairs to tend to—healing the masses is low

on my priority list for the day.” He dissolves in a thunderclap.

I’d rather play catch with Ezrina with a quiver ful of knives than hang

out with Chloe any day. Too bad I don’t have a choice.

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***

Before I can hit the entry, the voices escalate into something just this

side of a brawl.

Emily and Chloe both glance in my direction before continuing their

tirade.

“I didn’t steal anybody, tel her Skyla,” Chloe demands while perusing

Demetri’s wish list for the day. “I don’t steal people.”

“No, she kil s them.” I’m more than happy to agree with Chloe when

factual information is concerned. More so, I’m finding this whole tel

the truth thing rather addictive. I’m sure Tad wil label it a disorder like

everything else, especial y after I tag every sentence I utter to him

with, you moron. There are some truths I’d love to espouse.

“And what about Briel e?” Chloe scoffs at Emily. “You tried digging

your claws into the father of her child. That makes you a monster in

my book.” Her dark hair pops in contrast to her pink sweater. Chloe in

pink is like dipping a cockroach in chocolate and trying to pass it off as

wholesome. There’s something innately wrong about the combination

in general.

“Oh real y?” Emily crosses her arms, unable to capture Chloe’s ful

attention.

Emily has a butch way about her. It scares me enough to know to stay

the hel away. But Chloe never shows fear, she owns it, makes it sing to

her like a lul aby.

“Let’s see,” Emily continues, “Just around Christmas everyone thought

Skyla here was having Gage’s baby and that didn’t stop you from be-

coming a level five cling on. Everyone knew he was into her. You must

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have had some major dirt on him to make him stand by your side like

your new gung ho boyfriend. Only he wasn’t so gung ho, he was sulk-

ing. Did you pay him to hang out with you? That is your specialty,

right? Buying people?”

“It was Dudley’s baby,” Chloe’s voice booms across the marble ex-

panse, reverberates off the stone like the clatter of a rattlesnake. Chloe

owns up to nothing else but the supposed error in Emily’s

condemnation.

Marshal appears in the adjoining room, relaxing in an armchair. I’m

sure he’s lapping this up with his feet on Demetri’s antique furniture

while visions of our lovechild dance in his head.

“Skyla was involved with Dudley, stil is,” Chloe insists. “You saw the

evidence. Don’t make me sick trying to throw Gage in my face. He has

feelings for me.” Her lips tighten as she scans the to-do list one more

time. “He told me so last night.” My stomach sours.

Shit. Chloe is final y reaping the benefits of the hel ion ways she’s been

cultivating since conception. Gage is vulnerable right now, not that I

believe a single word Chloe says since every other sentence she utters

takes a leap in logic. I’m pretty sure the one solid feeling Gage has for

Chloe is comprised of revulsion and loathing.

“The only way people have feelings for you, is if you manipulate them

into having them,” Emily spits the words out laced with venom.

It’s like she read my mind.

“Skyla,” Chloe takes in a deep cleansing breath further ignoring

Emily’s rant, “there’s an office upstairs, first door on the right. Mr.

Edinger needs an itemization of everything in his grandfather’s desk.

Emily you can assist her because, quite frankly, you make me want to

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vomit.” She leans in. Her eyes glow like coals as she comes in for the

kil . “And Ethan wholeheartedly agrees. He said he’d rather chew his

arm off than touch you. Also,” Chloe perks up, “he says you have the

face of a possum.” With that she traipses upstairs.

Emily speeds up after her. I’m assuming she’s headed up to do the task

at hand—

not slaughter Chloe like she real y wants. Although, we are alone, and

God knows I’d never rat Emily out if she happened to accidental y, on

purpose, disembowel Chloe with a paperclip. However, with my luck,

she’d pin al the blame on me, and with my long destructive history

where Chloe is concerned, people would believe her.

Marshal is nowhere to be seen as I head up after Emily. First door to

the right manages to produce an archaic looking office complete with

marble statues of sleeping angels perched high above the bookshelves.

The room itself is dark and cloying, devoid of any natural light. The

desk is smooth cherry with a heavy gloss, nothing but a smal globe,

pieced together from gemstones, sitting on top. My fingers meander

over to it, and my wrist drops from the heft.

An oversized office chair, a tufted hunter’s green, beckons me. I take a

seat and glide over the hardwood floor on its casters. I rol the fat globe

back onto the desk, pul open the long drawer in front of me and in-

spect my findings—a blank note pad, about a dozen loose pens.

Cataloging, pencils, paperclips, two boxes of staples, is not the way I

planned on spending my Saturday.

I used to think doing community service with Demetri would be sheer

torture, that I would rather chop my feet off and walk on my hands the

rest of my life but this certainly beats roadside assistance with a shovel

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and a trashcan. There’s no orange jumpsuit involved, so already it’s

made of win.

I pul out my cel to see if there’s a message from Gage, but nothing.

It’s so deathly quiet here. I wonder what Emily is up to? Didn’t the

Gestapo specifical y order her to shoulder up with me in office supply

labor detention?

God, what if she real y is trying to kil Chloe? I bolt up and take off

down the hal . The same blue glow captures me, and I head over to the

overgrown library to see if the secret passage is stil opened—see if the

Fem Hal of Fame has any West Paragon High cheerleaders doubling

as visitors or decapitated wal mounts.

A cold breeze accosts me in the library, feels like ten thousand disem-

bodied spirits al ral ied to greet my presence. I speed past the stacks of

ancient texts, the air sweetened with decaying parchment. The cracked

and aging hardbacks hunger for my touch. They entice me with their

gilt lettering, hold the promise of transferring their knowledge in ex-

change for rubbing their spines. These books crave love, attention, hu-

man hands to cradle them. This is what Demetri should donate to the

garbage sale, the whole damn library.

A crack of light emerges at the end of the long line of mahogany book-

shelves. The opening in the wal has reappeared.

Chloe is in there, mil ing around.

Figures.

She hovers over the haunted pictures and looks as if she’s taking her

aggression out on one.

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What in the hel is she doing?

She’s shaking it like a snow globe and laughing at the effort.

Chloe glides over to the mirror, sticks her hand in just like I did. My

heart picks up pace, drumming on the inside until my ears hone in on

the rhythm. It takes everything in me not to run over and push her in.

I imagine her head mounted on the wal of horrors as Demetri’s latest

conquest and an unnatural rise of pleasure purrs within me.

Chloe doesn’t move, doesn’t flail for help—simply relaxes as her arm

swims inside the unknown realm as if she belonged there.

Emily appears.

Shit!

I lean over and see a giant arched entry that leads in from the hal . I’m

hardly impressed that the entire house can change its shape at wil . It’s

about as dead as Demetri’s so-cal ed grandfather. Come to think of it

both the house and the grandfather are probably Fems.

Emily moves in slow and stealth behind an unsuspecting Chloe, the

clear look of fright contorting on her face. Her pale as plaster skin lies

in stark contrast to the dark wiry curls she wears like a bad Hal oween

wig. Emily continues her noiseless effort and comes upon her the way

you would approach wild game that has the ability to bolt before cap-

ture. Emily holds her hands out, gives Chloe one swift push in the back

and sends her flying into the shimmering glass.

Emily ditches out of the room quick as an apparition. I bolt back

through the library and try to catch up to her in the hal .

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“You see Chloe anywhere?” I ask, not sure whether to reprimand or

applaud her.

“She wasn’t feeling good.” A dark look of satisfaction comes over her.

“I think I’m going to take off. I’l catch you later.” Emily speeds down

the stairs. A moment later the slam of the front door echoes like a

gunshot.

I run back down the hal to the room of terrors, hesitate before walking

through the newly formed entry. The grotesque faces mounted to the

wal s press over my shoulders with the weight of their stares—oppress

me with enough fear to send me into paralysis.

“Chloe?” I say loud enough to fil the ethereal plane. I walk over to the

oval crafted wonder and look inside. The aura of a rainbow surrounds

my reflection. My hair sparkles iridescent blue. “Chloe?” I lean in with

my face, feel a slight electrical impulse as my nose penetrates the bar-

rier. I push in just enough to take a look inside. It’s a room identical to

this one, everything set in reverse order.

I pul my head out and take a giant breath.

No sign of Chloe.

And, I, for one, hope it stays that way.

Chapter 43

I Ain’t Missing You at Al

When I arrive home, a loose number of Ethan’s party guests have

already meandered onto the property. I choose to ignore the rising

body count and head inside. The Landon residence feels like a shanty

after spending hours at Demetri’s palatial estate.

I stil can’t believe I hung out at the haunted mansion alone after Em

pushed Chloe into the other side of the looking glass. I was total y

hopped up on life once Chloe was no longer an active participant, in

this realm anyway, and ended up cataloging every freaking thing in

that gargantuan antique desk. Nothing but boring everyday crap you

would find at the bottom of your backpack, or the junk drawer in any

household.

Eventual y, I made my way over to an elongated sofa and fel asleep a

good five hours. No matter what the circumstance, no matter how

many homicide attempts Chloe suffers through, I want to log as many

hours as possible at Demetri’s den of horrors to rid my debt to society.

Today is turning out to be a trifecta of perfection, what with no sign of

Demetri, Chloe evaporating into another realm, and soon I’l get to

spend a little time with my dead ex-boyfriend, which wil real y clear

my head. Now, if I could only get Gage into the equation, somehow,

life would be just freaking grand.

“Hey,” Ethan cal s as I’m about to climb the stairs. “Where’s Chloe?”

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“No clue,” I shrug. Total y not a lie. “And when is this revenge of yours

supposed to kick in?” Not that it’s important now. But it’l look good

that I asked in the event Chloe decides to show up never.

“I’m riding this wave as it comes. Don’t worry, it’l get done,” he

assures.

That’s what I was afraid of. The non-plan, the idiotic Landon strategy,

the, I’m going to trick Chloe into my pants scheme. Ethan is incapable

of taking down a viper like Chloe. Even death can’t keep her down. I’m

betting she ditches the mirror before midnight. In fact, I bet she’s

already crawled back out and brought a pack of magical Fems right

along with her.

Female voices escalate from my bedroom. The door sits ajar, and I can

hear the distinct sound of cackling. Sounds like Mia and Melissa made

up.

I swing open the door. Only it’s not Mia and Melissa. Instead, I’m

stunned to find Carson Armistead sitting in my chair with her leg

slung casual y over the side. Carly Foster is lounging on my bed, ex-

truding a huge bubble from her lips while her bare feet push into my

pil ow.

“Excuse me?” I penetrate the air with my insolence. “Get the hel out.”

There’s no point in being nice to these girls. Nice is lost on just about

everyone on Paragon.

“Calm down,” Carly squeaks. I think at some point in her life Carly had

her vocal cords permanently scarred with helium. There is no good

reason any human being should be able to mimic a rodent so perfectly.

Then again around these parts, one doesn’t necessarily need to be

human.

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“We’re just reliving our childhood.” She shags out her straw-colored

hair.

“We practical y grew up in this room,” Carson swivels in my chair,

staring lazily at the wal s. “Chloe had a slumber party like every single

week.”

God—I wonder if they know about the butterfly room?

“That’s nice. Get out.” I run my fingers through my hair before picking

up the detangler and misting myself down. It ignites the room with the

fresh scent of apples, eliciting a strong memory of when I first entered

the haunted hotel in the Transfer with Marshal .

A gasp gets locked in my throat—Logan is there. I try to shake the

thought away. He’l be here soon, and that’s al that matters.

“Remember that time we snuck out and firebombed Briel e’s house

with a bag of flaming crap?” Carson laughs like she’s already ripped.

Wow, real mature. No wonder Briel e can’t stand Chloe—she treated

her like crap, literal y.

“Or that one time we snuck down the hal and made out with Brody?”

Carly snorts. “Oh, wait, that was just me!” She hacks out a laugh in

pieces until nothing but air cuts from her lungs.

The slight hint of El is’ own private reserve hits my nostrils.

“Wait a minute,” I head over to the open window. I hadn’t even notice

it was cold in here because Ethan has the front door wide open and the

entire house is frigid as a meat locker. “Were you getting high in my

room?” Crap. They’re freaking stoned.

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Now that I think of it, everything smel s like El is in here.

“Out,” I yel .

They rise in unison, stretch their limbs lethargic as kittens.

“You stil seeing that teacher?” Carson tilts into me as if this were a

genuine concern.

I’d say no, but the thought of Carson and Carly double-teaming Mar-

shal sends a rise of vomit to the back of my throat.

“None of your business.” I don’t get it. I should be pushing them at

Marshal , he might even gift them with demonic necklaces before the

clock strikes twelve, and that would crown this as an unordinarily per-

fect day. But I can’t help feel a twinge of jealousy when I consider him

plying them with his special brand of obsessive attention. Unfortu-

nately, his quirky evil ways have grown on me.

“That means yes,” Carson bites down on her lip. “I saw the DVD. Skyla

Does Paragon.” She grazes over me with delight. “You know what I

don’t get? Why would you leave Logan Oliver in the first place? He

dropped everything for you, and then you go after Gage. I mean Gage

is hot, but you had Logan,” she says his name as if he were worth his

weight in gold.

“And now Michel e’s leached herself onto him,” Carly opens her mouth

with gaping concern as if they have a genuine dilemma on their hands.

“She’s with him,” I interject. “They’re total y an official couple.” I hope

Chloe was right about Michel e’s babysitting status. As much as I hate

the thought of Michel e actual y loving on Logan’s perfect body, I’d

send Holden into the transport once again a little sooner than anticip-

ated if he hooked up with Carson or Carly—God forbid both.

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They leave in a huddle to go over a ‘solid game plan’.

I need to get Logan back in his body and fast.

***

I set out to check in on Mia and Melissa, as I’m clearly the only re-

sponsible adult in the vicinity, but they’re both suspiciously absent

from their bedroom. I trot downstairs to canvas the area. A sea of bod-

ies has fil ed in the nooks and crannies with arms and legs intertwined.

This is quickly becoming a house of il repute, which doesn’t surprise

me since most of El is’ parties end up with half the downstairs rooms

occupied for any number of carnal misdeeds. The lights are al out, as

deemed mandatory per Paragon’s unofficial party guide.

I wander into the darkened kitchen and find Ethan and Holden

hanging out with a bunch of guys playing a drinking game with the re-

quisite red Solos’. I go over and snatch the cup out of faux Logan’s

hand.

“There’s plenty more where that came from. Get your own, Sis.”

Holden’s eyes widen for a second as he catches himself in the gaff.

“Where’s Michel e?” No sign of Mil er. I don’t like this one bit.

“She went out with Lexy—said she’d be right back.”

“Oh good,” I breathe a sigh of relief.

“They’re getting your least favorite person,” he gives a greasy smile.

“How did you not kil her?” Coming from Holden it’s practical y a com-

pliment. And, oh crap, now they’l never be back.

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“You should text Michel e and tel her Chloe’s a big girl,” I suggest. “She

can take care of herself. Besides, she seems pretty into you, and there

are a lot of guys out on the prowl tonight. I’d keep her close if you

know what I mean.” I shrug when al I real y want to do is shudder.

“I’ve always had a thing for Michel e.” Holden is spel bound at the

mention of her name.

“Beautiful girl.” I hate having this conversation with Holden while he

hides behind Logan’s face. It kil s me on a primal level.

“You think there’s a chance for us again? You know, me and you?” The

question is laced with honesty and for a moment it real y does feel like

Logan.

“Um,” I’m pretty sure stringing Holden along is a bad idea. “I think we

had what we had,” I lose myself in his fiery eyes and a twinge of sad-

ness quivers through me. “Look, I gotta go. Do me a favor—stick with

Michel e. You’l lose her forever if you cheat on her.” I know.

That’s exactly how I lost Gage.

Chapter 44

Hot Water

I search high and low for Mia and Melissa and can’t find them any-

where. I’m on the verge of an al out panic, thinking al kinds of horrible

things. They could have been kidnapped, dragged into the forest by a

pack of wild wolves—Marshal style, or God forbid, Ezrina hacked them

to pieces in an effort to drive home the fact she’s pretty damn serious

about getting a new trial. Or maybe Mia did something stupid like ex-

pose the butterfly room to Melissa—and al of West Paragon Junior

high is busy indulging in some serious hormonal debauchery up there.

I head out to the front yard where hoards of people are amassed in

smal groups. I don’t have the time, or initiative, to properly eavesdrop

on a single conversation, which is fast becoming one of my favorite

pastimes at one of these events. Without Gage I have no life, the

closest thing I get is listening to others brag about theirs’.

A seam of light escapes from under the garage door. I head around to

the side and let myself in. About a dozen different faces turn in my dir-

ection at once. Mia, Melissa, and the who’s who of Paragon minor sit

in a circular arrangement, most of them in old lawn chairs we dragged

out from L.A. where it actual y made sense to own furniture specifical

y designed to occupy the yard. Here it works as a body buffet for the

garage and, come to think of it, this al looks rather cultish, what with

them al in black and hovering in a circle.

“I’m going out,” I announce stupidly.

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“See you later,” Mia says, giving a quick wink. There’s a boy holding

her hand, holding it. Badly I want to go Ezrina on him and detach his

appendage at the wrist—teach him a lesson for touching my baby sis-

ter, but don’t. Real y I should squash this relationship with the

Armistead kid before either one of my sisters gets too fixated. The last

people on the planet I want to be even quasi related to are the

Armisteads.

I head back out and smack into El is.

“Love honey,” he says it seductively with a wet smile on his lips, and

for a minute I think I’m going to have to duck his unwanted advances.

“Are you high?” Should I be asking? I real y don’t see the point

anymore.

“The only high I participate in is at W.P.” His demeanor sharpens.

“No, I’m not high.”

“Oh,” I laugh. “West Paragon. I get it.”

“Been clean two weeks.” He pushes his cheeks high into a grin.

“El is!” I bounce on my feet and pul him in. His sweater is stil laced

with the indelicate scent. I think it’s time he started bathing in cologne

like the rest of the male population. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah, wel , I do what I can.” He sweeps his eyes over me. “So, you and

Gage real y aren’t together anymore?”

“It would appear.” I can’t stand the thought of Gage so thoroughly

pissed at me, enveloped in hatred, hot as a fire. Then again, Gage is

too generous to hate anyone. I’ve disappointed him, and that’s the

worse feeling of al . “Have you talked to him?”

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“Nope.” He catches my gaze and holds it. El is has soft eyes, a deep

dimple on the right cheek. And, although I’d never admit it out loud,

there’s something about El is that has the power to make me melt.

“So you wanna hang out some time?” He lights up with hope. “You

know, just you and me?” This is going to get awkward quick.

“Yes, I total y want to hang out with you some time. Maybe next week-

end we can catch a bite to eat?” Like at the Althorpe dinner. I just

don’t want to come out and say it quite yet. The plan is to grovel to

Gage, first.

“Alright,” El is bobs into a smile.

Besides, catching a bite with El is is the epitome of innocence. If I’ve

got one platonic male relationship, it’s right here.

El is offers up a knuckle bump as he makes his way over to a girl sport-

ing a spray tan gone awry, and I head upstairs to the butterfly room.

Time to fly to the fal s with Logan.

***

The wal s of the tiny secret room ignite and shimmer as thousands of

paper butterflies come to life. Logan appears in his blue translucent

state before fil ing in with muscle and sinew, ful y formed flesh dressed

in a plain t-shirt and jeans.

“Nice show,” I pick up his hand and press it against my cheek. “You’re

a punctual little spook.”

“You’re a funny girl, Skyla.” he looks mildly amused at the barb. “One

day things won’t be looking so great for you, and I’l be the one with the

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sense of humor.” He pul s my hand over and brushes his lips over my

knuckles, sweeps a fire line right up my arm. “Forgive me, but I’ve

been thirsty for you ever since I woke up this morning.”

The thought of Logan thirsting for me, wanting to be near me, presses

over me with a heavy ache.

“So, are we off to the fal s?”

“You have a bathing suit?” He nods with a mild level of concern. Logan

wants to fol ow al the rules with me now. No more swimming in our

underwear lest we be splayed across al six screens at the Cineplex.

Logan takes up both my hands and closes his eyes. I take him in this

way, he looks lonely, vulnerable, and strangely as if he’s praying for

me

—to me.

A grey film fil s the air. It’s bitter cold outside. It takes several blinks

for me to realize we’ve morphed over to the fal s.

“Did we just light drive? Cause if not, I’m amazed at the mad skil z

you’ve acquired postmortem.”

“Not a stitch in time was removed,” his bare chest comes into view.

Logan stands before me in a pair of grey swim trunks.

“It’s freezing here.” My teeth chatter like castanets.

“I promise, you won’t be cold.” Logan reaches down into a smal pool of

water that sits in an alcove, tucked away at the quiet end of the lake.

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His hand floats over the surface, ignites a sizzle in the smal circumfer-

ence. The water glows an electric sky-blue before defusing to a deeper

shade of sapphire, the exact color of the night sky back in L.A. “Warm

as a bath,” he announces, offering me his hand.

I pul off my sweater and jeans, exposing the most modest one-piece

that my closet had to offer. I dip my foot in the water before commit-

ting to hypothermia, but it’s warm, super warm.

“I’m without words,” I say, getting into the water with him. I sink

down to my chin and scoot into him on a rock that acts as a bench. “I

kind of like Logan the magician.”

“I’m worse than a magician. I’m an il usion, Skyla,” he whispers it in

secret, so the moon, the stars that hide like cowards behind a slippery

veil of God’s own breath won’t hear. “This is temporal. If nothing hap-

pens soon, I’l be taken to paradise.”

“Wil I see you again?” I hold my breath, afraid that I might already

know the answer.

“There is a chasm. You cannot come to me, and I can’t go to you.” A

desperate sorrow blooms in his voice, and it devastates me to hear it.

“What about Gisel e? She obviously knows her way around a chasm or

two. She pops up al the time.”

“Your mother is using her, assigning her missions. She has a free pass

for now.” The thought of my mother using someone makes her out to

be no different than the Sectors and Fems. If I wasn’t slightly pissed at

the entire lot of them, I’d be in awe of their utilitarian efforts.

“You have any luck getting her attention?” I ask hopeful.

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“Nothing.” He ful y submerges himself before springing up and with

his hair slicked back. It reflects a wash of moonlight over his head like

a halo. Logan is luminescent, dead or alive his excel ence thrives. I

reach over and touch his baby fine hair, his cheek, his lips. It al feels so

real. He couldn’t possibly be an il usion.

“I never want you to go away,” I whisper. It comes out broken, my

voice so ready for tears. “I need you forever.” My stomach explodes

with heat when I insert my buzzword reserved for Gage into the equa-

tion. But it’s true—no matter how much I don’t want it to be, I need

Logan as much as I need Gage.

He cups his hands over my face so soft, so careful and places his lips to

my forehead. He pul s back and bears into me with a powerhouse gaze,

drops his warm hands to my shoulders. A seductive smile plays on his

lips.

“I don’t plan on going away,” his breath sweeps across my arm, ignites

a series of goose bumps from the pleasure of his being.

“We are never going to work.” The words bleed out of me hard and un-

wanted. “It’s not fair that you made me love you.” The first tear fal s. I

tilt my head, and the salty stream trickles into the line of my lips.

“The faction war,” he whispers it with a hopeless fatigue. “Things hap-

pen,” he sighs. “One thing I can tel you for sure—you have a destiny.

You can make it easy on yourself and al ow the Master to lead you, or

struggle, rebel, land somewhere in the vicinity but never, by a long

shot, experience the treasure and the glory he has in store for you.”

“And the Decision Council, they play into this?”

He gives a gentle nod.

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“My mother is shaping my future.” I huff at the thought. “Then why

won’t she see me?”

“Not to offend you—or her, but, rumor has it she’s...” he briefly glances

upwards. “for lack of a better word, a thorny rose.”

“Could have fooled me.” Figures. I land this ultra amazing unearthly

mother, and she turns out to be a celestial spitfire. “I need her mercy,

Logan.” I don’t dare tel him why.

“Skyla?” His eyes ignite with worry as he holds up our conjoined

hands. “Tel me everything—tel me now.” There’s a slight mark of irrit-

ation in Logan’s tone. It’s bad enough to have Gage and Nev pissed off

at me, I don’t plan on adding Logan’s name to the ever-expanding list,

so I do. I tel him everything.

He stares at me a real y long time. At first I think he’s trying to think

up a way to get me out of the body swap with Ezrina, since we can both

safely surmise that the Justice Al iance sure as hel fire isn’t going to

renege on their almighty covenant slash eternal punishment, but, in-

stead, he gazes deeper into me, touching the nexus of my existence

with his heartfelt sorrow. Logan leans in and bumps his forehead to

mine, his nose, his lips, closes his eyes as a thin seam of tears lines his

lids.

“You love me,” he whispers in a long strained hiss like steam from a

kettle.

“Of course, I love you,” I pul him in by the waist until our bare stom-

achs touch, sending a wave of pleasure swimming up my spine. “I’l al-

ways love you.”

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Our silent, elongated tears stream into the warm inky water. Our bod-

ies move in a macabre slow dance as a gentle whirlpool pushes us

along.

I love Logan with an undying passion—one I know that may never get

quenched even after the faction war.

There’s a time and place for us, Skyla. Not here, not now. He doesn’t

open his eyes or acknowledge the thought.

My heart comes alive like a jungle drum. Somehow, for some unknown

reason, my mother has threaded two very different hearts alongside

mine.

His eyes open and he sinks low into the water, takes me in under the

umbrel a of fog like I were the most exotic pearl. “Never give up on us,

Skyla,” it comes out a secretive warning. “Do what you have to do with

Gage, but please, don’t ever stop loving me.” Chapter 45

The Letter

Days slice by.

Long incisions gash into my existence created by the serrated knife of

Gage’s absence. It’s unconscionable that the sun could rise, that time

in its own selfish measurement could go on like this, move so brazenly

forward without Gage gracing me with his infectious smile, the lure of

his husky voice, his strong arms wrapped around me until I fal asleep.

Nothing matters anymore. Color, the light, it al turns into the same

shade of soot

—insignificant as a melted candle, finished with its task, unimportant

in every other way.

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I pul a sheet of blank paper from out of my printer and stare at it a

very long time. I’ve tried to get in touch with Gage using every modern

day modality possible. The only device left to consider is the most ar-

chaic form of communication—a letter.

I start off with Dear Gage then quickly reach for another sheet.

Gage—My Love, Hey, none of it fits. I rip through a dozen pieces of

paper before giving up on formalities and write from the heart.

Gage,

I’m broken.

Thoughts of you consume me. I miss how you used to hold me, love

me until I thought I would explode.

This rarity—this whiplash love of ours, I want it all back.

I’m going to be at the Althorpe formal dinner Saturday night, and I

wondered if maybe you would like to go with me?

I would die to see you there.

All my love,

forever,

Skyla

I seal it in an envelope and head downstairs.

“I’l be stepping out for a minute,” I say to Mom who’s busy bastardiz-

ing yet another recipe to fit her stringent nutritional needs. The entire

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family, col ectively, has lost a good twenty pounds, albeit from starva-

tion, but stil , it’s a win.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to tel you, Tad and I want to take you and

Gage out to celebrate the engagement. I would throw a party, but since

Ethan’s girlfriend ran away again, the mood around Paragon isn’t so

chipper.”

Chloe has been dubbed a runaway. Ironic because that was the lie she

concocted when I accidental y resurrected her with my own sheer stu-

pidity. Now that she’s busy running around in the Realm of Possibilit-

ies, trying to keep her head attached to her body, they’ve labeled her

the same.

“Technical y, it’s not real y an engagement ring.” I spin the band over

my finger, warm the flesh beneath it with Gage’s affections. “In fact,

we don’t have to celebrate anything right now,” I lower my gaze. “Or

ever,” I whisper.

“Is everything OK with the two of you?” She sweeps over like there’s

been a death in the family. In a way there has, and I’m one hundred

percent responsible for the massacre.

“We’re taking it slow.” More like we’ve come to an abrupt halt, but I

leave that part out.

“Slow is good,” her eyes wel up with tears for me, like she knows

there’s nothing good about this. “Are you going to see him now?”

“Just dropping something off. I promise I’l be quick.”

“Come here,” she wraps her arms around me, encompassing me with

her warm circle of love.

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“I’d like to talk to you again,” I say. “You know, in private.” I want to

get some straight answers out of her regarding the Count round table

meeting she attended just a few weeks ago and what the hel her inten-

tions are with my father’s kil er.

“You bet,” she pul s my chin up with her finger and kisses the tip of my

nose.

Something tel s me if Lizbeth Landon were on the Justice Al iance I

wouldn’t have a thing to worry about.

But she’s not.

***

The freedom of having my own car—just months ago I craved it. I

dreamed of bolting from a house ful of Landons’, fleeing from Tad’s

psychopathic rants, to hit the barren open road. Of course, on the is-

land there are only two directions that wil take you anywhere, and at

any given time they could only lead me closer, or further away from

Gage. I’l always head towards Gage if I can help it. I hope for the rest

of my life al roads wil lead to Gage.

It’s in these spasms of misery that I find it most difficult to breathe. I

can’t fathom how much he detests me. How much he must crave that

the Counts would do away with me and he could resume the life he

knew before I ever set foot on this island.

I make my way past the gates and park across the street at El is’, high

up on the driveway in the event Gage sees my car and decides to slash

my tires. Not that he would. Its doubtful Gage is capable of hurting

me, or anything that belongs to me, in any way.

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The air is bitter cold, no clouds today, just dul oatmeal skies with

ground fog that spins around my legs as I move through it.

I miss the days Gage would lay his affection over me like mist over

Paragon. Everything reminds me of Gage. I see his face in the sky, the

trees make up his likeness, he resides permanently behind my eyelids

like a recurring dream. A serious kick of adrenaline pumps through

me as I fast approach the Oliver’s door. Logan’s truck is gone and so

are both Barron and Emma’s sedans. I ring the bel , fol owed by a brisk

knock.

Charlie gives a few good barks alerting my presence to anyone who

might be inside. I wait fifteen solid minutes, but Gage doesn’t come.

I stare down at the envelope in my hand with his name scrawled

across the front in large flowery letters. It looks far too cheerful. One

look and he’l think that I don’t miss him. For a minute I contemplate

tearing it up, throwing the remains in the bushes, but I slip it beneath

the door and hope for the best. I lean my cheek against the wood, feel

the icy sting until it warms to my skin. There is no comfort for me, no

oil of joy in exchange for my mourning. This is heartbreak, heartache,

agony, and anguish al on a never-ending loop.

Hel on earth.

A prison made of my own doing.

***

I plod back over to El is’. His monster truck is crammed up against the

garage so close, I swear my fingers couldn’t squeeze through the re-

serve of space.

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I repeat the process, ring the bel , give a brisk knock. This time the

door not only opens, El is greets me with a look of welcome surprise.

“Get in, girl,” he pul s me into a hug as I cross the threshold. “Need a

light drive, buddy?” He’s sporting wireless glasses that I think I’ve only

seen him wear once before. El is is adorable in them, and I wonder

why he doesn’t employ their obvious powers to retain girls by the

dozens. At least with them on he might actual y attract the right kind

of girls.

“No light driving today. Just in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop

in—see what the house looks like under al that Goth glory.” It looks

feeble, humble.

Everything about El is’ home looks foreign to me with this dispropor-

tional amount of light slicing through the wooden shutters. Something

in me wants to toss room-darkening blankets over the offensive ori-

fices. They should be ashamed of the way they bleed the secrets of this

unholy abode. The darkness softened the home, added a layer of mys-

tery that the light refuses to honor.

With the lights out I could make my way around, but in broad daylight

I need a map just to get to the kitchen. I’ve come to classify El is’ house

as a creature of the night, but now that I see it for what it is, I’m a bit

disappointed in how commonplace everything real y seems.

“Want some cookies?” El is leads me towards the kitchen as the fresh

baked scent of something sweet fil s the air.

“No thanks.” The last time El is played pastry chef I became an honor-

ary stoner by default, ended up making out with Pierce Kragger be-

cause that’s where brownies enhanced with narcotics gets you.

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“What? No cookies?” A female voice cal s out, stilted, as if he has her

locked away in the pantry.

A woman pops up from behind the counter. Her long, over-processed

hair lies thick and straight, almost the exact color red as my mother’s

but with a touch more pumpkin, and decidedly singed. A ruffled apron

covers her waist, leaving her red silk blouse precariously exposed to

the sticky elements.

“I won’t hear of it. You must try my cookies,” her lips struggle to rise.

“Mom, this is Skyla. Skyla, Mom.” El is scoots into a seat at the bar,

and I join him.

El is has a Mom—a real in the flesh, drop dead gorgeous mom. Go

figure.

“Hi, it’s so nice to final y meet you,” I extend a hand, and she greedily

shakes it. She seems overtly thril ed that I’m here and yet oddly unable

to convince her face to fol ow suit.

“Olivia,” she says before the buzzer goes off and she trots away in four-

inch heels.

“Botox,” El is whispers as she scuttles to relinquish another batch from

the oven.

“Amazing,” I say, under my breath.

It’s clear where El is gets his wide-set eyes, his high cheekbones from.

“You know,” she strides back. Her heels click against the stone floor,

creating an echo reminiscent of Ezrina. “I do believe you’re the first

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girlfriend of El is’ I’ve yet to meet.” Her lips move sideways as if she

were trying to throw her voice while her eyes dance in amazement.

“Oh, we’re just good friends.” A guilty feeling comes over me for not

spontaneously offering El is a promotion. “I can always count on him

for anything.” I have serious reservations about just having used the

word Count. It probably works like a bat signal. An entire coven of

them wil descend upon the Harrison estate. Or maybe she thinks I’m

one of them now. Use it in a sentence, and you’re secretly outing your-

self to the crew.

“That’s fantastic. Some of the longest, most satisfying marriages start

out as friendships.” Her eyes squint as she recal s a distant memory.

“She’s a divorce lawyer,” El is translates.

“Attorney at law,” she corrects. “Paragon Legal,” she throws in the ad-

vertisement. “I handle just about everything, but unfortunately it’s the

demise of the matrimonial dream that keeps a roof over our heads.

That, and my alimony,” she whispers that last part with a twinkle in

her eye.

Judging by the way Demetri has my mother running to him like a

magnet, I gather we’l be procuring her services sooner than later.

She opens her mouth just a crack and pushes a cookie inside, exam-

ines me with a feline intensity. She gives a little giggle and shrugs. It’s

as though her body has adapted to exaggerated responses since her

features have lost the ability to mandate emotion. Her baby smooth

flesh is unnatural y al uring, her foundation is spread thick and even

around her face like a wel -frosted cake. It takes everything in me not

to reach up and touch her. Something about her rubbery flesh reminds

me of the corpses at the morgue. Perfectly smooth skin just doesn’t ex-

ist natural y in the order of things unless, of course, you’re dead. That’s

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when you truly lose the ability to worry over anything anyway. El is’

mother is simply one step ahead of the game. Then again she is a

Count. Speaking of Counts.

“Hey, I have this problem.” I pul the cease and desist letter out of my

purse and start in on the story with Pierce—how he real y didn’t take

down a crowd of people and beat up his girlfriend. “But my parents wil

kil me if they find out I’m lying.”

“So wil the courts,” her ears peak back. God—that was probably a ful -

blown scowl. “I’l look this over and see what I can do.” She peruses it

quickly. “Damn Kraggers,” she whispers mostly to herself. “I’m going

to retire to the office. Take care, you two.” She gives a quick

wink—more like an eyelid malfunction rather than the coy nod of ap-

proval it was meant to be.

I’m moving Botox injections to the top of my do not attempt list. Most

people have a bucket list, but I’m pretty motivated to keep up my do

not attempt list. Sadly, there are a number of things on there, and, to

date, the Counts and Fems have demonstrated their ability to help me

face my fears. Things like, do not attempt to climb the highest tree on

the island, do not run into granite wal s, and do not hack off the arm of

your enemy and wear it as your own, have already been officiated.

“Nice to meet you,” I shout after her as she speeds down the hal .

“Stay out of the wine cabinet,” she cal s out. “I mark the liquor.” Her

voice melts into reverberations as she disappears down the complex

maze of hal ways.

“She marks the liquor?” I’m shocked by this. Imagine her surprise if

she discovered her son’s outright il egal misuse of questionable vegeta-

tion. That the supervising spirit she saw fit to gift him with on his

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sixteenth birthday was essential y buying. “I thought your parents

were stil together.”

“That’s because my dad stil lives here,” he shrugs. “Big house.”

That would be my luck—Tad and Mom divorcing only to have Tad stil

neatly tucked in her bed at night because of how much financial sense

it makes.

“Gage stil giving you the cold shoulder?” He leans over the counter

and snaps up a handful of cookies.

“It would appear.”

“Weird about Chloe disappearing,” El is locks eyes with me. His ex-

pectations of a confession are high, I can tel .

“She’s a little runaway,” I sing it soft like a dream and give a tiny smile

of approval.

“You know something.”

“I know that Gage most likely won’t be joining me for the big company

dinner my mother is dragging me to on Saturday. Wanna come with?”

I take the smal est cookie and pop it into my mouth, the molten

chocolate chips sear into my tongue.

“I’l be there.” His eyes glow with pleasure. “And, about that DVD. I stil

can’t get over what it looked like was happening between us.” An im-

age of me on my knees in pain and El is unzipping his jeans ready to

baptize me with a golden shower flies through my mind.

“It certainly painted a picture,” I say.

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“So, back to Chloe.” El is squints into me with a tiny smile playing on

his lips. “I guess you were real y ticked off at her for outing you like

that.”

“I’m perpetual y pissed at Chloe. I don’t like where you’re going with

this.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t think she’d run away.”

“And I’m saying I don’t have one idea of where Chloe Bishop might

be.”

El is gives a dirty smile. “And I’m saying you do.”

Chapter 46

Sing the Blues

Al week West Paragon High rides the coattails of Chloe’s mysterious

disappearance. You’d think we were ringing her curtain down the way

the masses huddle in grief, moan like ailing canines in front of the

news cameras that set up shop on campus. If any good came out of it,

about three-dozen kids scored some serious airtime exploiting the

travesty of not having an army of triage counselors on the ready. The

entire segment led to a funding debate, and now the School Board is

reviewing the matter.

Not everyone is broken up about her abrupt departure. Emily has hap-

pily embedded herself into Ethan’s arms, consoling, soothing away his

pain with the balm of her affection.

Gage stil hasn’t bothered responding to my multiple attempts to accost

him verbal y, either, in person, written or electronic. He holds strong

to his punishment. He’s cut off the oxygen supply to my world, pul ed

away so completely it leaves me languishing in the vacuum of his

absence.

Rumor had it he was at West on Friday picking up work, but by the

time I raced down to the main office he had already left. I overheard

the secretary say he’d be back in class next week, that he had just re-

ceived the doctor’s clearance. This buoyed my mood until I realized

that I was probably better off with him ignoring me behind my back

rather than the prospect of him openly refusing to acknowledge my

presence. I couldn’t take that. It would be too much to bear.

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I imagine him walking down the hal laughing with a throng of beauti-

ful girls, looking through me as if I were made of glass. The idea of his

stony silence delivered firsthand, breaks me.

On Saturday night, El is picks me up and we drive down to the Harbor

Lights Bal room at the Paragon Resort. West had its winter formal

here, that was the night of the inadvertent Mustang romp with Logan,

the night Chloe decided to relinquish Gage to me right before she dril

ed my fender into his intestines. I don’t need a supervising spirit to

light drive me back to that night. I know in my heart what she did.

Surprisingly the resort is just as raucous as the night of winter formal,

only the girls fil ing in the eveningwear sport more wrinkles, longer

dresses and far less attractive men on the crook of their arms. Trol s I

tel you, every one of them that works for Althorpe. I wouldn’t be sur-

prised at al to discover there’s some trol underworld woven into the

infrastructure of the corporation.

Mom and Tad mingle freely with Demetri and Darla by their sides.

Figures.

Demetri’s manner of brainwashing my mother into loving him is strik-

ingly similar to Chloe’s—hang around long enough in hopes to wear

down their defenses. Didn’t work so wel for Chloe, but Demetri seems

to have perfected the snow job to a science. I watch as my mother

freely wraps her arm around him, tweaks his shoulder as if offering a

massage. She laughs far too easily at whatever comes flying out of his

mouth, and I bet if given the opportunity she’d bake him a batch of

whole-wheat cookies with that lame chocolate substitute which smel s

suspiciously like feet.

It’s hard to stand by and watch as Lizbeth Landon vies for girlfriend of

the year award.

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“I know her,” El is lights up while looking at some girl across the room.

“She’s that chick from East I’ve been trying to hook up with for the

past six months.” He looks perturbed by this. “I’m gonna go over.” He

whips by so fast he leaves a breeze in his wake.

“Alone and beautiful.” Marshal leans in shoulder to shoulder, touches

my hand with the back of his. “My absolute favorite combination.”

“I thought you had a thing for angel wings,” I say, adjusting my red pul

over dress from a couple Christmas’ ago. “And by the way I’m not

alone. I’m here with El is.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Harrison. First you burn through the Olivers, then this

dolt of a demotion—my how the mighty have fal en.” Five freaking

minutes and El is couldn’t be loyal to me as his date. I’ve always sus-

pected he would so make a lousy boyfriend.

“I, however, would be loyal to the grave,” Marshal is quick to interject

after so rudely reading my thoughts. “And seeing that I am an immor-

tal, you would have my undying love forever.”

I cringe when he says that final word.

“Yeah, wel , forever’s not stacking up to be such a surefire thing.”

“Forgive my poor choice of words. Eternity—an infinite duration that

human minds are incapable of fathoming.” He turns into me and steps

in uncomfortably close. “My love blooms in triplicate each day for you,

Skyla. I’ve never felt so charged, so alive, for another in my entire ex-

istence.” I stare at him wild-eyed, watch as his chest pulsates with ex-

citement as he breathes the words. It’s strange having Marshal pro-

claim his love for me and yet somehow exhilarating. Gage has left my

thirsty soul parched for affection.

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I reach up and touch the hard line of his jaw.

“You are a gorgeous creature,” I breathe. “Any woman would be more

than pleased to have you.” I let my hand sink in measure with my

heart as I think of Gage sharing his future with some nameless, face-

less girl.

“I have everything in my power to take you, Skyla.” Marshal veils the

threat with a thin smile. “The authority, the ability to bend your wil to

desire me. It would be stronger than anything you’ve felt for the Oliv-

ers combined, but I choose not to use it.”

“Sounds perfectly criminal. The mercy is appreciated,” I muse.

“It’s freedom I give you,” his features soften. Marshal glows serene, be-

fittingly gorgeous. Nights like these were designed to showcase his

beauty. That he should grace the common day, deprived of champagne

and caviar, women in jewel tone dresses, those would be the true

crimes here.

“Freedom to love anyone I wish,” I nod, understanding ful wel what he

real y means—freedom to choose him. “Say, how would one get out of

that weird mirror, back at Demetri’s? You know, in the event one fel

in.” I’m quick to change the subject.

“The cranial ornaments weren’t enough to deter you?” His eyes

sharpen on mine. He knows damn wel what I’m talking about.

“Chloe fel in the mirror, Emily pushed her. You promised me a

beheading.”

“I promised no such thing. I simply implied it to dismiss your eager-

ness to delve into mischief. In the event you’ve failed to make the ob-

servation, you, my dear, are prone to catastrophe.” He gives an

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amicable smile. “Judging by the length of time Ms. Bishop has decided

to indulge herself, she is very much enjoying her new world.”

“Wel , she can’t stay there. People are starting to talk. The Al State

competition is coming up and she’s fal ing behind in her classes.”

“And for a minute there I thought you were rooting for the beheading,”

he gloats. “From this new line of debate I would gather you were trying

to mother her. If you’re so concerned, crawl in and extricate her

yourself.”

“No thanks. I prefer my head attached to the rest of me.”

“Death won’t find you there. As long as you’re not the control subject,

you’re safe.”

“And to get out?”

“Simply crawl back the way you came.”

“What if it gets sealed over and I get stuck?”

He considers this a moment. “If I’m available, I’l oversee the

situation.”

My mother cal s us over and we take our seats for dinner.

Marshal is going to supervise.

I think I just found myself a supervising spirit.

Chapter 47

Table Talk

Tad has arranged for an elderly man with a shock of white hair and his

much younger, stunningly beautiful—alarmingly pubescent wife to

join our bawdy bunch. Turns out the geezer is Tad’s Regional Super-

visor, so I find it actual y quite amusing to watch good old Taddy

dearest bring kiss ass to an al new low. Plus, the fact Mrs. Regional Su-

pervisor has two flesh covered cantaloupes held hostage in her dress

trying to maneuver an Alcatraz worthy escape—it’s going to make for a

fantastical y entertaining evening. I count four times her left nipple

peeked out at us, and for the first time ever, I’m thankful Gage isn’t

around to witness the salacious event.

El is on the other hand, is soaking it in, memorizing it for the porno-

graphic replays he’l indulge in later, openly staring down Mrs. Super-

visor and her bizarre animatronic breasts. I total y swear it looks like

someone is manipulating them by remote control from across the

room just to mess with us. It’s not natural the way they rise and fal ,

bob and whinny as they try to peer at the world outside the impenet-

rable blindfold she insists on keeping over them.

Mr. Regional Supervisor excuses himself from the table. Probably go-

ing to take his magic little pil in an effort to warm up the engine a good

four hours in advance.

“So who’s the new cutie?” Darla winks over at El is. “New boyfriend so

soon?” She offers an approving nod.

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“Sure it is,” Tad swirls the wine in his glass. “Skyla changes boyfriends

regularly. She has ‘em al mapped out like a crop rotation.” Emily

laughs.

I witnessed her knocking back a couple glasses of bubbly on the com-

pany’s dime when she thought no one was looking. And, I have to say,

she and Ethan make a way better looking couple than Chloe and Ethan

ever did or wil . Chloe and Ethan felt a lot more disingenuine, sort of

like the aging supervisor and his augmented lady suitor. You know

you’re supposed to treat them like a couple, but deep down inside

you’re snickering at the financial implications of it al .

“Please refrain from making our guest uncomfortable,” Mom chides

over to Tad.

“Be comfortable,” Tad offers an unconvincing nod at El is. “Dinner is

on the house—loosen up your buckle son and open the hatch.” Figures.

It’s El is who receives Tad’s backward blessing.

“So, Briel e,” Mom is quick to relegate the topic, “please—share the

baby names you’ve come up with thus far.”

“Kaliope,” Briel e widens her smile, examining each of us for our spon-

taneous reactions. “Lie for short, if it’s a girl, and Beau-Geste if it’s a

boy.”

The entire table takes a breath. It’s not that there is anything wrong

with those names—it’s just that col ectively, they’re so non-ubiquitous.

That, coupled with the fact she plans for her newborn to catch some

dreamy Zz’s in a casket, wel , it al sort of spel s out trouble with a touch

of blasphemy. I’m betting Drake and Briel e won’t be strangers to the

Social Services Department.

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“I’m not sure Lie works as a nickname,” Ethan of al people pipes up as

the voice of reason.

“It works for Skyla,” Melissa is quick with the attack.

I scowl over at her a moment. Little does she know I’ve been cata-

loging the injustices that the Landons have been invoking on the Mes-

senger arm of the family.

“We’re gonna get matching tattoo’s once we decide,” Briel e continues.

“The baby, too, as soon as it’s safe.”

“Count me in.” Darla swipes up a dinner rol , breaks it in half and sub-

merges it generously in her wine goblet. “You never need a good reas-

on for a tat.”

Demetri studies his date before clearing his throat. “I think having the

name of someone you love permanently emblazoned upon your flesh

is a monumental gesture,” he nods into my mother as if he were speak-

ing from experience. I half expect an unveiling of my mother’s effigy

across his hairy chest at any moment. Just the thought makes me gag.

I bet tomorrow he’l hypnotize her into embroidering his name onto

her forehead. And oddly enough if he pays for it I real y don’t think

Tad would mind. Have I mentioned, moron?

“Right,” Darla holds up her glass and toasts without reason, “but you

don’t need some lifelong dedication to have some reckless fun at the,

Ink and Kink,” she nods. “We should go sometime, draw our names in

a valentine right across our hearts.” She leans into Demetri with al of

the trappings of seduction but it comes off as fierce desperation

instead.

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The table grows quiet. Darla is a hard act to fol ow linguistical y or

otherwise.

“Can’t believe that girl took off again,” Mom balks.

Ha! I wasn’t the only one that put desperation and Chloe together.

Plus this twist in our conversation takes the edge off of Darla and De-

metri’s awkward exchange of needles and love, blood and the like.

“Her parents have launched a ful investigation of what might have oc-

curred that afternoon at the Estate.” Demetri is quick to share.

“You get the case?” Mom mouths the word with pride as if Chloe’s dis-

appearance could be the crowning moment of his career. Oddly, this is

probably true.

He nods. “So far I’ve no reason to suspect foul play.”

“Emily saw her last,” it speeds out of me for no good reason.

“Skyla was upstairs with her,” she fires back. “I had to take off and the

two of them were al alone.” Emily spil s the lie easy as oil.

“I thought you said she had to leave?” I know for a fact that’s what she

said. She might think she can pin me for this, but little does she know I

can bear false witness with the best of them. Hel , someone should cal

Guinness because I’m about to break a fabrication record. “In fact, I

thought I heard you two arguing right before you bolted for the door.

You looked pretty shaken up about the whole thing.” I dart a quick

smile.

“Shut up, Skyla,” Emily doesn’t blink. “It was you who was arguing

with her. Everyone here knows how much you hate her and why. No

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one could blame you for wanting to off Chloe. Not after that DVD she

showed everybody—exposing you.” Shit!

Mr. Regional Supervisor returns without invoking the proper suck up

greeting from Tad, inquiring on the amenities, was it one flush or two.

“What DVD?” Mom’s voice is laden with concern.

“Judas Priest.” Tad plucks the napkin from his neckline.

“This isn’t X-rated material—is it, Skyla?” Mom’s eyes expand the size

of dinner dishes.

“Of course it is, Lizbeth,” Tad is quick to inform. “Why else would it be

a relevant topic of conversation?”

“Is that why Gage left you?” Mom leans in. “You made some bawdy

movie of the two of you in secret? Oh God, it was with that old

boyfriend

—his brother, wasn’t it? Tel me you’re stil a virgin, Skyla.” The slight

uptick in her voice is enough to halt conversations in a three-table

radius.

I shake my head a little. I swore up and down I wasn’t going to ham-

mer home the topic anymore. I won’t say it, even if she begs me.

My dear, Love, you’ve landed yourself in quite the pickle, Marshal

gleams a wicked smile. Confess your lack of carnal knowledge, and

put the fire of indignation out of both your mother’s heart and mine.

“Not on your life,” I whisper.

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“Knew it.” Tad slaps the table so hard every bit of crystal dances to the

left. “She admitted it.” This pleases him to no end.

Demetri takes a tired breath. “Looks like I have a new lead in the in-

vestigation.” My mouth opens to correct them then closes again, and I

land an awkward smile at Tad’s supervisor who doesn’t bother hiding

the lascivious look in his eyes.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My mother’s face drips with disappointment.

I’m going to yank Chloe out of the realm of horrors long enough to

take myself off the suspect list, then I’m going to behead her myself

and push the rest of her right back in.

For damn sure I’m not going in there alone, but which one of these

lovelies is going to come with me?

I pin El is with a look.

Chapter 48

Dance the Night Away

Dinner ends with a bang—almost literal y. The blond bombshel and

Darla try to outdo one another by pawing al over their prospective

dates. What with al the climbing and lap sitting, the moaning, the cry-

ing out of names, it certainly takes everyone’s mind off of me starring

in my own tawdry tale. With two live scenes playing out in real time,

who cares about my post-production endeavors?

Unlike winter formal, the resort has extended its facilities to the out-

door gardens where a large dance floor is established under the night

sky. Dancing has commenced under what theoretical y might be a sky

ful of diamond-like stars but instead of gazing at their beauty a puff of

milky air obscures our vision of the infinite expanse.

I watch in disappointment as El is slow dances with his favorite new

tramp from East. I’d go over and join Mia and Melissa who are busy

throwing pennies into a large brimmed fountain, real y they should be

throwing the Armistead kid in, but as much as I hate to admit it, he

seems rather nice and has treated both of my sisters with an equal

amount of platonic affection al evening.

My mind keeps rotating back to Gage. I envision us out there on the

dance floor next to El is and the girl from East he abandoned me for. I

can picture him holding me, caressing my back the way only a

thoughtful man is capable of. Everything about him exudes nobility,

loyalty—

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something I was fiercely lacking. Then as quickly as I picture him dan-

cing with me, I envision his arms wrapped around some faceless girl.

It hurts to imagine him with anybody else. I’m sure he felt the same

way about me. My heart is stil tender from the blades of his rejection. I

can only imagine the pain I’ve caused him.

I’m completely unable to wrap my head around what’s happened to us.

I take a brisk walk towards a long table fil ed with pastries. In the

middle sits a seven-tiered cake fit for a wedding. I’m sure my mother is

drooling over the logistics of such an architectural wonder of a

confection.

“May I?” Marshal takes my hand and leads me to the distal end of the

dance floor. My mother winks from over Tad’s shoulder. She looks like

she’s busy rocking Tad to sleep so I just go with it. Dancing with my

math teacher isn’t the biggest sin. And it’s Marshal , not my history

teacher, the one with the face of a frying pan. I lean my head against

his chest and his heart sings. Marshal is divine in every way. I should

be eager to fal to his feet—any girl would. But I’ve already got two

hearts I’m desperate to hold onto. Adding a third would be the worse

idea possible.

“Nonsense,” Marshal darts a mischievous look. “Jock Strap has re-

moved himself, and chance removed the Pretty One. I’m ful y available

for your choosing, or perhaps you prefer the term, ‘using’?”

I don’t like the way he over annunciated the word chance.

“You did kil Logan.” I’m astonished by this.

“No,” he whispers. “By the time those bumbling wolves arrived at the

scene, West Paragon’s finest athletes were virtual y drawn and

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quartered. Someone hungered justice far more efficiently than I that

night.”

“Remove the binding spirit so I can go back and see who it was.” For

the first time tonight my heart is racing.

“You know the rules.”

“I need a supervising spirit. Be my supervising spirit Marshal ,” I take

a breath and hold it.

“My apologies, Love. That is one direction our relationship wil not be

headed.”

“Why not? You agreed to supervise while I go in that mirror and yank

out Chloe.” I give his arms a squeeze. The vibrations that stream from

him strangle me with their goodness.

“There’s no supervising involved in that matter. Besides, I intend to

play another role in your life—as suitor. I cannot do both.”

“Tel me then, you already know. Who rammed the Mustang into my

boyfriend’s bel y?”

“Perhaps there are forces at work you know nothing about,” he

suggests.

“Bul shit.”

He looks beyond my shoulder into the bushes. I fol ow his gaze and see

a frazzle of hair the color of fire.

“Ezrina,” I hiss.

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“Do excuse me, Love. I have business to tend to.” Marshal stalks off in

that general direction.

A bird screams overhead. His cry breaks through the noise of the

speakers.

It’s Nev.

Something’s happening.

The song ends, and another depressingly slow bal ad howls into the

atmosphere.

El is pops up by my side and takes up my hand before I can leave the

dance floor.

A few feet away Drake and Briel e sway awkwardly. Briel e’s bel y pro-

trudes between them like a smal planet. From this vantage point it

seems quite possible Briel e is having a litter. She’l have an entire row

of miniature caskets lining the nursery, a real life Landon cemetery

right there in the house. I can only image the howling—the barking at

the moon that wil take place nightly. I’m secretly hoping they’l shack

up at Briel e’s.

“Where’s your newest acquisition?” I ask.

“Dancing with Daddy,” El is ticks his head back annoyed. “Daddy likes

me.”

“Try not to sound so thril ed. The last time I checked that was a good

thing. It means he won’t chase you down the aisle with a shotgun

when the time is right, or wrong.”

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“Mmm,” he doesn’t look convinced. “It makes me like her less,” he

shrugs into his admission.

“If it means something to you, I’m pretty sure Tad doesn’t care for

you.”

“Now we’re talking,” he gives a twisted grin.

I laugh for the first time in a long while, shifting my gaze back to the

bushes where Marshal went Ezrina hunting, only I don’t see Marshal

or Ezrina—I see...Gage?

I take a sharp breath and hold it.

The image evaporates into shadows and smoke. It must have been a

hal ucination. Either that or he’s harnessed the power to cloak himself

in the clouds. Then again Gage is a god—al things are possible. The

fact we’re living in this real life realm of possibilities together at the

same juncture in time is a nothing short of a miracle.

“I think I’l need you to help me get Chloe,” I whisper, while finding a

comfortable resting spot for my head.

“Knew it,” he pushes back with surprise. “Where’d you hide the body?”

“Where I always hide the body.” I blink a smile. “Nowhere.”

“Uh—Skyla?” El is looks beyond me towards the ode to flour and sug-

ar, and I turn expecting to see Briel e doing a faceplant in the cheese-

cake, or Emily emptying a tray of brownies into her purse, but I don’t.

I real y do see Gage.

“Oh my, God,” the words exhaust from my lungs.

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He came.

Gage dips into a sultry smile that only he can deliver. He’s dressed im-

maculately in a sharp black suit, a tie the same color as his eyes. His

dimples dart in and out as though they were cal ing me over.

“Sorry, El is, I have to go.”

He gives a slight nudge, and I glide across the floor. Bodies swirl

around me. They turn into a melting pot of color, making it impossible

to bustle through the crowd. The music warps to something horrifical

y slow as though the entire universe were on hold for just a moment.

Time elongates, stretches out for days.

So I run.

I push, and pul , and twist through the crowd never taking my eyes off

him. I push past the last few stragglers, so close I can almost feel him.

His perfect form stands there waiting. He lets me come to him. He

waits for me with a knowing look that says so many wonderful things.

I leap up on his waist—wrap my legs around him secure and tight, vic-

torious as an anaconda.

“Please, forgive me,” I bleat.

Gage doesn’t answer with words. He pul s me in by the neck and

shows me exactly how much he forgives me with a scorching kiss that

says so much more.

I climb Gage like a pole, send him stumbling backwards until he can’t

go any further and we fal flat onto the dessert table.

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I let out a laugh.

Gage pul s me on top of him and moans into a sea of delicious kisses.

Dishes clatter, the table groans beneath the weight of our affection, a

leg col apses, and we slide to the ground. Loud sharp gasps echo

through the night.

Gage and I never open our eyes. Our lips never betray their unity.

The cold soft avalanche of a seven-tiered cake fal s over us, cushioning

us with its whipped vanil a goodness.

I give a gentle laugh at the sight of Gage with frosting dripping off his

person, dig my finger into the icing on his cheek and put it in my

mouth.

“I missed you terribly,” he says it low, serious.

“Oh Gage,” my heart picks up again in fear. What if this were al some

fluke, and he stil wants out of our love?

“Let’s go somewhere so we can talk,” he presses in with another kiss.

And this time—I try to make it last forever.

Chapter 49

Whiplash Love

“Skyla!” Judging by Mom’s frantic expression, the venue in which

Gage and I unwittingly decided to show our undying affection for one

another should have probably been reconsidered.

Tad’s face has lost al expression. Come to think of it every face staring

back at us seems rather depleted of emotion.

Briel e helps me out of the slippery mess, as Gage bounces up by my

side.

“Um,” I’m dizzy from al of the unwanted attention. Not one person

seems even slightly amused. “Sorry,” I say, leading Gage by the hand

around the congested mass of bodies and ditch into the parking lot by

way of the side gate.

“You look amazing,” he whispers, spinning me into him.

I take him in. I can’t believe he’s here—real and in person. His eyes

glow, his dimples dance happy to see me.

“So,” I sigh, “what brought you here tonight?”

“A very sweet handwritten invitation.” Gage draws me in by the hips.

“Are you feeling OK? You’re not sick anymore, right?” I ask, dusting

cake off his shoulders.

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Gage looks and sounds better than ever.

“I’m better now that I’m with you. Let’s get out of here. I think we have

a lot to talk about.

***

We clean up at the resort and head over to Rockaway Point. My hair is

ful of frosting, and my dress blotched with dark stains, but I could care

less about what I look like. I’m walking along the black sandy shore of

Paragon’s most beautiful beach with the love of my life— Gage as the

bedroom eye moon observes from above.

“I’m so sorry about everything,” I whisper. “I don’t know what to say

or do—but I’d do anything for your forgiveness.” I don’t mean to knock

us off the perch of our newfound happiness. But I owe it to him to

grovel and beg forgiveness, now and forever more.

“Gisel e stopped by.” He wraps an arm around my waist, stil s me be-

neath a stream of moonlight that baptizes us in its glory.

“She did? Did your Mom see her?”

“Not yet. She came to show me a few things. It real y helped me under-

stand what was happening.” His spirit speaks to me in the quiet, fil s in

the void of silence as it rouses from its sorrow. “Why didn’t you tel me

what Dudley was up to?” His eyes try to cover the hurt, but they can’t

disguise the pain I’ve caused.

“I don’t know. He was showing me things, and…” What do you say

when you have no good excuses? “I swear I wil never let Marshal touch

me again. I don’t care if the vision means the world might blow up.”

Not to mention mine sort of already did.

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“I was visited by someone else who helped clear things.” He nods into

me as though I should confess to knowing who this might be.

“El is?” I ask, hopeful. “I swear on al that is holy that I was not doing

what it looked like I was doing. I just got out of the Transfer and—”

Gage holds a finger to my lip.

“Gisel e took me to the moment—saw the whole thing. Sorry about

that,” he rubs my open palm with the pad of his thumb.

“So, who helped clear things up for you?” If he says Chloe I’l run

straight into the ocean. I’d rather succumb to hypothermia than to

anymore of Chloe’s dangerous half-truths.

“Logan.” His head tilts just a bit as to al ude to my guilt in the matter.

“He told me why you were keeping his death from me.” I pul Gage in

tight and col apse a sea of tears over his already damp shirt. Just hear-

ing him say those words, knowing that they are in every way true, dril

s my bones with the grief.

“It’s OK,” he whispers. “Holden won’t know what hit him. Logan wil be

al right. He’l come back to us, I promise.”

“You don’t hate him?” I say it lower than a whisper. My biggest fear

was that I ruined their relationship. After al , I was the knife they

plunged in one another’s back, over and over.

“I could never hate Logan. And, I could never hate you.” The words

come out in a puff of smoke, encapsulating us like a cloud with their

truths.

“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.” I tuck my hands under

his shirt and warm them over his skin. You could start a fire with the

heat off his body.

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“Come here, I want to show you something.” Gage leads me over to the

monstrous coral tree we’ve logged some spectacular hours beneath. Its

long tangled branches give homage to the night with its delicate cres-

cent blooms radiating overhead like a sea of salmon colored stars.

On the outset everything looks normal but the closer we get I note a

hut erected out of branches and palm fronds.

“Oh my, God,” I gasp. “Looks like someone’s homesteading our land.”

I heard my father say that once back in L.A. when a film crew came to

shoot a segment for a talk show at our neighbor’s house. Turns out

they secretly lived wal ed in by clutter for years. They looked so normal

on the outside you would never know they were unable to contain the

urge to purchase every single thing they laid eyes on—locked them-

selves in a sea of debt for stuff they never even took out of the

packages.

“It’s me,” he pauses just shy of the four foot structure. “I’ve been

homesteading our land.” He gives a sheepish grin.

“You built this?” I’m fascinated as I duck down inside. It’s warm in

here, dark but safe from the harsh wind that sends biting sand flying

against our skin.

Gage crawls in beside me and pul s me over to his lap.

“Skyla,” it expresses from him, soft as a sigh. “I love you with

everything in me.” He looks down for a moment. “When I saw the

DVD, I didn’t know what to think. I was devastated.”

I curl into him, stifling back tears. I could flood the tiny home with one

good cry over the disaster I built with a sea of careless kisses.

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“Gage,” I look down unable to face him with my shame, “I’m so sorry I

hurt you.” Gage deserves so much more than words. “Do you think we

can start al over?”

“Yes,” he says it with a tender calm that assures me this is so. “Believe

me, I know that you have a history with Logan. And I know things

happen in the future that none of us can help,” he gives a lengthy

pause. “You don’t ever need to feel guilty for having feelings for him. I

promise you, there’s a reason for them.”

I’m dying to know what kinds of reasons, but right now if it doesn’t in-

volve me and Gage, I don’t want to dig in that direction.

“But I think we need to be upfront with one another about a lot of

things,” he starts, “I need you to trust me enough to tel me Dudley’s

true intentions. I have things I want to share with you, too. And if we

don’t share the little things I don’t know how we’re ever going to share

the big things.” There it is—the caveat to our future success or failure.

“I promise,” I hold up a hand. “Everything, and anything you want to

know.”

“OK.” He gives a quick nod. “Logan said you were desperate to see

your mother but wouldn’t say why.” My stomach lurches.

“I may have promised a certain someone a new trial with the Justice Al

iance if she were to give Logan back his life.” I hold my breath a

second. “He was floating in Liquid Drano, for Pete’s sake,” I don’t

mean to come off as defensive, but at the moment that’s exactly what I

am.

“I would have done the same.” His lips twist.

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“And, besides, they were her terms not mine. I just wanted Logan

back. I didn’t for one second think she’d regenerate his body with the

wrong soul.”

“So what do you think happened?”

“Marshal ,” I wince. “I spit in his eye—right after accusing him of

mowing the two of you down.” Gage shoots a look, sharp as a dagger,

out at the raging sea. “How are we going to get Logan back?”

“We’re going to have to kil him.” My entire person quivers at the pro-

spect of murdering Logan. You know you’re in deep when the only way

out is a felony-based resolution.

“OK,” Gage acquiesces quickly to the morbid reality. “We’l get together

this week with my dad and Logan, and figure it al out. Any clue if it

was Chloe driving the Mustang?”

I wonder what Gage would do if he knew emphatical y that Chloe were

responsible—how he would react if he learned she brutal y pinned him

against a tree while relentlessly whacking into his body—that she kil

ed Logan as a byproduct of her jealous rage.

“Nope.”

“I tried moving out of the way,” he says in a daze as though he were re-

living it. “I tried lifting the hood off me—teleporting my way out of

there but I wasn’t able. If it was Chloe, she made sure we were left as

helpless as possible,” his eyes darken with hatred. “What did you do

with her?”

“Nothing, I swear.” I tel him al about Demetri’s room of horrors, the

magic mirror that swal owed Chloe and the fact this entire debacle

navigated our least favorite detective in my direction. “Anyway, I just

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asked El is to come with me. We’re going to pul her out as soon as

possible.”

“Skyla, do you real y believe Marshal is going to play lookout while you

dissolve into another realm that sits behind glass?”

“Yes, I total y do. He would never let me get hurt. I swear.”

“When are you planning on doing this?”

“I have a key to the estate, so whenever he’s off playing house with my

mother I’m going to sneak in, or else I’l have to wait al the way until

next Saturday.”

“Why are we rescuing Chloe again?” Gage is more than disgusted with

her, I can tel .

“So I don’t get shipped off to prison when Demetri pins her disappear-

ing act on yours truly.” I relax into his chest. “Besides, I’m not finished

with Chloe Bishop.”

The ground beneath us wobbles. The air turns a strange arid blue as it

slowly disintegrates the scenery of Rockaway Point to nothing.

I know exactly what this means.

Round two of the faction war.

Chapter 50

Bay of Pigs

Earth recedes, and the ethereal plane opens up like a yawn. The sky

stretches thin, almost luminescent as though it absorbed the beams

from the bulbous lavender moon that hangs low enough to touch.

“This is it,” I pant. “This is where I came the night of the accident.” I

pat myself down. “I don’t have the disc.” I examine the flat cracked

ground.

A forest beckons to our right, but other than that nothing but miles of

weary wasteland.

“You won’t need it,” Gage assures. “I’d die before I let anything happen

to you.” He takes me by the hand and darts us into the woods. The

clearing we evacuated explodes into a violent torrent of color as a

cloud of fire incinerates the land.

“Shit!” I clutch onto him like a life raft.

“We need to keep moving.” Gage jogs us deeper into the thicket.

A series of explosions fol ow us like a warning. Trees ignite one by one

like birthday candles. They rain down soot and ashes, fil ing our lungs

with toxic promises.

We land ourselves on a dark hil side as the land begins to tremble. The

sound of thousands of hooves trampling in our direction riots through

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the atmosphere, vibrates over my skin with the intensity of a thousand

tiny pinpricks.

Gage scoops me up, levitates us high off the ground just as a carpet of

feral hogs, each the size of a smal car, rush through the area. Their

eyes are red as sirens. Each beast fixates upon me as it passes by. It’s

like they know I’m here—as if they were after me, specifical y.

Gage holds me close to the beautiful dangling moon as the wild herd

bruises the ground with its careless charge.

It’s humbling being suspended like this, arched between life and

death. Strangely, it’s in this moment that my love for Gage grows im-

measurably. Gage is the eternal lover, rescuer, forgiver, savior. I lean

my head into his chest and close my eyes until the sound from below

dissipates to nothing.

Gage lands us both soft on the ground, presses a kiss into my forehead

to let me know the danger has passed.

A masculine voice howls from behind.

Crawling along a proximal hil side, El is lies with his clothes torn, his

body awash in blood.

Gage and I race over. His left arm looks dislocated in two places, creat-

ing an unnatural stair step with his skin stil sheathed over it. My stom-

ach cycles a hot bite of nausea, and I let out a groan at the sight.

I wobble to the ground.

Gage gently pushes my face between my knees and instructs me to

take a few deep breaths before heading over to him. “You’l be alright,”

he says, taking off his shirt and wrapping it around El is’ neck like a

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sling. “It’s broken, just like that time you tried doing a wheelie on my

dirt bike.

Remember?” Gage places the disjointed forearm gently into a make-

shift sling, eliciting a powerful groan.

“I’m not going to be much help to you,” El is looks over at me with

disappointment.

A series of loud popping sounds come from the other side of the hil .

Gage speeds over to a shelf of boulders and looks down into the val ey,

inspects the other side of this mysterious world before coming back.

“They’ve got weapons, machetes, guns that I’ve never seen before with

darts flying out of them. There’s a mass of injured bodies. I saw two

flat out evaporate.”

“What does that mean?” I pant, scooting into El is. Clearly we’re the

weaker vessels.

“I think it means they’re dead,” Gage swal ows hard at the thought.

“Look, there’s got to be some kind of instruction on what to do—how

to get out of this place. Why don’t you two get up over to that hedge,

take cover in the bushes in case there’s another stampede. I’l run down

the hil and talk to somebody see if I can figure out what the hel is go-

ing on.”

El is and I move like turtles. Every muscle aches, every step feels leth-

argic and heavy like walking underwater.

“Something’s wrong,” I say, ready to pass out by the time we hit the

overgrown shrub Gage suggested we cower under.

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El is pul s me in with his free hand, and we crawl into an alcove that

faces the meadow below.

“Oh my, God,” I can’t breathe. Bodies in piles, faces masked in agony.

A fresh black circle blooms across the vicinity as another explosion

goes off.

El is and I are perched above the casualties like a bunch of first world

spectators watching from the peanut gal ery.

I feel horrible. I should be down there fighting with my people.

“There he is,” El is tracks Gage with his finger. He’s at least a mile

away speaking with a man as tal as a telephone pole, his hair a burn-

ished red that glows in the haze.

A loud clap detonates from behind.

El is pul s me to my feet and we race downhil towards Gage. A fire line

erupts at our back, the shrub we were nestled in already reduced to

cinders.

Gage sprints over at supernatural speeds. “We need to leave.” He

doesn’t bother with an explanation, simply takes up my hand and

leads us back over the hil from where we came.

“Skyla!” My name howls from a ridge in the distance. I try to stop but

Gage doesn’t let go or slow down. I try to tel him to pause for a mo-

ment, decrease his speed, but I can’t catch my breath. My fingers dis-

lodge from his grip, and I cease al movement as he and El is rol on

ahead before trotting to a stop.

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It’s Logan—Holden actual y, cal ing my name. He’s on the outer-

banks, furthest from the hil side reduced to ashes. He’s holding a

crossbow, waving at me with the other arm.

“This is for you!” His voice carries like a warped melody. He draws

back the bow and fires a series of flaming arrows into a crowd of vic-

tims lying helpless on the ground. Each arrow combusts into a powder

keg explosion, powerful y wild—destructive as dynamite.

“No,” I whisper.

Gage clasps his fingers around mine and tugs me along.

“There’s a lake on the other side of the forest,” he pants. “We need to

get through it to reach region three.” His chest rises and fal s spastic

with each word.

“How do we know for sure?” I shout over the bombs going off in the

distance. “What if it’s a trap?”

“There’s a man in charge. He says he’s an orator. He knew my name

and told me where to go.” We tread on for miles, exhausted, bone

tired—the skin on my face slick from the strange atmosphere, thick as

oil.

“I can’t,” I say, too tired to finish the sentence.

“You don’t have to.” El is nods in front of us.

The forest gives the il usion of dropping off to nothing. We trek over

careful y. A steep narrow trail leads to a beautiful expanse fil ed with

wild flowers that glow in the night, writhe in the breeze like cattails.

The air is thinner here, the heavy scent of lavender perfuming the

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atmosphere. In the center of this fairylike garden lies a shimmering

body of water with moonlight dancing across in a river of bril iance.

“Dammit,” Gage stares out at the far end of the lake where four bodies

dive into the water one by one.

“That was Nat,” I say. I’d recognize those rusty curls anywhere. “Prob-

ably Pierce, and Holden—maybe the fourth was Chloe?” Gage doesn’t

bother analyzing the situation. Instead, he leads us down to the base

and shouts for us to jump in.

“Then what?” I scream, trying to keep pace with the two of them.

“Swim to the center,” Gage instructs. “Swim to the bottom. It’s the

only way to secure the region.” We race into the icy waters. Gage takes

up my hand as we struggle to swim down further and further. I open

my eyes and try to make sense of this murky world bubbling by—try to

make sense of the fact the bottom of the lake holds the key to winning

anything.

El is tugs on my hand, slits his throat with his finger and floats back to

the top.

I can’t do this either.

My lungs burn from the effort. The urge to inhale a lungful of water is

outweighing my desire to win the region.

Gage pul s me down deeper, faster. My Celestra strength—it’s gone, ful

y diminished. Everything in me is weak as paper.

A thousand glowing eyes ignite the murky depths. The feral pigs, the

sodden hogs that trampled El is, appear. They were here, waiting. This

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was a trap. Hooves on my back, my head, my legs pinned down heavy

as stones.

Can’t breathe.

Must take a breath.

Water fil s my mouth.

This secretive underwater world loses its shape, al of its texture.

The color disappears—then so do I.

Chapter 51

Get It on Like That

My chest explodes with the urge to cough, instead, a warm stream of

water vomits from my mouth. Gage turns me over, gently pumps his

fist into my stomach in an effort to drain more lake water out of my

body. I cough and sputter until I’m able to sit up.

“We’re back,” I marvel. Back in the little hut Gage built for us right

here on Rockaway Point. An icy breeze pushes overhead, rattles the

dried fronds like skeletal remains. “El is,” I say, gagging on his name.

Gage puts in a cal , nods and says sporadic words that don’t clue me in

at al to his condition.

“He says he was dancing, the next thing he knew he fel off a table and

broke his arm,” Gage raises his brows.

“Nice move, Mother,” I whisper. “So what happened? Did we win the

region?”

“No.” Gage shakes his head. “I left out a few facts.”

“What?” I’m stunned Gage would omit an al -important detail.

“The orator said, once we touched the bottom we’d have to swim

through to the other side.”

“We couldn’t have done it,” I shake my head. “It was too deep. I lost

my strength.”

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“I had mine,” Gage examines me. “Do you think that’s a part of your

punishment? Having your powers revoked in the ethereal plane?”

“God, I hope not. If it weren’t for you, I could never have gotten away

from that stampede.” I take a deep breath. “Come to think of it—my

mother did say something about my punishment for going against the

faction council would be doled out in phases during the war. I’l talk to

Marshal and beg for a meeting with my mother.” A thought occurs to

me. “You know, when I was in the Transfer, Ezrina said the only way

out was to run as fast as I could. I ran ful speed into the side of a cliff

and ended up the base of Devil’s Peak.” He leans back onto his hands

and considers this a moment.

“We could have done it, Skyla. Somebody did.”

“You see anything when you were down there?”

“I saw the rocks, they were lit from the inside—glowing. The entire

bottom of the lake looked like it was on fire,” he shrugs. “Then we ap-

peared here.”

“Something tel s me we have a lot to learn,” I lament as a swirl of fog

rol s in through the makeshift opening. “What about Chloe?”

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Gage nods. “Demetri never misses church. I’l

pick you up at eight?”

“Sounds like a date.”

A lustful gleam ignites in his eyes as he offers a seductive smile.

“But we’re here now,” he whispers it out husky.

“Alone,” I add, tilting into him.

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“God, I missed you, Skyla,” he breathes out the words while pul ing me

in.

I reach over and unbutton his shirt, take it off his person and drink

him in like this. Gage is perfectly sculpted, a testament to the glory of

the human body.

He pul s me down, lays over me as we col apse in a pool of warm

kisses. I run my fingers around the rim of his pants, slip my hands in-

side the back of his boxers. Gage careful y pul s my dress over my hips,

crests my shoulders before tossing it aside in a heap. We rol in the

sand with nothing but the sound of the ocean crashing to earth outside

our makeshift door. It’s heaven like this, with my skin pressed hot

against his. We share fierce kisses that burn brighter than any star in

the universe.

I have my forever back, my beautiful gorgeous Gage, and there’s not a

thing that wil ever keep us apart again.

***

When I final y arrive home, I find that Mom and Tad stil aren’t back

from Althorpe’s mandatory celebration.

I shower the sand off my body and put on my comfy clothes. As soon

as I turn out the lights, Logan il uminates the room a beautiful cobalt

blue that rejuvenates my energy just looking into his aura.

“Skyla,” his teeth glow like a row of tiny suns. His flesh forms. He’s

wearing the same t-shirt and jeans over and over. I suppose laundry

real y isn’t an issue once you’ve stopped existing on a material level. “I

heard about the war—I’m stil proud of you. You did good.”

“I did lousy. Too bad you couldn’t fight.”

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“I was there in body.” He winces because we both know Holden was a

liability.

“We lost.” I head over and wrap my arms around him for an immeas-

urable span of time.

Sorrow pours from his spirit, nothing but wal ed-in dejection, over-

flowing grief.

We head up to the butterfly room and close the entry behind us. It’s

bliss like this, entombed within its solemn beauty, the paper wings

flapping with our slightest movement.

“Thank you for talking to Gage.” I pick up both his hands and warm

them with mine. Logan feels real in every way, but his scent is gone,

his essence is al that truly remains. “You helped him see everything.”

“It was time.” A depleted smile comes and goes. “He was better, and I

couldn’t bear seeing the two of you in so much pain.”

“Logan.” I scoot in until our knees are touching. “If there’s supposed to

be a purpose in al things, what do you think was the purpose of you

dying?”

“There’s not,” he’s quick to answer. “Some things play out because of

Man’s carnal desires—his foolishness. It wasn’t my time. I can come

back.”

“Apparently, it’s never Holden’s time. It’s clear he’s going to ruin my

life as long as I’m stil sucking air on this planet.”

“I don’t know about that,” Logan rumbles a soft laugh. “But I’m com-

ing back,” he assures. “That I can promise.”

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“It’s because of what you saw in the future, isn’t it? That’s how you

know.” I offer an anemic smile. I hope he’s right. Gage thought he and

I would marry in a courthouse, and al that real y happened was we

found ourselves at the receiving end of an exasperated judge.

“Gage plays a role in your future, Skyla.” Logan tugs at my hand.

To hear Logan say it, see the words form on his lips, sinks my heart

like a stone on fire. Ironic, since Gage reassured me just hours before

there was a reason I had feelings for Logan.

“And you?” I ask. Somehow he seems convinced of both.

Logan searches the outer reaches of the room, traces the wal s with his

eyes like a lion trapped in his own den.

“I was at the dance tonight,” he sighs.

“Marshal was there. I thought you were on a supervised time out

where he was concerned?”

“The vicinity,” he acknowledges. “I watched from the sky. When they

said the sky was the limit they were lying.” He gives a passive attempt

at a smile. “I saw everything,” it comes out despondent. He soaks in

my features, gives a slow blink as if he were savoring them. “I want

what you and Gage have.” He seals his gaze over me, galvanizing his

love in this strange sentiment that would have seemed so crazy last

summer when he had me completely. “I don’t want it with anyone else

but you, Skyla.”

There are no words to comfort him with, not one simple phrase that

wil make it al go away.

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Logan pul s me over and we sit there with his arms around me staring

at the colored tissue wings freckling the wal s.

“Remember when we sat here last summer? You asked what we had to

do to be together.” Logan tightens his embrace around my shoulder.

I nod. “I asked what we had to do, and you said take down the

Counts.”

“And you said, that’s what we’l do,” he whispers, sad, forlorn.

“Then you pledged your al egiance to them,” I whisper. Our love

proved nothing more than a tragic roadmap.

“I tried to save us,” he sighs. “And I wil . Al we need is a little ma-

gic—and a miracle or two.” Logan holds out his hand and waves it like

a magician before interlacing our fingers again.

The butterflies shiver and flutter. The room livens with the rumple,

and one by one they exchange their waxed wings for real ones—each

becomes their own unique creation as they fly around the room.

It’s magic, a miracle—the exact two things Logan is counting on to

save our relationship.

Chapter 52

Deus Ex Machina

Sunday morning I force myself to shower and get dressed, stil sapped

of energy from the ethereal plane the night before.

Mom is already downstairs when I amble into the kitchen. She’s ful y

dressed in a white silk pantsuit with enough gold bejeweling her body

to arouse a Pharaoh right out of his tomb—hel all of them. But I’m wel

aware the only false deity she’s trying to stimulate is Demetri.

“How did it go last night?” Her eyes widen with anticipation.

Tad steps up to the counter and plunks down his mug. “As long as a

video camera wasn’t rol ing, I’d say it went more than wel .” He glares

openly at me. “Are you aware of the fact that boy you brought to the

party turned into a drunken mess and toppled off a table? He had to

leave on a gurney, which, by the way was the second most peculiar exit

of the evening. Do you realize no one ate cake?” His skin changes so

many violent shades of purple it’s alarming to watch.

“Gage talked with El is last night. He’s going to be OK, no surgery or

anything,” I assure them. “He’s getting it set in a cast later today, and

sorry about the cake.” It was French vanil a—the raspberry fil ing was

to die for. I bring my fingers to my lips, stil warm with the memory of

eating cake off Gage’s flesh. It’s the only way to do it.

“So is everything OK with the two of you?” Her eyes swel with emotion

for me. Mom wants Gage in our lives as much as I do.

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“Everything went great.” I flick my ring in the air advertising the fact

our forever brand of love, lives on.

“I’m so happy for you,” she swoons. “When you find that perfect per-

son, you should never let go. Fate could step in,” her eyes darken a

sodden shade of moss. “You could end up with the entirely wrong per-

son due to time and chance, and miss out on an incredible love story

that could have real y taken you places.” She loses herself, gazing out

at the powder white fog pressed against the window.

Dear God, she means Demetri.

I’m horrified by this.

“That’s right,” Tad wraps an arm around her shoulder. “And in less

than a month we’re giving it al we’ve got, one more time.”

“I’m taking the girls to the mal this week,” Mom doesn’t even acknow-

ledge Tad’s prideful boast. “Let me know when you’re free. I’l help you

shop for spring break.”

“Thanks!” I hop up on the bal s of my feet at the prospect of a new

bikini. “So you guys are real y OK with Cain River?”

“We’re more than OK,” Tad picks up his cup of coffee and salutes me.

“We’re going with you.”

***

I sulk to Gage al the way over to Demetri’s. There is nothing more em-

barrassing to haul to spring break than your parents. In fact, they are

the completely wrong accessories to lug just about anywhere.

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Tad surprised Mom with the chaperoning gig as a gift—an early

second honeymoon. There are so many things wrong about conducting

a honeymoon in a camp laden with teenagers—me being one of them. I

don’t even know where to begin.

“You probably won’t even run into each other.” Gage gives the hint of a

wicked smile. “I’m pretty sure on our honeymoon we won’t be leaving

the room.”

A searing bite of lust rips through my abdomen at the thought of hon-

eymooning with Gage.

“For like a month,” I add, biting down a smile.

Gage raises his brows, flashes the lamplight of his teeth before con-

tinuing. “Besides, we hardly ever see staff, they specifical y try to stay

out of our way.” Gage reaches over and squeezes my knee in an effort

to comfort me. “And, yeah, a month sounds perfect. We should make it

two just to be safe.”

“We’re going to have a lifetime,” I bring his hand up to my mouth and

kiss it, run my lips over the hil s and val eys of his knuckles while tak-

ing in his clean scent. A bloom of sadness awakens in me for Logan.

How does Logan squeeze into a lifetime of happiness with Gage? I try

to shake the thought of him out of my head by changing the subject.

“You know who never stays out of my way?” I ask. “Marshal . He spe-

cifical y tries to get in my way. Speaking of which, he’s hosting some

island-wide garage sale.”

“What gives?” Gage wraps the truck around the back of the estate. De-

metri’s mansion is daunting to look at from this angle. It rises from the

ground like a monolithic skyscraper.

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“No clue. Says he’s going to give al the money raised to the Community

Center.”

“Is he planning on sel ing anything?” Gage squints into the idea.

“Don’t know.” Just the thought of him peddling his haunted trinkets

sends a shiver through me. “Talked to El is this morning. He’s pretty

bummed he couldn’t be here. He actual y asked if I needed help hiding

the body.”

“When I heard Chloe was missing that was the first thing that ran

through my mind,” Gage gives a devious smile. “Figured you’d have it

taken care of though.” He leans over and presses in a supple kiss that

sends a mean shiver through me. “I died everyday without you, Skyla.”

My stomach swims with the rhythm of his voice. I pul him in and

share a deep kiss that has the power to ignite the two of us into a Mo-

lotov worthy explosion. There’s something more profound than lust

here, something stronger than puppy love, or infatuation. We sit for a

smal eternity fogging up the windows with the heat from our desire.

“We’d better go if we want to get out in time,” Gage pants the words in

a whisper.

Somewhere, Chloe is smiling for interrupting yet another exhilarating

moment between Gage and me.

“It’s time to unleash the witch back into the wild,” I say, getting out of

the truck.

One thing is for damn sure, if I were ever to make Chloe Bishop disap-

pear for good, I wouldn’t leave any tracks to fol ow. I would be the last

person Demetri would want to investigate.

And that’s exactly what I plan on doing one day soon.

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***

Demetri’s grandfather’s abode is more than a little freaky with no one

around. Of course, Gage is with me, but even with the two of us, it

seems isolative, exceptional y strange, like walking around in a mu-

seum after closing time.

I lead Gage upstairs to the entry that’s now conveniently sealed over.

“I’m pretty sure this is it,” I say, patting down the wal like a thief.

“How are we going to get in?” Gage takes pictures of the wal , the hal

way. He documents our every footstep.

“There might be another way.” I lead us down to the library.

The elongated rows of spines sit up at attention, al on good behavior in

our honor. The opening at the far end stil exists, but it’s reduced to

half its size. As it is, I’l barely be able to squeeze on through.

“I won’t fit,” Gage tries to push his shoulder in but his chest can’t clear

the opening. “There’s a binding spirit I can’t teleport.” I take in a

breath and press myself to the other side. The narrow space irons out

my stomach as I slide back out towards Gage.

“I’l go in by myself,” I say it weak. The thought of hopping into an al-

ternate universe al by my lonesome doesn’t real y appeal to me.

“Get Dudley,” Gage is resigned to the fact this is going to happen.

I send a quick text to Marshal . At the Althorpe dinner, he did offer to

play lookout while I crawled inside to get Chloe.

“What are you going to do?” I pul Gage in by the waist.

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“I’l wait here—read a book,” he pul s a wry smile. “I’m not taking my

eyes off that mirror. I’l give you fifteen minutes before I tear down the

wal s and come in after you.”

“I’l be quick.” I land a kiss on his lips before squeezing into the Fem

memorial. I decide to wait until Marshal shows before actual y diving

into an alternate dimension.

I pause at the gilded frames that encase pictures of unsuspecting vic-

tims right before a surprise Fem attack. An entire shelf dedicated to

the candid eerie photos. I pick one up of some guy walking on the

beach and shake it just the way I saw Chloe doing the day she

disappeared.

“Oh my, God,” I take a quick breath.

It moves—morphs into some kind of miniature television. I watch in

horror as a boy around my age is attacked by three menacing

creatures.

One of the Fems has his entire face buried in an unnatural y ful beard,

the body of a bovine, arms like a man but far too long, cloven hoofed

feet.

The second is a panther-like creature with hind legs of a bear, and the

third a bloodied clown. I turn away when the panther mauls the side of

the poor victims head, his face peeling off like a mask. I place the pic-

ture back on the shelf in haste. The clown twists his neck abruptly and

looks right at me. He gives an eerie grimace as though he knew who I

was, as if he remembered me.

“Have you ever entertained the phrase, do not touch?” Marshal whis-

pers from over my shoulder. He’s transparent in nature, and I assume

this is to keep Gage from ogling him as if he didn’t already know who

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Marshal real y was. “You’ve aroused an entirely new form of il wil

upon yourself. Which one have you cal ed,” he muses, inspecting the

frame I just set down. “Ah, yes, the clown, you must be loathing the

fact you ever laid a finger on him. Do refrain from such pleasures in

the future. Come, Love,” he ushers me towards the mirror. “In and

out, we’ve got a date this afternoon.”

“We most certainly do not have a date this afternoon,” I correct. “I’m

back with Gage. I’m spending the day with him.”

“Very wel —Jock Strap, the Pretty One, even the Chemical y Deluded

one can join our reindeer games. It matters not, the faction war waits

for no one.”

“So you heard?”

“Two for two,” he says with heated violence. “There’s no getting

around what I must do with you later. How can I make this anymore

clear? My day job depends on it.” He traps me with those copper eyes

and holds me in a masterful gaze that both reprimands and beckons.

“I have a meeting in a quarter of an hour.”

“What if I’m not back by then?”

“You wil be,” and with that he gives me a powerful shove right through

the oval framed mirror.

***

I land flat on my back in the trophy chamber of horrors—same one I

came from with the exception everything here is in reverse order. I

drift into the hal and the décor takes a drastic downturn in both qual-

ity and character. Gone is the gilt and stone, replaced with plaid

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carpeting, oak paneling with pictures of Chloe and her family lining

the wal s. I walk slow and steady from frame to frame. So freaking

bizarre.

Downstairs it looks homier than the house in its original state,

kitsch—something about it resonates ordinary people, or should I say

humans.

A garish wal slaps me in the face with its questionable décor.

I take it al back. This is neither ordinary nor human.

Twin paintings—colossal in size—eat up half the living room wal ,

emitting their prideful effigies. The first one is of Chloe in a black

strapless gown, a simple string of pearls bisect her neck. There’s

enough cleavage to warrant an R rating. The canvas stretched by its

side is a picture of Brody donning his footbal uniform from West. A

helmet and a face guard are planted square on his head, which I find

almost unsettling. It’s as if Chloe was al owing her brother into her

fantasy but under her own terms.

So, I get it, I think. Chloe and her family live here now.

The scuttle of heels clip clop in my direction and a body crashes into

me from around the corner.

“Skyla?” It’s Briel e. She’s thinner, obviously without child, but there’s

something off about her in addition to that.

“What are you doing here?” I take her in, she’s wearing ful French

maids regalia, only it’s not nearly as hot as the one Gage picked out for

me at Hal oween. It’s more of a cross between a nurse and a nun.

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“Working,” she says, annoyed. “I was just getting ready to hand wash

Chloe’s cheer uniform. She’s the best cheerleader that West has ever

seen.”

Honest to God, I half expected her to laugh or rol her eyes but she

stands there solemn as though she had just spouted off the pledge of al

egiance.

I’m a little miffed by the display of robotic attention. I’m not sure what

the rules are, but it’s obvious the ‘best cheerleader ever’ has the ability

to manipulate them.

“Where’s Chloe?”

“She’s in the viewing room,” she points down the hal . “But you can’t

disturb her, she’s with Gage.” Briel e gives a chal enging look as if it

should mean something.

“Gage?” Shit. “Oh, I won’t disturb them,” I assure, speeding down the

hal . I plan on calmly col ecting Chloe and getting the hel out of Dodge.

I open door after door until I come upon a smal hal way with a giant

framed picture on the wal of Chloe staring out at a pale fog of light, the

word Matinee printed just beneath.

I don’t hesitate opening the door. It’s dark, and the air is stopped up

with the heavy scent of popcorn. The carpeted wal s clot the sound of

my footsteps as I fast approach the end of the long dark corridor. A

wal -sized screen blazes away with a flickering seizure of color. It’s a

freaking movie theatre, loud as one, too.

I peer around the dividing wal , stealth as a sniper, and to my horror I

see Chloe sticking her tongue down some poor guys throat. They’re in-

dulging in one serious flesh-fest with an intense vigor that sets off a

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primal alarm in me. I recognize that glossy black hair, those strong

arms stretched over her like a canopy.

Oh shit.

That’s what she’s doing with Gage?

I pluck her off his body so fast her wild-eyed expression clues me in on

the fact, I’m the last person on the planet she expected in this fornicat-

ing fantasy.

Gage snatches my arm, and I pause, examining him. I marvel at the

details, every last whisper of his being is in place. What an immaculate

replica. This doppelganger is like Gage in every way, right down to his

perfect lips, the woodsy scent of his cologne.

I smack him in the chest before dragging Chloe out. She bucks and

writhes in an attempt to liberate herself from my vice-like grip. She

claws and kicks al the way upstairs. It takes al of my Celestra strength

to keep her from launching the two of us over the railing. Even if Chloe

did manage to off herself in this delusional world, I’d total y drag her

body back to Paragon, leave her to rot in Demetri’s dungeon until the

bumbling detective came upon her carcass.

“Let go.” She pushes me off as we land in the library.

“You have to come back.” I block the exit with my body.

“Did I miss Al States?” She pants from the struggle. Funny, the only

thing she asks about is some stupid competition, doesn’t even bother

inquiring about her mother, her frantic father who swore on television

this ordeal was shaving ten years off the backend of his life—the

friends she left behind, not that she has any.

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“We leave in less than a week.”

“Perfect.” Chloe heads over to the mirror wil ingly and crawls on

through.

The world around me disintegrates, evaporates into a blue expanse of

nothing, arid like the sky on a perfect L.A. day.

I make a beeline over to the mirror before it completely disappears.

Something tel s me I’ve just found a way to make Chloe do just that,

forever.

Chapter 53

I Do?

A staffing emergency arose at the bowling al ey, and Gage had to fil the

void. I offered to cancel our faction-centered play date with Marshal

but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“I promise to knee him in the bal s if he tries to kiss me,” I say, leaning

over and pressing my lips into Gage like some silent impassioned plea

for him to stay.

“I promise to do the same if he tries to kiss you.” He looks through the

windshield over at Marshal ’s sprawling estate. “I’l see if I can’t get

someone to cover the shift. Either way, cal me when you’re ready. I’l

swing by and pick you up.”

“Done.” I get out and wave as Gage rounds his way out of the circular

driveway—his black truck a perfect silhouette against the dul of

afternoon.

Each day Paragon produces the same grey taffy world. It pul s out

forever, entombs us in a cloudbank as if we had risen in the sky. I miss

the sunshine back in L.A.—the dapples of light that burst unexpectedly

into the house, the splash of warmth over the carpet where Mia’s old

dog would curl up and take his naps. I miss the stamp of nature’s

design over my back as I sat beneath a tree, lost in a book, robed in

glorious light.

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I ring the bel and wait for Marshal to show. He mentioned he had a

meeting to attend, regarding the faction war. The last time he was

there he spent his time defending me to the celestial higher-ups, which

apparently included God himself. Marshal was total y in a foul mood

when he returned, and I expect nothing less today.

The door flies open, a winded Marshal sweeps his hand for me to step

inside.

“Skyla,” he breathes my name in one lusty whisper. “Don’t be

hindered, please, come in,” he gives an awkward smile, pants like a

lapdog as he devours me with his eyes.

I can’t figure out his heady grin, or the fact he’s becoming more inebri-

ated by my presence with each passing moment. Instead, I maneuver

past him, ignoring his strange behavior.

“Please take a seat,” he offers, as I’m about to plant myself on the

couch. “May I offer you a drink? A meal perhaps? ” His eyes widen.

He’s absorbing me, memorizing my nuances, the exact interpretation

of my being, savoring it for later. He whisks his eyes over me as if I

were royalty.

“Would you be more comfortable with your feet up?” He retrieves a

damask pil ow from the corner and places it beside me.

“No, thank you.” I try to assess the stupid grin blooming on his face

but it’s no use. “What the hel is wrong with you?” I say in the nicest

way possible.

“I’ve just heard the words I’ve been longing to hear,” his chest heaves,

his eyes stil magnetical y locked over mine. “It’s true. Al I’ve ever

wanted. It’s been granted.”

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“Great,” I shrug. I can’t imagine what Marshal would possibly crave,

hunger for so deeply that it could make him act like a five year old on

Christmas morning. “A new longbow?” I take a stab at the subject

matter.

He winces at the prospect of such absurdity. “No, Love, material goods

mean nothing.” He fal s to his knees before me and caresses my cheek.

“It’s you Skyla, you’l become my wife one day.”

***

I try to convince Marshal there is no way his so-cal ed friend got the

prediction right as he leads me into the forest behind his house for the

lesson in question.

“Delphinius is an orator,” he says it with nod. “Makes my visions look

like discernments from a Magic 8 Bal . He’s an accurate source, I as-

sure you.”

This is probably going to play out like Gage’s vision in the courthouse,

leaving Marshal disappointed and me gloating because I was right. I

can guarantee we wil never marry. I’d say it out loud but I have a feel-

ing it would kick off our ode to weaponry on the wrong foot.

Marshal plucks something up from behind a noble fir and carries it

over to me, looks like a bow on steroids.

“Projectile weaponry at its finest—crossbow.” He positions it over me

and plucks an arrow from his quiver. “Far more practical for the ter-

rain you’l be battling in.”

“Lots of hil s,” I say, closing one eye trying to focus my arm on a target

painted over a Red Alder not too far in the distance.

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“Relax,” he whispers. He stands behind me, nestling my body in his as

he holds my arms in position. His lips touch my ear, and my skin

quivers with the energy of a mil ion tiny electrical impulses.

“No kissing,” I puff the words into the fog. “I promised Gage I’d knee

you in the bal s if you tried.”

“I believe the terms of your agreement were more in line with doling

out a punishment—if I were successful.” He touches his cheek to mine

before dipping down to my neck and inhaling my scent.

“Marshal ,” I reprimand. I might have to knee him anyway for being so

insolent.

“A stolen kiss might be worth the infliction,” his lips curve with seduc-

tion. He takes my breath away without trying. “You realize I’m im-

mune to pain.”

Actual y I forgot about that.

I look him over, his blessed by God features, his larger than life char-

acter that exudes an unearthly charisma. Being married to Marshal

would be like fal ing into a supernova. I’d be swal owed up and blinked

out of existence before I knew what hit me.

“Not true.” He doesn’t bother hiding the fact he’s reading my mind. “I

wil lift you up before me each day—our nights fil ed with such passion

you’l ache in the interim for my touch to return.” He squeezes his hand

over mine before locking another arrow into position.

“Wil there be chocolate?” I let go of the arrow and watch as it spirals

through the air like a lame duck.

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“Always,” he pushes himself hard against my back as we launch an ag-

gressive assault on the poor sapling we’ve set our sights on.

“You didn’t happen to see your future mother-in-law at that meeting

today, did you?” May as wel milk the effort.

“Yes, the hormonal carp was present.”

“Marshal !”

“She blew me a new one, as you would say.”

“She ripped you a new one,” I correct. “The word blow has an entirely

different meaning. I suggest you remove it from your lexicon.”

“Observed.” He lifts the crossbow from off my shoulder and places it at

his feet. “Skyla, you must be the victor of the next region and every one

after that.”

“I want to. It’s not like I’m trying to fail,” I look over at the plethora of

arrows scattered just shy of the bul s eye and nary an arrow where it

should be. The crimson blotch against the pale tree trunk mocks me

with its unblemished stain.

“I mentioned your predicament with Ezrina.”

“Thank you,” I want to lunge at Marshal with a hug but restrain myself

in fear Chloe has her demonic minions recording our every move.

“She’s declined to see you,” he gives a wistful smile.

“I suppose you’l offer to mediate in exchange for saliva.”

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“No such transaction is necessary.” Marshal is cold as stone. “I would

do anything for the mother of my child. But first, we have someone

else to see.”

Chapter 54

Body Snatcher

The Transfer is tempered with cold sterile wal s, the icy blue steel that

glows off stainless counters. Each footstep produces a strange echo as

we navigate the maze that comprises its corridors.

Marshal holds my hand, and I let him. We are, after al , in some viral

version of hel , albeit free from suffering humans and devoid of fire—

nevertheless, the demon that is Ezrina resides on the premises. This is

her home, her throne, her lair.

“Can I see Logan after?” I bounce into my words like a child begging

her father for a treat at the amusement park.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“For one, he’s dead. I believe it’s time you let dead bygones be by-

gones, the operative word being gone. You have Jock Strap to fil the

interim before we physical y acquaint ourselves.”

“So, I will be with Gage.” A swel of relief fil s me. “And, no Logan?” A

spiral of grief rips through my insides. I thought for sure we had some

kind of future.

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“I’m not here to play fil in the blanks—see who’l warm my wife’s bed in

time and memoriam. Those are your affairs until we’ve sealed our

union.”

We step into a bulbous shaped room with a domed ceiling and light

fracturing off the metal ic furniture at strange apertures. I’ve never

seen this room before. There’s something spiritual, satanic perhaps

about the sharp angles, the dome with a cutout window that bleeds in

the dark of night.

Ezrina sits patiently glossing over a book, her finger tracing out the

lines as she reads them. Her hair is unruly, defying gravity with its

wiry shag, her face deformed in horrific breaks with large pil ow-like

bags exploding beneath each eye. Poor Nev. This for sure isn’t the shel

of the woman he fel in love with. I wonder if what’s inside is stil the

same? I can’t imagine. I’ve never met anyone as abrasive as Ezrina,

wel , maybe Chloe.

“You come with news?” She slams the cover over her finger without

extricating her hand.

“I come with Skyla, young lady,” he says.

God, Marshal even flirts with Ezrina. His philandering knows no

bounds. If he keeps this up he’s going to make a lousy husband, and I

refuse to believe it’l be to me.

Something about the gold relief work on the window frame reminds

me of that haunted mirror. It has a similar pattern of long dripping

leaves, acorns as accents.

“By the way,” I say, briefly ignoring the fact Ezrina is in the room

ready to disrobe my spirit. “You gave that magic mirror to Demetri as

a gift?” I’m confounded by this.

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“Indeed,” he bows into me with pride.

“What kind of gift is that? It lets you go in and imagine yourself in the

lap of luxury? To have desired people and places at your disposal?”

“Yes,” he nods, shocked by my negative reaction. “He would have had

the world at his feet as he always dreamed, thus it is referred to as the

Realm of Possibilities.”

I groan. “That’s a cruel gift Marshal .”

“Why in heaven’s name is that?” He ticks his head back, genuinely

perplexed.

“Because it lets you live a lie.”

“It’s nothing more than a fantasy, Skyla. It just so happens it contains

flesh and bone and feeling. If I could mass market the device, your so-

ciety would lose its every inhabitant. It’s a novelty humans would glee-

ful y trade their realities for.”

“That may be so, but it’s wrong. Chloe was touching Gage, and for your

information, Gage doesn’t want her anywhere near him.”

“Skyla,” he gives a long blink, holding back a laugh. “Men admire you

from afar. They memorize your features while you patiently wait for

your lattes, while you cheer with your limbs so freely exposed. They

save the image for later with carnal intentions—nothing more than a

fantasy. I can’t say one is more wrong than the other. Even so, the mir-

ror exists. I gave that incorrigible Fem more than a mind’s eye view of

what the universe would be like if he control ed it. He could have lived

within the safety of its confines if he so wished. The only difference

between the mirror and his decision to remain in reality was his own

greed.”

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Ezrina comes over and touches my neck with the back of her gnarled

hand. “Beauty,” the word gurgles from her. “You failed, Skyla.” She

feigns a look of sadness.

“No,” I shake my head backing up from her touch. “My mother, she’s

just difficult to get a hold of. I’m going to get you that new trial.”

“Skyla,” Marshal whispers in defeat.

“I wil ,” I sharpen my tone. “I swear it!”

Ezrina comes to me, faster, more aggressive. I circle around Marshal

before jumping spontaneously in his arms and burying my face in his

chest.

“Logan lives,” her bloodstained lips crack the words out. She grabs a

fistful of my hair at the base of my neck, pul s my head back with a vi-

olent jerk. Ezrina hangs over me like a boulder. Her mouth opens, and

a stream of white light pours out into mine before I can think to seal

my lips.

The room changes diameter, I’m fal ing, stretching. I land upright in

front of Marshal staring down at a waif of a girl, long golden hair, en-

cased in surreal beauty like that of a fairytale.

“No!” I scream.

My voice echoes for miles.

***

“How in God’s name do you justify this?” I ask Marshal as we stand

outside the Transfer watching Ezrina, wel , me, run as fast as she can

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into a sheer granite wal . A blue aura spasms around her body just be-

fore she disappears.

“This wil quel her for now—buy you more time to remove yourself

from the covenant you’re embroiled in. Let this be a lesson, never ca-

vort promises with celestial beings that you have no intention of keep-

ing. I’m repeating myself in the event you’re unaware.”

“I had every intention of keeping that promise. It was my mother who

was unwil ing.” Everything in me wants to cry but apparently Ezrina is

hardwired not to—just speaking feels as though I’ve moved a boulder

with my teeth. Ezrina’s flesh is an iron cage two sizes too smal .

“Then let me rephrase—refrain from entering into sacred pacts, when

you have no authority. Your mother is anxious to see you, by the way.”

“Now you tel me?” I resist the urge to hack him to pieces. “No,” it

stamps out of me.

“No?”

“That’s right. My terms—my way. She wasn’t there when I needed her

and I plan on returning the favor.”

“It’s regarding the faction war.”

“The war?” I gag on the thought. “You have to get Ezrina out of my

body. She’s beyond dangerous. She’l probably go on a hacking spree

from the sheer bloodlust of it al and chop up al the wrong people. And

what about Gage?” The thought of her touching his body, those lips,

nauseates me.

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“The war can’t be fought without you, Skyla. You’re the guest of honor.

And I wouldn’t worry too much about your precious Gage. I’m sure

after a few romantic sessions he’l be quite aware.”

“A few?” I gasp. “How long do I have to live like this?” I ask, walking

through the cobbled streets of this strange underworld. Every step in

Ezrina’s flesh feels like rigor mortis is about to set it—like being stuck

in a rusted suit of armor.

“Two weeks,” he sidesteps in the event I should swing at him.

“Two weeks?” I knew he’d make a lousy husband. “She’l ruin my life in

two weeks!”

“She knows your routine inside and out. Ezrina maintains she wil be

on her best behavior. Do you realize this is her only respite since her

arrival over a century ago?”

“What am I? A day spa?! If you expect me to feel sorry for Ezrina, you

are sadly mistaken. What Nev ever saw in her is beyond me,” I wince

as a trail of foreign sounds escape my lips—they echo in triplicate into

the fields. Ironical y, I do feel bad for Ezrina, only now I’m less apt to

verbalize it since she hijacked my body. “Fix this Marshal . If I am ever

going to be your wife, you wil get me out of this situation far sooner

than two week’s time.”

“You have her powers, Skyla. You can travel to Paragon, observe, be-

come invisible, terrorize at random. Think of the entertaining

possibilities.”

An image of Gage burns through my mind. He could never love me

like this. I wouldn’t even make him try.

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A black wrought iron fence catches my attention in the distance. The

white mansion impresses itself into the dark expanse.

Logan.

I push past Marshal without so much of a goodbye.

Something tel s me this is going to be the longest two weeks, ever.

Chapter 55

Master Disaster

I ditch Marshal and speed over to the haunted mansion, the prize jew-

el of the Transfer, in search of my favorite dearly departed ex-

boyfriend.

I’m surprised to find that the inside of the estate does, in fact, mirror

Demetri’s palatial replica. However, the color palette is in complete

contrast, and the piano banging replaces the hol ow sound of foot-

steps. Long strands of gossamer drape like curtains from the corners,

the dust riddled chandeliers drip with melting wax. The cold dank air

is dressed with a musty scent that reminds me of the pipes beneath the

cabinetry in my bathroom, rife with enough black mold to secure the

promise of lung cancer.

I head over toward the room Marshal housed me in while I, myself,

was an unwil ing resident here just before Christmas, then Gage after

me.

His incarceration was far more temporary, better classified as a visit.

The piano vomits out its nonstop ragtime clatter, violent and surging.

It strums through the new twisted limbs I’m forced to reside in, makes

my skin crawl with the unsteady rhythm.

I give a series of powerful blows to the heaving door. I watch as it

bloats out as if it were fil ing its lungs, then exhales to a thinner ver-

sion of itself.

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Logan swings open the door proving my theory correct of where they

might have stashed him.

Marshal is consistent. I’l give him that.

Logan attempts to slam it shut, but I manage to muscle my way inside.

“It’s me,” I rattle out. “Skyla.” I hold my hands out for him to assess

the damage.

“Holy shit,” he pul s me in. “What the hel happened?” Logan is crazed

by the turn of events. Final y, someone who matches my mood.

“I couldn’t get her a trial,” I howl in lieu of tears. “She just took, me.

And Marshal just stood there and let her.”

“Why?” His eyes saucer out.

“He said this was the only way to stave her off. She’s locked in my body

for two freaking weeks!” A glass pitcher sitting on the table shatters

from the ferocity of my cry.

“Skyla,” Logan doesn’t hesitate to hold me. His wonderful arms wrap

tight around this strange thick skeleton, this gnarled quilt of flesh

pieced hideously over me. “We’re going to fix this,” he whispers, con-

fident of this truth. Logan’s reassurance seems the only thing I need. “I

stil love you, Skyla. I always wil .”

I find Logan’s ability to love me in this putrid corporal state amazingly

beautiful, just like him.

***

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Having Ezrina’s body does have its advantages. For one, I’m able to

transport Logan and I to the Landon house pronto to observe al of the

wild shit Ezrina might be getting me into. Second, I have the power to

knock things over at random and make Tad believe he’s losing his

mind, which brings me a mild sense of satisfaction.

We find the Landon clan downstairs where Mom is mutilating yet an-

other perfectly good recipe in the name of procreation while Mia and

Melissa finish up their weekend homework at the table.

I nudge Logan as Ezrina comes into the room, she looks wel coifed

with her hair spun in some old-fashioned up-do, makeup to a minim-

um with far too much sparkly blush applied al over her face at

random.

Sprinkles starts in on a mad barking spree, so violent and atrocious

I’m half afraid the tiny mutt is going to bark himself right into an

aneurism.

“Outside with that thing,” Tad bel ows over the noise.

“Come,” Ezrina bends over and tries to quel the onslaught of non-af-

fection but only entices a strange hissing noise to escape from the poor

creature’s throat.

“Geez, Skyla,” Mia gets up and swoops him into her arms. “He hates

you.”

“That’s because she kicks him when she thinks no one is looking,”

Melissa quips.

“I do not,” I protest, but my words bounce around the room, hol ow,

impotent of yielding any results.

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“Hey,” Mia whispers over to Ezrina. “Can your friend El is hook Gabe

up with more of that stuff?” El is? I take a breath and hold it.

“Yes,” Ezrina nods without ful y understanding the implications.

“Wil you drive us to the mal Tuesday? Gabe wants to catch a movie,”

Mia is on a rol .

“For you, anything, dear sister,” Ezrina combs her hair back with my

long slender fingers. “That’s how sisters love each other best. They ac-

commodate one another when they can.”

Ezrina goes over and tastes the gruel right out of the bubbling pot

Mom is hovering over.

“You like it?” Mom is hopeful her vomit-like concoction wil please me.

“Tastes like heaven,” Ezrina, pul s my mother in and holds her a very

long time. “I miss touching,” she whispers.

My heart seizes. Ezrina is hungry for love and affection. I find the pos-

sibilities more than a little paralyzing.

“Let’s hope maternal love is al she’s craving,” Logan doesn’t miss a

beat.

“I have a feeling it’s been one long hot century.”

A knock erupts at the door and after a few minutes Tad cal s out for

me.

Logan and I shuffle after Ezrina.

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Tad leans into her, “Why don’t you invite the linebacker in. Maybe he’l

vacuum up that slop your mother’s brewing.”

“Dutiful y,” Ezrina nods, “after, if it pleases my lord, I would very

much enjoy a constitutional with my suitor.”

“A what?” Tad snaps. “Listen smart ass, you’re hanging by a thread.

Whatever it is you’re planning on constituting, it isn’t happening on

my watch. He leaves in an hour, and you stay put.” Tad stomps off,

validating the fact he’s an asshole.

Gage comes in and gives a soft kiss before pul ing away. “Everything

go OK with Dudley? I swung by, but he said you left.” Gage inspects

my new spinster image and there’s a rising level of concern in him far

exceeding anything regarding Marshal .

Ezrina doesn’t answer. She simply gazes up at him lovesick, spel

bound by his magnificent beauty, the touch of his lips.

“Shit,” I hiss as Logan as we fol ow them back to the dining room. The

table is set, and Mom is coaxing Gage over to take a seat. “How can he

be fooled?” I panic as Gage picks up her hand.

“She is you.” Logan is quick to correct.

Gage takes a quick look at Ezrina. Her cheeks explode with color as he

takes her in. Her entire person swel s as if she might explode from the

sheer fact she’s holding his hand.

“Is something going on between the two of you?” Mom asks flushed

with embarrassment.

Drake and Ethan file in as Tad doles out the Sunday gruel. And holy

crap if it doesn’t real y look like bowls of steaming vomit.

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“If one person eats that I’m going to freaking hurl,” I announce.

“Do it for me, too,” Logan says, folding his arms. “I’m incapable of es-

sential bodily functions at the moment.” Ezrina lets out a strange cry

I’ve never heard myself produce before and lands in Gage’s lap so fast

you’d think her chair was on fire. She seals her lips over his and en-

gages in an awkward pecking kiss that’s not only hard to witness, it’s

hard to comprehend my body is in some way responsible for the

carnage.

“She’s going to get my kissing license revoked,” I whisper.

“Unreal, Lizbeth,” Tad says before darting a finger at Ethan. “Restrain

her.”

Ezrina rips off Gage’s sweater and lands him bare-chested on the car-

pet. She pins his arms down like a prisoner and lashes her mouth over

his neck as if slitting his throat.

“Do something!” Mom screams.

“I don’t have a net big enough to hold her!” Tad hurdles over chairs

and end tables, to get to Ezrina.

Gage rol s her over and exhausts her kicking tirade—looks right at her

with a severe sense of doubt. “Skyla?” There’s a question in his eyes

that lingers a moment before he stands, dusts himself off like he’s

good and pissed. He knows.

“I’ve gotta run, thanks for the invite.” Gage nods into my mother be-

fore heading for the door.

“Go—tel him it’s not me,” I push Logan in his direction.

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“Can’t,” he says. “I’ve lost the ability to communicate or come back on

my own. They’re removing me from the planet one piece at a time.”

Great. Just freaking great.

I have never been so completely screwed.

Chapter 56

Love Shack

Life in the Transfer is slow. It’s nefarious in nature as dictated by the

odd spontaneous beheading, a random maiming. The screams of the

victim fil the streets as he runs from the butcher with blood spurting

out of his neck like water from a hose. Each act of dismemberment is

met with applause from the strange old world audience. It’s al a show.

The victim takes a bow, initiates the chase once again.

“Why do they do it?” I ask, looking out from the window in Logan’s

room.

“No clue. Why do we watch horror movies or play violent video

games?” He shrugs. “I guess it’s entertaining.”

“Mmm, something seems off. Something’s wrong about the whole

thing.” I join him in the kitchen and help put the dishes away. Logan

made dinner for me, homemade mac and cheese. He would have in-

dulged, himself, but he’s incapable of digestion at the moment.

Logan pul s me in. “You want to go back to Paragon, don’t you?” He

bumps his forehead to mine with a forlorn expression.

I nod holding back tears. In less than a week’s time, I’ve managed to

rewire Ezrina’s brain to include heartbreak and longing, tears that rol

like rivers.

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“How can you look at me?” I’m stunned by Logan’s ability to stomach

me. He’s a perfect creature in every way, a sharp contrast to the

hideousness I’ve become.

“You’re beautiful in every way, I promise.” Logan plants a kiss on the

top of my head, and we dissolve back to the island where it al began

for the two of us.

***

“There she is,” Logan points over towards Ezrina as she walks the edge

of the forest, right here on the Landon property.

Rarely have I gone out into the backyard. Once Tad and Mom lured

me out here to gift me my father’s bicycle they had restored.

Logan and I navigate through the outline of the woods as we approach

her. Ezrina prances and laughs while nestled in my flesh.

“She’s with him,” I marvel. Nevermore sits perched on her shoulder, a

noble creature of majestic stature. “You think he knows?” Logan takes

my hand as we tuck ourselves into an alcove carved out by a Juniper

and dutiful y spy on Ezrina and the love of her life, Heathcliff.

“Looks, like,” Logan struggles to see. “I think they’re…”

Ezrina touches her cheek to him, caresses his feathers with long im-

passioned strokes. It’s love in bloom—ages of bottled up emotions un-

leashed with touch, and words, and endless secretive whispers.

“They’re in love.” I scoot into Logan trying to hide my bulky frame.

“You can pul people apart—remove them from the planet but you can’t

extinguish feelings. Love lives even in the face of death.” He exhales a

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warm breath over my cheek. “I stil love you, Skyla. Death can’t stop

what I feel for you, not by a long shot.”

“Logan,” I cover his hand with mine. It’s a truth I’l know forever. “I

love you, too.” It comes out sad, genuine.

The forest fil s with chatter. Ezrina, laughs—giggles like a schoolgirl.

“You hear that?” Logan leans in, puzzled. “I think she just said my

name.”

Ezrina

gives

a

gentle

chortle,

mentions

Cain

River,

Holden—something about an arresting spirit.

Logan and I exchange worried glances.

From the house, Tad shouts for me to get the hel back inside.

“Lizbeth?” He barks from the balcony. “Guess what I just caught our

daughter doing? Experimenting with bestiality—with a bird! And you

can probably guess which daughter.”

“Shit,” I hiss. “Let’s get out of here.”

Logan takes up my hand and we disappear.

***

Marshal finds me back at the Transfer sulking on the sofa while Logan

whips up another gourmet meal. I do my best to give Marshal the cold

shoulder, let him know how it feels to piss off his so-cal ed wife-to-

be—teach him a lesson on where flawed judgment gets you.

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“She’s doing spectacular with your schoolwork,” he offers. “You’ve re-

ceived an A on two pop quizzes I’ve given. Your English teacher shared

a master essay she drafted on the works of Jane Austen with the entire

faculty.”

“Most impressive,” my voice snarls for effect. Ezrina possesses the

ability to make every word that breathes from these lungs sound like

it’s drowning in a nasty bout of phlegm.

“Come,” Marshal beckons me off the couch. “Let’s see what Ezrina is

up to. Give your spirit some rest instead of holing up in misery with

the Pretty One.”

“Wil I be back in time for dinner?” I look past him at Logan who has a

wonderful aroma emanating from the kitchen. My mother could only

wish she had half his culinary savvy. I’d offer to help, but I have an in-

sane urge to slash Logan with a butcher knife each time I’m near one.

“Most certainly,” Marshal assures.

I let Logan know I’m going to step out, and Marshal blips me away.

***

We float hundreds of yards above the rich green footbal field of West

Paragon High. Cheer practice is underway. Chloe barks instructions

out with the tenacity of a dril sergeant while the rest of them kick and

shout, in order to appease her agitated nature.

“Messenger,” she goes over and screams into Ezrina’s face. “I don’t be-

lieve you’re giving it your effing best. We’re going to lose Al State be-

cause you’re too damn lazy to lift those tree trunks you cal legs.”

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Ezrina pants from the effort she’s just put in, her face is bright pink

with duress as perspiration beads down her forehead. I don’t ever re-

member getting that worked up during cheer. Obviously Ezrina is put-

ting in a monster effort.

They fal into formation and Ezrina punches and kicks, shouts so loud,

her mighty roar disrupts the clouds near our feet.

Chloe goes over and howls in her face again, reprimands her for not

giving a hundred and ten percent.

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” I say to Marshal .

Ezrina lifts Chloe with ease, tosses her in the air like a ragdol until

she’s inches from our feet.

Chloe flails, screams—the look of horror on her face is priceless—the

flawless diamond of fear.

I laugh as she fal s over the bitch squad in a heap.

Wel , played Ezrina—wel played.

***

Days drift by locked in this nightmare. A continual dul stream of grey

afternoons, evenings that shift like shadows, just one long dismal

existence.

Logan and I have decided to join the school on its adventure to Cain

River. It’s a nice break to be back on earth, back under the guise of

daylight with Gage gracing the planet while a loon runs around in my

body.

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Tad asserts himself as the authority as they settle into camp, making

everyone cringe and ask the al -important question of who invited this

idiot?

I spy on Gage like a hunter, listening from afar as he hums a sad song

in the shower, as he contemplates what’s become of me while he lies

under the branches of a hundred year old pine.

“Gage,” I cal to him in a broken whisper, the voice I produce replicates

the sound of shattering glass but he doesn’t answer.

The week presses on. With the Al State competition breathing down

our necks, Chloe has us, wel , them, cheering from sunup til sundown

but imposes a reprieve the day before the competition.

“Chloe has a heart?” I pose the question to Logan as we watch Ezrina

bolt into the shower.

“She hurt her shoulder the day you tossed her sky high. I overheard

her saying she needed to ice it.” Logan gives a slight smile at Ezrina’s

effort.

“Perfect. Another thing she can blame me for.”

Chloe sprints out of the woods and catches up to Gage on the walkway.

“No fair,” I lament as they walk off towards the commons house to-

gether. “I hate this.”

“You wanna see what she’s up to?” Logan offers.

“I don’t know,” I trust Gage. Right now Ezrina feels like more of a

loose cannon than Chloe.

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Ezrina bolts from the shower facility, her hair stil wet, her body

wrapped tight in a white cloud of a robe. She speeds over to the forest

and looks around in secret before heading in.

“What the—” I take Logan by the hand and we race to keep up with

her.

Off in the distance Holden is standing by the boathouse waving her

over with one of Logan’s kil er smiles.

“Oh, no,” I sigh.

Ezrina give a brief curtsey. “I’ve waited—dreamed of this day.” Her

chest heaves as she says it, her hand fal s flat against his chest, and she

closes her eyes lost in the ecstasy of it al . “Heathcliff, I love you.”

“She just cal ed him Heathcliff,” I say, stunned.

“Heathcliff?” Logan whispers as if they might hear.

“Nevermore—that’s his name, and he hated me for saying it.” I inspect

the sky, the dark shadows of the branches in search for his ebony

plumes, his sparkling onyx eyes looking down in disapproval, but he’s

not here. “Something’s going on.” Ezrina and Holden—my body and

Logan’s, start in with soft impassioned kisses. He takes off his shirt,

gazes down at my effigy with the look of true love in his eyes—nothing

but longing and lust that have amassed from waiting, dreaming, wast-

ing away in a prison of frail bones and feathers.

“Oh my, God,” I whisper.

She takes him by the hand and leads him into the boathouse, the door

slamming shut behind them. Logan and I appear in the tiny confined

space without missing a blink.

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She lies over him in a rusted out boat, her bathrobe open in the front,

affording them an air of privacy. It’s outright animal, love like a

furnace

—a blaze unfolding before us. A tangle of bare flesh with the robe she

was wearing moments before disheveled over her bottom.

“Should we be watching this?” I stare in horror as the boat rocks to the

rhythm of their affection.

“We should be living this.” An approving smile slides along Logan’s

face as he places his finger to his nose with amusement.

“Oh stop,” I push him. “Marshal !” I rattle the tiny cabin with the

reverberation.

Ezrina begins in on a series of moans.

“No, no, no!” I shout. They’re writhing and bucking and I’m about to

vomit from the shock of it al . I can’t lose my virginity to Logan slash

Holden or Heathcliff, whoever the hel he is today. I’m going to nail

Marshal upside down in the butterfly room. Pin a thousand angry but-

terflies over him to hide the body. He is going to pay in spades for let-

ting this happen to me.

Through the tiny half moon window I spot Mom and Tad, threading in

and out of the trees, giggling at one another, pausing every now and

again to stop and make out. Eww. It’s obvious they’ve decided to sup-

plement their honeymoon with a tryst in the forest.

I fly out—right through the wood of the tiny log cabin, speed over to

them with a vengeance. If ever they had my best interest at heart, if

ever they were to save me from myself, the perfect opportunity was

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about to present itself. This was their moment. They could gloat for a

decade for al I cared.

I flatten Ezrina’s crooked hands over Tad’s back and jog them along to

the boathouse. I real y don’t understand why they can’t see me, but it’s

for the best. If Tad saw Ezrina, he’d crap his pants.

“How about in here?” Tad raises his brows suggestively.

I so knew it! They were sneaking off to copulate.

They fal in backwards, buttoned together at the lips. My mother’s eyes

widen with horror as she spies the carnal catastrophe unfolding before

her.

Mom and Tad, Logan and me, the four of us gape at the scene.

A breath gets trapped in my throat as I catch a glimpse of Logan’s face

lost in delirium, my neck rising beneath his. Our bodies connect in a

frenzy—that’s what we would look like, Logan loving me—me loving

him back. As much as I hate to admit it, there is a beauty locked in this

moment, a bril iant light shining in the nexus of something unimagin-

able, holy and right.

Marshal beams into the room, hovers by the ceiling in a half soluble

state. Petition your mother for a new trial, Love. If not, this is the des-

tiny that awaits you. He points down over our bodies. I’m afraid it’s

time to rise, he cal s to the two of them. Ezrina’s eyes fly open, look

right at Marshal with terror. She can see him, just like I could. Heath-

cliff first, he cal s out. Logan’s body snaps back as though he were

electrocuted.

“Oh God,” I whimper.

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“Skyla,” Marshal nods with the glimmer of an abominable grin.

“Skyla!” Logan shouts, pointing hard over at the body lying beneath

mine. “Kil him!” It’s the last thing I hear as the room glides in a dizzy-

ing circle, and I blink back into my own earthy form.

Chapter 57

Like A Lover’s Voice

“Skyla Laurel Messenger!” My mother shatters the silence with her ex-

cavating howl.

I sit up, rol ing Holden off in the process.

How in the hel do I talk my way out of this one?

Holden wrangles on his clothes, causing Tad to escort my mother out

the door.

“You have five minutes to hit base camp, young lady—five minutes!”

My mother roars.

Shit. She’l never buy that virgin routine now. Ezrina’s gone and ruined

everything. I am stil a virgin, right? I pick up my robe and glance down

at my naked body as though it might offer up a clue.

“What the hel happened?” Holden whines as he buttons his jeans.

“Did we like just effing get it on?” I look around the room for a

weapon, an ax, a noose, hel I’d hack Holden up limb by limb with a

machete if I could. I’m sure Dr. Oliver could pick up the pieces quite

literal y if he had to.

A long chain, thick and heavy, coiled in the corner peaceful as a snake

garners my attention.

I secure my robe, rising to my feet.

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“So you wanna do it again?” Holden tilts his head with a hint of plead-

ing. “You know, real quick?”

“Sure,” I say, hopping out of the aluminum vessel that only moments

before had Logan and I comprising a duet with our flesh.

My feet wobble unsteady on this new light frame. I snatch the chain up

from the floor and snap it to the ground, quick and violent. The metal

cinches and crackles as a spark of lightening ignites from the bionic

pul .

“Shit,” Holden hisses. “What the hel ’s that for?”

I thrash the metal leash with extravagant force—whip his left foot as it

touches down on the floor.

“Crap!” He hops up.

“This is how I like it,” I say, swinging the chain so fast it cuts the air

with a whoosh.

“Calm down,” he backs out the door, and I fol ow. Holden trips over a

branch and rights himself immediately. “Get that thing away from

me.” I don’t like seeing Logan’s face in pain, the look of confusion bub-

bling to the surface. I have to keep reminding myself that beneath it al

it’s Holden—that Logan’s body is the last place he belongs.

Holden takes off, sprints in the direction of the creek and I take off

after him. We traverse logs, avoid bushes, ditch in and out of the new

spring grass that stands as tal as a man until final y trekking down to-

wards the mouth of the swol en river.

Holden pauses at the tributary, looks at me one last time before jump-

ing into the water.

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I stop just shy of the river’s edge and watch Holden as he struggles to

swim across.

The faint cal of voices emanate from downstream. I give a hard squint

and make out a group of people lounging around on boulders—

Briel e hopping up and down, waving like mad to get my attention.

I jump into the water and gasp as it hugs my waist with its icy bite.

Holden bobs unsteady as if he doesn’t know how to swim, fighting the

current to cut through the middle. I pray Gage was on one of those

boulders—that he saw me and he’s coming to help me do the

unthinkable.

“Skyla,” Holden reaches for me as a rush of water cascades over his

shoulders. He looks relived that I’ve abandoned my weaponry.

“Kiss me,” I say, trying to smile through the pain. I let him reel me in

as if this were al a wicked game, foreplay of a maniacal nature. He

seals his lips over mine, and I pul us under gentle as a dream. If I

didn’t know prior to this that Logan’s body was hijacked by an im-

poster, I would sure as hel know now. These may be Logan’s lips but

they are miles away from being his kisses. This is the bite of a python,

the deadly infliction of some disease being dispensed with his wander-

ing tongue. It reminds me powerful y of that night at the fal s when I

came across Holden in his proper form before digging my fingers into

his neck, kil ing him the first time.

It takes al of my Celestra strength to wrestle Holden to the bottom of

the river, pin him down with my body and lay over him like a stone. I

remove my lips from his mouth, disgusted by the thought of Holden

Kragger impaling me with his lust. Without meaning to I open my

eyes, watch the bubbles blow out of Holden’s mouth, his eyes ready to

eject themselves from their sockets from the strain of holding his

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breath. He jerks and squirms, almost launches me off but I hone in my

anger and render his muscular arms useless.

His face pinches in agony. And then he gives. Holden gulps down wa-

ter, inhales long clean strokes like fresh spring air. I would have sold

him for silver, done anything possible never to live this moment.

My lungs constrict. I choke trying to hold my breath another second.

Holden goes limp beneath me. In the event he’s bluffing I conduct my

own reflex analysis by reaching down and wrenching his bal s so tight

Logan may never succeed at procreation. But Holden doesn’t flinch. I

pop to the surface unstoppable, take in a gasp of air so sharp it sears

my lungs like fire.

Gage jumps in, dives down to the bottom without me having to say a

word.

I pant and groan from the pain, as I make my way towards shore. I

would never have been able to carry out that feat if Marshal hadn’t

taught me how to push past the pain, believe that I could linger just a

little while longer. I guess in the end Marshal helped bring back Logan

after al .

Gage tosses Logan up on the grass, limp and rubbery. He pushes him

onto his side and Logan spil s water from his lips like vomit.

“Shit,” Gage rol s him on his back and pushes the palms of his hands

under his diaphragm.

I crawl over and seal my mouth over Logan’s, push in a series of steady

deep breaths until I feel him jerk.

“Come back to me,” I whisper. “It’s over. He’s gone. You and me, we’re

going to win this faction war, remember?” I try to coax him back into

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his body, wake him up so I can dislodge the idea that I may have inad-

vertently caused him brain damage.

Logan sits up and engages in the world’s most violent coughing spree.

“You’re back,” I cry.

Logan nods, looks from me to Gage and pushes out a weak smile. “I’m

back.”

“Skyla?” Gage pul s me in, looks right into my eyes.

“It’s me, I swear,” I wrap my arms around Gage so tight I never want

to let go. “We’re both back and everything is the way it should be.”

Chapter 58

War Drums

My mother and I stare at one another in her cabin that reeks of Tad’s

grocery store patchouli cologne. Clearly, we are at an impasse.

“You were cheating on Gage,” she rages.

“Not real y.” This is only slightly more awkward than it has to be since

both Gage and Tad hover beside us.

“You were kissing! ” She brings her hands up over her forehead in

frustration. “For God’s sake, I hope that’s al you were doing.”

“I bet she’s final y managed to knock herself up,” Tad announces. “Let

the record show I’m not giving another damn dime to that clinic in

Seattle,” he saws through the room with his winded bel ow.

“Fine,” I say.

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“Fine?” My mother balks. “Is that al you have to say for yourself?

Fine?”

“She’s probably trying to get pregnant,” Tad snarks. “She’s jealous

over al the attention Drake has drummed up for himself.”

“Not true.” Let the record show I’d be thril ed with zero attention from

either Mom or Tad. In fact, I’d be more than pleased if I wasn’t realist-

ical y the only female in the room with any reproductive relevance. If

Tad final y managed to knock up my mother, it would probably reduce

the incidence of these kinds of conversations to nil.

“I think you owe everyone in the room an apology,” Mom sags, fa-

tigued from the confrontation al together.

“I apologize for my actions,” I’m quick to admit. “It won’t happen

again, I swear.” Like, ever, because I kil ed the bastard. Although tech-

nical y it was Nev fondling my body, and speaking of which, I have one

serious fucking bone to pick with him. “Um,” I turn to face Gage. “I

owe you the biggest apology of al ,” I real y mean it. “Wil you ever for-

give me for the countless messes I’ve dragged us into?” Gage raises his

brows, amused. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”

***

Gage. The ways he saves me are incalculable.

We walk into the woods—weave through ancient Hemlocks with

trunks so fat you could park a car in them.

His left hand is heavily bandaged.

“What happened?” I pick it up gently and bring it to my cheek.

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“Grazed myself with a nail gun renovating a cabin. And here I thought

carpentry was going to be my thing.” He pushes his shoulder into

mine.

I notice one of the discs protruding from his side pocket, and I’m re-

lieved to see it.

“Is that a disc in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” I laugh

because I screw it up and accidental y pronounce disc as dick.

“Al of the above.” He gives a sultry smile and pul s me down to the

ground.

We lay side by side in a clearing, on a bed of fragrant pine needles, soft

as a pil ow.

Gage traces the outline of my jaw. His eyes never waver from mine.

“I missed you,” he breathes. His finger traipses along the outer edge of

my lips, dips into my mouth and he kisses the tip before dotting my

nose with it. “Are you OK? Did he hurt you?”

I can read between the lines. I know what he’s real y asking. I had ex-

plained what had happened between Ezrina and Nev as brief as pos-

sible before my mother’s detainment.

“I don’t think so.” I shake my head. Deep down inside I don’t think

that was Nevermore’s intent. I can hardly blame Ezrina who was so

parched, so thirsty. You could see Nev fil ing in the cracks of her exist-

ence, rehydrating her soul with his hands kneading over her hips. It

would have been beautiful if it didn’t involve my body—Logan of al

people on the receiving end. It was a love song in the making just

watching her shake her hair out for him.

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“Skyla.” Gage kisses me with my name stil on his lips. “I am jealous for

you.” His words swim through me. My spirit soars to hear that curious

phrase.

I take him in with a sigh before he depresses over me, loves me with a

quiet sadness. He sends his heated kisses rushing up and down my

neck rabid and hungry.

I can hear the beating of our hearts, they escalate in sound, deafen my

senses. The ground quakes beneath us.

I open my eyes just as the world fades to nothing.

***

The scenery appears, a deep umber sky, a world dipped in sepia. The

sound of a thousand helicopters flying overhead bombard our senses.

“We need to find the orator,” Gage screams over the intense wal oping

that bul ets through the atmosphere.

El is appears, covers his ears as he runs over.

“I got a lead,” El is shouts. His eyes are lost in crimson tracks, glazed

over with an oily haze.

“You’re stoned,” I say, disappointed.

“You were back with Gage,” he shrugs.

“Are you sel ing to Gabriel Armistead?” I forget about the war long

enough to inject myself into Mia’s wel being.

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“No,” he gives a hard look. “I wouldn’t give it. He got it someplace else.

I know that for a fact.” Great. Now I have Mia and Melissa’s recre-

ational drug use to police, not to mention the fact this Armistead kid

has a standing date with the penitentiary at some point in the future.

Obviously he’s going to drag my sisters down. He’s a lunatic, and once

Mia and Melissa catch on, I’m sure there wil be restraining orders in-

volved. They’l be lucky if they get out of this three-way relationship

without gunfire and homicide.

Speaking of gunfire, we fol ow El is over to a wheat-covered hil side,

the blonde shafts move in a slow lethargic rhythm, cheering us on.

El is kicks at a mound of hay before reaching in and extracting a cross-

bow, same one Marshal taught me how to use.

My hair swirls wild as the wind stirs up in a violent rage.

“There he is,” Gage points over to a group of men interlinked in a

huddle, the orator stretches above them by three heads at least. “Stay

here.” Gage takes off in his direction.

El is retrieves a bow and quiver for each of us. The arrows spil —they

rain over the splinters of hay, disheveled and impotent.

“Shit!” he cries out in anguish, his left arm stil locked in a cast.

“Let me,” I gather them quick as possible until we have a handful in

each canister. I sling one over El is’ shoulder just as something slaps

his jaw in the opposite direction and sprays the air with blood from his

mouth.

I turn in time to see Chloe brimming with pride, a wrist rocket

dangling from her hand. She missed my temple by less than a

centimeter.

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El is drops his head to his knees before surging with a pissed off look

on his face.

Chloe.

I can’t recal if it was my mother or my father who told me that if you

die in the ethereal plane you stay that way.

I swipe an arrow from over my shoulder, bend over and hoist up the

crossbow.

An arrow. That’s how Chloe Bishop wil die. Not some mirror that fulfil

s psychotic wishes. I’l be damned if I ever let her crawl into her fantasy

and have her way with Gage as a means to rid her from this world. Not

on my fucking watch.

She pul s back her sling already loaded and ready to go. She heaves

with a malevolent smile, shakes a shock of necrotic hair out of her eyes

with laughter.

“Skyla!” Gage resonates through the incessant drumming.

It al happens so fast, two deadly weapons slicing through the air, whis-

pering as they pass in the night. I drop to my knees only to find a stone

staring me in the face.

The world quakes and trembles, reduces to nothing as the night is swal

owed up in thunder.

Gage—he tossed the disc into the field and everything freezes.

Region three is over.

We lost.

Chapter 59

Trip the Lights Fantastic

The next day, the Al State competition is strange to say the least.

I look into the rows of endless faces set up on the bleachers. I scour the

crowd with an intense scrutiny before our final routine and see Logan

and Gage staring back at me, my mother next to them with blue and

white pom poms in her hand cheering from the stands.

Chloe and I have chosen to ignore the fact we almost offed each other

last night and join forces to initiate what just might have been one of

the most kick ass performances of both our acrobatic, heel stomping

careers.

El is isn’t here—already I know that. El is might be suffering from a

slight hairline fracture along his mandible, so Tad volunteered to es-

cort him back to Paragon where his mother has a specialist flying in to

assess whether or not they’l need to wire shut his jaw. I imagine that

might temper the pot runs for a good long while.

The music cues up and Chloe and I jump and shout in unison in our fi-

nal foray as inseparable cheer peers. We start in on the pair’s section

of the routine, smile our red painted grins at one another as if we were

sisters. There’s something haunting, almost erotic about the deception

we’re attempting to pass off on the judges. Chloe swings her hips in my

direction, grabs my wrists and slides me down between her legs, and I

pop right back up.

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Don’t wreck this, she says just before letting go.

It’s the basket toss that has her riled up. Everything else in the routine

is gingerbread.

The girls form a tight circle, Chloe, Nat, Emily, Lexy, and a crystal ine-

eyed Michel e. Here I am in the arms of my enemies. Each one might

benefit in the event I suffer an unfortunate accident—watch with great

interest as my head explodes like a melon against the bright yel ow

floor.

I hesitate just a moment, long enough to see my mother standing,

roaring for my triumph. I growl in the face of my adversaries as I

bounce hard onto their interlocked hands.

I fly—soar up so high that hitting the ceiling of the gymnasium feels

like a very real possibility. I peak just shy of grazing an enormous

wood beam that stretches across the structure, point my toes hard as I

lean over and touch them in perfect formation. Gravity comes like a

thief, pul s me down with its lead laden arms. I have to trust those who

wait for me—trust them to spare me from certain death.

I zero in on Gage and Logan as I plummet through the air. I want their

perfect faces to be the last thing I see if I never come to.

A hard wal op commences as I land hard in the hands of the bitch

squad. Chloe helps me to my feet with the same hand she tried to kil

me with in the ethereal plane just hours before.

“If I didn’t hate you so much, I’d love you,” she blows into my ear.

The crowd erupts in a violent storm of cheers.

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I nod into Chloe’s twisted line of thinking, acknowledging the fact this

is the closest form of affection we could ever share.

We take our seats along the front row of the bleachers and wait for the

judges to tal y their final marks.

“You were freaking amazing!” Briel e pounces on me with a hug.

“You’re an acrobat, a bird or something!” She plunks down next to me

and takes up my hand. “You know, Skyla, since you risked your neck

for West, I’m going to campaign like crazy to get you nominated for

prom queen.”

“I’m not a senior.” I rock into her.

“Junior prom.” She rocks back. “But I think that performance was

enough to justify the throne for two years. Speaking of perform-

ances…” She gives me that I-know-what-you-did-in-the-boathouse

look.

“It was an accident—case of mistaken identity.”

“I would say that I didn’t believe you,” she ticks her head to the side,

“but I swear I’ve had that happen.” She gives a quick glance over her

shoulder before leaning in. “So, how was it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” like, real y, I wouldn’t know.

“Oh, so that’s how you’re going to play it? I get it. I mean you’re back

with Gage, right?”

“I’m just with Gage. I’l be with Gage forever.”

The microphone at the front of the gym gives a high-pitched wail be-

fore adjusting.

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Marshal comes over and sits by my side.

“Ms. Messenger,” he says.

A representative from the judge’s panel steps up to the podium. A

skinny blonde who chooses to wear a visor when we are neither out-

side nor in the land of sunshine, clears her throat.

“The Best in Choreography Trophy goes to,” she gives a dramatic

pause. “West Paragon High!” We exchange high fives, wel , Briel e,

Marshal and me. The only other team member who would offer me a

high five is Ms. Richards and she’s al the way on the other end.

“The best al -around routine goes to, again, West Paragon High!” Her

voice takes a serious upturn into Carly Foster territory.

Another round of high fives, this time Emily makes an effort to slap

some skin with me.

“The winner of the basket toss, is, no surprise here,” she pauses to leer

out into the crowd until she stumbles upon my face. “West Paragon

High!”

Briel e and I jump up with excitement. From the top of the bleachers I

can see Mom making her way down the stands, frantic and screaming

like she’s just been knifed. She lunges at me with tears as I take in her

warm embrace.

“And the winner of the Al State competition goes to, let’s see if you can

guess?” The judge teases. “West Paragon High. Come on down, girls!”

“Holy shit!” Chloe bounces up. “And we did al that with Messenger on

our team?” The rest of the girls run off to the front of the gym.

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There’s a look of hurt in Mom’s eyes after Chloe fired off her latest and

greatest barb.

“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “This is as good as her life gets. I have

everything else.” I look up at Gage and Logan and give a private smile.

“Go get your trophy, Skyla.” Mom presses a kiss into my cheek. “You

earned it.” Briel e and I walk up together.

The crowd rises to their feet and erupts in riotous applause. Chloe glit-

ters like a fire under the limelight of her victory.

Well done, Ms. Messenger. Marshal nods in my direction . Let’s see if

we can put any of those highflying skills to use in the faction war.

The Fems have already requested I equip you with more discs.

They’ve dubbed them, victory coins.

I pul my lips into a bleak line. He knows ful wel I wouldn’t be here if it

wasn’t for that last disc.

From the corner of my eye a pale swol en man catches my attention. A

tuft of flaming hair shoots in the air a good six inches. His face is

greased with thick pancake paste, and an apple red grin is painted over

his flesh.

A clown.

He sits alone in the corner at the top of the bleachers, vacuums out al

of the joy from this moment.

Yes, Skyla, Marshal tips his head into his chest. You’ve managed to

call him to you.

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“Shit,” I hiss under my breath.

Worse yet? Marshal darts his gaze around the vicinity. Rumor has

it—he’s brought friends.

Chapter 60

Home visit

I see them everywhere.

There was one on the ferry on the way back to Paragon even though

Gage swore up and down he couldn’t see him. One at the edge of the

parking lot at school today, and another in the woods behind my

house that I spotted from the kitchen window. Clowns—tragical y de-

monic jesters

—horrific and scary, crying their silent bloody tears.

“What’s gotten into you, Skyla?” Mom hands me a dry dish to put

away.

“Nothing, I say,” glancing over at Gage who sits at the table. He stayed

over for dinner. Everything feels so wonderful y normal again with

Gage.

He gives Drake pointers on his Algebra two assignment, looking back

at me every now and again to flex a seductive smile. Gage is a genius,

he could teach a pack of wild dogs to bark out the Pythagorean theor-

em to the tune of Happy Birthday if he wanted.

“You two mind picking up Mia and Melissa from their riding lessons?”

Mom leans over the sink to get a better look up at the ever-darkening

sky.

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“Not at al ,” I say. Marshal made it a point to personal y invite me over

tonight. Tomorrow is the island-wide garage sale that he’s instigated

in which he singlehandedly transforms Paragon into a waste laden

oasis of treasures and trinkets best forgotten. “You have your garbage

ready?”

“Locked, loaded and ready to go,” her teeth light up like lanterns. They

hold a bluish tinge, so perfectly bleached they’re almost translucent.

I’ve never seen my mother so primped and polished. Ever since De-

metri slithered onto the island, she’s coifed and groomed herself to an

exaggerated level of physical perfection usual y reserved for the pa-

geant circuit and transvestites alike. I bet Tad doesn’t even notice how

her hair shines, the extra bright smile, an entire bevy of low cut

blouses that have accosted her wardrobe.

“Look who’s here?” Tad comes in with Dr. Booth in tow.

“Time for another ambush visit, already?” I quip, fol owing them into

the living room. Gage shoulders up to me for moral support as we take

seats opposite Mom and Tad. Team Oliver verses team Landon. I’m

tagging myself as an honorary Oliver. It warms me to think of taking

Gage’s name.

“Skyla,” Dr. Booth nods into me. “I suppose this is unexpected in

nature,” he gives a weary look in Tad’s direction.

“She’s jumpy and unpredictable,” Tad counters. “Catching them off

guard is the only useful tactic with these flighty types.”

“It’s a surprise to me, too.” Mom gives an accusatory look.

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Drake comes over and sits on the arm of the couch, a Landon family

no-no. Figures. Drake can knock girls up, deform the furniture and no

one says boo. What the hel did I ever do?

“Skyla,” Dr. Booth’s lips press white. “I hear there’s been some hyper-

sexual behavior occurring as of late.” Oh that.

“Dude—the night you tackled Gage during dinner was classic,” Drake

spews through a mouth ful of garlic bread. “Or when you got it on with

his brother during spring break?” He nearly chokes getting that one

out.

“Any other classics you’d like to belch out before I nail you with your

own prenatal misgivings?” I chal enge.

Personal y, I want a do-over as far as spring break is concerned. I so

don’t remember a damn thing Ezrina did—although I did get to spend

two weeks with the ex-dead love of my life. That was pretty amazing.

Who knew Logan could cook?

“Sounds like a disturbing habit we should put an end to right away,”

Dr. Booth depresses his pen into his cheek. “One of the side effects of

the medication we’ve started is spontaneous sexual outbursts.” He

nods with a sincerity so alarmingly believable I almost want to ap-

plaud the Oscar worthy performance.

“So you’re saying,” Mom grips her chest in horror, “al these strange

acts of a sexual nature were caused by some chemical imbalance?”

Imagine that, a pil that would create a carnal beast out of a human be-

ing. And she herself was the acting Pez dispenser of the teen Viagra.

“Yes,” Dr. Booth nods, “the trial is over. I’m pul ing the medication im-

mediately.” Mom zips over to the kitchen and charitably relinquishes

the amber bottle.

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“What about the strange behavior?” Tad protests. “She hasn’t im-

proved. She spent the last two weeks mocking me, curtsying whenever

I walked into the room and cal ing me my lord. And, when I

threatened to take away her liberties, she threw a butcher knife, that,

by the way, I didn’t even realized we had, right at me. Missed my neck

by inches!”

Go Ezrina.

And she total y didn’t miss. It was a warning.

Ezrina never misses.

“Skyla?” Mom’s jaw drops at the homicidal implications.

I’m sure she’s been busy the last couple weeks cavorting with Demetri.

How could she possibly keep tabs on who was attempting to butcher

who while she was out sacrificing wildlife with the man who murdered

her husband? And, if I could have voted which of my mother’s hus-

bands Demetri was going to off, it for sure would not have been that

one. God—I’m not even sure I would hate him if he had chosen Tad.

“I don’t know what the heck he’s talking about,” I amp up my defenses.

“But, I have been feeling real y weird the past two weeks. Everything

was sort of grey and fuzzy. It must have been the medication.”

“I hate to be rude,” Mom checks her watch. “But I’ve gotta run. I told

Demetri I’d help him tag his items.” Tag his items? If that doesn’t

sound outright sexual in nature, I don’t know what does.

“You should go with her,” I shoot Tad a curt look for being such an

imbecile.

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“It’s cold out.” He crosses his arms and burrows deeper into the sofa.

“I don’t want to go.” Great.

“Gage and I have a half hour or so before we need to pick up the girls,

we can help,” I offer. The last place on the planet I want to be tonight

is the Fem funhouse, but if it keeps my mother’s visit chaste, it’l be wel

worth the effort.

Gage widens his eyes. He has a date planned for us tonight. A total

surprise for me, and I love it in theory, but I’m pretty sure my mother

is about to tag more than Demetri’s miscel aneous clutter, so unfortu-

nately, we might have to include the two of them in the grand design

for the next few hours.

“Nope,” I won’t hear of it.” Mom winks over at Gage as if she’s in on

his true intentions.

Perfect. Now I’m going to expect some secret engagement party, where

Chloe does something freaky like pul al of our doppelgangers out of

the Realm of Possibilities and confuses the hel out of the living and the

dead.

Dr. Booth rises and says goodnight. Gage and I fol ow him to the door.

He waits until we’re safely outside before turning to the two of us.

“There’s an emergency faction meeting tonight at Nicholas Haver’s

home, ten o’clock sharp.” He looks over at us with an insolence he’s

never exhibited before. “Heads up. The two of you are in a hel of a lot

of trouble.” We watch as he stomps down the porch.

I can’t think of a thing that Gage and I have done wrong—unless of

course they’re pissed about that whole faction war thing.

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Like the fact we keep losing.

A lot.

Chapter 61

Mommy Dearest

Marshal ’s home burns bright against the backdrop of a watercolor

night. The night fog glows like paper, bleeds out its milky tendrils over

the rim of the forest.

“Enter,” he gives a slight bow as he holds the door open for both Gage

and me.

I’m curious as to why he invited me over to begin with, but I didn’t

think he’d mind if I brought Gage.

“Mr. Oliver, I have a plethora of boxes in the barn, and I’d like them al

placed on the front porch before morning. Might I trouble you to

muscle them over?”

“Sure,” Gage doesn’t hide the fact he’s not thril ed with the task.

“Do circle around to the side yard. I’d loathe for you to trail muddied

footprints throughout the house.” Gage raises his brows in my direc-

tion before heading out back.

“Isn’t this lovely, Skyla? We’ve our own personal lackey.” Marshal ’s

lips curve into a nefarious smile.

I shake my head at him. “You owe me,” I say.

“Anything, Love.” He picks up my hand and kisses it before I can

snatch it back.

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“You let Ezrina play skin tag with her boy toy, and now I’m question-

ably defiled.”

“Nonsense. I’d pluck the wings off that bal of feathers myself if he mis-

treated my future bride in any way. There were rules—although vague

—they were fol owed. You’re pure as the driven snow you plowed that

poor girl’s head into. By the way, I was apprised of another near death

you were party to inducing.”

“That’s right,” I say, rather proud just thinking of the way I took down

Holden. “I didn’t need you after al .” I nestle in the satisfaction of

knowing I could kick some Count ass al by my lonesome if needed.

And, boy, was it ever freaking needed.

Marshal pul s back, folds his arms across his chest, narrows his gaze

into me. “You have no clue what you have or haven’t done. You have

an army of sniveling Fems ready to terrorize you out of your sanity,

not to mention a war you’ve taken to losing right from the outset. You

aren’t even aware of who the enemy is.”

“The enemy is Demetri,” I say it simple.

“Who is his Count erpart?”

I take in a breath. “My mother?”

He gives a dismayed blink. “Skyla,” he pul s my name out in a frus-

trated sigh. “Speaking of the mare, I’ve put in yet another request for

you to speak with her—she’s accepted.”

“Now? Now that I’m out of the prison that is Ezrina’s flesh and that

Logan is alive and wel and living in his own body— now she wants to

see me?” I huff a laugh. “No way.”

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“You have to!” A female voice startles me from behind. It’s Gisel e,

Gage’s long dead sister. I go over and give her a hug. I’m relieved it’s

her and not me, wel , the me from L.A. two years ago. I’m stil a little

freaked out about sharing my personal space with another version of

myself. I was rather annoying at that stage of the game and, wel , over-

al hard to get along with sometimes.

“Thanks, but no,” I say. “I’m a little miffed at her at the moment.”

“You have no choice, Skyla,” Gisel e takes my hand and the world be-

gins to fade.

“No, wait! I need Gage,” my voice thickens, echoes as if it were in a

tunnel.

Marshal scoffs at the idea. “We won’t be needing him. In fact, it would

be awkward for al parties involved once I present you to the Justice Al

iance as my future bride.”

“No!” But it’s too late to protest.

The world evaporates to nothing.

***

“Skyla.” My mother rises to meet me.

We appear in Ahava over the lake with the twin fal s off in the dis-

tance. A red glow il uminates from the lower tier where the sword of

the Master is stowed. That’s the culmination of this entire war. And

here I am so close it hurts.

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My mother takes her invisible seat next to three gentlemen, Rothel o,

who I’m not entirely convinced isn’t something sinister, and two gor-

geous men who could pass as Marshal ’s brothers.

“You’ve lost al three regions,” it comes so benevolently from my moth-

er’s lips I’m alarmed at how comfortable she is with the idea.

“How about, congratulations on your Al State win? Or, thank goodness

you’re in your right mind and oh, yeah, body!” I don’t mean for it to

sound as pissy as it does.

“You’ve come to grumble about my mothering skil s?” Her eyes ignite

crisp as lamplights.

“I haven’t come at al —you dragged me.”

“Skyla,” Marshal ’s voice slashes like a whip. “There is a time for anger,

and I assure you, this is far from it.”

“I’m not angry,” I’m quick to correct. “Anger would require me to care.

I’m bothered by al of this.” I throw my hands in the air. “My own

mother wanted to send me out into a warzone with no protective disc

should I need to get back to Paragon for oh, I don’t know, the simple

fact the two boys I love lay dying? But you knew about that didn’t you?

You started this war on the heels of a tragedy.”

“You keep this up young lady and I’l be sure it ends with one,” she

snaps. Her hair glistens an iridescent gold, her face radiates a special

aura al its own. Her entire being is lit up from the inside—reminds me

of a firefly.

“Are you threatening me?” The words grate out of me, each their own

sentence.

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“Skyla,” Gisel e pul s me back onto the grassy blue hil . “Please don’t

infuriate the Justice Al iance.”

“You mean my mother. Why are you afraid of her?”

“She has nothing to fear,” Marshal takes me aside, “but you do.”

“I’ve cal ed you here, Skyla,” my mother rises again, although this time

she doesn’t look so welcoming. “I was going to educate you on a few

strategic principles that would sway victory in your favor.” She gives a

curt nod. “But I’ve decided against it.” Figures.

“Instead, I’m going to increase your level of punishment for going

against the Faction Council for the duration of the war.”

“I suppose you’d like a thank you,” I say it low under my breath.

“I would most certainly like a thank you. I gave you life,” she cuts a

look that could carve a statue out of a tree trunk.

Funny, I didn’t think they pul ed the life card up here in the nether

sphere where they cavort with angels and strum on harps al day. It’s a

tough job this Decision Council hobby she’s got herself caught up

in—boss around the universe, torment your only child.

“Enough,” her voice erupts like a riot.

She hears everything, they all do, Marshal gives a wistful smile as if

he were enjoying this on some smal scale. Proceed to thank her, Skyla,

so we may be dismissed.

My mouth drops open at the thought.

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“Thank you,” I seethe. Gisel e pats my back as if to say job wel done.

“For harvesting me,” I continue, “like some able-bodied war machine

you needed to use to fight your battles.”

“Forgive her my fine people,” Marshal bel ows. “My future bride

knows not of what she speaks,” he cuts me a hard look.

I’ve just verbal y spit in al of their faces and now there would be hel to

pay. I don’t need Marshal to spel it out for me.

We appear back in his kitchen abrupt and without warning.

“That was rude,” I say, dusting off my arms as if there were inter-

galactic residue left from the trip. “She didn’t even say goodbye.”

“That, my love, is the equivalent of someone hanging up on you.”

“I’ve had a mother or two mad at me before.”

“Not this one,” he doesn’t waver his harsh stare.

“She’l get over it. It’s not like she’s going to kil me.”

“She’s on the Decision Council, Skyla.” He lifts my chin, soft with his

finger. “She can change everything.” Chapter 62

Cal to Arms

Once Gage and I drop Mia and Melissa off at home, we speed over to

the faction meeting.

We park high on the property behind a long row of sports utility

vehicles—glossy sedans that look fresh off the lot.

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We’re technical y not al owed to attend these meetings because we’re

under three hundred, wel thirty, same difference. But apparently our

presence has been requested. I have a feeling I’m in for my second ass

whipping of the night.

“Logan’s here,” Gage whispers. He takes my hand as we cut through

the thick curtain of fog towards the barnlike structure in the back of

the Haver’s property.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t painted his truck yet—impounded, tarped it in

the least, anything to hide Holden’s bombastic sense of self expres-

sion.” Every time I see those crazy orange flames, it makes me want to

smack someone.

“I mentioned it this morning, he said he was looking into buying a new

one.”

“I guess I forgot to let him in on the fact he owes Marshal 18K.” Wait, I

think I did.

Gage gives a little laugh. “That’s what the bastard gets for pawing you.”

His dimples sink with the hint of a mischievous smile.

“I like this bad boy side of you.”

“Oh yeah?” he sneaks a kiss just below my ear. “Wait til you see what I

have planned for later.”

“Is it bad?”

“It’s corrupt, and vile, and most likely criminal in twelve different

states,” he growls, pecking my neck with a series of kisses.

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We run into Emma and Dr. Oliver just shy of the entrance. It sort of

puts a damper on the sexual banter—and just before we got to the

good part—the heavy use of expletives peppered with sacrilegious

overtones.

Emma pinches her lips at the sight of me. Dr. Oliver doesn’t look too

thril ed either.

“Something wrong?” Why do I get the feeling I’ve just stepped on a

land mine?

“Let’s get inside,” Emma ushers us in quickly. “They’ve already

begun.”

“I saw Gisel e tonight,” I whisper, bribing her with the words I know

she longs to hear in an effort to quel her hatred towards me.

“Bring me my daughter.” She stops al movement and clutches onto me

as if I’ve got her stowed away somewhere for ransom.

“OK, I’l bring it up next time she pops in.” I give a circular nod as she

glides me towards a row of empty seats near the front. I hate the front.

It’s the not-so-freaking-fun zone. People always get picked on for sit-

ting up front, but something tel s me this is reserved seating.

“Eighty-nine was the final count,” Nicholas Haver says. He’s a

heavyset man with a triple chin whose broad chest and bright nose

give the indication of an upcoming cardiac infarction. He grips his wa-

ter bottle like a gavel. “In the event those who’ve just arrived missed

the topic of conversation, eighty-nine was the number of Celestra souls

sent to paradise during the last few weeks.”

“Shit!” I say out loud.

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Al eyes cut over to me as I sit there stunned by the annihilation of my

people.

“Yes, Ms. Messenger,” Mr. Haver gives a cold steely look. “You should

be appal ed in every way,” his voice escalates. “In fact, you should be

downright outraged that the one who took his hand to God and sent

those brothers and sisters home is seated in your midst.” He is? I do a

quick survey for Demetri or Pierce or anyone who might remotely be

capable of such bloodlust.

“Logan Oliver,” Nicholas Haver darts his name out like a poison ar-

row. “Son, it has come to my attention that you have breeched trust

with the Celestra people and given your pledge to the enemy.”

A col ective gasp circles the room.

“You may leave here tonight knowing ful wel you are no longer wel-

come at this or any other faction meeting that does not include your

kind.” He sharpens an eye in Logan’s direction. “Boy, you see me com-

ing your way, you had better cross the street if you know what’s good

for you. I have nothing kind to say.”

“What about the war?” Someone shouts from the back of the room.

“A principality wil be arriving to speak with us, in the near future.

With the enemy among us I see no point in carrying on. Dismissed.”

That’s it?

The entire room booms with chatter as people gather their coats and

head towards the exit. It’s like the whole meeting was held to expose

the fact that Logan, wel , actual y Holden was nothing but an ass. No

one is more aware of that than me. I could have sent a mass email and

spared everyone the trouble.

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Dr. Booth catches my eye from across the room and motions me over.

“I’l be right back,” I whisper to Gage and press against the flow of the

crowd in an effort to get to him.

“Skyla, what’s happened to Logan?” Dr. Booth glances over my

shoulder at him, ful with suspicion. “I thought you said his conversion

was to gain ground on the enemy, not slaughter his own people.”

“It is— was. Look, it wasn’t Logan. Logan was dead and now he’s not.

It was Holden Kragger’s ghost. It was some bodily mix up when Ezrina

tried to resurrect him back at the lab, only she couldn’t get it right be-

cause I spit in a Sector’s eye.” Dr. Booth indulges in a good long blink.

“Sorry I asked.”

I see Gage off in the distance talking to Logan. His blue eyes go off like

high beams before retracting. His face sours at whatever it is Logan is

tel ing him.

We make our way to the front where Dr. Booth exchanges niceties with

the Olivers.

“Wel , I suppose I’l see al of you tomorrow bright and early for our col

ateral exchange,” Dr. Booth smiles over at them. “Logan,” he shakes

his hand. “I understand the pizza business is doing you no favors these

days.”

“It’s a fair trade. I don’t do it any favors either.” Logan shrugs it off like

it’s no big deal.

“I have a luncheon next Thursday if you’d like the opportunity to cater

the event.” I want to kiss Dr. Booth for being so nice to Logan after

Nicholas Haver al but turned him into a social pariah. Logan wil be

427/632

lucky he can afford a pizza after the character assassination that took

place here tonight.

“I’l pass,” Logan pats him on the back before heading outside. Gage

gives a puzzled look and fol ows him out the door.

“Thanks anyway,” I offer.

Dr. Booth stares out curiously. “I gather he’s pretty upset over the

treatment he received tonight. Either that, or it’s not Logan.” He

winks. “A good business man never turns down potential revenue. See

you in the morning.” He sails out the door.

Dear God—that better be Logan.

Chapter 63

Face of an Angel

Long cascades of rain, wash the streets clean. It was dry as bones for

three days straight. Clearly it had set some sort of climate record here

on Paragon. Her roadways had become parched, singed from the pro-

spect of another hour without a lingual embrace from the heavy clouds

flirting above.

“So where we going?” I ask Gage as we turn down towards the coast

after the faction meeting. “Rockaway?” Of course, we’l be sopping wet,

but we’l be together, and I’m total y sure Gage and I could easily figure

out how to have a good time in slippery clothes.

An image of Gage in a soaking wet t-shirt, clinging to his skin, his flesh

il uminating from underneath brings the naughty curve of a smile to

my lips.

“Nope, not Rockaway.” Al affect slides off his face as we turn towards

Devil’s Peak.

That horrible scene of me making out with Logan in the Mustang

crops up in my mind. What if he’s going to push me over the cliff be-

cause he’s secretly been harboring al kinds of explosive anger? What if

he’s faked this whole let’s get back together thing, so he can teach me a

lesson?

I shake the thought away. What am I saying? This is Gage.

429/632

Instead of driving into the parking lot, he takes the long winding road

down towards the base. The waves detonate over the rocky shore,

powerful as grenades. The froth rushes forward, creating a magical

white expanse before retracting—the ocean singing its refrain al over

again.

Gage backs the truck up in haste as far as the narrow strip of pavement

wil al ow, revs his engine six times straight.

“What are you doing?” I’m not feeling so safe and cozy with Gage at

the moment.

“See that cliff?” He points hard at the sheer granite wal set before us,

tal as a building.

“Yes,” I almost want to say no just to throw him off because there’s

something distinctly odd about his behavior, and I can’t quite put my

finger on it.

“I’m going to drive us right through it.” There’s an earnest intent in his

voice I’ve never heard before.

“You can’t drive us through it. Al kinds of terrible things wil hap-

pen—like for instance, crashing and burning.” I shout in a panic. I’d

love to educate him on al things paraplegic, but at the moment my

heart is stopped up in my throat.

“I have a hunch we’re going to be al right.” He depresses the gas and

the truck flies forward.

I throw my hands up over my face and scream myself right into anoth-

er world.

***

430/632

I’m not usual y one to be particular of wherever Gage delights to take

me. Nor do I make a practice of demanding where we’l go in advance,

but after tonight, I’m reconsidering both of those elements of our

relationship.

A low fat moon hangs overhead. A blue tinted fog burns bright

through the windshield until Gage kil s the headlights.

The al -familiar looking terrain of the Transfer fil s in the landscape.

An entire crowd of bodies flock to the oversized vehicle, and before we

know it the trunk is festooned with men and women of eras past,

laughing and romping around in the back.

“Let’s get out of here,” Gage kil s the ignition.

“Exactly.” I’l save the al -important question regarding where he may

have left his sanity for later. Once we ditch this vile, soul-vermin infes-

ted place, I may have to revoke his driving privileges as wel .

Gage slides out of the driver’s door. In an instant he’s replaced by a

man with a handlebar mustache.

I race around to the front of the truck and smack into Gage.

“What the hel ?” I scream over the noise of the crowd.

“I don’t think we kil ed Holden,” he says, bracing me gently by the

shoulders. “I don’t think that was Logan. But there’s only one way to

be sure. Take me to him.”

I lead Gage through the wrought iron fence with the effigy of a scream-

ing skul emblazoned at the crest. We hurry in through the gossamer-

riddled doors of the haunted mansion and make a beeline for the suite

431/632

reserved for Paragon bound transients. I give three brisk knocks and

stand back as the door heaves itself into an asthma attack.

“Even Dr. Booth said he wasn’t acting like himself,” I point out. I

should have gril ed Logan once he came to. I should have known

Holden is impossibly resilient like lice, or bed bugs, or intestinal

parasites.

The door bursts open, and Logan in al of his rugged splendor stares

back at us.

I lunge into him with a tight embrace. “I thought I kil ed you,” I whis-

per trying to hold back tears. Something wasn’t right about him after

the drowning, and truth be told, I thought I gave him some mild form

of brain defect.

“Come in,” he offers Gage a knuckle bump before closing the door be-

hind us. The living room smel s like vanil a, and a plate of fresh baked

cookies sit on the table. He motions for us to help ourselves.

“Expecting company?” I swipe a warm chocolate chip cookie and let it

melt in my mouth like the sublime confection it is.

“I miss eating,” Logan laments. “I miss the scents—the way it could

satisfy you.” He gazes outside the window into the dark velvet night,

void of any emotion, lost in the subtext of his words. “But I’m glad

you’re here. Don’t let them go to waste.”

“Holden is harder to kil than a cockroach,” I say, biting into the heav-

enly delight. “You are rocking the kitchen!” I marvel.

“Thanks,” it depresses out of him. “I can’t tel you how glad I am to see

you guys. I thought for sure he’d fake his way through the next fifty

years.”

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“I’m shocked it lasted this long,” Gage says, snapping up a handful.

“Holden can’t go two days without trouble. He told my parents that

Skyla stole eighteen thousand dol ars from the bowling al ey, and now

he wants a loan to help pay it back.” I take in a sharp breath.

That bastard. No wonder Barron and Emma were al uptight when I

ran into them at the meeting.

“I borrowed twenty thousand from Marshal to give to the bowling al

ey because he bankrupt it,” I correct, to Logan’s horror.

“Skyla,” his face bleaches out. I love how normal he looks and feels,

even though he’s appal ed at what’s going on. At least I can rely on the

fact it’s not going to kil him. “Please, give Dudley back the money. I’d

rather borrow it from my uncle than have you owe that menace

anything.”

“Too late,” I shake my head, “besides, there are no physical strings at-

tached, no promises of me giving him anything of that nature.”

“And what’s appeasing him?” Logan is intent on squeezing out the

truth.

“He,” crap, I doubt this wil go over wel . “Marshal , might be under the

false impression that he’s going to marry me someday,” I shrug it off

like it’s the stupidest thing in the world because, hello? It so is.

Logan and Gage exchange somber looks, don’t say a word.

“He’s not,” I offer, but the mood remains the same.

“What makes him so sure?” Logan looks as though he’s capable of

cooking up a meal with Marshal ’s intestines.

433/632

“Some orator friend told him.” I shrug. It’s so ludicrous I hate spend-

ing my precious time even entertaining the idea.

“Skyla,” Gage closes his eyes, hisses out my name like a steam engine

just pul ing into the station. “An orator?” His brows form a perfect let-

ter V. “He mention his name?”

“I think he said, Delphinius—something like that.”

“That’s the guy from the faction war. He was the one giving me in-

struction.” His gaze drifts past me. “Seems pretty accurate so far.”

“Marshal ’s lying or being conned,” I’m quick to point out. “Someone’s

obviously getting their wires crossed.” The room stops up with an un-

comfortable silence. Both Logan and Gage let the weight of my words

crash over their shoulders.

Gage gets up and pul s me with him as we start to make our way to the

door. “Take care, man.” He offers Logan a partial hug. “I stil have to

kick your ass when you get back. You know that, right?”

“Got it,” Logan’s face creases at the longitudinal cut I gifted him.

“Looking forward to kicking some ass myself. Watch your back, bro.”

He socks him in the arm before pul ing me into a hug.

Gage and I make our way out of the estate. We’l have to come up with

some stel ar plan on how to snuff the life out of Logan some other time

because we’ve exhausted ourselves emotional y with the prospect of

me marrying Dudley.

Apparently they believed him.

A lot.

434/632

Outside the main gate of the haunted mansion proper is a mass of con-

gealed flesh, sporting the latest in petticoat fashion, odd suits that

notch into butterfly bowties high at the col ar.

“It’s a zoo out here, we’l never get out,” I say.

Gage pushes through the crowd and hits the unlock button on his key

remote. The truck barks, and the lights blink twice, causing everyone

to commission a reflexive gasp of admiration.

Gage helps me into the passenger’s seat and climbs in over my lap to

the other side. No teleportation here. I think the Transfer is where

binding spirits actual y go to die.

Gage starts up the engine and the whites of their haunted eyes enlarge

as they freeze—petrified by the noise. He gives a few good revs, and

the crowd scatters as the giant monster beneath us rouses from its

slumber. He throws the truck into reverse, leans in and steals a kiss.

“Hold on,” he instructs, as we bolt backwards at ninety miles an hour.

Chapter 64

Treasures and Trinkets

After a long night of cataclysmic rain and hail, nothing more than a

thin veil of fog puffs through our world this morning. Gage and I wer-

en’t able to partake in our mystery date last night since it was wel after

midnight when he final y dropped me off but he promised he’d more

than make up for it. He would have stayed if it weren’t for the fact he

had Holden-sitting duty. I’m so pissed off at the aforementioned Krag-

ger that if I could translate my feelings into action it might lead to a

shotgun induced homicide, and even that couldn’t kil him.

I open my bedroom window and take in a breath of fresh morning air,

scented thick with pomade from the pines.

“Nev!” I shout, trying to sound like a bird myself in the event Tad

should hear. God knows he’s convinced of the torrid love affair I’m

carrying on with a raven of al creatures—thank you very much, Ezrina.

A dark swirl descends through the atmosphere. The air parts as if it

were honoring him as he lands with a gentle tap along the windowsil .

“In,” I order. It doesn’t come out half as hostile as I want it to.

He squeezes inside and hops nervously from the desk to the dresser

before settling on the bed.

I place my hand on his back and warm his cool feathers.

436/632

An apology is comprised of simply words, Skyla. I cannot within

good reason say that it would ever be enough, he says, adjusting his

wings.

“Don’t apologize,” I sigh. “I know I should be crazy upset, and in a way

I am, but if I were in your shoes and able to touch the person I loved

just one more time, I would have done the same.”

You are far too kind. I want you to know I’ve taken the liberty to ar-

range a special treat for you.

“Real y?” I’m completely intrigued.

Since I’m unable to repay you in any manner for what you’ve given

me I asked Ezrina to grant you one of your greatest desires.

“My greatest desire?” My heart gives an abnormal thump. “To get you

another trial and ensure this farce doesn’t repeat itself anytime soon?”

Time with your father, Nevermore cocks his head up at me.

“Oh, yes, total y my greatest desire.” I don’t mean to burst Nev’s

bubble but I could light drive back to him anytime I wanted, which by

the way I’m completely in the mood for.

Ezrina has arranged a meeting in the near future. Since he’s long de-

parted to paradise he’ll be visiting from the past. I surmise you ap-

preciate the circumstances.

“Yes. Just let me know when and I’l get back there.”

Oh, no, my dear girl. I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. Nev twitches

foot to foot. I’ve made arrangement for him to come to you.

There’s a knock at the door. Mom shouts for me to get downstairs.

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“I gotta go.” It’s the day of the not so great garage sale. “I’m not sure I

know what you mean. Like here, here?” Yes, here, here. Paragon.

“He’l need a supervising spirit then,” I surmise.

Sector Marshall has volunteered as a temporary.

“Marshal ?” I jump at the thought. “I’m total y going to kiss him when

I see him. Not real y, but you know,” I say, escorting Nevermore back

out the window.

I can’t believe this!

My dream real y is going to come true.

My father is final y coming to Paragon.

***

Drake and Ethan load up the Mustang with an army of junk that

couldn’t fit in the minivan just before I take off. It was bad enough

driving without blind spots at every spare angle, but the fact I’m func-

tioning with almost zero visibility at the moment actual y explains why

I’ve manage to receive twice as many honks and finger salutes than

usual.

Gage and Holden both have their trucks parked along the side of the

road so I sandwich between them. I just sit there thinking of the irony,

when a dark shadow fal s over the windshield. I look up to see Nev

circling the vicinity. I almost wish I could’ve had Ezrina arrange for me

to go back to the night of the accident. Even though I’m certain that

Chloe took the wheel of the Mustang, I stil feel like I need to see it for

myself. Maybe Marshal would be wil ing to supervise me as a temp

and circumvent that binding spirit? I think he owes me as much as

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Ezrina, probably more. If he doesn’t want to lose his ‘future wife’ be-

fore he somehow miraculously acquires her, he should consider obey-

ing my every whim—starting now.

A pale figure in the woods catches my eye. It disappears quick as it

came, like a ray of hope when real y there is none. Only this doesn’t

feel too hopeful, it feels evil with the patina of something sinister. It

coats me from the inside, renews a fear in me only my darkest night-

mares are able to produce.

I bolt out of the car and smack right into a body.

“Skyla,” Gage backs up and smiles that infectious grin.

“I’m so glad it’s you!” I stop short of letting him in on the fact I think I

just saw a Fem. No point in ruining a perfectly good day with what

might have just been a pale, frumpy, patron from the scrap and sal-

vage having a seriously bad hair day.

Gage helps me drag most of the junk from the car and schlep it over to

the table that Mom and Tad occupy with a strange assortment of ma-

terial trappings from their past.

“Whose are these?” I place down a pair of clunky skis that had embed-

ded themselves in my backseat.

“Those were your father’s,” Mom examines them before making a face.

“Dad used to ski?” How can I not know this about my own father?

“Long time ago—when you were little. We used to steal day trips to the

mountains, but life got busy.” She slaps a bright orange sticker on

them that reads, $20.

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“Excuse me,” I say, indignant. “You can’t just sel Dad’s stuff.” I pick

the sticker off and shove the skis over to Gage.

“These skis are way too big for you,” he kindly informs me. I gape up

at the audacity that both he and his dimples have in siding with my

mother.

“That’s not the point,” I say.

“Skyla, I’m getting rid of junk.” My mother is nonplussed by my inher-

ent sense of panic to preserve al things daddy. “Your father would have

wanted me to get rid of them. Tad and I are keeping the important

stuff and that’s al that matters.” Dear God. Now would be a lousy time

for my father to step onto Paragon. I can imagine his shock when he

finds his personal belongings spread out unwanted with bright orange

stickers advertising the fact he’s been heavily discounted.

“I’m keeping the skis,” I take them from Gage and lay them under the

table.

“Fine,” Tad doesn’t bother looking up from aggregating his dead wife’s

belongings out into long neat rows. “Find another place to store them,

would you? They’re not welcome back at the house.”

I look over to Mom horrified but she nods in agreement while arran-

ging old picture frames and long stem wineglasses.

Gage pul s me in and pecks a quiet kiss on my cheek. “You can keep

them at my house. I have a shed out back, but if you prefer them in my

room I wouldn’t mind that either.” He suppresses a grin that veils the

fact he thinks I’m sweetly insane.

I take him in under the bright il umination of a haze free day. Gage is

impeccable—gorgeous both inside and out.

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“Thank you,” I say, pressing the ring he gave me to my lips then pla-

cing it over to his. Gage gives it a quick kiss before flashing his dimples

at me. I love having Gage on my side—and, I plan on having him by

my side every single day. Our forever has already started and it feels

like heaven.

“My dad thought of a way,” he nods back into the swel ing crowd at

Holden, “to take care of our little problem.” I look just in time to see

him stretching his arms over some girl from East that I’ve never seen

before.

“It can’t come soon enough,” I say. “What’s the plan?”

“You’re going to kil Logan at prom.”

Chapter 65

Silver and God

A wash of unfamiliar light trickles down from the atmosphere, enough

to actual y produce a glare in my eyes from the once-fabled orb other-

wise known as the sun. I don’t know how I stopped packing my

sunglasses in my purse after doing so every single day in L.A., but on

Paragon they are about as practical as a chariot on the freeway.

“I can’t kil Logan again,” I say to Gage as we hold hands, making our

way through the endless tables of crap lining Marshal ’s expansive

property. I refuse to entertain the idea of clobbering Logan into king-

dom come at prom or any other venue for that matter. I’ve tried and

failed at Cain River, and I don’t have any plans of repeating the effort.

“It makes sense,” he picks up an old leather catcher’s mitt and tries it

on before replacing it. “If me or my dad do it, Chloe might blackmail

us, but she’s already at a draw with you, so it won’t change things too

much.”

“Apparently, I’m not real y good at offing people,” I shoot a look over

at Holden who took the liberty to kil eighty-nine Celestra with Logan’s

own hand. That alone is reason enough for me to reverse my stance

and want to succeed at the mission.

“This wil be foolproof.” Gage wraps his arms around my waist and

slips a depleted smile. “I’l be there with you.”

442/632

“Of course you wil . You’l be my date.” Just the thought of actual y at-

tending a formal event with Gage and not having to hide the fact we’re

together is thril ing. We could douse each other with passionate kisses

right in the middle of the dance floor, and there’s not a damn thing

Chloe can do about it.

He shakes his head. “You need to get Holden to go with you. That’s

part of the plan.”

“What?” I jump in disbelief. “Have I mentioned how much I hate

this?”

Marshal ’s voice rises above the chatter in the crowd.

“Let’s go see what he’s pushing,” I pul him along, hoping Marshal ’s

trinkets wil take my mind off bashing Holden’s skul in with my high

heel.

“Boxes of lead,” Gage whispers. “I’m stil sore from lugging whatever

was in those cartons.”

“I’l give you a massage later,” I offer. “And bake you some cookies.” I’l

be the best girlfriend in the world if it kil s me, not that it would ever

kil me to cater to Gage.

“I’l hold you to that.”

We break through the crowd that has amassed in front of Marshal ’s

table and maneuver our way to the front. Hoards of people struggle to

grab and ogle his questionable wares. Almost every person in the vi-

cinity has migrated over. I bet in eagerness to discard his junk he’s

drastical y underpriced everything, just like my mother.

I take in a sharp breath at the sight.

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“Oh, my, God!” I whisper, looking to Gage for some sort of

explanation.

Hundreds if not a thousand of gorgeous pewter trinkets lay strewn

across the table. I watch in horror as dozens of foreign hands fondle

and paw his haunted ironwork at a frenetic pace.

Gage and I make our way around to the other side to have a talk with

our cagey Sector friend.

“Young Oliver,” Marshal straightens in exhaustion, “I bid you to mo-

mentarily take over the reaping of finances so I may have a quick word

with Ms. Messenger.”

“A brief word,” Gage glares into him. “Only words.”

Marshal speeds me over to the periphery of the melee while keeping

an eye on the treasures being haphazardly mined by the unsuspecting

population.

“Did you make al those?” I have a feeling I total y know the answer.

“Every last bit,” there’s a touch of boastfulness in his tone. “I’ve also

handcrafted an impressive pair of champagne flutes to toast our nup-

tials when the time arrives.”

“Fascinating.” In al honesty, I’m giving less and less thought to Mar-

shal and his delusions of grandeur regarding our conjugal union. I’m

total y convinced it’s some celestial prank that his so-cal ed prognost-

icating consort who goes by the frat-induced nickname of ‘the orator’

has decided to pul . “So what gives with the lustrous al oy arrange-

ment? You’ve got a supervising spirit in each one?” Which is a nice

segue to my next request.

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“There’s a vestige of wickedness cloaking the island.” Marshal slits his

eyes in either direction as if said vestige of wickedness was on the

prowl for a flea market find. “This is merely a strategy to contain its il

effects.”

“So—what? They’re like vacuums?”

“They’re a weaker version of a protective hedge. Place enough of these

around the vicinity and the odds of the region becoming impregnated

with evil il s decreases significantly. They’re not to be worshiped or

glorified, simply a spiritual air freshener if you wil .”

“In that case I’l take twenty.”

“I’l have over thirty delivered to your room before tomorrow’s witch-

ing hour,” he purrs.

A white shadow moves along the border of the woods just north of the

estate.

“Bright out today.” I shield my hand over my eyes, trying to focus in on

whatever seems to be vying for my attention. I have a feeling I’l be

needing a little more than a spiritual air freshener.

Marshal waves his hand and without delay the sky darkens, inciting a

shal ow gasp from the crowd.

“You’re powerful I’l give you that.” I fatten up his ego for the kil . “Ru-

mor has it you’l be acting as a supervising spirit for my father.”

“Some rumors are true,” he glares into the crowd. “Note and highlight

the fact I am not the purveyor of this affliction. Ezrina and her feather-

headed Romeo concocted the idea. Be warned—they are prone to bad

ones.”

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“Are you kidding? My father coming to Paragon is a dream. I’d have to

disagree with you, they’re prone to great ideas—bril iant even.”

“Very wel .” He flexes his cheek in disapproval. “You are aware Ezrina

is growing most impatient for her trial,” he takes in a breath, expands

his chest the size of a wal , “And, knowing ful wel she won’t get one,

she’s in the process of creating manuals to assist you once you take

over her job in the gal ows.”

“Crap.”

“You must implore your mother, Skyla. It’s the only way.”

“Help me,” I plead. “Make this entire Ezrina situation go away and—”

“And what?” His eyes slit over me. He doesn’t move a muscle in the

event I renege the offer faster than I make it.

“Just help, please?” My chest heaves involuntarily—a serious warning

bel for an onslaught of tears.

“When you decided to defile my vision with your lingual emissions,”

he pauses to frown, “I delicately removed myself from your dealings. I

gave my word I would be of no assistance. Though, admittedly, my re-

action was in haste, I cannot go against my word.”

“How about getting Logan back in the right body? You have to help

with that.” In a fit of anger I’ve managed to ruin everything. This is im-

possible to rectify without Marshal and he knows it.

“I’l see what I can manage.”

“Thank you!” I swel with relief. I might get permanent duty as Ezrina’s

body double, but at least Logan wil stil have a chance at life.

446/632

“Al ow me to relieve Jock Strap of his duties. Sales have slumped since

I’ve stepped away, and I’ve no one to blame but him.”

“Wait,” I pul him back by the hand. “I was hoping you could do a little

something for me.” I bite down on my lower lip. “I want to go back to

the night of the accident and see who was driving the car. I mean obvi-

ously it was Chloe, but I want to see it with my own two eyes.”

“I can’t be your supervising spirit, Skyla—conflict of interest and al

those good legalities.” He takes a step in the opposite direction.

“Although, I wil say this, a person only has access to one binding spir-

it. Devise a manner to fool Ms. Bishop into sending her binding spirit

elsewhere. If it does belong to her, once she releases the spirit you’l be

able to travel back and see the carnage unfold from the vantage point

you’re seeking.”

“You are a genius!” I stagger the words out in awe.

“A phrase I’m looking forward to hearing you repeat many, many,

times in the confines of our chamber.” He gives a crooked smile before

sifting back into the crowd.

Yeah, like that wil ever happen.

It won’t—wil it?

Chapter 66

Evil Incarnate

“Do you realize he just raked in an even grand while you two were

talking?” Gage latches onto me with those intense eyes the same hue

as the bottom of the ocean, and I systematical y forget everything else.

“So what did he want?” There’s a marked irritation in his voice.

“He says,” I pul Gage away from Marshal ’s table and the roving ears

that surround it, “they’re some kind of protective hedges. He says Par-

agon is being infiltrated with evil.”

“Speaking of evil,” Gage nods to the other end of the mass of human-

ity, “let’s see what Demetri’s doling out of his bag of tricks.”

“And to think my mother helped him load up his possessions, emphas-

is on possess. I bet that’s not al she was helping him do.”

“I just don’t think she’s into him like that,” Gage gives a dissatisfied

blink. “She seems pretty devoted to Tad.”

“I hope you’re right. As far as I know the mock wedding is stil on.”

We head over to Demetri’s table. I can hear his pretentious voice cack-

ling through the crowd, cajoling the innocent patrons of Paragon right

out of their last dol ar.

“You guys sel ing?” El is pops up, blocking the path to our final

destination.

448/632

“I wouldn’t go around posing that question if I were you.” Gage se-

cures his hand over mine. We should let Ellis in on our plan to off

Holden.

We might need all the help we can get.

I gasp at the thought. Poor Logan. I know it’s him we’re trying to pro-

tect—bring back, but stil , I can’t help feel like we’re ganging up on

him.

Holden does a magnificent job of screwing everything up.

“Sure,” I acquiesce. “ How’s your jaw?” I ask El is, noting the fact he’s

moving it just fine and there’s nary a sign of a wire.

“Lucky for Bishop, it’s excel ent.” El is glowers, obviously stil pissed at

Chloe for the rock to the face.

Pierce and Nat stand off in the distance, talking to Demetri and a tal

albino looking man with vacant eyes.

“Arson Kragger,” Gage makes a face, “I’m not sure if he’s aware of the

fact he’s got another son roaming around the island.”

“We’re going to need Marshal ,” I look up at Gage. There is no way I’m

even risking another vagrant spirit jumping into Logan’s skin.

“Who’s Marshal ?” El is says before doing a double take at Nat and the

crowd of Counts.

“Dudley,” I say, fol owing El is’ gaze to see what’s harnessed his

attention.

449/632

Another man, tal , with familiar looking features, steps over to De-

metri, and they clasp hands. Demetri pul s him into a manly embrace

before patting his back, speaking with him as if he hasn’t seen him in

ages. Demetri ignites the conversation with his moronic verbal rant-

ings, and the crowd lights up with laughter.

“Who the hel is that guy?” I ask. I’m pretty sure anyone who’s kindred

spirits with Demetri and Arson Kragger is an enemy of mine.

El is hardens, freezes for a moment before relaxing into a sigh.

“Come on, I’l introduce you,” his voice dips into its lower register, a

dark place I’ve never heard him venture before. Gage and I fol ow in

close as we head towards the unsuspecting group of adversaries. “Dad,

this is Skyla. You know Gage.” I solidify. I can’t even begin to compre-

hend that the Count stil physical y linked to Demetri is El is’ father.

“Skyla,” he extends his hand in my direction, says my name like a

question.

A wickedness il uminates him from the inside. He looks remarkably

like El is in every way just aged—harder.

I shake his rough, dry hand and quickly replace my arm by my side.

Demetri steps into me.

“Skyla, you must profusely thank your mother for me. If it weren’t for

her amazing organizational skil s, none of this would have been pos-

sible.” He wands his hand over the crowd huddled over his table.

I stil haven’t seen the merch he’s pushing. For al I know it’s headless

Fems and haunted water globes or something equal y as vindictive just

to propagate his insatiable need to control the universe.

450/632

“I don’t see any reason to thank her for you,” I smirk. “I’m sure you’l

find a way to do that yourself.”

“Indeed,” his lips curl into a black smile.

“Mr. Edinger?” Chloe crops up unexpected like most vermin do. “How

much for the mirror?”

“Mirror?” I shoot a look in the direction of her crooked finger as she

pul s Demetri aside.

Gah!

Holy freaking shit!

There is no way in hel I’m letting Chloe haul that thing into her bed-

room. She’l have her way with Gage nightly. More often than I wil .

“It was a gift,” I hear him say. “I’m having second thoughts on parting

with it,” Demetri taps the side of his face.

“That’s the mirror,” I hiss to Gage.

“It’s huge,” Gage eyes it as innocent bystanders fondle its existence.

“That’s gonna look real y F’ed up in your room,” El is whispers. “I’d let

Bishop score this one.”

“No way,” I head over to Demetri and Chloe where the haggling is wel

underway.

“How much?” I demand.

451/632

“Forty dol ars,” Demetri says. “I think that’s a fair price. Al funds go to

the Community Center of course.” He strokes Chloe’s long dark hair in

one fel swoop. “Would you like me to load it into the trunk of your

vehicle?”

“Yes,” Chloe is mesmerized by his touch. Her face lights up a slap

cheek red—I do believe Chloe Bishop is blushing.

“No,” I protest. “I’l give you eighty.” I don’t have eighty of anything but

that’s beside the point.

“One hundred,” Chloe opens her purse and hands over a fist ful of dol

ars.

I look to Gage and El is with cash strapped desperation.

“Two hundred,” Gage pipes up. “For Skyla.”

I give a passive smile over to Chloe.

Demetri cocks his head, amused. “You must care deeply for this young

lady to want to give her the entire world. I assure you, it’s the only way

to love a woman.” He digs into me with his dark eyes, accesses me

with a newfound curiosity.

Surely he must realize that both Chloe and I have stumbled upon its

magical curative properties where reality is concerned. Why else

would I pay two hundred nonexistent dol ars for something I already

have in my room in triplicate?

“I real y want this,” I come just shy of touching him to prove my point.

“Please,” I lace my voice with sugar—an arsenic based sugar

derivative.

452/632

“I was here first.” Chloe’s mouth fal s open as the desperation oozes

from her pores. Soon she’l offer her up her body—her soul for the re-

flection col ection. “I’l be sure to donate two hundred and fifty dol ars

to the Community Center first thing in the morning.” She tries to pul

him along by the sleeve, but Demetri doesn’t budge.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he narrows his wicked twin darts at me. “I’m

giving it to Skyla. It’s the least I could do to repay her mother for al the

kindness she’s endowed upon me since I’ve been back.”

Your damn right it is, I want to say but don’t.

“El is would you please help Gage load it into my car?” I ask with a re-

legated calm that’s specifical y reserved for pissing off Chloe.

They head over to the haunted looking glass and hoist it into the air.

Chloe pul s me aside. Too bad for her because negotiations are going

to be a real bitch.

“What are you going to do with it?” She hisses.

“I’m going to crawl in every night and kil you over and over.” I give a

smug look of satisfaction. “No, wait,” I huff a laugh. “I’m going to have

Gage kil you over and over. He’d do it in real life but he’s too damn

nice.” I give a short-lived smile.

She takes in a deep breath, looking over my shoulder as it disappears

from sight.

“That was your last chance Chloe,” I zero in on her with my hatred.

“You wil never have Gage now. You wil never know his skin, his lips,

what it’s like to be wild with pleasure from his touch.”

453/632

Her features glaze. Chloe’s face smoothes over—turns to stone from

the horror of it al . “I’m so damn sick of you,” she seethes. “The Gage-

gasms, the Logangasms—the vaginal fireworks going off are total y

sickening.” Her chest heaves with loathing. “I want you to remember

this day, Skyla.” Her dark eyes penetrate me as they explode with

hatred into mine. “This is the day you sealed your fate and that of your

loser group of boyfriends.”

“What are you going to do?” I taunt her slow and reserved, swil her

panic around in my mouth like fine wine. “Run us over with my car?

Oh, wait, you already did that, didn’t you?”

She leans back, bites down on her lip, control ing a criminal smile.

“I’m going to hit you al right, and you wil never see it coming.” She

spins on her heels and disappears into the crowd swift as a demon.

The last time Chloe uttered those words it almost cost me Gage.

My insides loosen as I scan the crowd for him.

Please God don’t let it be Gage.

Chapter 67

It’s Raining Caskets

Sunday, it rains al day.

The harsh precipitation unleashes al of the pent up fury it was forced

to suppress the day before while Marshal donned his weather god hat.

The sky is pissing al over Paragon after being forced to hold it a solid

twenty-four.

An entire watershed has dumped off on us already this afternoon. It’s

violent needle-like protrusions against the infrastructure of the house

feels heavy, as if it were pressing down on my shoulders instead.

The Landon house is playing host to a baby shower today.

Since teenage girls are often short on cash, and neither Briel e nor

Drake have large extended families looming in the wings wil ing to

glom together and purchase entire sections of Babies ‘R Us, Mom de-

cides to take on the responsibility herself. She opts to have a smal

quick shower consisting of presents purchased almost exclusively by

her.

Of course, Gage, the Landon clan, and Briel e’s frequently inebriated

mother wil be in attendance. Ethan’s dysfunctional other half wil be

making a cameo, which, by the way, I’m stil waiting for him to hang

her by her long intestines or something along those lines as a means of

revenge.

455/632

Crap. I just thought of something. Ethan is such a dumbass he prob-

ably doesn’t comprehend the true meaning of the word revenge. He

probably believes it has the opposite implications.

I try to put the thought out of my mind by tending to decorations.

I set a buttery yel ow tablecloth over the coffee table where my mother

instructed me to arrange the presents in hopes to usher in a festive

mood, as if teen pregnancies weren’t festive enough. But al I can think

about is the fact Gage is taking me out later this afternoon. Now that

El is is aware Holden is using Logan’s body as a hideout, he volun-

teered to Holden-sit so we can be alone.

“Skyla, blow up some bal oons. They’l be home any minute.” Mom

shoves a fistful of blue and pink latex at me, ironic because if latex

were employed about nine months ago, none of us would be subject to

the layered cake molded in the shape of a fetus today. She spins me in

the direction of a fat helium tank and takes off towards the kitchen.

Drake and Briel e took Mia and Melissa out for a quick mal crawl. The

girls have been in ‘bitch squad training mode’ al week.

“Tel me why my presence is needed again?” Tad looks unreasonably

burdened by the fact he needs to stay put the rest of the afternoon. He

blows up a bal oon by mouth and knots it off. Hot air is his specialty so

it’s no coincidence his bal oon floats without the aid of chemical y

altered gases.

“Support,” Mom bel ows, clearly annoyed. “You’re supporting your son

during a milestone in his life.”

“That’s where I disagree,” Tad contests. “You see—he chose to be flag-

rantly irresponsible. Therefore, if I stay, I’l only be supporting the fact

he’s immature and essential y immoral.” He stares blankly at the wal .

456/632

“And he’s completely unaware of the fact condoms are more than just

room décor.”

Ethan and Chloe emerge from his bedroom. His hair is sticking up in

the back and Chloe sports an undeniable post-coital glow.

I guess Tad is two for two when it comes to immature and irrespons-

ible children. Let’s hope this one knows the power prophylactics hold

when it comes to warding off demonic spawn.

“Oh, hi Chloe,” Mom shoots a nervous look to me. “You’re more than

welcome to join us. We’re having a smal baby shower for Briel e.”

“I’d love to. How can I help?” Chloe is quick to bend and pucker in my

mother’s presence.

“Let’s get these banners up in the front hal ,” Mom leads her out of the

room.

“Guess what, Sis?” Ethan frowns into me.

“Don’t cal me that.” It weirds me out because that’s exactly what

Holden used to cal me when he was wearing Ethan’s skin sweater.

“Chloe’s making plans for you,” he whispers.

“Yeah? No surprise there. I thought you said you had a little revenge

plot of your own brewing?” I look him up and down.

“I do,” he gives a quick nod.

“To be initiated— never?” Maybe sleeping with her is his revenge? He

does have a severe case of desperate dick syndrome. Revenge always

equals sex to a guy—come to think of it most things do.

457/632

“Prom,” he deadpans.

“You taking her to prom is supposed to invoke fear into her?” Crap.

Why do I get the feeling I’ve just been Landoned.

“Did I hear someone mention prom?” Tad floats over. “You know most

teen fatalities occur on that glorified night of il egal festivities?”

“What’s this about?” Mom and Chloe drift back in the room.

“Just discussing the inevitable side effects of indecent frolic and form-

al wear,” Tad says, while stringing a bal oon. He lets it float up to the

ceiling and it pops with an obnoxious bang.

“Prom is a magical time of year,” Mom shakes her head, “don’t listen

to him.”

“It is a magical time of year.” Chloe initiates a smile from my mother

with her ‘bend over—me kiss you long time’ routine. She clasps onto

Ethan. “Wil you be my prom date?”

“Anything for you,” he cuts a quick secretive smile in my direction.

Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that Ethan is in bed with Chloe

in more ways than one?

There’s a brief knock on the door fol owed by a familiar hel o.

Gage breezes into the room with an apple red ribbon tied around a

miniature white casket.

“Aw,” I say petting the smooth glossy wood. “It is so freaking ador-

able.” It’s from Gage and me to Drake and Briel e. I just know they’re

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going to love it. Wel , they should—after al , she was the one who re-

quested it.

“Are you mental y chal enged?” Tad stomps over. He looks sick like he

might vomit over it and Gage. “Clearly you have voided the warranty

on that micro encephalon. Get that bad omen out of the house. My

grandchild is not sleeping in that sarcophagus.” A scuffle erupts off in

the entry, screaming and shouting, and the sound of something

thumping into the wal , then the very distinct crash of glass breaking.

“What in the hel ?” Tad leads the way to the front hal .

Mia and Melissa scratch and claw—pul each other by the hair in every

direction.

Gage and Ethan jump in, plucking the two of them apart like bouncers

at some wild bar fight.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we could settle our differences that easily?”

Chloe purrs into my ear.

“I hate you!” Mia rattles the words into Melissa’s face.

“I’m going to make sure you die a slow and painful death!” Melissa

fires back. Coming from a Count that sounds like a promise more than

a threat. Then again Mia is technical y one, too.

“Al things I’d like to say to you,” I lean into Chloe and smile.

“Eat dirt!” Mia snaps.

Tad injects himself into the ruckus and claps his hands over his head.

“Whatever the hel it is that has you girls up in arms, get over it. I won’t

have this infighting going on. My roof, my rules.”

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“You are an asshole!” Mia barks in his face before zooming upstairs.

“Get the hel out of my room!” Melissa speeds up after her.

“Lizbeth!” Tad spears a finger in their direction and they both shake

their heads at the failed experiment that is our family.

“Come to think of it, I think this is an accurate portrayal of what life

would be like if we were sisters,” Chloe pul s a lock of her coal colored

hair and slips it into her mouth like a slithering reptile.

“I thank God we’re not genetical y related,” I seethe. “I think nature

mutated you in everyway but physical.”

“Thank you,” she quips.

Gage steps in behind me, wraps both his arms around my waist and

rests his head on my shoulder.

“I take that back,” I seethe. “I think physical y you should be in a cas-

ket. I’m sure Gage would be happy to supply one if needed.” Gage

doesn’t say anything, just suppresses a smal laugh as if to attest to the

fact he would indeed supplicate a pine box if such a glorious occasion

arose.

Chloe gasps for air, lets her wild gaze stray from Gage to me before

settling on him with her ful throttle anger. “There wil be a casket,

Gage.

Only it won’t be my body in it.”

Chapter 68

Pink and Blue

Mia and Melissa put down the proverbial boxing gloves long enough to

join us for the revelry or lack thereof. Darla dragged in Demetri, her

latest, not so greatest main squeeze, and Mom keeps laughing and gig-

gling into him like they’re not so secretly getting it on in private.

Briel e thinks we should start the party off with cake so I man the

dessert table while systematical y destroying the overpriced rendition

of a baby. Why, exactly, my mother deemed it acceptable to order a

cake designed to look like a giant baby shrimp metamorphosing into a

human, escapes me. Did she not know there would come a time when

one of us would be forced to lop off its crustacean humanoid head?

And that a baby’s head on a platter, albeit a paper plate imprinted with

tiny yel ow booties, looks no less offensive than if it were real?

“Old habits die hard,” Chloe snarks while I hack off an arm. She takes

a piece and slinks back to Ethan without offering to help.

Tad pops up behind me and runs his finger over the decapitated

pastry.

“So, I hear there’s a wedding next week,” I scoff, disgusted at his inab-

ility to keep my mother from fal ing right into the snake charmer’s

basket.

“Sure is,” Tad snaps about half a dozen cookies off a tray.

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“So, are you like the best man or something?” I continue to lacerate

the hindquarter of the heavily frosted infant while Gage retrieves the

ice cream from the freezer.

“What?” he hisses.

“You know, at Mom and Demetri’s wedding? Are you playing the role

of minister or greeter? Because you sure as hel are not going to be the

groom.” I nod over at Mom who lets out a ful on sexual moan right in

the middle of the room while Demetri straddles her from behind and

indulges her in a shoulder rub.

“I bet you would like that wouldn’t you?” His tiny eyes squint into

nothing. “I bet you’d volunteer to be the photographer at that event

just to encapsulate each precious moment your mother is with anyone

but me.” His face explodes with color.

“Not true,” I interject.

“Let me tel you something, Missy. Your mother and I share a bond you

know nothing about. We are closer than most couples who have been

married for fifty years and I wouldn’t normal y say this as I realize I’l

be crossing a serious line, but let the record show you drew first blood.

Your mother and I are far more intimate than she ever was with her

former husband who did nothing but keep the blinders on and

shoulder her from the truth. I would never disrespect her that way, so

that makes me miles better.” He dumps the cookies back on the table

and stomps off.

“What the heck was that about?” Gage steps in.

“He’s insane,” I shake my head. “He actual y thinks he’s better than

my dad. Can you believe that? What a joke.” I try to get my bearings

before stabbing into the rock solid ice cream with an oversized spoon.

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“He accused my dad of keeping secrets from my mom.” Which was

sort of true.

“You think he knows?” Gage jabs each piece of cake with a fork. “You

think she let him in on the fact she’s a Count?” I cut a heavy gaze over

at her. Demetri is stil going strong from behind and now Tad has her

shoes off and is indulging her in some weird foot rub that looks both

torturous and x-rated at the same time.

“It’s like they’re attacking her.” I lean into Gage for support while my

mother endures a caustic assault that doubles as a morbid form of

entertainment.

“Present time!” Darla spins in a circle while bolstering her Mimosa

high in the air.

“Mine first!” Melissa insists.

“Gimme, gimme,” Briel e squeezes her fingers as Melissa hands over a

smal yel ow bag. She quickly tosses the tissue paper and plucks out a

smal rubber duck. “That’s it?” Briel e dumps the bag upside down be-

fore tossing it aside.

“Yeah, but I bought it with my own money,” Melissa glares over at Mia

as if she received a loan from twelve different financial institutions to

subsidize her gift.

Mia hands her a smal velvet box. Something tel s me Melissa’s inclina-

tions about Mia’s gift might be factual. Or in the least, she’s in serious

debt to our mother.

Briel e lifts up a tiny ring with a circumference the size of a pencil.

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“No freaking way!” She screams with delight. “I can’t believe how awe-

some this is! This is so going to be on my baby the minute she’s born.

This baby is going to have some serious bling attached at al times.”

Briel e holds the tiny band of gold out for al to inspect.

“It’s going to be a he,” Drake corrects. “And he’s going to look just like

me.”

“Hope not,” Briel e cracks. “The last thing I want is for it to have that

Count Dracula V coming down into its forehead like it’s about to lose

an eye to a sickle.”

I look over at Gage. Those sounded an awful lot like fighting words.

But, I so agree about that whole Count Dracula thing. Real y, it’s kind

of creepy. We should mandate a prayer vigil in hopes it’s recessive.

“If you real y want something to be optimistic about,” Drake starts in a

little louder than necessary, “let’s hope she doesn’t inherit your moth-

er’s urge to get hammered every time there’s a public gathering. And,”

he yanks the ring from Briel e’s hand. “If you put this on the baby it’s

going to choke to death in the first five minutes.”

Darla laughs. I don’t think she quite understood that an insult was

hurled in her honor, or the fact the death of her yet unborn grandchild

was just broached as a topic.

“Give me that,” Mia snatches it from him. “Contrary to what your stu-

pid sister believes, I did pay for that with my own money.”

“Enough,” Mom howls, although it’s unclear who she’s shouting at, the

scuffle unfolding or the scrimmage Demetri and Tad are waging over

her body. Nevertheless, it al ceases. “You two are going to enter into

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one of life’s most amazing privileges—becoming parents,” her voice

softens.

“Briel e, you wil love your child even if he or she is endowed with the

Landon family mark of condemnation. And Drake, you wil trust Briel e

enough to know she would never al ow that child to hurt itself. She is

infused with God-given maternal instincts. She is going to be a fantast-

ic mother. Mia and Melissa, you wil learn to get along because you are

both about to become aunts to a wonderful baby who the two of you

wil adore for the rest of your lives. And, I expect everyone here to get

along next week when I marry the love of my life.” She reaches down

and picks up a hand without looking, presses Demetri’s fingers to her

lips and kisses them.

I give a gloating smile as Tad’s jaw hits the floor.

But it just so happens this time, I hate being right.

Chapter 69

Man in the Mirror

Soon after the abomination of desolation takes off, a.k.a. Demetri—he

was the last freaking partygoer to leave, even Briel e took off long be-

fore he dragged his slithering tail out the door, but I digress—Tad

drags Mom upstairs to progress to a ful body rub. His words, not

mine. The whole idea makes me vomit a little in the back of my mouth.

Of course, Gage doesn’t leave. He’s more family, less partygoer and

we’ve yet to have some alone time. That date we keep trying to have

continues to evaporate into a future that doesn’t seem to have a place

for it so we grab the bul by the horns and decide there’s no time like

the present. I pul him upstairs to my room to get operation save the

date underway.

A foreign chessboard sits on my desk. Pewter cast chessmen each with

their own unique effigy stare off blankly into one another.

“Looks like Marshal dropped off his spiritual air fresheners,” I say fin-

gering the glossy onyx board.

Gage picks up a piece and examines it before holding it out.

“It’s you,” he whispers. “You’re the queen.”

I bow into the board and heavily scrutinize the faces of the delicately

carved creations. We’re al there, Logan taking up the space next to me,

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Chloe on the opposing lineup with El is next to her on one side—Gage

on the other and this puzzles me.

“Marshal has an interesting sense of humor,” I gloss over the board

one more time before pecking a quick kiss into Gage. “I’m going to hop

in the closet and change,” I give a seductive smile. Real y I’m going to

sneak up to the butterfly room and arrange the pil ows and comforter I

hauled up this afternoon after Gage planted the haunted mirror in my

closet. God forbid anyone actual y find the demented speculum and fal

in.

It’s been way too long since Gage and I had a magical moment togeth-

er and what better place to make magic happen than the butterfly

room? I’ve been fantasizing about this moment al day long. His arms

wrapped around me, me peeling his shirt off al slow and seductive, a

hot trail of kisses raining down my neck like fire, butterflies actual y

fluttering in our midst. There is no greater magic than Gage and his

kisses.

I close the door behind me and turn on the light ful y expecting to see

my distorted effigy in that screwed up mirror of Demetri’s, but I don’t.

Instead, a monstrosity so horrific stares back I jump out of the closet

and scream until my lungs burn with fire.

“Shit!” Gage startles, his face bleaching out in an instant.

“Clown Fem!” I hiss.

Mom and Tad file in the room with differing levels of undress. Mom

with her blouse unbuttoned and bra ful y exposed, Tad in his boxer

shorts and knee high socks that brand themselves against his pale

flesh like twin black stains.

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“Judas Iscariot!” Tad belts out.

“What the hel happened?” Mom looks me up and down, terrified.

Gage jumps over and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I proposed.”

He grins at the two of them.

“And, I accepted,” I say, stil panicked by the not so nice man in the

mirror.

“You did?” Gage’s eyes sparkle with a laughter al their own.

“Of course, I would accept,” I soften into him, outlining a heart on his

chest with my finger. “Yes, yes— yes!” I peck a kiss on his cheek.

Gage bears into me with a heavy gaze, never wavering with that look of

joy in his eyes and suddenly we’re having one of those memorable re-

lationship moments right here in front of a partial y dressed Mom and

Tad.

“Congratulations!” Mom shouts, touching her hands to her ears. She

lunges over and embraces the two of us before breaking down into

deep heaving sobs.

I glance over at Gage, a little afraid of the fact we may have emotional

y damaged my mother. There could be permanent psychological

trauma for al parties involved if the truth be told at what the hel I was

real y screaming at.

“I’m just so happy,” she sniffs back tears, recomposing herself just

enough. Her face is awash with tears as she sweeps back her hair. “I’m

going to throw you a party.”

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“No, you don’t have to do that.” The last thing I want is Tad bitching

about how much he spent on our fake engagement dinner.

“Hear that, Lizbeth?” Tad muses. “We’re off the hook. Lest you forget

that we’re stil making monthly instal ments on that little welcome

home party we threw Ethan after Christmas.”

“I insist,” she clutches onto me with her icy hands. “This means just as

much to me as my own wedding. “Oh,” her fingers speed to her lips as

she reaches an epiphany, “why don’t we celebrate right alongside our

vow renewal, Saturday? I’m sure Demetri won’t mind if we make the

announcement. And as soon as I’m able, I’l throw you a real party. I

just can’t keep this good news contained. And the Olivers wil already

be there.

It’s perfect.”

Gage and I appraise one another before nodding into Mom, who is stil

completely hopped up on her latest nuptial triumph.

“We’l leave you two alone, but don’t stay late,” Mom points a finger in-

to Gage before pul ing him into a tight embrace. “You’re going to be

my son-in-law,” she whispers. “Welcome to the family! Tad get over

here and welcome your new son.”

“Don’t you see what’s happening here? They’ve rol ed the dice, and

now they gotta pay the price. This is your basic shotgun wedding play-

ing out only they’re voluntarily running down the aisle.”

“What are you talking about?” Mom practical y vomits out her disgust.

“Teen pregnancies are an epidemic. Skyla, here, sees al the attention

the other two are getting, what with al the fancy cash and prizes, cas-

kets no less, she wants in on the take.”

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This again?

“The take?” Gage drops the smile from his face. The only thing it looks

like he wants to take on is Tad.

“That’s right, the take,” Tad comes over and shakes the words into

Gage’s face. “What better way to shack up with your girlfriend on my

dime than to knock her up and marry her? Let me guess, just before

summer break you two wil have another little announcement to

make.” His fingers twitch in air quotes. “And mark my words,

Lizbeth,” he turns to my mother, “there wil be two tiny caskets lining

our bedroom in a few months time, when every one of these bozos fig-

ures out it’s not so easy to stop an infant from wailing away at three in

the morning. Oh, sure, they’l have excuses, they have school in the

morning, a footbal game—they have to get ready for prom. We’l have

two extra mouths to feed, and before you know it, they'l realize this ar-

rangement of inconvenience no longer fits their lifestyles, what with

Skyla’s insatiable desire to rake against his brother whenever she has a

scratch to itch.”

“It was a side effect from the medication.” Mom barrels into him be-

fore reverting her attention back to me. “Tel him you’re not interested

in Logan.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out because technical y that

wasn’t Logan or me in the boathouse back at Cain River.

“Ah-ha!” Tad dances a jig in his underwear. “She hesitated!”

“No,” I shake my head at Gage. “I’m not interested in him. I swear.”

Gage presses out a depleted smile.

“I was thinking about Holden,” I whisper.

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“Who’s this Holden kid?” Tad straightens. “See, Lizbeth? Case in

point. She’s got a long list of suitors we’ve yet to discover.”

“He is not a suitor. The only one for me is Gage,” I say, fatigued by the

whole Tad and Mom circus that erupted spontaneously. “Gage and I

wil be thril ed to share our news on Saturday. Thank you for extending

the offer.” Now get the hel out, I want to say, but opt for a manufac-

tured smile instead.

Tad holds the door open for my mother while glaring over at the two

of us.

“You had to open a can of worms and ruin everything,” she scolds him

on the way out.

“It’s cal ed the truth,” he barks. “Something your girls don’t seem to

know too much about.”

“My mother should lace his food with lighter fluid,” I say, shutting the

door and locking it.

“I volunteer to hide the body.” Gage slides the dresser ful y over the

door.

“So I guess we’re engaged.” I bite down on my lower lip, trying to hide

a smile.

Gage backs me gently into the wal , picks my hands up over my head

and presses a light kiss on my lips.

“Would you marry me?” He winces when he says it.

“Is this a proposal?” I needle into him with the chal enge.

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He shakes his head. “This was just a preview. I have a proposal

planned that you wil never see coming.” It reminds me of Chloe’s

words, and my stomach lurches.

“Wel , then, let me give you a preview of my answer,” I pause, drinking

down his anticipation, the rise and fal of his chest as it touches up

against mine, “yes.”

Gage and I fal into a kiss that has the map of our entire future em-

blazoned in it.

A vision emerges, awakens my senses to the scene unfolding before

me. It’s me in a white dress. I’m walking down a petal-strewn aisle. I

watch as my satin shoes move in rhythm, the fabric runner moves be-

neath me, the blades of rich green grass on either side liven the world

with color. Down at the end of the aisle a man dressed in a dark suit

waits for me. I look up and see a familiar bright smile, anticipation

and longing written al over his face—Logan.

I pul back and take a breath.

Gage drops his hands to my waist and lets out a sigh. “I saw it, too.”

Chapter 70

Vision Division

I help Gage hoist the mirror of terror into the bowels of the attic. Gage

swore the image was gone, even knocked on the solidified glass to

prove his point but I had him throw a sheet over it anyway.

He climbs back into the butterfly room just as I finish arranging the pil

ows, and I lure him over to me by way of a kiss.

“Tel me,” he pauses to take a breath. “When Dudley shared his visions

with you is that what it was like? You saw them at the same time?” I

feel horrible. I want the ground to open up and swal ow me. I want to

feel the earth press back together and crush my bones right out of my

skin.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I swear.” He twirls his finger

around a loose lock of my hair. “It felt intimate—beautiful sharing

something like that with you. Not the actual image—that was quite

possibly the worse vision I’ve had to date. But, strangely I feel closer to

you now than ever before.”

A swel of tears blur my vision, holds the tiny room hostage as they

warp my lenses and make the butterflies pinned to the wal s wobble

for me.

“I never wanted Marshal ’s kisses. He is a master of manipulation. The

visions—” I stumble in search of words.

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“No,” he places his finger to my lips. “It’s OK.”

“I swear I wil severely injure him if he ever gets near me again.” I press

my lips together. “That vision we just shared—”

“I’ve seen it before,” Gage whispers, gazing past my shoulder. He

sounds tired, defenseless to the horrible truths that are unraveling

around us.

I’ve seen it before, too, but I’m not in the mood to share that tidbit of

information. I don’t see the point in yanking his bal s off and grinding

my heel into them.

“Wel ,” I pul him in close and slip my hand inside his shirt, give a light

scratch at his chest, “the only person I’m going to spend the rest of my

life with is right here in this room.”

Gage gives a gentle kiss, pul s at my lips with his and lingers before let-

ting go. “Nice save.” His chest vibrates with the idea of a laugh. “But, I

don’t want you to feel like you’re chained to me. Maybe Logan’s right,

we should finish out the faction war and then give you some breathing

room, let you figure out who you want to be with.”

“No,” I pul him in by the back of the neck, “Logan is not right. Logan is

hardly ever right. I know I want to be with you.”

“Skyla,” he compresses a sorrowful sigh, “please, don’t deny you have

feelings for him.”

“Why does this night keep going there?” I sink my head back in

frustration.

A tender trail of molten kisses trace up from my chest to my ear.

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“Much better,” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair and

clenching on. “Less talking, more kissing.” I find his lips and seal my

mouth over his. I don’t plan on letting Gage come up for air anymore. I

plan on reminding him of how much it is I love him and plan on loving

him every single day. I hope he sees our whole future unfold like a love

letter.

It’s going to happen.

I’m going to make sure it wil .

***

I spend most the week drifting in and out of a conversation about my

own wedding with my mother. I swear it’s like she’s suffered a

psychotic break and al she can focus on is marrying off her seventeen

year-old daughter.

“Shouldn’t you be fixated on uniting Drake and Briel e in holy matri-

mony?” I give a devious smile over to Briel e. In al honesty, I do prefer

my mother’s attention calibrated on me rather than Demetri.

We’re shopping for bridesmaid dresses at the mal . Mom has delved

further into her insanity by suggesting we each choose our own dress

to wear this Saturday and opened up her wal et carte blanche.

“Oh,” Mom tilts her head with curiosity, “I didn’t think you were stil

together,” she whispers into Briel e.

“You know how that goes.” Bree shrugs.

“What?” Clearly this is news to me. An argument over the casket de-

bacle does not a relationship break.

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“He’s already asked Emily to prom,” she says nonchalant like it were

insignificant on some level.

“What?” I shriek.

Briel e ignores me while sifting through a whole line of tents that she

could easily hide that mountain of flesh erupting from her stomach. I

swear, if I were her, I’d total y be expecting an alien to pop out at any

moment—then again, if it were me, that might be a very real

possibility.

“It’s not that big a deal. I’l go stag,” she says it like she means it. I ap-

praise her for a quivering lip or flushed cheeks, but she doesn’t look

like she’s about to cry or throw things or lop off Drake’s bal s.

“You wil not go stag.” I’m defiant about this. “You can go with Gage.

He would love to take you.” I don’t feel bad one bit offering my boy-

friend up to another girl, wel , not this girl anyway.

“Who are you going to go with?” For the first time Briel e’s voice

breaks with emotion—final y a crack in the armor. I was beginning to

wonder about her.

“I’m going with Logan.”

“What?” My mother’s mouth squares out in horror.

“It’s a mercy thing,” I’m quick to correct. “It was Gage’s stupid idea.”

Actual y Gage is impervious to stupid ideas. It was genius—every

breath that boy takes is a work of art.

“Gage?” Briel e looks up as though she were envisioning it. “That’s like

going with my brother, you know, if I had one. I guess that’d be OK.”

476/632

“Good—pick out two dresses,” I encourage. “One for Saturday and one

for prom.”

Mom makes crazy eyes at me from behind Briel e. She’s probably just

envisioned Tad crapping his pants.

“And I’l do the same.”

My cel goes off. It’s a text from Marshal .

I have a dress for you.

A breath gets caught in my throat. I pan the vicinity for signs of his be-

ing, but something tel s me his voyeuristic nature precludes logical

bounds and limitations such as flesh and bones—time and space.

No thanx ~S

It has magical properties. He counters.

I’m sure it does. I’m sure it would bewitch me right into your

arms. ~S

For that I’ll wait until our union officially commences. This

frock has the ability to absorb a floating spirit. In the event

one had a spirit one needed to assign to a certain body. Just

imagine a night with the Pretty One wrapped around you

like a sheath.

The thought of Logan caressing me al night at prom makes me dizzy.

My cel buzzes softly in my hand. You’re intrigued already I can

tell by the color in your cheeks.

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I walk over to the mirror—startled to find my rosy flesh staring back at

me.

I want a guarantee. ~S The last thing I need is another bodily mix

up.

I can attest to the method myself. It’s practically foolproof.

I twist my lips at the words practically and foolproof. In and of them-

selves they’re dangerous—together they read like a bad omen.

“How’s this for prom?” Mom holds up a dress reminiscent to the one

Chloe wore the night she disappeared.

“I think I’l dig something out of my closet, save you some money,” I

offer.

“Thank you!” She mouths. “Now pick out something nice to wear to

your engagement party. I have a little surprise cooked up for you.” She

winks before drifting off into a sea of pastel dresses.

I look over at Briel e with her swol en bel y, no promise of forever from

Drake who has al but pul ed the plug on any kind of future they might

have had outside of genetical y engineering a child together. It makes

me feel so amazingly lucky to have someone wanting to spend their

forever with me— three someone’s.

I squint out the window into the dul grey sky. I wonder what my celes-

tial mother and her peeps at the destination station have up their

sleeve as far as my love life is concerned?

On second thought, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.

Not that she’d tel me.

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Know it al bitch.

Chapter 71

Power Surge

The sky over Paragon shifts and turns, changes every color the dark

rainbow has to offer with the ease of a kaleidoscope. I study the vein-

ing that spiders through the clouds, the thick cords that snake through

the sky like the roots of some infal ible tree, a herculean Cedar of Le-

banon erecting itself in a shadow that lurks up above.

In my mind I make flowers out of the smal er less aggressive clouds,

the textured dark coils become exotic blooms that take a foreign

shape, they have no name, no color. This is a dark Eden hovering

above, drawing us in, engulfing us in its wicked garden.

Gage and I walk hand in hand to second period under the cloak of a

threatening sky. The heavy underbel ies of the precipitous brumes, ful

and fat, beg to rip apart and release their fury over the island.

“Hope your mom has good weather tomorrow,” Gage looks up just as

the sky fractures into tendrils of sizzling light.

“You mean, hope we have good weather tomorrow,” I press a soft kiss

into his lips. “You warn your parents?” I would ask about Logan slash

Holden, but we both know Holden could care less—hel , he could care

less if we reprised our performance from the Althorpe dinner and star-

ted rutting in the wedding cake. That might actual y amuse Holden on

some level—give him ideas.

“They’ve been sufficiently warned.” His eyes widen.

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“What?” I tug at his hand and cease al movement. “Tel me. I’l make

sure we’re severely late to second if you don’t spil . What was that

face?

Your mom isn’t coming? I knew she hated me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.” He tries to control the wild grin waiting to ex-

plode onto his face.

“What?” I’m dying here.

“She thinks you may have manipulated the situation a bit, to get even

with your mother for remarrying Tad.” He hits the airbrakes with his

free hand. “I set her straight.”

“How pray tel ? By way of the truth?” I total y didn’t manipulate the

situation but since the situation arose, I’m rather glad to detract from

any farce that includes the glorification of Taddy dearest—especial y

since it involves yet another sacred union between him and my

mother.

“Yes.” Gage hypnotizes me with his ironclad gaze. “I told her I’m

madly in love with you. And, if one day you would honor me by decid-

ing to stand by my side for the rest of our lives, then, yes, we should

very much celebrate that fact.”

“Aw,” I jump up on the bal s of my feet and glide a wet kiss off his lips.

“That, and I told her about the Fem.”

I smack him in the chest as we head into second.

***

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Marshal radiates a quiet repose. He bleeds most of the hour with a dry

routine, espousing numbers, letters, and formulas as though he were

reading a recipe from the back of a box, not his usual engaging de-

meanor. During the final ten minutes, he stares blank and wide in my

direction as though he were looking through me, but the explosion of

lust emanating from his being suggests he is rather focused on my

person.

He hands a couple of students a stack of graded papers to pass out and

takes a seat on the corner of his desk, openly pil aging me with a come

hither look in his eye.

Chloe raises her hand, clears her throat to get his attention.

“Hands down.” He doesn’t bother breaking contact with me to reprim-

and her, doesn’t blink, just takes me in, absorbs every nuance. I can

feel something shifting, crackling down on a molecular level. He’s cal

ing me, encoding himself into my genetic design, grafting his soul onto

mine. A strange pul takes over and I want to suction to him like a mag-

net. I seal my fingers over the rim of my desk and hang on, try to stop

myself from doing something foolish like fal ing on my knees before

him, begging him to take me in front of the entire class and Gage.

El is swivels in his seat. “I’m, like, real y tripping out right now,” he

gives a low guttural laugh. His eyes shine glassy pink.

I try to revert my energy to El is, his perfectly straight nose, his smal

bowtie lips, but I snap back to Marshal and gasp. Marshal has become

a ful glorious breath in an oxygen-deprived world. This spel —this

bondage he’s placed me in is far too strong to ignore, and nothing in

me wants to ignore anything about Marshal right now. Oddly, it

doesn’t feel like I’m being control ed, it feels genuine and right.

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I can feel Gage shifting from behind—the tension rising like mercury

in the desert. “You have five fucking seconds to knock this shit off.” He

booms over to Marshal .

The entire class takes in a col ective gasp and turns towards Gage, but

I can’t pry my eyes off Marshal . I’m so close to giving in, going over

and drinking down a warm pool of kisses straight from his mouth.

Marshal ’s lips curl into me. His chin dips into his chest while he

molds my body with his eyes.

Gage spikes out of his seat, bul ets to the front of the class. He picks up

the metal stool Marshal usual y lounges on and launches it out the

back window at superhuman speeds—nearly decapitating the entire

third row in the process.

A growl of thunder rol s into the classroom, accompanied with a hur-

ricane level wind.

Gage clocks Marshal onto the floor and the two of them rol around like

tigers, nothing but fists, a tangle of legs moving so fast I can’t tel which

is which.

El is and a couple of other guys struggle to pul them apart.

Marshal pats his lip with the back of his hand and examines the crim-

son stain on his flesh before staggering to his feet.

“Your stay here,” Marshal seethes into Gage, “has just been markedly

reduced.” The bel rings.

“Take him directly to principal Rice. Inform her of the attack and let

her know we’l need the windows boarded up at once.” Marshal waves

them off as they speed Gage out the door.

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“He’s going to kil Gage because he loves you,” Chloe whispers the

words in my ear like a necrotic poem. “The only thing better than me

never having Gage is you never having him. Al ’s wel that ends wel ,”

she drips like a song.

I’m probably going to kil Chloe—and Logan is already dead.

Marshal and I wil be the last ones standing.

Dear God.

What if that was the plan al along.

Chapter 72

Oblivion Express

Marshal darts a look in my direction and I find myself walking mech-

anical y beside him down the hal .

“I demand an explanation,” my voice hits a baritone that’s unrecogniz-

able, the wal s wobble and quiver until they resize themselves, white

and vacant.

I give a hard blink before realizing we’re continuing our fervent gait

while tucked neatly away in the Transfer.

“Holy crap!”

“Language,” he barks, continuing his stride until we hit a corridor with

a blue tint.

“What the hel just happened back there?”

“You mean the indescribable feelings of pleasure you just experienced

for yours truly?” His lips curve with the hint of a maniacal smile.

“Yes,” I grip him by the shirt and cease us in our tracks. “Did you put a

spel on me?”

“I don’t consort to witchcraft, it’s the devil’s way of dealing. I am a holy

being, I assure you, through and through.” He caresses my cheek with

the back of his hand. “I merely cal ed forth your feelings for me—de-

manded they surface and magnify themselves for us both to witness. It

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was a thing of beauty, Skyla,” he says it breathless. “It was a rol cal of

your deepest desires and now I know there is a place in your heart for

me no matter how insistent you are to deny it—no matter how hard

you try to bury it.”

He takes up my hand and walks us into the Count body containment

facility brimming with human fishbowls as if the oral exchange never

took place. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to get into a debate with Mar-

shal over my feelings for him, especial y not while I’m at his mercy

locked in the Transfer.

I try not to look at the floating limbs, the dead faces staring back at me

from inside those tubes, the hands pressed against the glass as if beg-

ging for a way out.

He speeds us quickly towards the rear, where, hanging on a lone metal

pole is a navy dress with what looks like upholstery tacks trimming the

bottom and the top. It’s a short dress—very short dress, as in you-wil -

share-your-underwear-super-short-hoochie-mama, run of the mil slut

attire. I flip it around to reveal a giant bow which I surmise wil sit

squarely over my bottom. My fingers inspect the metal rivets, run over

them in anticipation of what they might mean.

“You’l trap him in this?” I pet the gown that wil inevitably hem Logan

onto my person like a garment.

“Appealing to you—isn’t it.” It sounds almost accusatory.

“Yes, getting my friend back means everything to me.”

“Friend?” Marshal balks. “It’s me, Skyla. You never need to depreciate

your true feelings about people around me.”

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“Can you appreciate how I’m feeling about you right now?” I seethe. “I

didn’t care for that stunt you pul ed back in class and don’t try to turn

it around and say it had anything to do with my feelings. You know

darn wel it was a setup to piss off Gage.”

“Infuriating Jock Strap was a perk.” A simple smile adorns his face as

he folds his hands before him.

“Are you going to kil Gage?” There it is, my biggest fear. He’s already

done it to Logan.

“Logan died at the hands of another. I assure you my payment for the

spirit sword incident was usurped that night. I sent the wolves, Skyla,

but it was too late.”

“So you’re not through with him.” I finger the gown. “You want me to

bring him back so you can kil him again.”

“Nonsense. Why do for myself what I could have you do for me?”

“Very funny.” If pissing me off is Marshal ’s goal he’s achieving it mas-

terful y.

“That’s precisely what I was experiencing less than an hour ago.” Mar-

shal is making it clear he can read my mind down here. “Forty minutes

straight, he copulated with you—nothing but a fornicating bonanza

right there in my presence.”

“Logan?”

“The genital support you harbor by your side at al times.”

“Gage?” My mouth fal s open. “You were listening in on his thoughts?”

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“He was brutalizing me with fantasies of sexual savagery with my fu-

ture wife!” He cuts the air with his tongue.

I grab a hold of Marshal by the shirt and pul him in. A fine pleasant

wave washes through me, fulfils the longing I had when he was hold-

ing me steady in his unwavering trance.

“Maybe I will love you one day, but today you drifted us away from

that horizon ever so slightly. Each time you’re cruel to Gage—to Logan,

you drive me further and further away from you. And maybe I wil lose

my mind and marry you but I wil be Gage’s wife before I ever wil

yours. You keep your threats and your bul y-like ways the hel away

from the people I love.” I speed out of the room and head out into the

bowels of the Transfer.

I’m going to see Logan—tel him al systems are go.

I’m kil ing him next week at prom.

***

I walk the cobbled streets outside of the Transfer with al eyes roving

over me as if I were a bil board. I manage to keep a safe distance from

the long departed souls that descend in my direction, and I can’t help

but shake the feeling I’m about to be pounced from behind. Maybe

leaving Marshal in such a huff wasn’t the greatest idea. It never seems

to be a stroke of bril iance to have Marshal pissed at me, even if I am

perennial y ticked off at him. He means wel , he’s just a brute beast

when it comes to any hope of attaining my love.

I pause before taking another step and take in the majesty of the tal

wrought iron fence stretching its arms out to heaven as if begging God

for mercy.

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Marshal loves me. It dawns on me for the very first time. I saw it in his

ferocity when he induced Gage into a fit of wrath.

I take a breath at the thought. A vibration of laughter runs through

me. Al this time, I thought I was a pawn, a chess piece Marshal

tinkered with to position at his leisure, to place in peril at his amuse-

ment, someone to exploit sexual y if given the opportunity—but it’s

real. It’s always been real.

A pale il umination dances on the periphery of the building. I turn

quickly and gasp anticipating the worse, but there’s nothing. The

crowd continues to swel around me. I pick up speed and bolt to the

oversized porch.

Skyla.

My name whispers from the outskirts of the ghostly assembly. A tuft of

burnt coral hair rises from behind a group of women in ragged hoop

skirts, their entire person clear as cel ophane. From behind the fence

he stares back at me, same bloodied clown that appeared in the

mirror.

“Shit!” I struggle to open the door. The knobs twist loose but the door

doesn’t give. It’s jammed or locked or broken.

The crowd filters onto the porch and bodies press against me every bit

as real as anyone on Paragon pretends to be. Long dead hands prod

my ribs, touch my hair, a strange electrical current surges through me

as one of the women lays her cheek next to mine.

I let out a scream and kick into the door. It rumbles and creaks as I re-

lease my aggression over it. The crowd gasps. A woman sticks her nose

to mine, and I bat her away, her skin a strange shade of grey as rows of

papery wrinkles enwreathe her eyes.

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The crowd parts swift as the Red Sea as the clown Fem moves between

them.

“No,” I whisper, rattling the handle, pressing and pul ing, begging it to

open.

“Excuse me?” His voice elongates unnatural y, eats away at my

eardrums, corrosive as battery acid. I give a quick glance over my

shoulder.

He’s here.

My breathing grows erratic, pulsates out of control along with my ra-

cing heart.

He’s going to touch me. I can’t do this. I pound into the door—kick at

it until the wood groans and cracks from under the pressure.

A hand glides over my shoulder, pale with dirty fingernails. The putrid

stench of death spikes through my nostrils.

I crash into the seam of the door with my shoulder.

“I can set you free,” it vocalizes in a strange manner, like an animal

that was trained to mimic the words without ful y understanding the

meaning behind them.

“Marshal ,” I bleat out in a panic. The door gives beneath the weight of

my body, and I burst into the cool unwelcoming arms of the dungeon-

like mansion. I slam the door shut behind me like a reflex, yank over a

cumbersome end table with carved cherubs at the base and use it to

seal off the entry. A steady series of knocks erupt from the other side.

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An echoing laughter, dark and sinister comes from the elongated hal

before me. The flickering candles expose a pale shadow, the Fem ap-

pears locked in a death grimace as he staggers towards me.

“Logan!” I scream, running down the hal . The heavy rhythm of the pi-

ano strums through the wal s. My feet vibrate with the hard ragtime

music until I hit the bloated door just outside his room. “Logan!” It

comes out like a cat on fire as I pound, and kick, and rattle the knob.

The clown Fem progresses in my direction. He strums his fingers

against the wal , whispers something melodic in a language I don’t

recognize.

“Logan,” I press my back to the door and watch frozen with fear as the

clown reaches up to his forehead, runs his fingers down over his nose

—his neck, causing his flesh to part like a zipper. His head splits in

two, sags to the side like a Hal oween costume revealing new flesh, the

color of life underneath. A shock of inky dark hair, arrogant eyes re-

veal someone hauntingly familiar—Demetri.

The door opens up and I fal backwards into Logan’s waiting arms.

He slams the door shut and locks it.

Logan wraps his arms around me, holds me for hours, days, weeks. I

press my face into his chest and don’t let go. Logan is a fortress. I can

feel his affection washing over me in warm satisfying waves.

“He won’t hurt you, Skyla,” he gives it al in one hot whisper. “I wil nev-

er let him.”

“I wish there were a way to get rid of him, destroy him.”

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“There is,” Logan cradles my cheeks in his hand and presses a kiss to

my forehead. “And that’s what we’l do.” Chapter 73

Torment in the Transfer

Logan suggests we take a walk.

We head outside the same way I came in. Although this time it’s un-

eventful in nature, no sign of Demetri the cowardly clown, and we

draw no interest from the throngs of people walking arm in arm, rush-

ing around like an army of hungry ants.

“My Mom thinks I’m engaged,” I say, studying the fat low hanging

moon. The purple night sky il uminates in pink and iridescent blues,

so reminiscent of the Soulennium it must al be related somehow, but

how and why?

“Are you engaged?” He asks, hushed, as if he were on the verge of

making a grand discovery.

“Maybe,” I shrug into it. I’d hate to deny anything about Gage, even if

we’re not at that point yet.

I tel him about the Fem that’s been fol owing me, the strange sight of it

unzipping itself, revealing Demetri underneath.

“It’s symbolic. They want you to fear him most.”

“Who are they?”

“Fems, Sectors, your mother. It could be anybody.” Logan wraps an

arm around my waist as we head off the cobbled path. We take off to-

wards a large lake, black as oil with a set of peaceful waterfal s that re-

lease into it at the far end. “Does this look familiar?” He tilts into me.

492/632

The moon kisses him with its lavender beams, accentuates his per-

fectly carved features and blesses that hint of a smile Logan always

saves for me.

“Three fal s. Marsh to the left.”

“Oh my, God,” I breathe. “It’s a replica of the Fal s of Virtue.”

“That’s right.”

We sit on a mound of soft grass, blades as thick as fingers. Logan pul s

me in and we watch the water shed into the thirsty mouth of the lake,

steady as tears. The ground beneath us rises and fal s as if the hil we

were sitting on was the furry back of some mythological creature,

ready to rouse from hibernation. “It’s OK.” Logan rubs his hand up

and down my arm.

“I think Marshal ’s in love with me,” I say it weak.

“You’re just now figuring this out?” He pul s a wry smile.

“He’s total y convinced we’re going to marry. There’s no doubt in him,

he just accepts it like it were the truth.” Logan inches his head back at

the thought.

“I had this dream,” he shakes his head.

“I think I know.”

“You too?”

“I had a vision with Gage,” I take a breath. “And with Marshal .”

493/632

“Of me?” His eyes glint in the light. He tucks his chin and tries to hide

the smile that wants to erupt in victory. “You were so beautiful.” I had

never seen the way I looked in any of those visions.

“You saw it through a different perspective,” I whisper.

“I saw it through my eyes,” he holds my gaze strong as steel. “You were

walking towards me.”

“You think it’s a prophecy?”

“I know it.”

“It’s probably like the one Gage had.” I stop shy of saying it was taken

out of context. Saying those words out loud would be rebuking the

idea of me ever marrying Gage and that’s one idea I’l never shoot

down. I don’t care how many orators or prophetic visions try to get in

my way. Gage and I are going to have our forever. It’s coming. I can

feel it.

Logan rattles my hand playful y, gives a halfhearted smile letting me

know he heard everything.

“I’m going to get you back, Skyla.” His chest expands with assurance.

“I know something else, something that makes dying and living in this

hel hole worth every painful minute.”

I stop breathing in anticipation of what might come from his lips

next— something wonderful, apocalyptic, a revelation of my future, al

of the above. Anything seems possible.

“You love Gage,” he expels softly with tears glistening, “but you love

me, too. A powerful, hungry, unstoppable love that deep down, you

can never deny. I can see it engraved inside your heart just as it is in

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mine.” The revelation is just within reach but he won’t give it. Instead,

he expounds on the painful truth. I love Gage, and I love Logan.

I fil my lungs with a breath, until it becomes painful not to exhale.

“I do love you, Logan. I love you so much it hurts,” it depresses from

my lips like a secret mired in truth and agony. “I’m going to kil you at

prom,” it slips from my lips banal, as if death alone were the only way

to steer us out of this conversation.

“That means I’m coming back to you.”

“We need a codeword, so I know it’s real y you.”

“Happily ever after. It wil come.” Logan wraps an arm around my

waist.

It takes everything in me not to fal under the spel of this moment.

Logan has convinced himself emphatical y that we’l be together, and

it’s hard to refute something like that when I’ve had visions that back

up his theory.

“Happily ever after?” It sounds loaded.

“It is loaded—with promise.” He dots my cheek with a kiss. “Happily

ever after.”

***

I blip back into my skin at West as if a single moment never went by. I

bleed out the rest of the day—work a short shift alongside Gage at the

bowling al ey without mention of my dimensional jaunt with Marshal

and Logan.

495/632

Thankful y, Gage was only reprimanded with detention for trying to

rearrange Marshal ’s bone structure. It seems so lenient, makes me

wonder if Marshal had something to do with it. Strange. But, then

again, Marshal most likely has a far more severe form of punishment

awaiting the love of my life.

A horrible sadness ebbs away at me from the inside until late in the

night as I lie on my bed contemplating the absurdity of thinking I

could ever know my future, that anyone else could for that matter.

A blue glow warbles next to the bed. A shimmer of light ignites bright

as lightning before Gisel e appears before me ful y formed, warm, in a

red cable sweater, jeans and boots.

“You look deep in thought.” Her dimples go off, identical to Gage.

“What’s going on?” She hops on the edge of the bed, exploding her

perennial good mood al over the place. I don’t like it. It depreciates al

of the melancholy I’ve invested in. It begs me to cheer up and match

her enthusiasm, but I don’t.

“Just busy,” I shrug, “You know, plotting the revenge of my enemies.”

With prom just a week away that’s real y where my head needs to be—

wrapped completely around Chloe’s demise.

“So are you going traditional? Vat of pigs blood?” Her lips curve as she

holds back a laugh.

“I’m thinking something less obvious yet equal y as traumatizing.

Nothing quick and dirty, that’s too easy for Chloe.”

“Just Chloe?” She raises her dark brows, amused. Gisel e looks eerily

like the female version of Gage. If Gage and I ever have a daughter I

would love for her to look like Gisel e in every way.

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“I’m entertaining a few violent scenarios for Logan, too,” I say.

“You mean Holden.”

“Correct. Any ideas?”

“Let’s see, you’ve already tried asphyxiation, how about poison? Or a

hacksaw to the gut? You could pul his intestines out like unraveling a

sweater.” Gisel e is rife with lousy ideas tonight.

“I’m thinking something a little less invasive, something without long

lasting side effects.”

“Like a heart attack,” she gives a knowing nod.

“A heart attack,” I say, envisioning Logan writhing on the ground grip-

ping his left arm, wracked with excruciating pain.

“An electrical jolt to the ticker,” she suggests. “It could kil instantly. Of

course, you’d need another power surge to bring Logan back and lots

of CPR. We can’t afford the brain to be deprived of oxygen too long.”

“This is great,” I marvel. Who knew Gisel e would be such a wealth of

knowledge when it comes to celestial takedowns. “How do I jolt his

heart?”

Gisel e snaps at attention towards the closet as if she were suddenly

distracted. Her face blanches out as she begins to disintegrate.

“I have to go,” her voice melts as her flesh dissolves in a cloud of

molecules.

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Before I can protest, my mother appears in al of her il uminating glory,

an emerald rainbow crowns her from above, casts a strange aura over

her long glowing hair.

“Hey, Candy,” I say, completely uninterested in the fact she’s chosen to

suddenly insert herself in my bedroom, right here on Paragon. “Aren’t

you breaking al eleven commandments by gracing me with your pres-

ence?” I salt the words with enough sarcastic inflection to let her know

she’s not wanted in these parts.

No wonder Gisel e took off. I would too, if I could.

“You disrespect me.” She offers a peaceable smile. It makes me want to

trust her, give into the il usion that she might actual y care about me.

“Welcome to the parent hood. I think I hear violins in the background,

and, oh wait, what’s that?” I put my hand to my ear. “Oh, that’s right, I

don’t give a rat’s ass.”

“Skyla,” she bemoans with a smile. “I love you, dearly. I command you

to lose this adolescent angst at once.”

“Oh,” I tilt my head amused. “You command me? You so understand

how the teenage mind works.” I give a mock salute.

“I understand how your mind works.” She scoots into me and takes up

my hand.

“Only because you can read my thoughts,” I snatch my fingers free.

“It’s because I care enough to know you,” she corrects.

“What’s my favorite color?”

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“Purple.”

“Blue.” I lie. “Who’s my favorite parent?”

“Your father.”

“And never you.” I fal back onto the pil ow and close my eyes.

She lays the cool of her hand over my forehead, strums a peaceful har-

mony through my being with her simple touch. I can’t imagine that be-

ing in paradise feels too different.

“Why don’t you ever help me when I need you?” I don’t open my

eyes—just let the current of her affection run deep into my marrow.

“Each time you cal out to me I’m by your side, Skyla. Anywhere you

are, when you cal me, I’l be there.”

“Ezrina needs a new trial or I’m doomed to walk the netherworld

forever wearing her head as a hat. Wil you help me?”

“I wil always help you.”

“Why do I get the feeling we have a different idea of what that help

might be.” She doesn’t say a word, just curves her lips into a curious

smile that lets me know I’m right.

Chapter 74

White Wedding

The rain last night swept away the clouds, the debris from the air,

dropped the scales from our eyes so we could see Paragon without its

constant shroud of fog. The crystal ine morning air exposes al of the is-

land’s secrets, not in whispers as the fog tried to do, but in loud clap-

ping shouts. Our world is naked, the trees, the soil, every rock unima-

ginably real, distinct. The boldness of the lingering sunshine hardens

the edges. It outlines the landscape with rigid lines, makes us aware of

its unfriendly borders. It reveals the dirty roadways, the gaping holes

between trees like missing teeth. It forces the island to expose itself

with its skirt lifted high, bearing its shame for al to see.

Gage and I examine the back of Demetri’s estate with awe and wonder

at the transformation that’s taken place. An archway of white roses, an

entire army of ladder-back chairs, each adorned with a pink satin sash,

tul e running wild in every direction. Long white tables are set out in

the distance, complete with a uniformed staff tending to them,

nervous as a beehive, as if royalty were expected.

“He real y went al out,” Gage pul s me in, buffers me with a quick kiss

as Tad and Mom descend upon us.

This garish display of affluence, this embarrassment of riches—this is

nothing more than a box trap on a stick. Demetri holds the string in

wait, and my mother is the unwitting sparrow.

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“You see the cake?” Mom picks up my hand, her fingers cold as an ice

bath. Probably something akin to cold feet and hopeful y she’l change

her mind. We could pay El is’ mother a quick visit once she realizes

she could never make the same mistake twice.

“We were just on our way,” Gage pushes gently into the smal of my

back, guiding me away from the two of them. He’s stil real y pissed at

Tad among other people, Sectors to be exact.

“Not that one,” Mom spins me around to another table with an equal y

gargantuan confection springing up from the center. “I had the bakery

make one up just for the two of you.”

Tad steps in. “It’s al getting a little too real, isn’t it, son,” he says, slap-

ping Gage on the back.

Gage is resplendent in his formal black suit, matching ebony tie. I

would much rather it were our wedding and rumors of engagement

were swirling around Mom and Tad. I’d squash those like a bug, wash

Tad off the windshield of our lives like bird crap.

“Let’s go,” Mom takes up my hand and scissors us over with the steady

swish of her dress. It’s a white sheath, luminescent in nature and has

goddess topknots over her shoulders. A heavily plunged neckline ac-

cents the front and wil double as entertainment the second she bends

over.

She looks more ready for a Toga party than a wedding, but to each his

own.

I’m wearing a black dress with white polka dots, one size too smal , my

rear effectively hanging out the back. It’s similar in size and stature to

the soul catcher Marshal wil strap me into, come prom. Actual y, they

didn’t have this dress in my size, but it was so cute I don’t mind the

501/632

fact I can’t completely inhale from the vice grip it has around my

waist. Not that I’l need help passing out once the preacher reasserts

the fact Tad is a permanent fixture in our lives.

“Wow,” I say as we come upon the tower of icing erected like a statue

in our honor.

Skyla and Gage is spel ed out in blue gel that bleeds into the perfectly

spackled frosting, smooth as glass.

“It’s beautiful.” I swipe my finger down near the bottom and stick an

inch of heavenly cream into my mouth.

Mom slaps my hand with her loose glove.

“What?” I say. “Let them eat your cake. This one’s just for me and

Gage,” I give a devious smile up at him before relaxing into his warm

chest.

“You do realize this mix of flour and sugar cost over seven grand,” Tad

espouses as if he squeezed every nickel out of his ass himself. “And in

the event you’re both unaware, it’s meant to be eaten in a civil manner,

not bathed in like some public fountain.” Gage widens his wicked grin.

I dip my finger into the cake again and fil each of his dimples with a

mound of sugar.

“Unbelievable,” Tad gurgles.

“Leave them alone,” Mom drags him off in the direction of the house.

“They’re in love.”

“I am in love with you,” I press my lips into his left dimple. “You’re

sweet, you know that?” I wish it real y were our wedding. I could care

502/632

less if an entire army of Fems were in attendance. Starting our forever

today would be amazing.

Gage swipes his finger alongside the edge of the cake and smoothes it

along my lips.

“You’re sweet, too,” he says, sealing the sentiment with a most deli-

cious kiss.

***

Guests fil in nearly every seat. I’m not sure who these people are or if

in fact they are people, I just know bodies have arrived in formal at-

tire, large brimmed hats as if it were race day at the Kentucky Derby.

“You see my mom?” Briel e hobbles towards me with her swol en bel y

shooting out, subtle as a projectile missile.

“Nope.”

A dark shadow glides over the vicinity, offers a respite of shade to the

over-bright sky if just for a moment. It’s Nev. He circles the area above

the floral archway as if he were offering his blessing, or placing a hex,

either or.

Gage nods over in Nevermore’s direction as if I should know what it

means.

“Places everyone!” Briel e’s mother flails her arms in hysterics as an

entire string section starts in on a beautiful melody.

“Guess we’d better get ready,” Gage presses a quick kiss on my cheek.

Something’s happening. He pul s back and examines me as if to assert

his theory.

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“We’d better get in line,” I nod into the words.

Gage is going to walk down the aisle with me—then it wil be Drake

with Mia, then Ethan with Melissa. This is sort of our couple’s an-

nouncement to Paragon high society. It’s doubtful Mom wil stay in

their good graces. Once they get a whiff of Tad, her socialite days wil

be over before they’ve truly begun.

We walk across the soft fine lawn and my heels sink into the soil, stil

soggy from days of rain.

“Ms. Messenger,” Marshal hastens from the sidelines.

Gage and I turn in unison with our arms intertwined.

“Mr. Oliver,” Marshal gives a curt nod before taking a seat near the

back.

You look irrepressibly beautiful. He gives a gentle smile . It’s unfortu-

nate your stride down the aisle will be precluded with unforeseen

events.

“I’m pretty sure no one’s going to stop me,” I whisper.

“Skyla, Gage, you’re up,” Darla motions her finger down the long ivory

runner.

“It’s go time,” Gage nudges into me.

Marshal turns to look at me, along with the dozens of people who’ve

bothered to show up to this matrimonial mockery.

Hard left Skyla, emerging from the shrubbery. Marshal nods.

504/632

I snap my head over expecting to see Demetri wielding an ax, an as-

sortment of disfigured Fems—but I don’t.

Instead—I see my father.

Chapter 75

The Visit

“Shit!” My heart thumps erratic at the sight of him.

My father steps out into the light of day, disoriented as if he just woke

from an unsettling dream.

“Is that?” Gage stops short of finishing his thought.

I shove Drake in front of me and instruct him and Mia to go on ahead.

From inside the black hole of Demetri’s estate, I see my mother adjust-

ing herself against the reflection in the French door, oblivious to the

fact her oldest child is about to vacate the premises.

I take Gage by the hand and speed over to my father, over by the box

hedge.

“Daddy!” I muster al the fake enthusiasm possible.

Damn—Ezrina real y is a wicked witch. How she and Nev could pos-

sibly ever think bringing my father to Paragon just in time to see his

wife marry another man, is a good thing, boggles the mind.

Dad squints into me. “I was just about to take out the trash, and I

walked out of those bushes. You have anything to do with this?” He

gives a sly smile.

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“You’re here,” I say, fanning my arms out. I haul us through the shrub-

bery, and we land in a rose garden that stretches out for miles with its

labyrinth-like design.

“So this is Paragon.” He looks around, taking it in. “It’s beautiful. Am I

interrupting something?”

“Just some stupid wedding,” I shoot Gage a look that suggests I might

be moved to slit a throat or two to keep the identity of the bride and

groom a secret.

“Weddings are never stupid.” His forehead wrinkles. “Are you sure you

don’t want to head back? I could steal a seat. No one would ever notice

I was there.”

“Oh, I think they’d notice,” I whisper.

“Smal town, everyone knows everyone,” Gage adds.

“Skyla!” My mother’s voice booms from behind the hedges.

A soft buzz emits from the other side.

Perfect.

Less than five minutes into the production, and we’ve managed to fuel

enough island gossip for a decade. “Skyla?” Mom emerges from the

bushes, pul ing the veil up from over her face.

“Lizbeth?” Dad’s eyes widen first with delight, then horror.

Nev circles above before darting into the evergreens for cover.

507/632

He’d better fly away—far, far away to be exact. I might pluck him

clean, later just for fun.

“Nathan?” Mom drops her bouquet, christening the lawn with a

shower of white petals.

The simple sad song of a violin, sirens through the air. Even its sooth-

ing rhythm can’t quench the silence that has encapsulated the two of

them like a membrane.

“Why don’t I walk you back,” Gage picks up the bal of pale roses and

tries escorting my mother through the bushes.

“Did you do this?” She accuses me openly—doesn’t bother hiding her

irritation.

“No.” How am I ever going to convince her it was a distorted apology

from my evil friend the bird.

“Lizbeth, go ahead,” Dad pleads. “You, too, Skyla, there must have

been a mix up.” I can’t stand the pain rising behind my father’s eyes.

“No.” My mother steps forward. “I’m not going through with it.” She

doesn’t take her eyes off my father. “Gage, please tel everyone I’m not

feeling wel , give my apologies.” She links her arm into his, and they

delve deeper into the flower garden together. A lanky bush of citrus

colored petals engulfs the two of them. The sun washes them in a

shower of gold, arresting them in the silhouette of a newly married

couple. But it’s al an il usion. It’s nothing that could ever be.

The only thing that’s real right now is the fact Tad is barreling in this

direction.

“Crap,” I whisper.

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“I’l take care of it.” Gage intercepts Tad off at the pass and walks him

back through the shrubbery.

Just freaking great. It’s up to me now to, of al things, convince my

mother to go back and finish rehitching herself to Tad so that the

people trapped in stadium seating can actual y eat cake. But I don’t. I

have no intention of inciting such nonsense.

A violent crush of leaves sends me jumping to attention. Another loud

crunch—this time closer, adjacent to the bushes my parents are stand-

ing near. My parents—how sweet the sound.

A large dark shadow swipes in and out of the hedges. It’s nefarious,

and scary, and definitely not human.

“Mom!” I bolt over. “Maybe you should wait in the house for us.” Real

y, I don’t think she’s ready to graduate to flesh eating Fems. Besides,

the last image I want to have of my mother does not include her being

ripped to shreds in a wedding dress.

“Are you sure?” She sniffles into my father not paying attention to a

single word I’ve said. Obviously, my father is just as enthral ed with

the conversation because he’s not at al concerned that we might be

jumped by a pack of rabid beasts.

“I’m sure,” he walks her over to the opening in the hedges and escorts

her through.

And, here, my mother was afraid there would be no one to give her

away. I shake my head at the irony.

A set of heavy claws land on my shoulders and knock me to the

ground.

509/632

“Skyla!” Dad races over just in time to have a dirty hyena-like creature

barrel onto his chest. We lie flat on the moist dirt, the sky rotating

above us as they drag us by our legs. Dad kicks at it with his free leg

before spiking up and wrestling the beast off his person. He tries to

lunge towards the Fem that has me captive, but it sails away with me

scraping the flesh off my back in the process, grazing my scalp along

the fine pointed rocks until it feels I might pass out from the pain.

“Skyla,” Dad lands hard on the creature, gives it a bear hug from be-

hind. My leg drops from its mouth as it turns to snap at my father.

“Run, Skyla!”

I twist in the dirt, my left shoulder on fire from the effort. The trees

shift position as I struggle to get my bearings. The earth rises to meet

my feet. I overshoot the hedges and race around to the back of the

house in an effort to avoid running the rabid beasts straight through

the wedding.

I try to glance back at my father and a snapping jaw clamps shut just

shy of my nose. The heft of its body forces me to do a faceplant in the

dirt. It lays over me with the weight of a smal car—its putrid breath,

blowing in my face.

The world fades in and out as I claw my way over to the grass. I can

see the bottom of the ladder-back chairs, men’s dress shoes, women’s

heels.

Can’t breathe.

A growling snout buries itself into my neck, hot saliva circles around

to the front and swims down my chest. Knife-sharp teeth puncture my

skin, locking up my muscles as the long canines skewer deep into my

flesh.

510/632

A set of smooth brown legs with feet pressed into black stilettos move

swift in my direction. The ebony shoes stop at the edge of the lawn, as

their owner inspects my misery from above.

“Wel , look what the Fem dragged in.”

Chloe.

I don’t need to look up to affirm that bitchy whine.

“Don’t mind me,” she purrs. “Feel free to bury her alive. That’s what

she hoped they’d do to me.” It takes a moment for it to register that

she’s talking to the Fem. Of course she wouldn’t help. Why would she?

I kil ed her when I had the chance.

My head grinds into the dirt, my mouth fil s with pea gravel, and

through the agony I can hear the very distinct sound of Chloe’s

laughter.

That’s it. I hone al of my Chloe-based anger, zero in on every acrimo-

nious inclination I’ve ever had and turn, dig my fingernails into its

sides until I feel its flesh shred between my fingers. I give it a hard

push and eject the creature off me like a rocket.

“Here,” Chloe reaches down, “Let me give you a hand.”

Foolishly I accept. Foolishly I’m flying through the air, hurdling over

the bushes like a pole-vaulter. I land flat on my back on something

soft, slipping down the slope of what appears to be my engagement

cake before systematical y taking down al seven layers. Gage swoops

by my side wide-eyed and puzzled by my latest acrobatic feat.

Tad and Mom appear, both equal y miffed and stymied.

511/632

“Knew it,” Tad yel s. “She was planning this stunt al along,” he gives a

dismissive laugh. “I’ve got news for you. The wedding went off without

a hitch and this is the precise reason I insisted your mother get you

your own damn cake,” he turns to Mom. “I told you Lizbeth—cake

diving is the new planking.”

“Take her inside and clean her up,” Mom pleads with Gage.

Tad speeds her off into the circulating crowd.

Down towards the altar I see Mia and Melissa posing for pictures with,

of al things, a clown. He looks right at me, drops the smile off his face,

just glares.

Shit.

“What the hel happened?” Gage helps me up.

“My dad, he’s stil out there,” I pant.

“I just saw him slip into the house.”

“I need to find him. I need to make sure he’s OK.”

Chapter 76

Icing on the Cake

I bolt up the marble stairs slipping, clawing against Gage just to keep

myself upright when I smack right into Marshal .

“Oh dear,” he feigns concern looking down at himself. “You’ve made a

mess of my shirt.” Your father’s upstairs in the game room admiring

the variety of creatures his soon-to-be assassin has on display.

“Nice.” Holy freaking shit.

I tap up the remainder of the stairs so fast it feels like I’m floating. I

bolt down the hal and find an opening to the game room as wide as a

wal . Gage and I walk in together.

“Look,” I motion up at the horrors mounted near the ceiling.

“Fems.” A voice comes from behind.

I turn to find my father staring back, perfect and unharmed.

“Daddy!” I jump into his arms and inhale his spiced cologne with an

urgent greed. The scent alone acts as a bookmark to an entire era of

my life. It takes everything in me not to find Mia and bring her to him.

“I saw her.” Dad’s eyes sparkle with tears. “Skyla, so much has

changed in both your lives. I feel like I’ve missed a lifetime.”

“It does feel like a lifetime.” I bury my face in his neck.

513/632

“I don’t mean to interrupt the family reunion,” Gage pipes up, “but

isn’t that a replica of the mirror Demetri gave you?” I walk over and

touch the cool of the glass. My hand melts through to the other side

and I’m quick to retract.

“You think he has two?” I wonder.

“Skyla,” my father gently pul s me back from the contraption, “if De-

metri Edinger gave you anything, I want you getting rid of it

immediately.”

“You know he’s a Fem, don’t you.” I appraise my father in this new

light. I’ve yet to know more than him at any given time. Even in death

his knowledge has increased, much like Logan.

“I do,” he gives a sad nod. “I also know hanging around him too long is

a sure guarantee to getting yourself removed from this planet.”

“I’l get rid of it,” I say without hesitating. “I saw this horrible clown in

it, al it does is fol ow me around. It goes as far back as me touching

these pictures.” I walk Dad and Gage over to the haunted photomont-

age. I pluck out the frame that houses the picture of me at West and

shake it, let them watch the entire scene unfold from an aerial

perspective.

Dad takes it from me and places it back onto the shelf. He opens his

mouth to say something before reaching to the back and pul ing out

another gilded frame, ornate with pressed roses lining the top and

sides.

“This is me just now in the garden,” Dad holds it out for us to see.

“But how?” I take it from him. The picture neatly trimmed, sealed be-

hind glass, the scene less than fifteen minutes old.

514/632

“They don’t incorporate time the way we do, Skyla. This earth is their

playground.” Dad glances beyond my shoulder. “I have to go.” He pul s

me in, touches the bruises on the back of my neck without meaning to.

“Love you. Don’t be such a stranger. Bring your mother, your sister

when she’s ready.” He brushes the pad of his thumb along my cheek

before patting Gage on the back. “Take care of my baby.” He walks to

the door and gives a forlorn look before disappearing into the hal .

“So that was it?” I col apse my arms around Gage and let loose a tor-

rent of wild tears over his dress shirt.

“We’l visit. We’l do an L.A. date,” Gage blinks his dimples on and off.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. I want my dad to look at these abrasions.” I

give a gentle nod.

“It’s also time to discuss how we’re going to bring Logan back.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

Kil ing and reviving Logan are at the top of my to-do list.

***

Gage and I leave the reception early because, for one, I’m drenched in

frosting, and second, I’m in no mood to celebrate the union of Tad and

Mom, this day or any other.

Nevermore circles the Oliver house as Gage and I pul into the drive-

way. He fans out his plumage so brazenly it makes me wonder if Nev is

even remotely aware of the infliction he caused earlier.

Fresh spring lilacs scent the air from Emma’s border garden as Gage

helps me down from the truck. He catches me in his waiting arms and

spins me.

515/632

“I’m going to carry you over the threshold,” he says, dipping his arms

behind my knees, cinching a kiss up on my lips for good measure.

“So what did you think of our engagement party?” I bat my lashes with

every intention of seducing him, forgetting that my hair is slicked with

butter cream frosting, that I have a mashed candy rose stuck in my

cleavage.

“I think we might need a do over, just me and you,” he says it low and

husky as though tonight were a real possibility for this to happen.

“And perhaps a more romantic proposal—a ring would be nice.” His

brows arch over his pale eyes.

I wave my forever band in the air.

“I was thinking something with a little more sparkle,” Gage inspects

my finger for a moment and makes a face, as though it were a mere

paltry offering of his affection.

“You’re al the sparkle I need.”

Gage gives a devious grin and melts a sea of kisses over me as he lets

us into the house. He jockeys us upstairs. I can hear his bedroom door

shut, the twist of the lock. I keep my eyes closed—enjoy the fruit of his

mouth as he continues us over to the bathroom. The pipes twist, a

light spray of water sprinkles over my arms, my chest, the left side of

my face.

I kick off my heels, grab Gage by the col ar and don’t let go.

A rumble of laughter escapes soft from his chest. He pul s back and

looks down at me.

516/632

“Skyla,” he means for it to be admonishing in nature but he rasps it

out with a whisper of desire.

“Gage,” I try to equal his intensity. “Come on, you know you want to.” I

bring his finger to my mouth and press it against my lips.

Steam rises, fil s my lungs with its sweet precipitation. Gage sets me

down on the warm shower tiles, stil in my dress, takes off his shoes

and joins me. He picks up a bottle of shampoo and holds it out like a

peace offering. I open his hand and watch the golden liquid drizzle in-

to his palm.

Gage crashes in with soft kisses, lathers my hair as gentle as handling

a newborn. It feels sacred, like a rite of passage to be cleansed by the

hands of the one I love. The day melts off me. Gage runs one long hot

kiss from my ear down to the base of my neck, examines me under the

deluge of rain with a fierce intensity.

“You’re so beautiful, Skyla,” he whispers. His shirt glows, clinging to

his skin beneath.

“I’m yours forever.” The words resonate inside me long after they leave

my lips.

His cheek rises on the side, never breaking our gaze. Gage is a censer

fil ed with a pure golden fire. His desire emanates hot and proud as

the steam wraps around us like a veil. His eyes shine like cisterns of

deep water, his lips alive with lust for me.

“Forever,” he whispers covering my mouth with his.

We let the water run over us, drench us in its rich eternal spring—rain-

ing over us like tears from every love story that ever had to come to an

end.

517/632

We are forging our own love into the symbol of infinity, independent

of time and space with no end and no beginning. We hover over the

cusp of a beautiful horizon just within our reach.

This is forever.

Eternity within our grasp.

Chapter 77

The Break Up

The heat in the shower rises to inconceivable levels, the steam soaks in

our carnal desires and we manage to extinguish them before we end

up on the floor mixing around in the debris of cake and frosting.

Gage leaves to change and I indulge in a real shower washing a sugary

glaze from al sorts of interesting crevices. I think of Gage’s fiery touch

and I ignite al over again. Who knew cake could be so disturbingly

erotic? Maybe Tad is right and cake diving wil real y take off. It was

sort of fun even if it was Chloe flinging me into the multi-layered wal

of icing.

I wrap a plush towel around myself, cobalt blue the exact color of

Gage’s eyes. It feels warm, safe, and makes me want to run out into his

bedroom and latch onto him before getting dressed. It’s not until I

realize, the only outfit I have is lying in a sopping heap, that running

and latching onto his person in this delicate state of undress is a very

real possibility.

I knock on the bathroom door before entering his room.

“Al clear,” he says, clad in a t-shirt and navy colored sweats.

I love Gage with his hair slicked back. He’s so freaking hot I just want

to rip my towel off and attack him.

519/632

“You have any sweats for me?” I skip over, flaunting my clothing defi-

cient status.

“Nope,” he hides his smile behind a look of mischief. “You’re holding

them al hostage. I haven’t had the chance to replenish my supply.”

“I’l just hang out like this.” I hold up my hands exposing my barely-

there appearance.

“My dad wants to talk to us about,” he nods over towards Logan’s

room.

“Regarding my thril to kil ?” I arch my brows, trying desperately to get

him to remove my towel. I would moan like a dove for Gage.

“You know what I hate more than you having to kil Logan?”

“What?” I wince at the thought of actual y having to kil Logan.

“Not going to prom with you.”

“I’l be there.” I run my fingers through the wet tendrils of his hair.

“And you’l be there.”

“We have to make it look real.” Gage shakes his head. “Holden’s going

to wonder why you suddenly want to go to prom after not carrying out

a single conversation with him for the past few months.”

I lay my head over his chest and listen to the steady thump—let its rich

soothing cadence reverberate through my skul .

“I hate this, too,” I whisper. “I hate having to convince Holden of any-

thing. Wish we could just flood his bed with water while he sleeps and

throw in a toaster.”

520/632

“How did you know there would be electrocution?” The corners of his

lips hold a devilish smile.

“Your sister—who, by the way is working for my mother, who, by the

way is the strangest being in the universe.” Gage presses his finger to

my lips.

“You may not want to incite her,” he whispers, dropping a kiss on my

lips. “I have a feeling the last thing we need is your mother after us.”

“I know, right?” I wrap my arms tight around his waist. “Hey,” I jostle

him from side to side. “It’s kind of like we’re dancing.” Gage picks up

my right hand and holds it out, presses his hips against mine and

moves in rhythm.

“We are dancing,” he corrects.

“This is our prom.”

“You look gorgeous tonight.” He dips into me with a quiet grin. “Have

I mentioned how much I love your dress?”

“And you look dashing in your attire as wel . I especial y love the way

the color of your suit brings out the prince charming in your eyes.”

Gage throws his head back with a slight laugh before taking on an ul-

tra serious demeanor.

“Would you be my princess?” His dimples flare, no smile.

“I’m humbled to be considered for the honor.” I hike up on the bal s of

my feet and sway into a blistering kiss that lets him know exactly how

honored I am to be his anything.

***

521/632

We find Dr. Oliver downstairs in the back office. Turns out Gage did

find a pair of sweats for me, so I don’t have to face Barron, or worse,

Tad later in a towel that hardly covers my bottom—was sort of a nice

prom dress though.

I give Gage a secret smile. I so loved our private prom. I can’t wait to

do it over and over again.

Gage pats the couch beside him, and I sit a respectful arms length

away.

“Skyla,” Dr. Oliver folds his hands over a stack of papers on his desk,

“Gage has implied that you’re to distribute the fatal blow. How do you

feel about this?” His glasses shift as he anticipates my answer.

“Um,” I look over at Gage. “Yes. I want to. I mean, Chloe has me in a

corner, and even though we’re sort of at an impasse at the moment, if

either you or Gage were to kil him, she might use it against me,” I

glance over at Gage, “us.”

“Very wel ,” he takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes momentarily be-

fore depositing the frail looking spectacles on his desk. He reaches be-

low and lands a smal box in front of him. A long erect needle sits at-

tached to a tangle of blue wires that protrude from the device. “This,”

he holds up the unit, “has the capability to stop a man’s heart with one

quick jolt.”

“God,” I cover my lips. “I have to stick him in the heart with that

thing?”

“You not only have to stick him—to do so properly, you’l have to pen-

etrate the protective shield of his rib cage.” Dr. Oliver looks from me to

Gage. “Skyla, you must dig into the reserve of your strength. This

won’t be easy.”

522/632

“What if I can’t?” Usual y thinking of Chloe or Michel e gets me riled

up, but what if I miss the opportunity and am left to my own weakling

devices?

“Regardless, whatever happens, make sure this isn’t used against you.”

His face grows cold as stone. “This could just as easily multiply the

tragedy we’ve already experienced.”

“Nothing wil go wrong,” I say.

“Famous last words.” Dr. Oliver pierces me with his heavy stare.

“I won’t let it,” Gage offers. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He pats

me on the knee. “It’s time to break up.”

***

Total y, I think breaking up with Gage is going to be a ton of fun.

Emma has graciously invited us al into the kitchen where she’s doling

out her latest sweet treat, a steaming hot apple pie served over a bed of

vanil a ice cream.

Of course, she and Barron have been completely debriefed to the situ-

ation about to unfold, so I don’t feel bad at al about wolfing down two

whole slices before hacking into her son.

Holden slogs down three pieces before sticking the entire can of whip

cream down his throat and indulging in one long squeeze. It comes out

of his mouth like a tower before he col apses his lips over the creamy

mess, and the reserve drips onto the floor. Charlie goes over and licks

at his feet. Come to think of it, Charlie has made quite the habit of fol

owing Holden around these past few months and with good reas-

on—Holden is a freaking pig.

523/632

“Are you just going to sit there staring?” Gage stirs the pie on his plate,

good and miffed while mowing me down with a palpable hatred.

“Why don’t you just crawl over and sit on his lap.” He cocks his head at

me. “You know you want to.” My mouth fal s open. My heart picks up

pace because suddenly it doesn’t feel so fun anymore.

“Maybe I wil ,” I counter. “Maybe I’m sick of you talking to Chloe Bish-

op whenever you feel like it. I know for a fact she’s been texting you.”

“So you’re checking my phone now?” He pushes his plate away.

“You’re the one who planted the seed of doubt. You gave me no

choice.”

“Whatever,” Gage huffs a laugh and gets up. He heads towards the

counter and scoops more vanil a ice cream onto his plate, never waver-

ing from his annoyed expression.

Holden gapes at the two of us, he’s buying this bul by the crap-load.

I fol ow him over, abandoning the pie, which is truthful y the best

homemade anything I’ve ever eaten. I miss the days Mom would make

edible meals for us. With her ovaries on the line, it’s al zucchini and

entrails from here on out.

“I’m real y getting sick of you tel ing me I can’t talk to Logan,” I hiss,

“that you want me to quit my job because you’re so insanely jealous

every time I’m within ten feet of him. I’m not gonna stand around and

let you tel me who I can and can’t see!” I shout the last few words in

his face.

“Everyone calm down,” Dr. Oliver says it low for added effect.

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“I’m real y getting tired of this, Skyla.” Gage looks bored, his aggres-

sion boiling just beneath the surface as though it were real. “I never

signed up to be anybody’s second anything.” He tosses his spoon into

the sink a good five feet away in a fit of rage. “I’m sure there are a lot of

girls out there that would treat me with enough respect to cut their ex-

boyfriends out of their lives.” The copper kettle on the stove vibrates

as his voice blasts across the room.

“Is that what you want?” I howl back. “For me to ignore Logan at

school? Treat him like he’s dead to me because you can’t freaking trust

me?”

“Everybody knows I can’t trust you,” his voice booms off the wal s, re-

verberates within my skul long after it leaves his lips. Gage spears me

with a look. The hurt in his eyes tel s me this isn’t entirely a fabrica-

tion, that he’s seen proof, and so has everyone else.

The moment seems to stretch out an inordinate amount of time, just

Gage and I lost in a tunnel of horrible truths. It cuts through me, rips

me apart from the inside like a thousand rusted hooks.

I take a breath before going on. “Maybe it’s you nobody can trust. Wer-

en’t you the one fol owing me around like a puppy just waiting to find

a crack in my relationship with Logan, so you could inject yourself?

You broke us up!” I accuse. “You had me convinced Logan was some

monster who did nothing but womanize, and you were so self right-

eous. Ha!” I laugh in his face. “As soon as Chloe came back into town

you glued yourself to her side like she was macaroni and you were

cheese.” OK, that last part was insanely stupid and unnecessary.

Thinking on my feet is not my strong suit. “Face it,” I go on, “you can-

not stand the thought of me and Logan together because secretly you

know that it’s him I real y belong with.

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Logan and I could start a fire with the electricity we produce from

across the room, and it kil s you that no matter how hard you want to

make me yours—deep inside you know it’s going to be me and him in

the end.” I point hard over at Holden. “That is my forever Gage—the

one you could only dream of.”

The room quiets to an unnatural hush.

Gage ticks his head back a notch as if I had physical y slapped him.

The undeniable look of hurt in his eyes lets me know I’ve gone too far.

It was believable enough with the first few barbs. This is Holden we’re

talking about. He won’t be considering a career in rocket science any-

time soon. I should have stopped before I carved Logan loves Skyla al

over Gage and his tender heart.

“Get your shit out of my room,” he seethes before speeding away and

picking up his keys off the counter. “I’m sure you can find a ride

home.” He glares over at Holden.

“Fine!” I fol ow him out to the entry. I’m sorry! I mouth.

Gage holds up his hand, and I give a high five before he takes off into

the driveway.

“I hope I never see your sorry face again!” I shout into the virginal

night, with thoughts of Holden behind every word.

Chapter 78

Fake Love to Me

A frigid wind blows through the open front door, sending the newspa-

per sitting by the entry into a violent shiver. I gaze out at the empty

void in the driveway where Gage’s truck sat only moments before. Lav-

ender shadows ascend from in between the trees—tint each blade of

grass, soft like a wash of snow. From this angle the driveway hold the

curves of a wel -endowed woman, the shadow of an evergreen caresses

her at the hips like a lover.

I watch the red glow of tail ights long after Gage leaves before slam-

ming shut the door and stomping my way upstairs.

It’s been an eternity since I’ve been in Logan’s room. The door sits

ajar, so I let myself in. Laundry lies about unsettled, drawers left half

open with clothes vomiting out, a trail of papers slough off the desk

and onto the floor. The entire room has a ransacked appeal.

On the wal above his desk, splayed out in a neat and organized fash-

ion, are pictures of my faux-tattooed body. Emily had inked me up

during ski week at the Pine Pole Lodge. It was supposed to mean

something, each image some significant marker that told another

chapter of my life. It looks erotic like some kind of gangster girl porn,

sans the actual naked body parts necessary for it to qualify. Another

row of pictures line the left of his bookshelf, the drawings from Emily’s

house that depict the faction war. We were going to pour over these to-

gether. This was the Logan I knew—the analytical thinker, the student

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launched headlong in the worship of this strange girl who isn’t even

human—and that inhuman girl just happens to be me.

I head over to the closet and dig into the deep recesses that maybe

Holden hasn’t infected with his poor sense of fashion. I retrieve an un-

touched sweater stil neatly folded on the highest shelf in the back. It

holds the geometric configuration of something freshly laundered, or

never worn. It’s clear that once Holden jumped on the douchebag

bandwagon, he evicted al of Logan’s plain white tees and jeans. I

would have accepted them by the bagful.

I flatten the sweater out over the bed and lay over it as if it were Logan

himself. It holds a clean scent, the slight hint of cedar, but sadly, it

does nothing to remind me of Logan at al .

A thin film of tears lines my lashes. I can’t believe I said those horrible

things to Gage, nothing but a string of hateful indiscretions. I’l move

heaven and earth to grovel an apology on my knees before sunrise. I

didn’t mean any of it, but I know if I’m going to kil Logan— Holden, I

needed for him to believe every single word. If ever there was a time

for Gage and I to slash each other to pieces with the shards of our

tongues, it was tonight.

“Knock, knock,” Holden comes in, holds his hands out with a be-

wildered look on his face as if he were about to surrender. I wish.

I bury my face in the sweater—try to conjure Logan out of it by press-

ing in a quick kiss against the sleeve.

“Hey,” he rubs my back, snakes his hand down to my bottom so fast I

jump up towards the headboard like a reflex. “I guess you guys real y

had it out.”

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“Yeah, I’m done with him.” I crawl over on my knees and pat Logan’s

perfect cheek with the back of my hand. I miss Logan with a terrible

ache. “I’m not going to let him keep us apart anymore.” My stomach

sours. Gage would never do that. He would bless me if I ever wanted to

go back to Logan because he loves me more than himself.

“You and me?” This bewilders him.

“I know, it’s about time, right?”

“I guess you had it pretty bad for him,” his eyes round out, “me, I

mean Gage,” he shakes his head trying to play off the oversight.

Holden is such an impossible dolt he can’t keep his identity straight.

“So,” he pul s me in by the hand, “where did we leave off?” He burrows

his face in my neck.

“You know,” I push away. “It’s been a while. Maybe we should take it

slow.”

His features harden. “I don’t like slow. I’m sick of slow. If I don’t get

some action soon I’m going to explode.”

“I know, me too.” Crap! “Let’s take it slow this week. We can pick

things up later.”

“Later?” His brows furrow exposing the fact this is going to be a seri-

ous chal enge for him. “Like when, later?” Like never, I want to say.

“Like after prom.” My lips twist holding back a devious smile.

“Like prom night?” He digs those dark amber eyes into me, and my in-

sides melt.

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I nod my head trying to orient myself to the situation.

“That’s right. Prom night,” I whisper. “You and me. Bring protection,

you’re going to need it.” A bul etproof vest couldn’t save him from my

wrath.

“Cool, I’l get a hotel room.”

“Total y!” I muster al the fake enthusiasm possible. It’s a miracle I

haven’t slapped him by now. And, who knows, maybe Gage and I can

put it to good use?

“But one thing needs to happen before I give you some of this,” he

grabs a hold of his crotch. If Logan ever did that I’d kil him on the spot

for being a moron. “I want al that Celestra magic infused right back in-

to my blood. Do whatever witchcraft necessary to make it happen. Be-

cause without that,” he lifts my chin hard with his finger, “there is no

this.” He points to the bulge in his pants.

Nice.

Kil ing Holden wil be a pleasure.

***

Once I arrive home, I have the distinct feeling if I don’t shower soon

my skin wil melt off from the toxic slime Holden drooled over me.

I make my way upstairs silent as a mouse. I’m not in the mood for the

Mom and Tad show. Mom, because she’d want to talk about Dad, and

Tad because, wel , he’s just an ass. Plus, he got away with remarrying

my mother once again, and that, in and of itself is an unforgiveable

offense.

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Drake slinks out of the upstairs bathroom. He has a commode of his

own, why he insists on destroying the girls’ toilet is beyond me.

“Hey,” I yank him to the corner, “why on freaking earth are you not

taking Briel e to prom?” I should hit him over the head with the spiked

heels dangling from my fingers.

“None of your business. But, since you make everything your business,

it’s because I already asked Emily. Why isn’t Gage taking you? I hear

he’s suddenly got a fetish for knocked up teens.” His brows pitch.

“Because,” I take in a gulp of air, “Logan already asked me.” I don’t

wait around for Drake to gloat. Instead, I bolt into my bedroom and

shut the door before he espouses something profanely reflective on

how we’re both doing the same things for the same reasons—because

it would so not be true.

The wal s tremble with laughter—a boy and a girl. I move closer to the

closet. Sounds like their coming from the butterfly room. I open the

closet a crack and listen—more buzzing.

Sounds like Mia. But what if it’s not? What if it’s a pair of clown Fems

getting it on just waiting for me to go up there so they can take turns

strangling me?

I pick up one of Dad’s skis that I rescued from Mom’s ‘discard my ex-

husband pile’. I never planned on letting Gage store them for me.

Contrary to what Tad believes, my father’s things do belong in this

house.

I give a good shove and knock the transom to the butterfly room off its

base.

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“Crap!” I hear Mia’s worried voice clear as a bel .

A familiar face pops in and out of the opening, boyish, about fourteen.

A surge of adrenaline gives me just the right amount of courage to

climb up after them. I pul myself up into the butterfly room to find the

two of them cowering in the corner.

“Out!” I point hard at the exit. It’s Gabriel, I recognize him from the

Althorpe dinner, then today at the wedding. He’s got a dodgy look

about him, same beady eyes as his untrustworthy sister, sharp hand-

some features that would make any two girls turn their backs on one

another.

“Do you want me to go?” He turns to Mia for support.

My jaw goes slack at the audacity.

“Yes, she wants you to go,” I answer for her, throwing a pil ow over at

him, “and she wants you to never come back. Get the hel out. If I ever

see you messing with my sisters again, I’m going to make it my per-

sonal mission in life to humiliate you on a grand scale.”

“On a grand scale?” He mocks on his way towards the exit.

“I’l make sure the entire island knows you have bal s the size of chest-

nuts and that you sleep in diapers.” He’s obviously some male version

of a home-wrecker, honing his skil s right here on my sister.

His features loosen as though I hit a nerve. Obviously I was spot on

about the diaper, probably the microscopic nuts, too.

“I’l catch you later,” he says, climbing into the dark oblivion, which re-

minds me—that twisted gift from Demetri is stil lurking up there.

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“Cal me!” Mia shouts after him.

“Call me? Are you insane being alone with him in here?” I scold.

“Me? You’re the one who keeps it stocked with pil ows and bedding. I

was afraid to sit down. I had to turn the covers over not to get grossed

out by the bodily fluids you’ve probably littered them with.”

“I haven’t done anything up here.” Not worthy of disgust, anyway. Of

course, if Holden gets his way we wil , but not until after prom, and for

sure not here—but he’l be dead by then, so it total y won’t matter.

“I think he likes me,” she bites down a guilty smile.

“What? He doesn’t like you—he’s using you. I saw him pawing al over

Melissa today at the wedding.”

“He’s getting ready to break it off with her.”

Dear God. He’s drafted Mia into the home-wrecker training program.

“That’s what they al say. I promise you, any guy who’s wil ing to two

time is no good.” Gage and Logan flash through my mind. That is tech-

nical y how Gage and I started out, with him pretending to be my boy-

friend. I stil remember the day he gave me his class ring. My stomach

does a soft rol as I soak in the sweet innocence of it al . But anyway,

Gage and I are different. “You need to find someone else.” If only Gage

had a little brother, hel I’d take a Harrison offspring at this point.

“I don’t want anyone else. There’s only one person for me and that’s,

Gabriel.” She knocks me back on her way out. “And Skyla?” I recognize

that satisfied smirk on her face. It’s usual y fol owed up by a threat so

big you can drive a truck through it.

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“I know,” I start, “if I don’t enable your secret relationship you’re go-

ing to run to Mom and Tad and rat out the butterfly room.”

“I was going to say,” she dril s into me with venom, “thank you for

caring about me enough to share your opinion.” She shrugs. “But

you’re right.” She sinks down into the closet, landing hard on the floor

with a thump. “He’s coming over tomorrow at ten. Consider yourself

warned.” She shouts before scampering out of the room.

I fal back onto the pil ow. I hate this. Who knows what they were do-

ing—about to do. I’m going to have to burn the butterfly room just to

sanitize it from the carnal offenses they might have committed. I’m go-

ing to have to keep it stocked with condoms to stave off Mia going the

way of Briel e. Just thinking of Mia and condoms sends a shiver down

my spine. There has to be a way to keep Mia out of the butterfly room

once and for al .

Gage blips into the room, startling me back to reality.

“Gage!” I get up on my knees. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean any of those

things. Please forgive me.” I pick up both his hands, pul him down to

me and offer a kiss.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he whispers. “Holden just came in and

told me you two were back on—that prom night is going to end with a

bang.” He flexes a half-smile.

I exhale in disgust. “He’s a real poet,” I say, wrapping my arms around

his neck. “The only person I plan on sharing my life and my body with

is right here in this room.”

“Wel then,” Gage pecks in a quick kiss, “I look forward to both.” Our

eyes lock, radiating the gravity and joy presented by those two

prospects.

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He leans in and offers softer more melodic kisses that span a stretch of

time immeasurable. Gage writes a poem over me with his tongue, his

teeth, his lips. He absolves al of the fleshly offenses that Mia and her

boy toy may have violated the butterfly room with. Gage could cleanse

the world with the breath from his lungs.

We continue to wash it clean until the sun comes up.

Chapter 79

Secret Love

I’m not thril ed about faking feelings for Holden al week. I’m not thril

ed with the fact Gage is busy giving me the cold shoulder whenever we

happen to glance at one another in the hal s, and I’m beyond not thril

ed when Briel e does the very outlandish thing of nominating Logan

and me for prom king and queen.

“I love this,” Chloe coos after cheer practice. “You continue to turn

your life into such a craptastic mess, I can’t help but admire the fero-

city in which you choose to destroy it. In fact, in honor of your pristine

ability to botch things up royal y, I came up with a new cheer,” she

pauses as Michel e, Lexy and Emily gather like sheep. “Two, four, six,

eight, who can we decapitate?” She throws her head back, cackling in-

to the pale dense fog. It bil ows from her nostrils thick as smoke.

“That’s sick,” I say, turning around. Figures, the one single shit Chloe

gives about me happens to center around the botched bag of goodies

I’ve smashed my life into.

“You know what’s sick?” Michel e pops up beside me. “The way you

keep toying with Logan and Gage. I think us island girls need to teach

you a little lesson. You don’t come here and mess with our boys on our

turf.”

Turf? I want to laugh in her face. It’s obvious I never should have sug-

gested she take off the rose of horrors from around her neck. A

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drugged and sleepy Mil er was definitely an asset more than she was a

liability.

“Yeah, wel ,” I step into Michel e—too bad for her because I’ve been a

power bitch on overdrive al week. Between al the Holden bul shit, and

Mia camping out in the butterfly room utilizing it as a seventh grade

love shack, Tad and Mom practicing for their honeymoon as they

choose to label their marathon fornicating—I’m more than a little bit

stabby. “If you island girls knew what the hel you were doing, I

wouldn’t have half the male population trying to figure out the com-

bination to the padlock on my chastity belt.” Wait—did I want to say

that? Don’t I want Chloe to believe Gage and I have already done the

deed and thus drive her insane with the il icit implications—not to

mention mind-boggling images?

I try to head towards the gym but she grabs a hold of my arm.

“Why don’t we show, Skyla, what we think of her chastity belt?” Michel

e glares into me. “As if you didn’t already sleep with Dudley.”

“I think you’ve just been voted off the island,” Chloe says it low as she

steps over.

A tangle of arms and legs latch onto me. My head is stuffed into

someone’s shirt and I’m blindly jostled and pounced. A sharp pain ex-

plodes over my back, knocks the wind out of me as they drag me to

some unknown location.

I should break al of their bones for jumping me right here on West’s

soil, under the watchful eye of Cerberus.

My face meets up with the dirt. I look up in time to witness Chloe

climbing down from an evergreen quick as a spider monkey.

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Lexy wrestles with my feet. I glance down to see a thick-cabled rope

looped in triplicate around my ankles.

“Goodbye, Messenger. See you at prom, if you make it,” Michel e gives

me the finger.

“Oh, she’l make it,” Chloe quips. “One of her many suitors are likely to

rescue her. Besides, I would never want her to miss out on al the fun.”

She holds back a laugh ensuring me of the torment to come. Little

does she know I have high hopes to return the favor.

Emily drops something behind me.

The rope cinches around my feet so tight I’m convinced I’l lose them

both at the ankle.

I sail into the air, my toes pointed towards the sky.

The bitch squad cackles below like herd of rabid hyenas as I sway back

and forth like a pendulum, twenty feet off the ground—my cel phone

sailing to earth without me.

“I’m afraid of heights!” I scream as they descend into the parking lot.

“Oh are you?” Chloe exaggerates a frown. “Oh dear, skanky, skanky,

Skyla. I do plan on making al of your nightmares come true.” She sinks

into the driver’s side of her car and speeds away. One by one they al

take off.

I’m left alone, dangling, with my cheer skirt wrapped around my waist

like a closed up flower.

Dank sal ow light dispenses through the thicket of clouds, re-

cedes—leaves me lounging in the murky shadows.

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Blood pools to my temples, bloats my lips as my teeth begin to chatter.

We let out from practice far later than usual. Any other day, the foot-

bal team would be heading out to their cars right about now. Any other

day, Gage would be here and not tending to a Holden inspired emer-

gency at the bowling al ey. Something tel s me this is more than a

coincidence.

A soft rumble emits from the bowels of the forest. A series of trotting

footsteps press out, approaching in this direction. One by one large

overgrown wolves emerge from the woods, congregating around me

like a pack of wild denizens. Their pink tongues light up the dark like

flames.

“Crap,” I hiss. “Mom?” She did mention she was always around. This

seems as good a time as any to put that theory to the test. “Um, hel o?

Unearthly Mother who insists she is available twenty-four seven?”

The mangy mess stirs frantic, one of the rabid beasts picks up my cel

and chews on the casing.

Oh good! He’s going to butt dial somebody. With my luck it’l probably

be useless Holden, or worse, Kate because she just so happens to be

dead.

His jaw lights up an electric blue, before he spits the phone out, and

another one comes over and gnaws on it with a frenzied

determination.

“No! Bad dog!” Shit. “Mother?” I pul up and try to reach my feet, caus-

ing the rope to oscil ate like an earthquake. My left foot slips through

the noose, bul eting my knee into my face. Figures. It’s not bad enough

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I was the subject of a group beating—my own body has decided to join

in on the fun.

The rope cinches around my right ankle cutting into my bones with a

vice-like grip.

The wild mutts leap into the air in turn. They catch my hair in their

snapping red mouths—yank my head in twelve directions at once.

“This is your last chance Mother!” She said she was here—that she

could hear me, see me, be with me if I cal ed out to her. “If you don’t

get me out of this right freaking now, I’m going to seriously believe

you are a fucking liar.” The wolves look up in unison—cease al of their

frenetic movements, nothing but a group of twin ruby eyes glowing

back at me.

Certainly I’ve crossed some sort of imaginary line that not even Fems

in their right minds would consider crossing.

The sky ignites like a crackling orb as a clap of thunder explodes

overhead.

“Exactly the person I was looking for,” a male voice floats up from the

dark.

Marshal appears, causing the wolves to disperse back into the forest.

He holds out his hand unleashing a bolt of lightning so fierce it trig-

gers a fire line melting the rope just above my ankle.

I sail towards the ground and land safe in Marshal ’s waiting arms.

Looks like Chloe was right after al . One of my favorite suitors did save

the day.

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“Received an upgrade, did I? I’m glad to know I’m a favorite, Ms. Mes-

senger because I’m taking you home with me.” And with that we

disappear.

***

The scenery around me unfolds like a mural—large black windows

gape at me like soul ess bodies, a familiar couch, the glitter of an or-

nate chandelier. We land in the center of Marshal ’s living room where

he promptly lands me to my feet and hands over my cel phone stil wet

with Fem slobber.

“Tis’ the season for catching souls.” He walks over to the staircase

where the prom dress hangs from a wrought iron prong like a supersti-

tious amulet. I’m sure it would make any sorceress fashionista proud

to don the haunted frock—except me. I’m neither a sorceress nor a

fashionista, and for once, I’d like to invest US dol ars and purchase

something made from humble human hands that doesn’t hold a single

supernatural promise.

“I’m rather hoping the next dress I bequeath you, is to be worn at our

wedding.” Marshal ’s eyes are fueled with lust and wonder, a daring

combination that amplifies his sharp gorgeous features.

“Yes, wel , I hope so, too.” Like that wil ever happen.

“It wil ,” he corrects without realizing. “Though our love linger, wait

for it.” I break away from his strangulating gaze. The last thing I want

to do is piss off Marshal . He, unlike other celestial beings, actual y

shows up when I need him to.

“Our wedding wil have to be a spectacular event,” I say, taking the

dress from him, petting the soft navy velvet.” Gah! I push it back at

him.

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“That’s the stuff lining the wal s of the haunted mansion.”

“Hot off the bolt,” he presses it into me until I take up the hanger once

again. “And, in regards to our wedding, the sky is the limit.”

“You mean the Skyla,” I wink, playing off the words he said to me a

while back. “I want to make sure we set al the celestial socialites aflut-

ter.” I play along to satisfy his itch. “I assume al of the Sector upper

crust wil be in attendance.” Marshal scoffs, “You, Love, are marrying

into the upper crust. No need to look any higher than yours truly. Pro-

ceed to the minute details because I assure you, no request wil go

ungranted.”

“Excel ent,” I sing. I’l ply him with such outrages requests that he’l ser-

iously reconsider this celestial love connection. “Of course there wil

need to be lots of bling—I’m talking diamond studded toilets, foun-

tains with real cherubs peeing into the pool, that sort of thing.” It takes

everything in me not to break out into a fit of laughter. “And, the menu

total y has to rock. People wil expect a lot from us since we’l be loaded,

as in mountains of currency welcomed worldwide. You might want to

get some pyramid scheme in the works, rob a few banks because I plan

on being extravagantly high maintenance in my old age.”

“That’s the glory of unifying yourself with someone of my stature,” he

strokes the underbel y of my neck, creating a sharp sizzle. “I can prom-

ise you the face you have now until your dying breath as an aged wo-

men of a hundred and twenty. You wil defy gravity in every way,” his

eyes dip. “Your mind wil be ripe and sharp from one life to the next.”

“Great.” I find the way he interchangeably talks about life and death a

bit unnerving.

“And the guests?” Marshal leans in clearly placating me now. “What

shal they feast upon?”

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“You can wow the crowd with five fish and two loaves of bread, or we

can go the conventional route and let them eat cake.”

“Spoken like true royalty.” His cheek slides into a half-smile.

“Actual y,” I stride past him, heading towards the kitchen. Al this talk

about food is only heightening the fact my stomach is growling like a

prehistoric land mammal. “We should have a memorable menu, you

know—whale sushi, barbequed zebra, tiger,” I pause taking him in, the

look of amusement mingling with seduction radiates from his being.

Clearly he’s taken with this nuptial sized banter. “None of that Bengal

shit either. I’m talking white exotic.”

Marshal explodes with a laugh. “So what you’d real y like are protest-

ors littering the compound. I’l up your facetious requests and make

sure to have a live animal sacrifice right after the ceremony. A dolphin,

perhaps?”

“You’re disgusting.” I swat him in the stomach.

“I’m simply fol owing the leader.” He opens the oven and pul s out two

plates brimming with fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, bis-

cuits and coleslaw. I promptly travel behind him as we make our way

to the table.

“Mmm, the Colonel’s finest offerings.” I take in the popcorn-esque

aroma. “I approve.”

“I thought you might.”

The table is set with tal amber goblets, the exact shade of Logan’s eyes,

stiff cloth napkins with a twisted coil of metal gathering them in the

center like the waist of a shapely woman, a fork and knife protruding

from the top. I assume the flatware is a part of Marshal ’s enchanted

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cutlery col ection. I pul my fork free to observe whose effigy I might be

dining with.

Logan.

“I like this one.” I wave it in front of him. The light glints off the silver

as if Logan himself were fighting for my attention.

“Do you?” He adjusts his napkin over his lap before darting his crim-

son colored eyes into mine. “Do you desire him enough to fol ow him

into death?”

“I can’t die—I mean I won’t.”

“My dear,” he leans in fracturing the peace with a look of repugnance,

“if you haven’t learned by now that anything is possible—perhaps you

never wil .”

Chapter 80

Dress You Up in My Love

The Saturday morning of prom stretches out slow and lethargic like

some ethereal dream in a quiet parade of glittering fog. I inspect the

area outside my bedroom window for signs of Nevermore, but nary a

shadow exists in our world on this fine morn. I press my hand to the

glass, and a gentle aura of perspiration warms around it.

This is the day of possibilities, both fatal and life giving. Nothing like

the thril of ridding the world of Holden Kragger on prom night.

I glance back at the tiny velvet wonder Marshal has generously sup-

plied me with. I have his assurance that as soon as the zipper hits the

top I’l be sporting Logan’s soul like a pair of painted on jeans. Just the

thought of his skin over mine sounds disturbingly beautiful. I pet the

soft velvet, run my fingers over the upholstery tacks that line the ridge

before heading downstairs for breakfast.

A mountain of duffle bags line the entry. A long vinyl sack with duck

tape adhered across the top marked tent spil s into the hal .

If Mom and Tad are planning some ambush household retreat right

smack in the middle of prom, they can forget it. Aside from executing

Holden, I very much plan on spending a romantic evening with Gage.

A hotel room may or may not be involved.

I head into the family room and open my mouth to say good morning,

but a quick high-pitched scream sails out from my vocal cords instead.

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“What’s that?” I shriek.

The mirror of terror has floated down from the attic and managed to

plant itself successful y in the living room, complete with a thick red

ribbon crossing over it like a pageant contestant.

“What the heck are you screaming bloody murder for?” Mom rushes

out from the kitchen.

Chloe comes up, clad in her see-thru shirt and a pair of men’s boxers.

“Looks like you’ve had a glimpse of what the rest of us have to put up

with when we look at you.”

I don’t know what’s scarier, Chloe taking up residence, or the mirror of

horrors mysteriously showing up in the living room.

“Isn’t it to die for?” Mom wrinkles her nose inspecting the thick ornate

frame. “Tad gave it to me as a wedding gift.”

“A wedding what?” I gasp as he pops up behind me in the reflection.

“That’s right. I’ve been hunting everywhere for that perfect treasure,”

he pats his hair down before stepping out of view.

“And where did you find this amazing work of art?” I already know the

truth.

“Let’s just cal it one of those lucky attic finds. Fixed the leaky roof

above the entry, too.” Just great. Now we’l never be rid of it.

“So where wil you keep it?” Chloe is quick to nail down the new locale

of her jaunt to Gage’s arms. I’m sure she’l be sweeping in and out of it,

racking up some serious frequent flyer miles to the land where she can

rut with Gage freely.

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“I was thinking right here or out in the front hal .” Tad returns, clutch-

ing his coffee.

“I was thinking, next to my dresser.” Mom taps a finger beside her

cheek. “I don’t have a single decent ful -length mirror, and I’d love to

have this up in the room. Besides, it has special meaning,” Mom

reaches up and strokes Tad’s neck.

I suppose it’s the right place to sequester it since that wil severely limit

Chloe’s ability to storm in there whenever the hel she feels like it.

“So when wil you be coming back from your trip?” Chloe doesn’t let up

with her selfish inquisition. I bet she has a half a dozen fantasies lined

up in the queue.

“Monday,” Mom beams. “We’re camping near the fal s,” she nods into

me. “Second honeymoon,” she mouths.

“Sounds fantastic.” Chloe drips a malevolent smile.

Chloe wil be molesting Gage by midnight. There’s a good chance she’s

already had more action with my boyfriend than I have from her last

hal ucinatory sprint. Shit, shit, shit.

“This isn’t fair,” I say just under my breath.

“What’s not fair?” Mom wraps her arm around me with curiosity.

“Oh, um…” Great. “You won’t get to see me in my prom dress. You

know—take pictures.”

“Oh, but I wil ! I have a meeting with a client this evening. Tad and I

won’t be heading out to the fal s until later. You’re leaving at five,

right? I’l be around to take plenty of pictures. Although I’m stil not

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pleased that you and Gage are in the business of doling out mercy

dates.” She gives a harsh look of disapproval.

“I’m glad you’l be here.” I’m not too thril ed with the mercy dates she’s

been doling out either. “What kind of meeting are you having on a

Saturday night?” I can probably guess who’l be in attendance.

She shakes her head slightly, darting her eyes over to Tad.

I make my way to the calendar hanging over by the kitchen window,

run my finger down the short list of Saturday’s until I hit this one. New

Moon.

I turn back around to find both Mom and Chloe admiring the mirror.

Yes. I know exactly where my mother wil be tonight.

***

Since Gage and I are faking this acrimonious leg of our relationship,

he’s opted out of the limo ride, as arranged per Holden, and has

already picked Briel e up in his truck.

I’ve hidden the contraption Dr. O developed to zap Holden out of ex-

istence, into a smal sequined purse Mom bought me the Christmas I

was twelve. It was sort of out of place in my life back then, but now it’s

found its true purpose as a covert kil ing machine.

I pluck the navy dress off the hanger, gaze into it as if it were Logan

himself. The depth and richness of the texture and hue hypnotize me

into wanting to stare at it al night long. It holds the grandeur of the

night sky, the rivets reflect like stars. It wil barely cover my top and

hardly reach my bottom, but I deeply appreciate the fact Logan wil

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swim around my torso—touching me so brazenly—so intimately al

night long.

But, it’s not fair to Gage, and, for sure I don’t think I’l be reminding

him that his cousin slash uncle is straddled securely over my hips. It’s

bad enough I’m technical y going to prom with Logan, the last thing I

need to do is rub his face in the fact Logan gets to fondle me freely for

the next seven or eight hours.

I slip into the velvet dress. The cool of the ironwork singes my skin as

it shimmies over my curves.

“Here goes nothing,” I whisper.

I reach back and take the zipper up as far as my fingers wil al ow,

missing the top by at least four inches.

Perfect.

I head into the hal and cal for Mia. Melissa emerges from their bed-

room instead, and I point over my shoulder.

“Can you?”

“Sure.” She lays her ice-cold hand over my arm and secures the zipper.

“So how late do you think you’l be out?” She’s so stupid. I’ll probably

have to reword the question three times before she gets it right.

I turn around to gape at her but she drives up the zipper so hard it

makes me jump.

A warm tingling feeling wraps itself around my waist. It shimmers

through the dress from the top to the bottom in a continuous spiral of

warm affection. “Logan. He’s here,” I whisper.

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“He’s been downstairs for like half an hour.” She averts her eyes. “So,

again, how late wil you be out?”

“Oh, right. Midnight?” Probably more like a half past never, or quarter

til afternoon, but I’l never fess up to that one.

She crimps a tiny smile.

“You’re having a party, aren’t you?” Figures. Evidently you can’t turn

your back on the tween scene for one hormonal second.

“Just a few friends. We’re watching a movie, and don’t worry—it’s not

the one you starred in. Oh, and thanks for the nickname— Loose Lan-

don—in the event your little sis forgot to mention al the love we’ve

been fielding from our growing list of frenemies. And, don’t worry, no

one wil be al owed in your precious little room.”

Somehow I find this doubtful. And, technical y, I’m not a Landon.

Besides, they probably acquired that nickname al on their own trying

to outdo one another in the boyfriend tug of war.

“OK,” I shrug. “Look,” I soften into her stil absorbing the warm com-

fortable feeling of having Logan seeped around the circumference of

my body. “I don’t know what exactly is going on between you and Mia,

but it’s my suggestion that you both dump that loser Armistead kid

and each get yourself a good guy of your own. If anyone is cal ing you

Loose Landon, it’s because you’re both putting out—to the same freak-

ing guy.” That breeds disgust in acres.

She takes in a sharp breath. “I knew it!” She staggers. “She is seeing

him behind my back!”

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“No!” I clap my hand over my mouth in horror, but it’s too late she’s

already locked herself in the bathroom. “Melissa, wait!” I pound on the

door.

“I’m never coming out!” She screams.

The loud shril whoop of a siren explodes from downstairs. I snap my

purse off the dresser and head down.

“It’s you and me Logan,” I whisper holding myself at the waist as I des-

cend the stairs.

A warm burst cycles through the dress.

I hear the words I love you echo through every fiber of my being.

Chapter 81

Promenade

“What the hel happened?” I scream.

Everyone is gathered outside the gaping mouth of a waiting ambu-

lance, pul ed up high on the driveway. Its red pulsating beams send a

seizure of light hacking through the ever-darkening sky.

“Look at you!” Mom shouts with surprise. “Oh, Hon, you look fantast-

ic! I don’t remember that dress.”

“I sort of accidental y stumbled upon it. Its vintage.” More so than she

or I wil ever know. “What’s with the show and tel ?” I ask, pointing at

the monument to medicine flaring for attention. No one appears to be

injured—yet.

“That’s your date’s chosen mode of transportation.” Tad nods

acceptingly.

“What?” I col ide into Holden.

I take a breath and forget to exhale. Holden— Logan is gorgeous bey-

ond belief, sublime in every way. I open my mouth to say something,

and there are simply no words.

“Tonight’s your lucky night.” He holds his arms out and slips a greasy

grin in my direction. “How you arrive to prom defines you,” he thrusts

his hands at the waiting ambulance as if he miraculously made it

appear.

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“How does this define us? By saying we’re sick and feeble?”

“It says we’re better than everybody else,” Holden drops his chin.

“We’re special—different. When we show up at the party, people are

going to hear about it. They’re going to come out in droves just to see

what the hel is going on.”

“Oh, they’re going to wonder what in the hel is going on alright,” with

you, I want to add but don’t.

Going to prom in an ambulance is perhaps the biggest irony of al be-

cause, most likely, Holden wil be leaving in one.

I give him a dirty look before panning the crowd. Mom and Tad,

Drake, Emily, Chloe and Ethan. I take in Chloe and Emily, both ad-

orned in a different version of a red glittering dress that makes my

short accouterment look like proper attire for afternoon tea.

“Stand together so I can take pictures!” Mom bursts. She smacks Tad

in the chest until he produces a camera, and she happily snaps away.

“So we’l be back Monday morning. No monkey business.” She glances

down at her watch. God forbid she miss out on her own version of

monkey business. I’m sure Demetri would be happy to morph into a

chimp if she wanted. Oddly, he seems more than wil ing to oblige my

mother’s slightest whim.

“This is effing insane!” Drake hops inside and starts slapping down

switches and knobs alike. I feel sorry for the poor suffering soul who

actual y requires its services once he’s through damaging the

equipment.

“I think he’s effing insane,” I whisper to Mom. “He should be going

with Bree.”

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“I think you’re insane for not going with Gage,” she’s quick to fire

back. “I don’t get your relationship—one minute you’re engaged and

the next you’re going to prom with your ex-boyfriend. It’s not right.”

“You know what else isn’t right?” I whisper. “The fact I know you’re

going to pul a quickie with Demetri before taking off on your second

honeymoon with your so-cal ed husband.”

Her back straightens involuntarily. Everything in her freezes.

OK, perhaps waiting in line to file into an ambulance on prom night

isn’t the appropriate time to bring up my mother’s infidelity but she

started this war. And, it just so happens that my tongue is the most

committed soldier in my self-defense army. Speaking of war, I pat my

thigh just above my dress where I have a garter belt that rivals the

abilities of duct tape. I tucked away the last disc Marshal gave me

should the faction war decide to break out while I’m busy exterminat-

ing Holden. I feel very Russian spy at the moment, and apparently that

makes me believe I can take on my mother and her roving marital eye.

I trot over to Mia while Tad helps Chloe into the garishly lit hospital

wagon.

“I may have accidental y mentioned that you were seeing that

Armistead kid,” I whisper.

“To Melissa?” Her face contorts in horror.

“It was an accident,” I duck an inch.

“You are such a bitch, Skyla! I hate you!” She stomps off towards the

house in a fury.

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“What was that about?” Mom comes at me, snapping off a few more

group shots in the process.

“She’s sort of seeing Melissa’s boyfriend.”

“Melissa doesn’t have a boyfriend.” Tad steps in from behind.

Mom grabs a hold of my wrist and gently pul s me in. “When I get

back, we’l talk,” she nods into her whisper.

I know ful wel it’s in regards to Demetri.

“Right.” I step over to Holden’s waiting hand. “I’d better get going.

You two kids have a great time sleeping under the stars.” I would add,

look out for rabid wolves, but I’m not that lucky.

I hop into the stainless interior of the medicinal looking transport.

There are probably a mil ion different microorganisms crawling al

over us right now. I’m betting Holden doesn’t put too much weight on

things like hygiene and super bacteria that can crawl into your nostril

and eat your brain, especial y given the fact I’ve readily supplied him

with a new body each time he’s needed one.

The truck starts down the road with an aggressive wobble.

“Skyla and I got a room at the Sunrise Motel,” Holden is quick to

proclaim.

“The Sunrise Motel?” I gape. “Isn’t that a never-ending convention

center for cockroaches? Where they proliferate freely while planning a

hostile takeover of our people and government?”

“Nothing but the best for my angel,” he scowls into me as though I

were an ungrateful bitch.

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“You know,” Chloe starts in with a devious smile. Her lips painted a

bright arrogant shade of crimson that bounces off her face like a

warning.

“I always thought you two were better suited for each other.” She

gleams with delight, digging her steely gaze from me to Holden. “You

both lie, you both cheat, and you would kil your own mothers to get

what you real y wanted.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Chloe.” I glance out the tiny back window.

“I would never kil my mother.” Before the sentence can sail from my

lips, I see my mother’s car take a turn toward the estates. She is going

to see Demetri. I freaking knew it.

My heart starts to race at the prospect of what exactly they might be

doing to together.

A vision of Demetri taking off my mother’s dress sears through my

mind. She shakes her hair out with laughter.

Dear God.

I am going to kil my mother.

***

The siren on top of this rescue transport saws and wails al the way

over to the Paragon Palms Luxury Resort that backs into the white

sandy beaches on the south end of the island. This is a way nicer venue

than the one we had for winter formal.

It’s kil ing me that Gage and I have to pretend we can’t stand one an-

other, at least the first part of the night. Once I kil Holden and land

Logan back in his body, we can resume our love fest right there at

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prom if we wanted. And, of course, the Sunrise Motel wil have an

empty roach-fil ed room waiting on Logan’s dime, but I might concede

the offer. I’m sure whatever hotel room I end up in with Gage one day,

won’t have a crime scene cutout of its last patron emblazoned on the

carpet.

A crowd amasses outside the long awning of the resort, nothing but

startled faces for miles as we scream our way to the entrance. I spot El

is loosely holding some girl from East. El is has the slight look of alarm

on his face, as he should because he’s normal, unlike Holden, whose

idea of a good time consists of medical supplies and heart stopping

sirens. But, lucky for me, there won’t be a single medic around to help

when I stop Holden’s heart tonight.

The EMT on escort duty opens the twin doors and lets in the cool of

the evening. Emily and Chloe bolt out so fast you’d think they came to

their senses and realized who they were with, but in contrast to that

lucid thought they wait acrimoniously outside the blinking vehicle for

their respective dates, mortified as they should be.

“Shit,” I hiss for no good reason as Holden yanks me down to the

asphalt.

“I gotta piss like a racehorse,” he hitches his thumb towards the facil-

ity. “I’l catch you inside.”

“Sure,” I tug down my dress. Glad to know Logan’s bladder is stil func-

tioning, although his liver might be another issue—Holden reeks of

booze.

Briel e gives a wild wave in my direction, and I head on over.

“Where’s your date?” I pan the vicinity for the sharpest man around

and find no one that even comes close to the perfection that is Gage.

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“Said he needed to talk to Logan,” she dips into me. “I total y know

what’s going on.”

“You do?” I’m stunned Gage would trust Briel e with our delicate state

of felonious affairs, especial y since said state of affairs could involve

manslaughter charges if I don’t execute them properly—execute him to

be exact.

“Total y, I mean why else would you fake being with Logan? He’s been

nothing but a turd the last few months. It’s because you real y care

about me.” She wraps her arm around my waist, and her stomach ex-

tends like a mixing bowl.

I take in the cinnamon scent of her hairspray, her arms and neck glit-

ter under the lights from the awning.

“You’ve total y figured us out.” I stil don’t know if I can trust Briel e

one hundred percent, but for sure I’l never forget that after Chloe aired

that sleezy DVD, it was Briel e who peeled me off the ground in the

middle of a downpour.

I tighten my embrace.

I’l always love her for that.

We start making our way towards the entry, arm and arm. From the

corner of my eye I see something white vanish into the woods across

the street, subtle as lightning. It backtracks, stares me right in the face

with its blood-soaked smile.

My heart seizes.

I pul Briel e quickly into the resort.

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Looks like Holden and my mother aren’t the only ones I might have to

kil tonight.

Chapter 82

Promtastic

The Madison Lights Bal room dwarfs any other grand location we’ve

managed to assemble in style. A plethora of twinkle lights wrap

around nearly a dozen miniature trees lining the periphery of the

room. A blue glow tints the ceiling, il uminates from the stage just bey-

ond the dance floor. West and East are present, although it’s a smal er

student body count considering it’s the junior, senior prom, and by the

end of this evening, I’m hoping to subtract one more from the guest

list.

Gage nods into me from across the room. His dark hair is slicked back,

his dimples pressed in, offering their secret smile. I set my shoulders

back—straighten as I drink him in. He looks magnificent, an aristo-

crat, a man of nobility. I keep inhaling until my lungs hurt from the

effort.

His eyes laser into mine a cool glacial blue that relaxes me under their

watchful supervision. I feel safe just knowing Gage is in the vicinity,

that my voice could carry through the crowd and touch him even if I’m

unable.

A glittering parade of hostile sequins quickly covers his person. Chloe

shags out her dark hair and laughs as she attempts to strike up a con-

versation with him. She looks horrid in that band-aid of an outfit, like

a siren from hel —hound to be precise.

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“You are a stunning creature, Ms. Messenger,” Marshal stands tal be-

side me, resplendent and majestic.

“Thank you—and you clean up nicely yourself.” I try to sound casual.

Truthful y, if someone were to lay eyes on him for the first time to-

night, they’d risk having the breath knocked out of them.

“These mediocre humans,” he continues, “wil one day realize the flag-

rant error of refusing to appreciate your eminence,” he purrs. “They

would bow to your royalty if they knew the presence they were in.”

“It’s doubtful anyone wil ever bow to me. Maybe if I drop a dol ar to

my feet.” The bitch squad, sans its fearless leader, ogles me from a

short distance.

“Mil er at three o’clock,” I whisper. “You could get very lucky tonight.

She’s lucid and dangerous. I’d like to volunteer her services once again

for Fem training—Fem training in nocturne,” I hold back a laugh.

“Sounds downright poetic.”

“You should never have coerced her into removing the necklace in the

first place. How soon you had forgotten her wicked ways. Your forgiv-

ing nature is a magnificent flaw.”

“Too forgiving? Isn’t that the basic premise of the people from which

you spawn?”

“Correction—created. No spawning or involuntary indwel ing involved

whatsoever. As for acquitting trespasses, what you suggest is true.

However, your nature to forgive has resulted in your enemies flawed

precept that you condone their aggressive behavior. It could prove

deadly. I’m not sure you see this.”

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“You know what I can see? One of those freaky mirrors you gifted De-

metri is now a permanent fixture in the Landon residence.”

“Impossible.” He nods at a group of girls who strut by admiring him,

sending al sorts of lewd invites with the lowering of their eyelids.

“No real y, I convinced Demetri to give it to me after Chloe tried to buy

it at the garbage sale. It’s in my mother’s bedroom as we speak.” He

gives a clear look of concern before pushing in close.

“Skyla, it’s impossible for Demetri to have gifted you the mirror. Once

the mirror is gifted, it can no longer transfer ownership under any

circumstance.”

“There’s stil another one back at his estate.”

“There’s just one Realm of Possibilities in existence.”

“Are you sure you didn’t give him two? It was probably centuries ago

and you forgot. There can’t be just one.”

“One, and one alone.”

“The one he gave me had a Fem inside. I saw it—scared the living crap

out of me. You think the mirror in my mother’s bedroom is capable of

the same kind of trickery as the one you gave him?”

“I can assure you, whatever mirror he dispensed cannot replicate the

beauty and wonder of living in the fool’s paradise I had reserved for

him. Do not under any circumstance go near that thing. I’l be by in the

morning to pick it up. I’l have to find solid reasoning before removing

it from the premises.” Marshal creases his forehead with irritation. Co-

lor rises to his cheeks, amplifies his anger. Very few things move him

to the point of excitability, let alone anger.

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“My parents are camping.” I catch a breath at the thought of referring

to both Mom and Tad col ectively as my parents but I let it slide since

the music just hiked up ten decibels and brevity was necessary.

He gives a curt nod. I’ll have it hauled out in the A.M. Please extend

my condolences as it will meet with an unfortunate demise. I’ll have

to destroy the mirror—above all things I am not a liar. And neither is

your celestial mother. Watch carefully the words you let escape from

those kissable lips. She has a zero tolerance policy when it comes to

attitude. Do stray from provoking her to anger.

Chloe begins to make her way in this direction, a giant Fem eating grin

plastered across her face.

“Help me get her to remove that binding spirit,” I say. “I want her ar-

rested for making Gage and Logan kiss my gril .” She bypasses us and

begins cackling away with Michel e and Lexy, regarding her one on

one with Gage.

Follow my lead, Marshal turns a little in their direction. “So this mir-

ror must be protected,” he shouts the words like a fire and brimstone

preacher. “We can’t have anyone using it. It’s an absolute danger in

the wrong person’s hands.”

“So, when can you get me that binding spirit?” I make a face at Mar-

shal not sure if I had overstepped the line. The next thing you know I’l

be announcing the fact he’s a Sector and turning myself into the

Counts.

“In the morning.” His eyes slit to nothing, letting me know exactly how

far I pushed it. She’ll need to disappear and retrieve the binding spirit

herself. If Chloe leaves for any given amount of time you’ll know she’s

releasing it from its duty and delegating its services elsewhere. If

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you’ll excuse me, Marshal tilts his head in curiosity at something to-

wards the back of the bal room, I need to tend to something myself.

Marshal stalks off at a frenetic pace. I’m tempted to fol ow him, but

sure enough, I catch Chloe darting out the main entrance with a spark

in her ass.

I shoot out after her, making sure to keep a respectable distance in the

event she should turn around and gouge my eyes out with those three-

inch cat claws she’s pressed onto her fingernails. But she doesn’t.

Chloe moves with heightened determination. The opportunity to for-

nicate with Gage has presented itself, and she’s not one to pass up an

offer when the right penis is involved.

While the rest of the student body ral ies in the frivolity of prom, Chloe

secures her lot in life. She opens the door to the ladies room and

nearly mows down a group of seniors making their way out. I watch as

they gawk at her overtly rude behavior.

From the corner of my eye I spot El is with his hands hidden beneath

the skirt of his date.

I slip into the restroom and walk stal to stal in search of a familiar pair

of sequined heels. Instead, I meet up with a pair of legs far too pale to

belong to a cinnamon skinned Chloe, and the other pair have pink-

laced hose pooling at the ankle, a crime in fashion that might have

Chloe offing herself voluntarily for ever committing.

The door on the end is locked, no legs. I climb on the toilet of the

neighboring stal and peer inside.

Empty with the exception of a heart-shaped purse hanging from the

hook.

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Time to witness Chloe, trying to kil Gage and Logan, first hand.

Chapter 83

Light Drive

I snatch El is away before he completely does a disappearing act be-

neath that hussies dress and whisk him off into the narrow service hal

just shy of the entry.

“Wanna go on a quick light drive?” I’m not real y giving him a choice.

“Code?” He takes up a defiant stance as though I am in fact a Fem.

“Love honeys,” I say, annoyed. “I need you to get Gage for me and

meet me back here. Don’t let Logan see you.”

“Why can’t Logan see me?”

“Because Holden isn’t going to be too impressed with me going any-

where with Gage,” I hiss, scooting him back out into circulation.

“Why did you break up with Gage?” He leans in with concern.

“Never mind just hurry. We don’t have a lot of time. I having a

stabbing I need to tend to by midnight.”

“As long as I’m not on the receiving end,” he mutters, taking off down

the hal .

Nat and Pierce strol by hand in hand. Pierce does a double take in my

direction and heads on over.

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“Got word from your lawyer you’re not dropping the charges.” His face

is lost in shadows. Pierce has a menacing way about him when he’s not

mad, let alone pissed.

“What?” Clearly I need to rein in El is’ mother. I specifical y told her I

wanted al this to go away. And isn’t she supposed to consult me when

making big decisions? Especial y asinine decisions like these? Obvi-

ously, it’s impossible to keep a Count in check.

“I’m staring down a three month stint in juvy, a sixty-five thousand dol

ar fine for intent to harm while under the influence.” He butts his

shoulder into mine as Nat keeps watch from behind. His breath is

soured. His cloud of cologne engulfs me thick as smoke.

“Wow, you said that wel ,” I gasp for breath. “You should consider a

career in law.”

“Maybe I wil . Persecute people like you who commit crimes and place

the blame on others.”

“I believe you mean prosecute. And you can go to hel , Pierce. You’re

no angel.” So what if he’s a Count? There seems to be a long road

between being a Count and behaving like an angelic being. It’s a ques-

tionable relationship at best.

“Maybe I wil ,” he whispers. “Maybe I’l take you with me,” the words

ferment on his lips. “Or, maybe I’l just take you someplace else.” He

snatches a hold of Nat’s hand and her wiry curls spring wild as they

race out of the narrow hal .

Shit. Talking to El is’ mother is on the top of my to-do list tomorrow

unless of course I’l need to use her as my one phone cal from the pre-

cinct later tonight. But that’s not going to happen. Nothing is going to

go wrong.

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I try to shake off al the bad juju vibes as I shoo away Pierce’s nasty co-

logne like an unwanted ghost.

Al kinds of insane thoughts run through my mind as I wait around for

El is. What if Chloe is in my mother’s bedroom right this minute

crawling into that twisted mirror of Demetri’s? What if she’s able to

pul Gage’s look alike out of the mirror and there’s two of him running

around the island?

Knowing Chloe, she’d keep one prisoner in her bedroom and have her

way with him nightly. What if she pul s another me out of the mirror

and has me running around committing al sorts of felonies? Not that it

would be such a stretch.

Gage and El is duck into the hal way. Gage looks amazing in his

pressed inky suit. I pul him in and offer up a brazen kiss, let the

warmth of his mouth comfort me. Gage is a man above gods. He

groans into me before dislodging.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He nuzzles a kiss into my neck as

he says it.

“It may be our only opportunity. The mirror wil be gone by morning.”

I grab a hold of El is and think about that horrible il -fated night back

in January.

“It’s time, Skyla,” my name trembles from the wal s in a series of hor-

rific echoes.

“Is that?” Gage cocks his head to get a better listen.

“Ezrina,” I pant. I’d recognize that twisted voice anywhere.

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The world melts beneath our feet. Time splinters until as we slip

through its stringent confines.

***

We land in the dirt field just outside the bowling al ey, a light rain pelt-

ing us from above. The pungent scent of fresh mud mixed with the

thick bouquet from the forest, ignites my senses. I hadn’t remembered

the spice in the air, the cold feeling of the wind as it lights each rain-

drop on fire over my flesh. Then again, I was in shock. It’s a wonder I

remember anything from that night at al .

“There,” I point over to Logan, Gage, and me, standing in the distance.

The Mustang pul s in slow, rol s to a stop before flicking on its

headlights.

“I’l go check it out,” Gage darts across the field, ducks just shy of the

driver’s door.

“Who do you think it is?” El is looks suspiciously at the Mustang as it

revs its engine.

“Do you even have to ask?” I hesitate adding Marshal into the equa-

tion. “Bishop.”

“Chloe?” His Nordic features looks unimpressed with my theory.

Gage runs back, squatting low to the ground.

“Wel ?” A hot spike of adrenaline surges through me. This is it. I’m go-

ing to hang Chloe upside down by her toenails once I have proof she

and her claws were behind the wheel that night.

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“Nobody’s in there,” the whites of his eyes glint like bicycle reflectors.

“The seat’s empty.”

“No.” The thought of Marshal inflicting this horrible crime upon the

two people I love most is unimaginable—unforgiveable.

The engine revs over and over, the Mustang accelerates, slamming in-

to Logan and Gage. Logan slips down beneath the vehicle while Gage

is struck over and over, pinned up against the trunk of a weathering

pine. That tree should be hacked to pieces for involuntarily participat-

ing in the heinous crime—for not reaching down with its branches and

snatching Gage up out of the line of fire. But I guess the same could be

said for me, I froze like a coward—died a thousand deaths just

watching.

“Let’s go back,” I grab a hold of El is and Gage.

My own cries fil the night as I scream in the background. They sound

foreign, primal. Marshal inflicted this punishment on me.

Looks like I’ve just added another victim to my kil list tonight.

***

The Madison Lights Bal room has dimmed considerably. Bodies slash

around on the dance floor in and out of rhythm, a sea of arms and legs

intertwine as they struggle to move to the impossibly loud music.

I see Holden over by a group of girls, seniors I don’t real y know. He’s

talking to a tal blonde and has his hand placed strategical y over her

thigh. Ordinarily, I would make a beeline over and slap him sil y, but

my hostility towards Marshal has eclipsed any anger I might have felt

for Holden who was simply a spirit lying in wait for a new home. But

it’s Marshal I’m interested in sending back to the Soulennium, the

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transport, the Transfer. I want him anywhere but here on planet Earth

where he can hurt the ones I love.

Logan warms the sheath around me, ignites the dress in waves of ap-

proval regarding my newfound vendetta.

I spot Marshal towards the back with arms folded across his chest,

staring stone cold into the crowd like an FBI agent officiating over the

scene.

I push my way through the jostling bodies—split up Drake and Emily

from a serious lip-lock on the way over, before final y landing square

in front of him.

“You, are coming with me,” I roar, leading him towards the exit.

I’m startled to see we’ve landed ourselves outside. The concrete bleeds

into sand.

“Romantic walk on the beach?” Marshal purrs, proud of his teleporta-

tion feat. “I was hoping you’d acclimate to me quickly, but this is a

dream come true.” He gives the slight curve of a smile.

“The car was empty,” I mean for it to come out aggressive, but it

comes out a sob as though I were ready to grieve my relationship with

Marshal instead of kil it. A part of me stil doesn’t believe he was cap-

able. There’s no way I can surrender to hatred unless he asserts to the

fact he spearheaded this tragedy. Then he’l be dead to me, leaving a

void he had fil ed so beautiful y.

“Correction, Love, the car appeared empty,” he takes me by the hand

and leads us over to a row of pigmy palms. “You were able to go back.”

I nod.

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“I trust she’s already secured the mirror. Once she realizes it’s not the

same pleasure cruise she’l have the spirit back within the hour.

Come,” he takes up my other hand gently by the fingers, “I’l return to

scene of the crime with you just this once.” Marshal speeds us to the

exact location I was standing in earlier with El is and Gage—only we’re

not standing, we’re hovering near the Mustang. The rain pours

through me as if I were a shadow.

I watch as the door opens, the engine turns before the car rol s for-

ward—not a soul in sight.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Skyla,” Marshal corrects. “There is a soul

in sight—tucked secure behind the wheel.”

“I don’t see anyone.”

“Open your spiritual eyes.” Marshal wands his hand over my face and I

see a body, plain as day, sitting in the driver’s seat, reaching down and

flicking on the lights.

“Oh my God,” I pant the words. “I should have known.”

Chapter 84

Confusion is Nothing New

The twinkle lights gleam overhead like intoxicating beacons from

some far off unknowable city. I blink into the ceiling several times be-

fore I realize I’m once again standing in the bal room. Logan warms

over me like a dream, and I stroke my abdomen as though I were car-

rying his child.

I know who is responsible for this terrible act of injury that took his

life.

Gage sits at a table off in the corner with Briel e by his side. He’s got

one leg kicked up on a chair and he’s checking his phone intermit-

tently while carrying on a conversation with her.

This isn’t the best time to go over and share personal space with Gage

especial y since Holden is on red alert for any suspicious activity on

my part but, at the moment, I don’t real y give a shit.

“Are you OK?” I shout into Briel e, posturing myself so that I look like

I’m stil putting the freeze on Gage in the event Holden should decide

to make use of Logan’s brain cel s.

“I’m thinking about ditching out early. Like after they crown you,” she

winks.

I laugh, pretending to drop my purse on the floor between the two of

them. Gage bows to meet me.

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“You look gorgeous,” he rasps, pressing a searing kiss on my cheek as

we stoop near the carpet.

“Thank you. You look amazing, yourself.” I dot his lips with mine.

“And, by the way, it was Holden in the car that night,” I latch onto his

gaze.

“He wanted a body and he arranged to get one himself.”

“Shit,” Gage is indignant. “After the ceremony get him outside, alone,

by the water. I’l meet you there. Do not attempt to do this by yourself,

Skyla.” I’ve never heard Gage take such a demanding tone before.

“OK,” I rise to my feet and stride out the Madison Lights Bal room.

***

I open the door to the ladies room just as Chloe grapples her way out.

Her face is pale, and she startles at the sight of me.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant like I didn’t

suspect for a minute she was in my mother’s bedroom trying to start a

fake forever with Gage.

“The mirror,” the words tumble from her lips.

“What about the mirror?” I pul her back inside as a mob pushes their

way through. Chloe must have had the clown Fem scare of a lifetime. I

try to hide a wicked grin.

“I went…and,” she shakes her head like an apology. “Never mind.” She

marches out of the restroom chin up and stoic as if she had just come

to her senses.

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Whatever Chloe saw in that mirror, jolted her, bled the color from her

face and sent her packing for prom. The last time she went in De-

metri’s mirror she lingered for weeks, I had to extricate her like drag-

ging a child out of an amusement park. Something tel s me this was no

wonderland where she ruled the roost.

I stil find it hard to believe Chloe wasn’t responsible for the accident. I

guess everything that’s wrong in this world is not directly related to

Chloe Bishop.

It just feels like it.

***

I watch Chloe and Holden’s every move. Not exactly how I envisioned

spending prom. I try to watch Gage, too, but he’s pretty much in the

seat next to Briel e, and they’re switching back and forth between a

lazy conversation and staring into their cel phones. I don’t know who

wil cal either of them. I’m the primary person in both their lives, and

I’m standing right here.

Is everyone rightfully full of hatred and loathing? Marshal appears by

my side.

I touch my bare thigh to his dangling fingers. I doubt anyone wil no-

tice because it’s so freaking crowded in here. There are so many damn

people sardined inside this place, I swear we’ve broken the fire code

three times over. And where in the hel are al these people coming

from?

There seems to be way more than when we first started out.

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I’m full of loathing and hatred, I offer. Gage is downright pissed. I

give a depleted smile. Lucky for us, we’re killing Holden before the

night is through.

Why do you insist on trusting Gage? Marshal is clearly miffed by the

concept. How do you know he won’t botch the resurrection at the last

moment because just perhaps, he really does prefer the Pretty One

dead?

Gage? He doesn’t want Logan dead and he’s totally trustworthy. I

glance over at him patting Briel e on the stomach, and suppress the joy

surging within me. Gage would give his life to save Logan—and me.

He’s an altruistic being in everyway. He might even do something

foolish to save yours if it came right down to it. He’s a lover in every

capacity, I say.

Do Tell. Marshal gives a long blink of disgust.

His head turns abruptly.

Marshal ’s ful attention has been waylaid by something on the other

side of the room. You must pardon the intrusion. I’ll speak with you

soon. He speeds off towards a door that leads to the back, dissipates

from view quick as smoke.

Something is happening.

I turn to find both Holden and Pierce headed in this direction.

Shit! Why would Holden so obviously be hanging out with his late not

so great brother? And heading towards me of al people?

I duck out in the same direction Marshal took off in and run smack in-

to Ethan.

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“Hey, you seen Chloe?” He looks over my shoulder as if I were harbor-

ing her like a fugitive.

“Nope. Speaking of the witch—when is that great act of revenge you’ve

plotted out against her going to unfold? And by the way, I total y don’t

believe you.”

“It wil , and you should. I’ve put some serious effort jerry-rigging one

unforgettable show.” He pushes past me deep into the crowd.

I can only hope he’s right. There’s nothing I like more than letting

someone else do my dirty work.

“Skyla,” Holden cal s, waving at me. Pierce and Nat straggle behind.

Drake and Emily float by, and I slink on over to the two of them.

“Hi!” I say, watching Holden on his last night disguised as Logan from

a safe distance. “So how’s it going?” I pan over the two of them. Real y

I’d love nothing more than to hit Drake over the head with my shoe.

Emily gives a grunt before excusing herself. Emily always looks like

she wants to puke in my face, and I can never figure this out. I would

total y be Em’s friend if she would let me. She’s the most normal per-

son I know, and considering I’m aware of the fact she can put the fu-

ture to paper, it’s a pretty bold statement.

“I have a terrible feeling of foreboding,” Drake holds his stomach like

he might be sick.

“Don’t say that,” I reprimand. “The last time you said that al kinds of

freaky shit happened.” Marshal pulses by in the opposite direction.

“Whatever you’ve got planned, cancel it.” He continues on as if it were

an order I should obey.

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The music changes speed, bodies churn on the dance floor quick and

neurotic. A strong scarf of perfume ties itself around the room in a

rainbow of floral scents, vanil a and grapefruit.

I run and catch up with him as fast as my four-inch stilettos wil al ow.

“What do you mean cancel it? I can’t cancel. It has to happened.” I pul

Marshal to a stop just shy of the exit.

“I forbid it.” He slits his eyes around the room not bothering to slow

his agitation long enough to pay attention to me properly.

“You forbid it?” I straighten, not sure whether to laugh or slap him.

“Let me tel you something buddy—that fal s under the short list of

things to never say to your future bride. In fact, it’s the easiest and

most assured way of landing yourself an ex Mrs. Dudley.” His eyes

lock onto mine for one brief moment, and he gives a quick nod. “I for-

bid it.” He marches off in pursuit of something or someone towards

the front of the dance floor.

I give a little laugh at the thought of Marshal forbidding me to do

anything.

One thing is for damn sure, there’s not a soul on this planet that can

stop me from kil ing Holden tonight.

If they try— I’ll forbid it.

Chapter 85

Safety Dance

A puff of white fog, thick as buttermilk, spil s in through the open exit

door of the Madison Lights Bal room. It seeps in with its long frosted

tendrils, observing the dew of youth as it floats around the dance floor.

A sad song belts out a steady rhythm that wanes, each note pul s out

soft as cotton.

I undergo a major analysis of the exits, the structure of the room, the

entire framework of the building, in the event Holden should try to es-

cape. Luring him out towards the beach with raunchy promises wil be

easy. In fact, I’m sure he’l come up with his own long running list of

carnal titil ations he’d like to introduce me to but Holden wil be long

gone before his fantasies take flight.

El is comes over and butts his shoulder against mine. “Come on,” he

nods towards the dance floor.

“Where’s the future stripper?” I scan the area for his scantily clad date,

not that I’m one to talk, or Chloe, or Emily. Oh, hel , we’re al wearing

some sort of ass enhancing apparatus, especial y Chloe who sparkles

like a hazmat signaling device—as she should.

“She passed out. Her friends rol ed her under a table for safekeeping.”

“Nice.” Those girls from East have an amazing code of ethics.

“Last chance,” he invokes the offer once again.

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“Sure,” I take El is’ soft warm hand and let him lead me through a

maze of swaying bodies. We land behind Ethan and Chloe. She glitters

under the faded house lights with the prowess of fire in a dim-lit

forest. Chloe is a blaze al her own.

I rest my head on El is’ chest—try to ignore the fact that his cologne is

overpowered with the scent of something far more il egal. I wonder

what a life with El is would be like? I’m sure we’d live close to the

beach, wel , probably on it—homeless. Our children would run around

barefoot al the time because we couldn’t afford shoes. I can see them

clearly, two little girls with cotton candy hair, dirty faces scalded from

the sun, parched cracked lips. I shake the thought away, imagine chil-

dren with Gage instead—dark haired boys with bright blue eyes,

dimples you could ladle soup out of.

The dress warms around my body unreasonably. Either Logan is get-

ting antsy, or he wants a demonstration of what our children would

look like. I envision a blonde goddess of a girl who could rule the uni-

verse with her looks alone. Logan can rule an empire with his smile.

The dress tingles, ignites a happy vibration of joy in the same vein as

Marshal .

The music comes to an end. The houselights brighten before dimming

to pitch again. A spotlight covers the stage and Marshal chokes the life

out of a microphone before releasing it from the stand.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of Paragon’s finest esteemed schools,” he

hums into the mic. “I would like to draw your attention to the candid-

ates of the royal court. Would the junior nobility of the evening please

step up and take your places as we announce the victors of tonight’s

festivities.”

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“I guess that’s me,” I pat El is on the chest before heading towards the

stage.

Holden flies at me like a magnet, drips a kiss off the side of my face as

if that might somehow secure a win. The pol s are over I want to tel

him, but refrain since he’s in a good mood.

“Time to end the drought.” He slithers his hand up and down my back

before reaching underneath my dress, landing open palmed on my

behind.

I jump out of reach and give a tempered smile. I’d slit his throat if he

weren’t wearing Logan like a jacket.

“I’m stil trying to get my mother to grant you your powers back,” I

shrug. “So I guess I lose in the interim.” He twists his lips. “I’l let it

slide just this once. No use in letting a perfectly good hotel room go to

waste. But get on that tomorrow. It sucks not being Celestra.”

“I’l get right on that.” As if.

He takes my hand, and we make our way onto the stage. I squint into

the crowd for Gage and Briel e. It’s so close now. It’s almost time to

bring back Logan. Nothing can go wrong. My chest heaves in anticipa-

tion until I spot them standing near the front. I press out a nervous

smile before focusing back on Marshal .

Skyla. My name rattles through the crowd.

Ezrina.

Shit! She must know I’ve got a life that depends upon me, a soul literal

y wrapped around my person.

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Now. Her voice echoes, louder coming from my left. And there she is.

Double shit!

Ezrina is covered in a black velvet cloak, nothing but a shag of wild

hair spraying out from under her hood like a tumbleweed locked in

flames.

“I need my mother,” I speed the words into Marshal so fast I don’t

realize my lips are level with the microphone until I hear my voice

boom across the facility.

The crowd ignites in laughter.

Again— shit.

In due time. Marshal assures.

“You’re effing embarrassing me,” Holden pul s me back. “Stop being

such a baby.” A drum rol purrs over the speakers. Marshal reads off a

list of names from East before crowning their junior king and queen. A

pretty girl with a familiar face and a tal boy with broad shoulders share

a brazen kiss, their crowns hang precariously from their person.

“We should total y do that,” Holden whispers.

“Do what?”

“Kiss like that.”

Gah! That was a nasty kiss. It looked like she was trying to suck a

snake out of his mouth just to save him. No thanks.

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“I prefer a peck on the cheek in public,” I’m quick to relay. “You know,

save the good stuff for later.”

“So you’re a good girl.” He leans in seductively with Logan’s immacu-

late features. “I’l have you on your knees in less than an hour.”

“Can’t wait.” I’m going to use my knees al right. Something in me re-

verts, and I bite down on my lip trying to return the seductive favor. “I

won’t have time to get on my knees, I’l be too busy bending over.”

Mother F! I don’t even know what the hel that implies.

He pul s a single gold key out of his pocket, dive bombs it into my

cleavage before shoving his face in and kissing it.

Everything in me freezes.

I shoot a quick look to Gage. His eyes are swol en with anger, his

mouth gapes, and for a second I think Gage might jump on stage and

kil Holden himself.

“The nobility of West Paragon reads as fol ows,” Marshal booms.

“Skyla Messenger and Logan Oliver.” Holden rights himself just after

the spotlight catches him with his face in the Messenger cookie jar.

Marshal clears his throat before continuing, “Chloe Bishop and Ethan

Landon, Emily Morgan and Drake Landon. ” Marshal ’s smooth voice

is a comfort, a strange shelter from the storm that is hurricane

Holden. “The junior gentry—your new king and queen of the junior

class are…” he bows slightly into the announcement, “Skyla Messenger

and Logan Oliver.” A polite applause erupts. I look over at Chloe and

Ethan, Emily and Drake almost apologetical y. I’m not sure how any-

one in their right mind could vote for Logan and me since we weren’t

together almost al year long, unless, of course, it was their way of

thanking me for providing endless hours of entertainment via Chloe’s

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generous DVD distribution. I hear they play it on a loop during chess

club.

A pair of freshman girls come at us with glittering headdresses, before

I can properly observe my tiara, Holden does a faceplant over my lips.

I press my hands to his chest to push him away and the dress electri-

fies, a personified hum emits as it vibrates like an engine. Logan is

ready.

I careful y unzip the purse and bring the needle to Holden’s chest.

I slit my eyes open just enough and catch Gage taking off through the

main entrance with Briel e.

What the heck?

Where is he going? After the crowning we were supposed to lure him

outside. We were going to kil Holden together. Didn’t he instruct me

under no circumstance was I to pul this off on my own?

My face fil s with heat as I finger the needle.

What am I doing? I take a breath as Holden continues to take free

roam of my mouth with Logan’s tongue.

Gage is wrong. I can do this on my own.

The lights go out. The music stops. A series of gasps circle the room.

I press the needle into Holden’s chest and give a hard shove.

Holden jerks, lets out a sharp cry right into my ear. The houselights go

on al the way before dimming down to nothing. The music picks up

and the crowd gurgles back to life.

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“What the hel was that?” He pats his chest in horror.

I replace the needle back in my purse and slip it behind my back.

Shit. One more second and I could have zapped him off the planet.

I wave a hand in front of him. “Just got my claws sharpened. I’m total

y afraid of the dark.”

“Shit,” his eyes widen. Holden doesn’t look amused by my professed

fear of al things nocturnal.

“Let’s dance,” I nod towards the beach. “You know, in private.”

“Let’s.” He whips us through the crowd at lightning speeds.

A shadow moves outside the door, an orange blaze of hair gives the

Fem away.

“In here’s fine!” I pul him back inside so quick it looks like we’re doing

the Tango. I place his hands over my hips and begin to sway to the

music.

“This is a good start.” His eyes shine a familiar look of desire, and at

this moment he looks and feels most like Logan—but he’s not. He’s a

far cry from the boy I love.

The dress warms around me like an L.A. afternoon.

I scan the room for signs of Gage, but neither he nor Briel e have re-

turned. Perfect. Why can’t things go right when I need them to? Why

does everything have to fal to crap the second I put my hand to any-

thing? I’l be lucky if Gage and I get our forever. Hel —I’l be lucky if

forever exists by the time I get through with it.

585/632

I reach down and pluck the needle out of my purse, and the smal elec-

trical box tumbles right out. I catch it between my elbow and thigh be-

fore capturing it safe in my hand.

“What’s that?” Holden backs up and takes a good look at it.

“Speaker,” I hiss. “New speaker I got for Christmas. I don’t go any-

where without it.” I’m quick to shove the heart stopper back inside the

sequin satchel before he sees the needle.

The lights cut in and out again, the music fizzles before recapturing its

rhythm.

“Let’s get out of here—start our own party,” his hot breath lights a fire

across my cheek. “I’ve got the room til ten in the morning.”

“Sure.” I dart around looking for Gage, or El is—hel , I’d take Marshal

at this point.

My phone goes off. It’s a text from Melissa.

I can’t find Mia. She went in Mom and Dad’s room and never

came out.

Crap. Mia must have went into the mirror before Chloe sicked her

binding spirit on it.

A surge of bodies push in. Young women and men with an odd sense

of style descend upon us, dancing and swirling to a frenetic rhythm al

their own.

“Dear God,” I whisper. I recognize those ful bustled dresses, those

pantaloon knickers peering out from underneath. Handlebar mus-

taches adorn men who happened to be much too old to attend prom.

586/632

The Transfer.

“Something’s happening,” I pant.

“I know.” Holden rubs the growing bulge in his pants abruptly against

my thigh. “Let’s get out of here.” A sharp scream emits from the center

of the room.

I turn in time to see a body flying up towards the mirrored sphere

hanging above the center of the dance floor. A pair of long brown legs

kick up a violent tantrum. It’s not until I take a step forward that I see

its Chloe. She spins and clutches at her neck. Her red dress goes off

like shimmering fireworks on the Fourth of July.

It looks as if the protective hedge has caught on something, a wire that

dangles from the disco bal .

Holy crap.

Could this be Ethan’s late, great, final act of revenge? Could Ethan

Landon real y be this big of a genius to hang Chloe Bishop in front of

God and country right here at the East meets West glorified dance-a-

thon?

Chloe is showing us up in the moves department with her determined

spin, sway, swing—the way she bucks into her own departure is

glorious.

Screams erupt like a choir of hel ish angels. Al eyes are focused up-

wards at Chloe as if we were sharing in some mass hal ucination—a

heavenly vision that wil christen our flesh with a radioactive glow for

days to come. This is a blessed event, songs should be written about

this moment, poetry to recite to our grandchildren.

587/632

I step forward, dazed—in love with the idea of watching Chloe meet

her most timely demise.

It is a thing of beauty. I wish my father could have been here to wit-

ness the grand finale of al her wicked schemes. It comes down to this.

Chloe Bishop dies as a spectacle, dangling fifty feet off the floor, glit-

tering proud as a brushfire.

She bucks and writhes, clawing at her neck with sharpened fingernails.

Her flesh erupts in a series of long blood-soaked lines.

I want her blood to flow—my blood. I want to open my mouth, drink

down her pain. There’s something orgasmic about this—sensual. I’ve

achieved nirvana by the sheer prospect of watching her life expire.

Chloe lets out a horrid, gurgled cry. Ironic how the protective hedge is

actual y in the process of doing Chloe in. It must be a nice night for as-

sholes to die. Unfortunately, if Chloe doesn’t survive, Mia may not

either.

I grab a hold of Emily and drag her over to Michel e and Lexy.

“Get me up there,” I instruct. The bitch squad gets into basket toss

formation. I conjure al of the angst and hostility I can muster towards

Chloe in an attempt to leap to her rescue. “One, two, three!” I rocket

up towards the ceiling easy and light as a butterfly. I pul down the

metal hook that’s adhered to the chain around Chloe’s neck, hard and

fast.

We fal in tandem. Her face, pale as plaster, lips as blue as a summer

sky. The bitch squad cradles their limbs around Chloe, and I land with

a gentle swish in Marshal ’s waiting arms. A quick bite of sadness

588/632

twists through me. I was half expecting him to be Gage. I pan the facil-

ity as Marshal props me up on my feet.

“She needs a jump start, Skyla, or she’l be dead before help arrives.”

Marshal hands me my purse.

“This has a one-time use only,” I scold, making sure he understands

the dire implications of it al . “Besides, she’s stil wearing that protect-

ive hedge.”

“Yes, Skyla,” he leans in, “But if death is ordained in the near future

for Ms. Bishop—the Decision Council might just let the tragedy slide.”

He gives a quick nod towards the crowd amassed around her.

I look over to Chloe lying on the ground, limp as kelp, a most beautiful

cadaver in the making.

My lips curve into the promise of a smile, my chest stil panting wild

from the effort.

I go over and touch my hand to her forehead.

I must choose.

Save Chloe and get Mia, or risk getting Mia out of the realm of De-

metri’s horrors al on my own.

I stroke Chloe’s long dark tendrils arranged like snakes around her

beautiful dead face and whisper, “Oh my sweet little bitch, how I hope

you rest in peace.”

Chapter 86

If You Don’t Know Me By Now

Gage appears, panting, bloodied from the elbows down, his shirt

stained with a strange viscous fluid. He snatches my purse and re-

moves the device, shrouding his body over Chloe.

Good God, he’s going to zap her back into existence.

Her entire person jumps chest first off the ground an entire foot. Gage

places his lips over hers, blows in breath after breath until she coughs

and sputters. He spits out the residue behind his shoulder and wipes

his lips down on the lapel of his jacket.

“What did you do that for?” It’s more rhetorical at this point.

He offers a depleted smile. “Because I knew you wouldn’t.” He pul s

out his phone and texts so fast the phone pops in his hands, wild and

spastic. “Briel e had her baby,” he pants glancing up at me briefly.

“Baby Beau. She’s on her way to the hospital.”

“A boy! Is that why you’re covered in—did you?” I slap my hand over

my mouth as he nods.

“Shit,” he barks down at his phone.

“What?” I push the device back in my purse as the EMTs settle in

around Chloe.

“My dad says there’s no way we’l get the charge we need for Holden.”

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That’s because he wasted it on Chloe. I badly want to say that but

don’t.

She gets up on her elbows and bats the medics away citing she’s more

than OK.

Of course she is, she just had some real action from Gage—their first

kiss right here at prom.

Ms. Messenger, I bid you to evacuate the premises, Marshal says,

helping me up off the floor. “Immediately,” he snaps. His jaw is disten-

ded, his eyes cut into the crowd with a look of vengeance.

I grab Gage by the hand and pul him along.

“Holden hard left,” Gage whispers before dramatical y plucking his

arm free from mine. “Just because I helped your friend out doesn’t

mean I want anything to do with you!” He roars it so loud, the entire

crowd reduces to a low rumble.

I glint over towards Holden. He’s al eyes and al ears. Gage and I have

the floor. One last opportunity to squelch the life out of him tonight

and I’d better not blow it.

“I hate you Gage Oliver! I hate you!” It shril s out of me like a fire

alarm. I make a beeline over to Holden and grab him by the wrist. “Get

me the hel out of here. I need someone in my life who knows how to

have a good time.” Holden huffs a laugh, takes me in with those seri-

ous Logan eyes—the dimple I gave him, by way of broken glass,

pulsates in and out. He knows. He’s probably got Pierce and Nat wait-

ing in that hotel room ready to hide my body once they beat me to a

bloody pulp, drink down my blood like a brood of thirsty bats.

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He leads me out the side exit towards the ocean. A wash of powder

fresh fog baptizes us as we rush into the night.

I pray Gage is hot on our heels. That he hasn’t truly lost his sanity and

isn’t sabotaging the altruistic purpose of this charade just to keep

Logan out of our lives for good. I have a feeling this humanitarian ef-

fort, a.k.a, operation zap Holden out of existence, is going to take a

little more than his cooperation.

Holden runs us down to the beach. He holds my fingers in a vice grip,

sprinting us to the waterline so fast I can barely keep up in this mini-

dress and heels. He knocks me down to the chil ed sand, runs his hot

hands up the bottom of my dress without waiting for an invitation. We

jostle and rol further to the shore, with him assaulting me and me

wondering how far I should let it go before I try to save myself from

his ever-wandering appendages. The sand grows damp beneath me.

An unexpected wal of water slaps over our shoulders, crushes us in a

bath of icy brine.

Holden forces a series of greedy kisses upon me, roves his tongue in

and out of my mouth in quick convulsive spasms. His teeth chatter

against mine, his fingers dig into my arms so tight I can feel the circu-

lation cutting off.

A conversation I had with Dr. Oliver comes back to me. I distinctly re-

member him mentioning that hypothermia would be the best way to

preserve Logan’s tissue.

Waves topple us one after another until we’re floating with the natural

ebb and flow of the sea.

I latch a leg around Holden’s waist, hook my elbow under his arm and

paddle us out while offering up mouthwatering kisses. I spil kisses like

lies, promises that wil go unfulfil ed as I sail us deeper into the dark

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expanse. I speed us out to sea like a dolphin, swimming hard and fast

just the way Marshal taught me, like a marine animal trained for war.

My Celestra blood boils, keeps my body temperature comfortable and

stable. I can feel Holden writhing in agony, teeth clattering like

castanets. His chest heaves with convulsions from the icy waters.

I let go of him in the black calm of the ocean.

The sparkling resort is nothing but a simple dot glittering in the dis-

tance. I can make out the ridge of the island, the entire mass of granite

a richer shade of ebony than the sky above it could ever afford.

The dress sizzles to life around me. Logan warms me. Leaves me se-

cure in knowing that I’m not alone.

“Sh-sh-shit!” Holden seizes and thrashes before fal ing stil to his wait-

ing destiny.

I don’t say anything, simply pul him in by the fingers watch him slip

peaceful into his final slumber.

Marshal appears glowing a translucent shade of gold as he floats above

the surface. “This, my love, is death.” A colorful spiral of light encom-

passes Holden as it suctions his soul up into its vacuum.

“Now what?” I shout in a panic.

“Breathe life into him.” He floats up into the sky revealing an expanse

of large feathered wings wide as a house. “The dress wil do the rest.”

“Logan,” I cry, pul ing him over to me—so stil , so frighteningly stil . I

seal my mouth over his cold lips and give three lungfuls of air.

“Logan!” I shake him, but nothing happens. He’s not moving or

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breathing. “Marshal !” I dive down on Logan’s mouth in a panic, pul

ing us under in the process.

I blow in a deep lungful of air as my tears mingle with the ocean and

wrap my body around him to warm him. My heart aches for Logan. I

want him back, alive and with me, so we can watch the future unfold

together, see where it might take us, see how far the path that destiny

carved out for us leads. I give another gentle puff before pul ing us to

the surface. His lips twitch beneath mine. He returns a beautiful

breath, consummates it with the impression of a kiss that I wil remem-

ber for ages.

“Logan!” I scream jumping over him, submerging him under without

meaning to.

He pul s us back to the surface. “Skyla,” he laughs into the night.

He’s back.

Logan is back—my Logan.

Chapter 87

Fal en Angel

The navy sky hides beneath a veil of feathery fog as Logan and I wash

high up on the shore, stil glossy and wet from our adventure at sea.

He pul s me in, rests his arm over my waist with his chest panting into

mine.

“You saved me,” he gasps for breath as he says it, pul ing me in nose to

nose. He grazes his teeth against mine stil laughing, gasping.

“How do I know it’s real y you?” I can tel by the way his eyes dance

over my face, the delight radiating from his being. There’s something

sweet and whol y unique to Logan that shines from deep inside his

soul.

“Happily ever after,” he whispers, pushing his forehead to mine. There

will be one, I promise.

I get up on my elbows and offer a gentle smile. “It’s already here.”

A couple walking hand in hand along the beach captures my attention.

“Gage?” I scramble up to my feet and Logan fol ows. Chloe is gazing

into him and they share a secret smile. “What the hel ?” I run over.

“Skyla!” Gage races towards me and spins me in his arms, presses a

kiss upon my forehead, my nose, my lips. He whips off his jacket and

pul s it around me stil warm from his body before looking up at Logan.

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“Hey, man, is it real y you?” He pul s Logan into a half hug, ruffles his

wet hair.

“It’s me.” Logan nods over towards Chloe who’s already halfway back

to the resort. “What’s going on?” To put it mildly that’s exactly what

the hel I’d like to know.

He takes a deep breath. “She was thanking me. I knew you were fine,

Skyla. I saw Dudley take off toward the water and disappear like a bat

in flight. Besides, I don’t want to rock the boat with her, she knows

Mia’s in the mirror.” This catches me off guard.

Did I tel Gage, Mia was in the mirror?

“I was wondering,” I pause trying to take in this entire crazy night.

“Why do you think Chloe had a binding spirit around the night of the

accident if she wasn’t the one driving the car?” I search Gage like he

might have the answer, hoping he does because I’m going to abandon

my sanity if I meditate on the subject any longer. “It was Holden, by

the way,” I tel Logan, bringing him up to speed.

Gage squints out into the black of the ocean as a thin coat of fog puffs

between us.

“Maybe you didn’t go back far enough,” he suggests.

“OK then,” I lay my hand out, Gage covers mine, and Logan his. I close

my eyes and think of that terrible night last winter that erected itself

like a blade through the heart of our existence, and the world washes

blank around us.

***

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We appear behind the bowling al ey as a light rain begins to pelt us.

The three of us stand locked in an argument off in the distance. I can

hear the rage in my voice—feel the tension between the three of us,

distrustful as a pack of thieves.

The Mustang is stil parked back where I left it. Chloe emerges from the

service door clutching at her chest, choking back tears.

“She’s dying at the thought of losing Gage,” I say. “We had just showed

her the movie where she slaughtered Ethan and Emerson.” I sneak a

quick look to Logan.

“It’s no surprise she chose the same mode of torment to take you

down,” Gage says, pul ing me in and offering a warm kiss. I love you,

Skyla. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You know that?

Seems like an odd time for Gage to be professing his love to me. I give

a short-lived smile.

“I know,” I whisper.

“Look,” Logan points over to Chloe.

She bats at the air, yel ing at someone or something to get away.

“I bet that’s Holden,” I whisper.

She looks over at the three of us arguing under the evergreen and

seethes.

“The keys are in the car,” Chloe nods as if she could see him. “I want

him gone. If he wants me out of his life so badly I’l gladly show him the

way.”

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“She was after me,” Gage breathes in disbelief.

“Chloe wanted you dead.” I shake my head at the impossibility of it al .

She’d want the entire human race wiped off the map soon thereafter,

once she realized the egregious error she’s committed. Life would be

impossible without Gage. I especial y know that.

“She didn’t want him necessarily dead,” Logan says it sober. “She

wanted Holden to take over, and I’m wil ing to bet she’d spend the rest

of her life with him.”

The Mustang rol s forward, the lights flick on and off like a warning.

“Let’s get out here,” Logan takes up both our hands.

“Let’s,” I say.

And we do.

***

I retrieve my phone from the sand and put in a text to Melissa. Did

you find Mia? ~S

Less than a minute later. She got pissed and locked herself in

Mom and Dad’s room. She was bawling then it got quiet. I

busted through the door and she’s just gone. Everything was

shut, the doors, the windows. I don’t know where she could

have disappeared to. I’m scared.

I know exactly where she might have disappeared to.

And so does Chloe.

Chapter 88

Body Language

The Madison Lights Bal room is bathed in bil ows of precipitous baby’s

breath. A blue tinted fog aligns itself with the fact tonight is a new

moon.

“Your people have entranced my mother,” I say sarcastical y to Logan

as we enter the establishment. “She’s been going to the meet and

greets with Demetri, often and wil ing.”

“I’l find out what’s going on. If she’s at the meetings I’l see her there

for sure. I missed tonight’s, but there’s a fol ow-up three days later cal

ed the Slaughter of Plenty. It concludes the New Moon Festival.”

I don’t know whether to be frightened or impressed that Logan knows

so much about the Counts. And the simple fact the phrase he just

uttered contained the words slaughter and plenty, both frightens and

unnatural y arouses me.

“There she is,” he nods behind me.

“Let me,” Gage offers.

“I’l go with you.”

Gage wraps an arm around my waist as we head on over. Chloe pre-

tends not to see us coming and continues to listen thoughtful y to

whatever Michel e is fil ing her ears with.

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A giant black rose lays flat against Michel e’s swol en chest. I pul a

bleak smile at the thought of Marshal actual y taking my advice and

gifting her a new one—bigger and better at that.

“There’s a good chance Mia is stuck in the mirror.” Gage lets into her

with a tone that clues her in on the fact he’s not shitting around.

“What’s it to you?” She snarls at the two of us as if she never did love

him, as if she hated us equal y.

“My sister is missing,” I hiss. “Remove that stupid binding spirit you

placed around it so she can get out in one piece.”

“What the hel kind of hal ucinatory drugs are you on?” Michel e pul s

at a lock of her hair as Marshal whistles for her in the distance. She

gives a sultry smile before trotting off dutiful y like a wel -trained dog.

“The mirror, dear Skyla, and everything in it is mine.” Chloe cuts a

scathing look to Gage. “Why did you bring me back?” She hacks into

him accusingly.

His eyes widen. He looks from me to her. “I got a text saying her sister

was missing, and al roads to trouble always lead to you, Chloe.” He ef-

fortlessly slashes her with the blade of his tongue. “Do the right thing

for once and let her go, she’s just a kid.”

“At the beach,” her eyes gloss over, “you said you cared about me, that

you had feelings for me. You were faking it al for that stupid brat.

You’ve been faking everything, haven’t you?”

Gage doesn’t say anything. He lets his muted silence speak volumes

about how much he loathes her.

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I’m no expert, but I’m guessing that while bargaining for my sister’s

wel being, it’s a lousy time to clue Chloe in on how much he hates her.

“I’l give Mia back,” she doesn’t look at me when she says it. She never

takes her eyes off Gage. “But I want to speak with you, alone.”

***

I wander outside and find Logan leaning against the corrugated trunk

of a palm, gazing out into a pale sapphire curtain of fog with a dismal

expression.

I strum my fingers lightly over his arm. “Everything OK?”

“It is now.” He pul s me in, doesn’t hesitate wrapping his arms around

my waist.

“Have I told you how dapper you look tonight?” Every Greek god

should bow to his feet, but I don’t tel him that.

“Where’s Gage?” He sears my cheek with the question.

“Chloe—she’s probably tel ing him off, or vice versa. I didn’t feel like

sticking around for the show.” A strangled silence crops up. Now that

I’ve got Logan back, there is so much to talk about it’s impossible to

know where to begin. “Hey,” I jump. “I thought of a way you might be

able to save the bowling al ey.”

“Please, share,” he gives a little laugh.

“You could tie in the pizza kitchen to every school lunch program on

the island.” I leave out the part of me accusing Chloe of coming up

with it.

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Technical y it was me who had the stroke of bril iance.

“You, Skyla Messenger, are a genius.”

I relax my head back and laugh. “I’ve been cal ed many things, genius

is not one of them.” Logan offers a quiet smile. He draws me in with

his steely gaze, makes my heart skip a beat.

“You wanna take a walk?” He nods down a path that leads into the

woods.

I take up his hand and we head into the forest, the thicket entombs us

with a quiet calm, a stark contrast to the bad eighties music that’s hi-

jacked the speakers inside.

The moon glows above the mist, soft as a lamplight.

“God, that feels good,” Logan takes in a ful breath.

“What feels good?” I stroke his hand with my thumb. It’s so nice to

have him back inside his beautiful body.

“Air in my lungs,” he presses the back of my hand to his lips, “but now

you’ve eclipsed that.” Logan sears into me with his ironclad gaze. He

galvanizes himself around my soul, fil s me from the inside with al of

his formidable splendor. I know damn wel it could be dangerous head-

ing into the woods—heading anywhere with Logan on a night like to-

night, when I have him back, when I want him so bad.

The wind picks up, brushes against us as we move through the forest.

An entire herd of Transfer transplants whir past us, frenetic, chatting a

mile a minute.

“What the…?” Logan turns and watches them head towards the resort.

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“They’re everywhere. There were a mil ion at prom,” I shrug. “Marshal

’s got it under control.” I don’t know that I real y believe it, but I’m de-

termined to let him work his black magic, and I’m going to stay the hel

out of the situation.

We head further into the shadowed woods. Even the thin veil of moon-

light is defused by the dark expanse. Each towering evergreen stands

at attention, the blade-like tips of their branches extend, sharp as

bayonets.

We stray hand in hand, make our way through a maze of tree trunks

until the noise dissipates completely from the bal room, al that’s left is

the sound of our breathing.

Logan takes my hand and places it over his chest. I can feel his heart

thump wild and erratic from underneath his shirt.

“It beats for you, Skyla,” his voice dips into its lower register.

He didn’t need to go there. His presence alone seduced me.

“I need to get back.” I try to turn my head towards the resort but I

can’t look away. It’s like a car accident waiting to happen with Logan. I

know I should run—Chloe loves the wreckage.

Logan steps in, backs me into a tree—grazes his face against my cheek,

takes in the scent of my neck.

“I couldn’t feel you,” he whispers. “You weren’t real to me,” it comes

out almost inaudible as though it were never meant for my ears.

“I’m here,” I whisper soft as a lul aby and pul him in. It feels good

holding Logan like this. Reassuring him everything is going to be al

right because Holden isn’t wearing him like a coat anymore.

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“Being apart from you made me realize what hel it would be to live

without you,” he shakes his head when he says it. “I’m going to fight

for you, Skyla.”

I glance back at the Madison Lights Bal room, which has become a

mere orb of light smothered in a thicket of fog.

“Gage,” I whisper. Gage is my life raft—my forever. A horrible sadness

comes over me, thick as lead, knowing that I can’t have Logan if I have

Gage and vice versa.

Obviously the Decision Council knows nothing about love and

everything about rotten timing or they never would have put two won-

derful people in my life at once.

“You know,” I whisper, “sometimes, I real y hate my mother.”

The whites of his eyes glint. Logan shakes his head as if I should never

have gone there.

A dul sound whips through the air, cuts through the wind as it fast ap-

proaches. A horrific thud erupts in the trunk of the tree just inches

above our heads.

“Shit!” I hiss, jumping away from ground zero. “What the hel was

that?”

Logan nods up at a silver hatchet artful y lodged in the timber.

“Mine,” a frazzled voice echoes from behind.

“We have to go,” I pul Logan by the arm and run blindly in the other

direction.

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Ezrina appears like a crimson stain, blocks our path at every turn—her

image splinters in each direction like a funhouse mirror.

“What does she want?” Logan pants, holding me as she stalks us from

afar.

“She wants, me.”

A bird screams in the night. The rustle of wings brings Nevermore

straight to my shoulder. He lets out a series of aggressive cries before

settling in, sinks his talons through the fabric of Gage’s jacket until he

hits my flesh with a sharp bite.

“Trial?” Ezrina pounces forward. Her girth alone produces a solid

thump.

“My mother’s working on it.” Even I know that’s bul shit. The one time

I asked for help she outright evaded the answer.

“Your mother?” Ezrina steps forward, the dowager hump on her back

pronounces itself like a stone laid under her cloak.

There it is—I take her al in. The gnarled fingers, the spasms of endless

wrinkles that encase her eyes, her lips—hair like twisted wire hangers.

My future is laid out before me, and it appears my mother could care

less. I bet she’s already seen it, read it like a book—the Ezrina years.

My forever wil be spent wrapped in a curse that was never intended

for me.

“My mom wants to talk to you herself,” I say, backing up with Logan.

I’d gladly sic Ezrina on my mother. Now there’s a showdown I’d love

to watch—lightning bolts and hatchets flying every which way.

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“Liar,” she reaches up and snatches a branch right off the tree, thick as

a leg.

“Shit,” I hiss.

“Time,” she takes a bold step forward, holds out a crooked hand and

inspires Nev to scream out at her.

“Get Marshal ,” I whisper to Logan in a panic.

“I’m not leaving.” He tightens the grip around my waist, annunciating

the fact.

“I have Nev, just go,” my chest heaves wild with alarm. The last thing

in the world I want is for Logan to take off, but I need some celestial

tap dancing and he just isn’t going to cut it. “Please, I’m begging you. I

brought you back—now I’m begging you to help me stay.”

“No,” he whispers it so low I barely make out the word.

“He’s behind us in the bal room, grab him and drag him back out here.

Just go— run!” I shout, pushing him away.

“I’l be back in less than ten seconds. Don’t move,” he fixes his eyes on

me with determined aggression. “You can count to ten. I wil be back.”

His voice strangulates tight as a wire as he darts his anger towards

Ezrina.

Logan melts into the anemic teal fog, disappears like a dream—leaves

me swimming in a nightmare.

Ezrina, lunges forward, snatches a fistful of hair from the back of my

head and breathes her putrid stench over me.

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“Nev!” I cry out, my voice trails through the forest like a siren.

Nevermore flutters into the air, dive-bombs Ezrina with peck after

peck.

“You’re going to judge me?” She shouts into him. “You never had a day

of labor! You know not strife—I wil not al ow you to judge me!” She

swats him ful force as he continues his aggressive assault.

Maybe this is Nevermore’s plan to save me, or maybe they real y are

having the argument of a lifetime.

I don’t real y care.

Instead, I disappear.

Chapter 89

Eye Hate You

I don’t stick around to evaluate the situation. I take off running, hit-

ting tree after tree, trying to navigate my way through the disorienting

maze of the forest.

Ezrina’s voice dissipates to a whisper. Nev’s high-pitched cries melt in-

to the vaporous night.

I clasp onto the smooth trunk of a Birchwood tree and try to control

my erratic breathing. A gurgle of laughter bubbles up from the ground.

“Fuck off, Messenger,” a female voice snipes from behind.

I turn abruptly to find Nat and Pierce intertwined. Her dress is

severely twisted and his shirt is unbuttoned halfway.

“Maybe she’d like to join in?” Pierce hops to his feet with a crooked

grin on his face. It’s obvious he’s drunk or high or simply hopped up

on the fact he’s a Kragger.

“No, real y I wouldn’t.” I push my way past him, but he snatches me

back by the wrist. “Let go,” I squeal, trying to free myself from his

grasp.

“I’m not letting go,” he grits it out through his teeth. Pierce pul s me in

with a bionic force as he runs his tongue up the side of my cheek.

“Gross,” I squirm in his arms, “Nat? Are you going to just sit there?”

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“Hey, let go of her. Don’t be an asshole,” Nat bleats, stil firmly planted

on the ground.

“You heard her, asshole,” I hiss in his face.

“Did you know I have less than twelve hours before I have to turn my-

self in to authorities?” The unmistakable stench of alcohol sears across

my face. “I’m not walking the stage at graduation—instead, I’m going

to be locked up on some legal timeout al because of your sorry ass.” He

slips a hand underneath my dress and glides it over my thigh.

“Don’t touch me!” I swat him away and manage to wrangle free a mo-

ment, only to have him pin my hands behind my back—my chest

pushed hard into the trunk of a serrated pine.

“Nat?” I dril it through my lungs but she’s nowhere to be found.

I twist around and try to wrangle free. Pierce knocks my head back by

way of an intrusive kiss—thrusts his tongue down my throat so far I

retch into his mouth.

He’s al hands. His hot mouth emits a grotesque odor and I just want to

kil him.

My blood boils. For the first time in a long while my anger builds on its

own reserves, ratchets up my strength without relying on Chloe to

kick-start the motor.

I give a viral shove into his chest and he takes me to the ground with

him.

“Skyla?” It’s Logan. My name reverberates from somewhere far off in

the woods.

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Pierce pegs me underneath him, lands hard on my chest and dives into

me again with his unwanted affections.

“Skyla?” Logan’s voice trails to nothing as he veers in the wrong

direction.

Pierce burrows into me. I twist my head away from his disgusting

mouth and let out the beginnings of a scream before he slaps a hand

over my lips. I clamp my teeth down over his fingers, give one power-

house bite that tears through tendons, sends a salty taste into my

mouth.

“You bitch!”

My hands fly up over my head. Pierce locks me down with his arms

and legs, pins me so efficiently with his own otherworldly strength, I’m

no match against him.

A flash of pain ignites at the base of my neck as he grazes along my

skin with his knife-sharp teeth.

I can feel the puncture—feel the suction as he draws out my blood in

smooth even pul s. His Adam’s apple rises and fal s against my skin,

his arousal made evident by the bulge pressed against my thigh. His

fingers begin to loosen their grip on me.

The soft flutter of wings gets my attention. Nev procures a spot on a

branch, high up above me.

I need Nev more than ever before.

Pierce groans with pleasure, his defenses weakened if only for a mo-

ment, and I slip my hands out of his grasp and wrap an arm around

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his head. I coil myself over his face like a serpent. It was his neck I was

going for but he flinched.

“Shit!” He snatches for my hand but I pinch into his cheek, claw my

nails like digging into a chalkboard. It’s a morbid slow pul as he tries

to remove my death grip. I may never outrun or out muscle his Coun-

tenance abilities, but I’m sure as hel not letting go of the only strong-

hold I have.

Pierce groans in agony as he summons the strength to break my hold.

I land my fingers over his eyelid—dig into his socket until I can feel his

eye push back.

“Let go!” he shouts. The command vibrates off my chest.

I can’t. I’m too far-gone, too lost in al of this bul shit, boiling mad, so

ready for revenge against the miserable Kraggers and their asshole

relations.

My fingers push into the soft round tissue. Instinctively I retract my

hand and his eyebal comes out with me.

“Shit!” I sit up in horror. “Oh my, God! Oh my, God!”

Pierce slumps over, groaning—smacks the ground a few good times

before passing out.

“I’m so sorry,” I pant staring at the mass of bloodied flesh.

Nev swoops down and bobs his head into the palm of my hand, feasts

on the eye, gobbling it down in three swift bites.

“You ate it!” I scream, wiping my bloody hand in a bed of pine needles.

“That’s so freaking disgusting!”

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“Skyla?”

My name expels from the woods in a strange groan, as if an animal

were trying to mimic the sound. I’ve heard it that way before in the

Transfer only then it was a—

A smal army of mutilated Fems appear—every one of them dressed to

impress as Demetri the clown. Pale white faces, hair sizzling into the

night, each of them equip with a long shining blade.

This is probably Ezrina’s way of getting me back to the chop shop—in

pieces.

I back up on my heels until I right myself.

“This isn’t happening,” I whisper. “This isn’t real.” If I believe this, ac-

cept it on any level I’l die, only I won’t, real y die, and that’s not fair.

“Skyla?” My name echoes into the night.

It’s either Logan or Gage it’s too frantic to tel . And where the hel is

Marshal ? Herding the lost souls of the Transfer around Paragon like

some demonic shepherd?

I reach down to grab a stick, a rock, anything, and touch down on

Pierce’s hairy leg instead. I don’t overanalyze, or create a roster ful of

strategies. I simply give one hearty roar as I pick Pierce Kragger up by

the ankles and spin him Mach 5 like a helicopter blade. I knock the

clown Fems on their unsuspecting asses, easy as knocking back bowl-

ing pins. Pierce doesn’t make a sound, simply fal s limp—pliable to my

every whim.

They come after me one by one, and I shoot them down, swinging

Pierce Kragger around like my own private basebal bat.

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One of them grabs me by the ankles and lands me hard on my side. I

pul Pierce over me as a shield in time to see the carbon blade of a knife

plant itself into his back.

“Shit!” I cower beneath him as warm blood pools over my dress.

“Mother!”

If there were no Marshal , no Logan, no Gage, no earthly savior, then

my last breath would go to her. She witnessed the first gasp that fil ed

my lungs—it’s only fair she hears the last.

A strangled silence fil s the woods.

A slow applause builds in rhythm as it emanates from above. I squint

past Pierce’s broad shoulders to see exactly who is applauding my

efforts.

I give a depleted smile. “It’s you.”

Chapter 90

Borrowed Time

A bloom of fog lifts from around her feet. Her dark cloak hangs loose

over her hunched shoulders—Ezrina.

“Expecting someone else?” She says it low, without the echo that pep-

pers her speech.

I dart a quick look around to find the forest void of Fems in any shape

or size. Pirece gurgles as the final reserve expires from his lungs. I rol

him off in haste and pant into the carnage I’m suddenly responsible

for.

“Dead as a doornail,” she laments. “You have much blood on your

hands. Remedy your il s, come to me child.” She takes a careful step in

my direction.

Everything in me sags. I’m heavy laden on the inside from the blood

Pierce managed to purge from me before I plucked his eyebal right out

of his skul .

I pul myself to my knees—bow my head in retreat.

There is no greater sorrow than that of surrender.

Ezrina was right, who else would come for me? Logan? Gage? Even so,

what could they possibly do to rectify the situation?

Her hand fal s over my neck, lays over my flesh cold as a blade.

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“Pulchra mulier,” Ezrina sings the words, slow—morbid as a eulogy.

“I failed,” a puff of velum escapes my lips. “I couldn’t get you a trial. I

have nothing.” No mother to help me, no earthly father who could pul

a few heavenly strings.

“Come,” she helps me up. The night mist enrobes me, cleanses me like

only the truth can do.

Ezrina pul s back my hair, extends my neck so taut the fresh wound

Pierce inflicted stings like a sunburn.

My neck releases, I open my eyes to find Ezrina gone. I loathe to look

down and confirm that the transformation has already taken place. My

arms rise—far lighter than the last time I donned her like a bad Hal

oween costume.

“It’s me,” I whisper disbelieving. “I’m stil here.”

“And here you wil remain.” My mother glows ethereal, il uminating an

aura of iridescent light. A pink haze surrounds her, lays over her skin

like a bruise.

“You came!” I run over and wrap my arms around her tight. Perfect

love emanates off her being, vibrates through me, pleasant, welcome

as water to this thirsty soul. “So Ezrina gets her trial?” Maybe it’s

already happened?

“Yes, and no it hasn’t. I’ve scheduled a hearing post faction war. There

is much to be considered.”

“Oh, thank you!” I jump up and down, taking her with me for the ride.

It feels so good like this I never want to let go.

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“You’ve kil ed another,” she sighs, wrapping an arm around my waist

as we step over to Pierce.

“Oops?” Not quite sure what to say to that.

“And his eye,” she tisks at the sight.

“I’m sorry.” It hits me hard like an unexpected wave. My personal

death tol rises—Chloe—Kate, Holden, and now his brother, too.

“An apology won’t be necessary. This was ordained.”

Pierce groans, his body twitches before he ful y rol s over, vomits onto

the ground.

I jump and scream, ducking behind my mother for cover.

“I thought you said he was dead!” I disrupt the silence for miles.

“He is—the world won’t miss him.” She steps in further. “Holden,

however, gets to live out the rest of his days as his twin. He shouldn’t

be a bother to you anymore.” She waves her hand and he evaporates,

stil gyrating from the severe case of upchuck.

“Where’d he go?” I take in a quick breath not sure whether to panic or

cheer.

“He’s turning himself into the detention facility. The infirmary just

had a bed open up.”

“Can you help Mia?” I plead, squeezing her hands.

“Mia is safe.”

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“Safe as in?” I’m pretty sure she thought I was safe while I was held

captive in the Transfer.

“Why, yes, I did believe you to be safe in Sector Marshal ’s care.”

Sector Marshal .

“Nice.” I take in al of her immortal beauty. “So you’re here to right al

the wrongs in the world? I can get used to this.” I see my own face ra-

diating back at me like a reflection. She is neither human nor Ne-

philim, but a perfect Caelestis. “Would you do one more thing for me?

Wel , not real y for me, for Logan?” Already she’s done enough, but I’d

hate myself if I didn’t ask.

“What would that be?” Her eyes soften over my features. They sparkle

a bril iant shade of violet before returning to their natural cel ophane

state.

“Give him back al of his Celestra powers. Please, I beg of you.”

“Reinstated.” She blinks a benevolent smile.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Her demeanor changes, her mood polarizes and

there’s a darkness that coats her, dims the light she radiates like cover-

ing a lamp. “I must go. Do you remember what I told you a few

months back about trust?” I consider this a moment. “You said, trust

is a word humans dangle in front of one another as a threat to get what

they want.” She gives an approving nod. “And after that?”

“Trust only your heart.”

“Words from your own lips, Skyla. Believe them.”

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***

I run into Logan just shy of the resort.

“Skyla,” he wraps his arms around me, gives a searing kiss just above

my temple.

“Where’s Marshal ?” I look past his shoulder for a moving herd of

Transfer transplants.

“Couldn’t find him.” His eyes rove over me pensive. “I swear I looked

everywhere. I wasn’t giving up.”

“I was with my mother.” I glance up at him.

“Everything OK?” He runs his hands up and down my arms making

sure it’s stil me.

“Ezrina gets her trial.”

“Yes!” Logan spins me through the air, lands me soft on the ground

before taking me in, his grin melting into a gentle sorrowful smile.

“And we’l win the war.”

“We’re not doing so good,” I remind him.

“We’l do better.” He wraps an arm around my waist. “Rumor has it

you’re my queen.”

“I am.”

“Music’s stil going. I think we should honor the long standing tradition

of first dance.” Logan looks into me ful of hope—hope that far exceeds

anything a dance could ever offer.

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I don’t tel him that I technical y already danced with him as Holden

tonight, that Chloe stole the show by hanging from the ceiling.

“I definitely think a dance is in order,” I say. “And, Logan?” I step in

stil holding his hands. I asked my mother to reinstate your powers.

His ears peak back, his lips part as he takes a breath.

“I heard you,” he whispers. Skyla. His cheek curls on the side as he

takes me in. I don’t know how to thank you. I would have never asked

you to do that.

I know, I say. I’m sorry I had them taken away to begin with. Will

you forgive me?

There’s nothing to forgive.

Gage cal s my name in the distance.

“We’d better get back,” the words puff out, each their own cloud. “It’s

time to get Mia.” Chapter 91

Know the Enemy

The face of the moon is stained with a blood-soaked fingerprint. It is

openly red-faced, embarrassed to witness and know the things it does.

It winks in and out of the fog like some lunar alarm trying to let us in

on the magnitude of its intimate knowledge, but we can’t hear. It whis-

pers to us al of its secrets but our ears are stopped up. The ocean

drowns out the sound, drenches the night with its own private lul aby.

Trust only your heart, the ocean sings. It vibrates through the trees,

creates a choir with the leaves, strums through the dips and val eys of

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the island until even the wind is lashed into submission, bleating out

my mother’s verse.

Logan and I emerge from the forest hand in hand, with Logan happy

to have his Celestra abilities back and me just happy to have Logan.

“Gage!” I shout as I catch him in a thicket of miniature palms stil

sweating out a conversation with Chloe. Dear God, had I known he

was far too nice to abandon the effort, I would have made it a point to

rescue him earlier.

I jump up over to him and plant a kiss right on his lips.

Chloe shoots him a look, her lips curved in a malevolent smile.

“Did you remove the binding spirit?” As far as I’m concerned there’s

only one right answer. If Chloe refuses, I’l gladly feed Nevermore a

couple more occipital photoreceptors for dinner.

“She can’t get out Skyla,” Chloe steps forward. “The only one who can

help is Mr. Edinger,” she lays it on thick as frosting. One false inflec-

tion and she would break—die laughing at my sister’s dilemma. “You

have to do something. Go to him and beg him to get her out. It’s hel in

there, Skyla. I saw it myself.”

I take in a breath and turn to Gage.

“We need to find Demetri,” I pant. The world is closing in on me. I can

feel the sky col apsing, the ground rising to meet it. I can’t take anoth-

er Messenger family tragedy, another bear trap we’ve stepped into be-

cause of the Counts, the Fems—Demetri. I can feel the lure, see the

trail of breadcrumbs Chloe has set out for me, plain as day, but for Mia

I’d walk blindfolded into the witch’s oven—hel , I would run.

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“I know where he is,” Logan injects. “The elders are required to keep

watch at the stone of sacrifice until midnight.”

“It’s midnight now,” Chloe is quick to offer.

“Gage,” I latch onto his hand and take up Logan with the other. Chloe

slaps her hand over his shoulder as the world explodes into a black bal

of dust.

***

Gage teleports us to a field just shy of the stone of sacrifice under the

trace of a sanguine moon. It knew we would come, that evil would cal

us into its presence—require our attendance at this late hour.

“There he is,” Gage wraps his arm around my waist, secures me in the

comfort of his being. I could face Chloe and the Counts, every Fem on

the planet with Gage by my side.

“There he is, Skyla,” Chloe’s voice emits like a demonic echo.

“Come on,” Logan pats me on the back and leads us through a wel -

beaten trail. Logan knows the way. Logan always knows.

Three figures, stil clad in their ritual cloaks, stand not too far from the

sacrificial stone that gleams with pride, wings wide open under the

powder white breath of God.

This al brings back memories of last winter. We are the immor-

tals—that’s how their boastful chant begins. I have never forgotten

those words that the Counts sung in unison as they circled around my

body. Logan’s voice and Chloe’s both in concert with the rest of the

Counts. I remember that night like it was only moments before. Fear

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wil do that to you—tattoo an unwanted memory right over the fabric of

your soul, make you recal it at your weakest moment.

The Countenance believe they rule the world, this one, and the next.

It’s laughable, but if the faction war keeps going in the direction that it

is, they just might have it al .

The three of them turn—stop their conversation midflight. I’m not sur-

prised to see Demetri, Arson Kragger, and El is’ dad.

“The congregation has arrived,” Demetri holds back a laugh. His eyes

never surrender their nefarious smile. “To what do we owe the

assembly?”

I’m speechless—suddenly al too aware of where I am, where I may

have inadvertently led, Logan and Gage.

“Marshal ? Mom?” I whisper, inaudible, even to my own ears.

“Neither can help you here,” El is’ father steps out from Demetri’s

shadow and approaches me. “Morley,” he extends his hand. “I’m

afraid my son doesn’t understand the merit of a proper introduction.

He doesn’t understand the merit of a myriad of things, but that’s

neither here nor there.” He twitches his cheek and looks decidedly like

El is in the process. “He is a traitor,” he hisses. “My own son has

turned against me—fights for the band of wickedness that is Celestra.”

Wickedness that is Celestra? The idea alone disorients me. And I

would expect nothing less than a binding spirit from this brood of

vipers.

I’m just surprised there’s one strong enough to hold Marshal at bay.

“Mia’s in the mirror,” my chest heaves as I dart the words to Demetri.

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Arson Kragger raises his pale brows, somber, as if this were startling

news even to him.

Demetri glides a knowing smile in Chloe’s direction.

“That’s right,” Chloe sings.

“Wel done.” Demetri doesn’t sound impressed, in fact he sounds

downright pissed. He turns towards Arson. “How are the supplies?”

“Low,” he emits the same husky rasp as Pierce. “People are thirsty. The

blood of a pure would more than replenish the reserve.” He swal ows

down a laugh before blinking over at me. “You took my son.”

“Pierce,” I spit his name out, “Holden, he’s back.” My heart races,

pulsates through my ears. It disables any capability in me to carry out

a ful sentence.

“Never mind those fools,” Demetri growls, “we need blood and you

need Mia.” He bends over and picks up a long rapier off the edge of the

stone. Its blade il uminates a bold electric blue before retracting,

gleaming in this dim light.

“Spirit sword,” I say under my breath. It’s three times as long as Mar-

shal ’s, half as thick. It gives a darker, more seasoned hue than I’ve

ever seen the spirit sword produce.

“Up, Skyla,” Demetri taps the tip of the blade against the stone, ignit-

ing a crackle of lightning throughout the rock. The landscape glows

with a bril iant shock from the disarming display of power.

“No,” Logan jumps onto the granite, “take me. My powers have been

restored. I’m stronger than ever.”

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“You’re a Count.” Arson looks bored by the performance.

“Doesn’t matter,” he pants, “take my blood. I pledged my al egiance to

the Countenance, and that’s where it’l remain.” His chest expands and

retracts, as he seethes the words. “Drain me. Keep me alive for a life-

time—two lifetimes.” Logan redirects his attention to me. “Leave Skyla

alone,” he swal ows hard, washing the stone with his heavy gaze.

“As you wish,” Demetri flickers a disgruntled smile.

“No,” I say, trying to push Gage off my waist, but he clamps down

strong as a vice.

“Let him do this,” Gage scorches my ear with his breath.

“Yes, Skyla,” Chloe settles herself between Arson Kragger and Morley

Harrison. She shoulders up, shakes out her long dark tendrils victori-

ously. “Let Logan die in your place like the coward you are.”

My heart sinks at the idea of Logan suffering, spending the length of

his days locked as a prisoner, kept alive for the commodity of his

blood.

I would have never restored his powers, never begged my mother to do

a damn thing in his favor if I had known where it would have gotten

him. I bet she’s laughing her Caelestis ass off.

If she’s so al knowing—if she’s responsible even remotely for leading

me down this misguided path, I’l declare war on the Justice Al iance

and overthrow the whole council if I have to, in order to bring her

down.

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“What’s the matter, Skyla?” Chloe takes a step forward. “Captures’ got

your tongue?” Demetri steps onto the stone, prods Logan in the back

with the tip of his blade.

“Lay your eyes on her one last time,” Demetri instructs. “Memorize the

look of fear in her eyes. When you’re writhing in agony, you can recal

how it was al worth the effort. And who knows?” He takes a careful

step in towards Logan. “You might find comfort in the fact that Skyla

wil be spending her days and nights in the arms of the one you thought

a brother.”

It’s OK, Gage brushes a kiss over my cheek. Logan wants to do this.

He wants you to be safe. I’ll keep you safe.

Chloe gives a hard sigh. “You don’t need to be a mind reader to know

he’s fil ing your head with empty promises,” she bristles.

“Enough,” Demetri wields his sword in her direction. “I’ve had it with

your self glorification.” His features sharpen, his entire person glowers

at her. “I wil have her life in my time, in the manner in which I choose.

I need no assistance from an underling whose moral victories rely

solely on treason.” The long sword gleams prideful y into the night,

spirit sword blue.

“I laid her at your feet,” Chloe has the bal s to spout off.

“Your best maneuvers were mine,” Demetri snaps. “I brought her to

the island, I gifted you her blood. Your victories are shal ow at best,

blinded by your undying affection for the one who holds her now.”

Chloe winces as if he’d slapped her for al to see. “I’ve got Gage,” her

voice trails, unrelenting. “I brought Skyla to the island, I robbed her of

her blood from the grave.” She steps in closer, glares into me with an

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intimate level of hate that I have never experienced before. “I set in

her life, one wel -placed boyfriend.” She presses out a black smile.

“Looks like your secret is out,” Demetri nods into Gage, his eyes wild

with pleasure.

Gage gives into a long blink, his dimples go on and off like an alarm.

I shake my head. “Say it’s not true.”

Gage takes a breath and holds it a second too long. He sets his gaze in

the forest just past my shoulder before locking me in on a nonverbal

apology.

“Oh, Gage,” it comes out barely audible. I close my eyes a moment and

draw a black curtain over this newfound misery. “Damn it,” I push him

off, ful with disappointment. I leap up onto the stone and shield my-

self over Logan.

“Can’t move my arms or legs,” Logan shivers out the words in a

whisper.

My body seizes, useless as tree limbs.

“Skyla don’t!” Gage shouts. “It’s a trap.” The rock electrifies on the

outer rim, forming a crackling barrier as a ring of lightning pens me

in.

He did this. Let the record show, Gage punctured our relationship

with a knife-sharpened blade the day he made a pact with Chloe Bish-

op to be my wel -placed anything. The mortal blow being he conveni-

ently forgot to cite any of the aforementioned bul shit, this entire past

year.

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“You lied to me.” I can’t believe the words as they sail from my lips.

“No, I swear, I didn’t. I never lied.”

“He just avoided the subject, Skyla,” Chloe is quick to inject. “You of al

people should understand how complex the truth can be.” I can’t look

at Gage. My heart breaks at the thought of him working with Chloe on

any level. There was no way she could have blackmailed him right

from the beginning. But, even stil , I can feel his love for me—the

soothing balm that tries to penetrate this newfound ache.

“I love you forever, Skyla,” his voice hums through the night as if he

had released a whisper that swam right into my ear.

“Skyla,” Demetri prods me with the metal saber, motions for me to

turn around and face Logan, and I spin involuntarily. “Ms. Bishop,” he

points the blade in her direction and Chloe is quick to appear by my

side, spirit sword in hand. Figures—Chloe has no problem walking

through a wal of raging electricity.

The wind picks up. A blue mist covers us, thick as oil.

“Why don’t you leave this world with a kiss,” Chloe pushes into

Logan’s head with the sword until he brushes his lips against mine.

We’ll be OK, Logan assures. Although at the moment it doesn’t feel so

convincing with both our bodies in lockdown—a nest of lightning sep-

arating me from Gage.

“What’s the codeword?” Demetri twirls his hand in the air, enjoying

his taunt.

He was there in the Transfer.

627/632

Of course, he was. I saw him there myself.

“Oh, I’m dying to hear this,” Chloe laughs. “Aren’t you, Gage? Aren’t

you dying to hear what the procreators have been saying to each

other?

Don’t you think that’s a great idea, Mr. Edinger? You could have the

two perfect Celestra mate. You can drink the blood of their children.”

“Always thinking, Ms. Bishop.” He cuts a dark smile over at me.

“The code?” Chloe digs the spear into Logan’s back.

“Happily ever after,” Logan expels with a sigh.

Gage steps into my line of vision, gives a slow blink when Logan says

it. He eyes Demetri and Chloe like a predator waiting for just the right

moment to pounce.

I look away not wanting to try and decipher whether or not he’s in

pain, not wanting him to see mine. It was Gage who saved Chloe to-

night, it was Gage who held her hand, partook in a rather lengthy con-

versation with her while I was in the forest—Gage who was revealed to

be the wel -

placed boyfriend. What does it mean? He was my forever, and none of

this was real.

My mother’s words come back to me— trust only your heart. She

knew. She could see the deception from the throne room. This secret

was only wel guarded from me.

“Take me to Mia,” I blink back tears and inhale my resolve. This isn’t

about me, or my wayward love life. It’s about saving my sister.

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“I’l give you one last chance, Skyla,” Demetri lowers his head. “Assure

the young man his chivalry was wel worth the effort—go home.”

“No,” I swal ow hard. “It’s me who gets taken. If anyone gets to go

home its Logan.”

“He stays,” Demetri is quick to answer.

“Then I stay with him.”

“That’s right, proclaim your love for Logan,” Chloe chides. “See Gage?

You were right. She wil never get over him. Oh, and, Skyla?” She digs

something out of her heart-shaped purse, “I seem to have stumbled

upon Melissa’s phone.” She tosses it over to my feet. “Can you make

sure she gets it?”

Shit.

I look up at Logan in horror. She did this to us. She hooked us and

reeled us in, shot us down like fish in a barrel.

“Skyla,” Gage wastes no time.

“Save it.” I might crack. I might lose my mind and bawl like a baby

right here on this rock—I just pray to God it opens up and swal ows me

like a bad dream.

Gage jumps onto the stone, and a jolt of electricity crackles through

him. It il uminates him from the inside as if he were his own universe,

his body broken with bolts of lightning. He lets out a groan and

struggles his way over, takes a breath as his body is restored, resplen-

dent and new.

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“There’s something you need to know.” He takes me up by the waist

without permission, looks into me with those sacred blue eyes before

touching my hand. Those people who came from the Transfer were

here for a reason. Chloe brought them.

I try to wrangle my hand loose from his grasp, but he latches on

tighter.

There’s a bloodbath coming for Celestra. Chloe gave them the walk-

ing tour of your home, the school. She made sure they saw you

crowned as prom queen. Come home with me.

“Go home, Skyla,” Logan pleads.

A searing pain shoots through my stomach and exits my back.

“Too late,” Chloe growls.

Logan and I look down, take a breath and hold it simultaneously.

“Skyla,” Gage breathes my name as if he were grieving me.

The blade protrudes from Logan and skewers right through me.

Logan’s white shirt blooms with color, my dress is quick to gloss over

around the newfound incision.

She’s done this—Chloe holds the blade into Logan’s back and pushes it

in, moves it around until he cries out from the pain.

Gage knocks Chloe down with his shoulder and wraps his fingers

around the handle of the rapier. A storming seizure electrifies his

body, as the sword ignites a velvet blue.

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Chloe jumps to her feet, wastes no time in relaxing her arms over

Gage, causing his body to stop seizing from the electric shock. He re-

moves his hands from the sword and exhales in exhaustion.

Logan and I il uminate from the inside a perfect sterile blue. My body

trembles, a warm buzz vibrates throughout my veins, carbonates my

blood. I look past Logan’s shoulder at my beautiful Gage, my helper,

my everything, my deceiver and mouth the words, help me— my

forever.

Chloe lights up the fog between us with her anxious breath. “Here’s to

happily ever after.” The stone opens up, swal ows Logan and me—the

blade stil skewering us together, holding us secure.

“Skyla! ” Gage’s voice goes off like a gong, reverberates through this

timeless tunnel of embers in one desperate cry.

Logan wraps his arms around me, pul s me in until his lips crash

against mine.

We fal forever.

We search for happily ever after, but it never comes.

Look for (Celestra Series Book 7) COMING SOON!

Addison Moore is a graduate from the University of Southern Califor-

nia who writes young adult paranormal romance. She resides on the

West Coast with her family and two dogs. Feel free to visit her blog at

http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/

Facebook:

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

140192649382294

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Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/Addison_Moore

@Created by PDF to ePub

Document Outline

- Preface

- Chapter 1

- Death Throes

- Chapter 2

- Unimaginable Sorrow

- Chapter 3

- Appeal

- Chapter 4

- Time After Time

- Chapter 5

- ��

- Chapter 6

- Love Song

- Chapter 7

- Family Time

- Chapter 9

- Just One Taste

- Chapter 10

- Never

- Chapter 11

- Sweet Release

- Chapter 12

- Home Sweet Home

- Chapter 13

- Put Your Hands on Me

- Chapter 14

- The Marriage Mirage

- Chapter 15

- Affair in the Air

- Chapter 16

- Down in Flames

- Chapter 17

- Strike Three

- Chapter 19

- Love Hurts

- Chapter 20

- Logan

- Chapter 21

- Only You

- Chapter 22

- Church on Time

- Chapter 24

- Forever

- Chapter 25

- The Psycho and Me

- Chapter 26

- Hel s Bel s

- Chapter 27

- Smooth Operator

- Chapter 28

- Mirror, Mirror

- Chapter 29

- Time of our Lives

- Chapter 30

- The List

- Chapter 31

- Ful Disclosure

- Chapter 32

- The Heart of the Matter

- Chapter 33

- Heartbreak

- Chapter 34

- Sit a Spel

- Chapter 35

- Marshal Arts

- Chapter 36

- The Bitch is Back

- Chapter 37

- The Boss of You

- Chapter 38

- Dance of the Butterfly

- Chapter 40

- Dinner with the Enemy

- Chapter 41

- Missing you

- Chapter 42

- The Deal

- Chapter 43

- ��

- Chapter 44

- Hot Water

- Chapter 46

- Sing the Blues

- Chapter 47

- Table Talk

- Chapter 48

- Dance the Night Away

- Chapter 49

- Whiplash Love

- Chapter 50

- Bay of Pigs

- Chapter 51

- Get It on Like That

- Chapter 52

- Deus Ex Machina

- Chapter 53

- I Do?

- Chapter 54

- Body Snatcher

- Chapter 55

- Master Disaster

- Chapter 56

- Love Shack

- Chapter 57

- ��

- Chapter 59

- Trip the Lights Fantastic

- Chapter 60

- Home visit

- Chapter 61

- Mommy Dearest

- Chapter 63

- Face of an Angel

- Chapter 64

- Treasures and Trinkets

- Chapter 65

- Silver and God

- Chapter 66

- Evil Incarnate

- Chapter 67

- ��

- Chapter 68

- Pink and Blue

- Chapter 69

- Man in the Mirror

- Chapter 70

- Vision Division

- Chapter 71

- Power Surge

- Chapter 72

- Oblivion Express

- Chapter 74

- White Wedding

- Chapter 75

- The Visit

- Chapter 76

- Icing on the Cake

- Chapter 77

- The Break Up

- Chapter 78

- Fake Love to Me

- Chapter 79

- Secret Love

- Chapter 80

- Dress You Up in My Love

- Chapter 81

- Promenade

- Chapter 82

- Promtastic

- Chapter 83

- Light Drive

- Chapter 84

- Confusion is Nothing New

- Chapter 85

- Safety Dance

- Chapter 86

- ��

- Chapter 87

- Fal en Angel

- Chapter 88

- Body Language

- Chapter 89

- Eye Hate You

- Chapter 90

- Borrowed Time

Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54